By the method previously described, the digbeards have assembled a motley assortment of caged beasties that they have been temporarily storing in a small area nearby cleared off for just that purpose. As a general rule, I avoid closing with that sea of cages. Even by footrest standards, the smell is just appalling but it pales in comparison to the language, who roils the air constantly. Such vulgarities that there is no real point in trying to engage them in polite, intelligent conversation. Or even other forms of conversation; though I will admit to watching, from afar but with delight, an attempt by Eydri, which actually managed to silence the mob for a while. I was not close enough to hear his side of it but it was apparently enough to stun them into a temporary vituperative desistance. That or they suffered a collective, massive stroke from the sheer stupidity. I have spoken with Eydri before you remember. The all-too-brief quiet was simply delicious and, even more delightfully, is replicated every time they see him approach. Eydri rarely comes down here since navigating a steep stairwell with those heads is an understandable challenge but the other animals try to talk him into coming down more often.
As time marches slowly on, the regions the demons can emerge from diminish and the ensemble begins to shrink as the cages are taken elsewhere. The digbeards have constructed several areas for them up above where the cages can, by some trick of their foul digbeard magic, be opened from a distance and allow the inhabitant to stroll around. Some of these areas are behind thick walls of clear rock so that the digbeards can gape at them and jabber on. Others have been dropped into narrow shafts on the far outside edge of the footrest that ring it in a great circle. The purpose of this, I cannot guess. Perhaps they fear someone digging into the footrest from without and these demons are unwitting guardd- no, that is too stupid even for the digbeards to imagine.
The crowd dwindles and then one day, only a single cage remains. I cannot fathom the reason that it is left; perhaps the inhabitant is one that they do not feel the need for. Whether because they have a sufficiency of that type to gawk at or because they are generally unimpressed with his kind. He looks rather like a weasel that has been walked over by a herd of yaks. I believe that I shall attempt to engage him in conversation soon; solitude might have softened him.
Next time: Woozle wozzle or I didn't do it.
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Topic: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large. (Read 52709 times)