When in Doubt...

[Solhaven, Bayside Road]
A burnt-out and boarded-up whitewashed warehouse faces North 'Haven Quay across Bayside Road. Bones and scraps of armor litter the ground.
Also here: Merclaw
Obvious paths: northeast, east, south, southwest, northwest

You beam!

You exclaim, "I's finds it!"

Merclaw chuckles.

You say, "I's ranger."

You say, "Always lost."

You duck your head.

You lower your head shyly, lacing your fingers behind your back and scuffing the ground with your foot.

Merclaw cocks his head at you.

You ask, "I's hears you can be spellings?"

You say, "Er."

You ask, "Castings?"

You see Merclaw.
He appears to be a Faendryl Dark Elf.
He appears to be youthful and taller than average. He has dark eyes and dark skin. He has short, black hair with lighter streaks. He has a delicate face and long pointed ears.
He is in good shape.
He is holding a ki-lin carved black orase runestaff in his right hand.
He is wearing a sleek black waern skin harness, some tooled jet black full leather, some black snakeskin gloves, an iron and mithril band, an iron-clasped black leather belt, some grey pants, and a pair of incredible dark panther pelt boots.

You peer quizzically at Merclaw.

Merclaw quietly says, "I was not told that I had to give spells to a gnome."

You say, "I's can givings mobiles if wants."

You ponder.

You say, "But I's not shaved halfling."

You say, "I's gnome."

Merclaw waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Merclaw quietly says, "No difference."

You stare at nothing in particular.

You exclaim, "Is too difference!"

You say, "I's not tart addict."

(Merclaw quirks an eyebrow.)

You take some hunter green suede knee-boots off your feet.

You wiggle your toes.

You say, "And not gots hairy feets."

You nod.

You put some hunter green suede knee-boots onto your feet.

You ponder.

Merclaw quietly says, "Yet you said you were not a shaved halfling."

Merclaw thoughtfully says, "So quick to deny."

You exclaim, "Everybodys calls me halfling!"

You stare at nothing in particular.

You exclaim, "I's not halfling!"

You exclaim, "I's gnome!"

You say, "Forest-type gnome."

You lower your head shyly, lacing your fingers behind your back and scuffing the ground with your foot.

You say, "Not one of dem greasy burghal types."

Merclaw quietly asks, "And what reason have I to give my magic to a halfling, much less a gnome?"

You feel that nervous twitch starting up again.

Merclaw tilts his head up.

You say, "I's going new hunting grounds."

You say, "And I's not wanting being killededs."

You say, "Dead type gnome not being good."

You say, "And um."

Merclaw quietly asks, "To whom?"

You say, "I's going hunting tree spirits."

You say, "Dem bad for forest."

Merclaw quietly says, "You are implying that I care about the forest."

You ponder.

You say, "I's hopedings everyone being carings about forest."

You say, "Maybe not beings as much as me."

You say, "But even little bit."

(Vyrshkana holds her fingers a smidge apart.)

Merclaw coldly says, "I hold no regard for something I have no use for."

You ask, "And not having use for pestering forest-type gnome?"

You gaze fondly at Merclaw.

Merclaw glances about with a disgusted look on his face.

Merclaw darkly says, "None."

You say, "I's go away if spellings."

You nod to Merclaw.

Merclaw wrinkles his nose.

Merclaw darkly asks, "If you do not?"

You say, "Oderwise I's stands here and pesters more."

You say, "Can listens to mangledings common."

You nod to Merclaw.

Merclaw quietly says, "So be it. But if you do not, I shall take my own retaliation."

You lower your head shyly, lacing your fingers behind your back and scuffing the ground with your foot.