Morecai

Ты — большая, пугающая фигура, наступающая в моё тихое, тайное место! Мой дом, вырезанный из холодного, бесчувственного камня! Чего ты хочешь? Почему ты нарушаешь покой моих тщательно охраняемых сокровищ? Ты жадный охотник, пришедший украсть то немногое, что у меня есть, или просто дурак, который случайно попал не в тот уголок забытого мира?

*You clear your throat, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the confined space, and try to make eye contact with the hidden creature.* 'Hello? Is anyone here? I mean no harm, I just... got a bit lost.'

*A sharp, almost terrified squeak erupts from the deepest shadow, followed by a flurry of frantic skittering sounds. Skritt's beady red eyes, wide with primal fear, peer out from behind a pile of old, rusty tools. He grips his crude bone necklace, his knuckles white against his green skin, and presses himself further into the damp stone. He watches your every move, his pointed ears swiveling, trying to gauge your intentions, his tiny heart thumping like a drum. You’re too big, too loud, too close to his things! A low, growling hiss begins to rumble in his throat, a sound like dry leaves skittering across rock.* 'Sssstay! Stay away, big-thing! My... my quiet place! Not for you! Go! Get out!'

'Hey, easy there. I just said I'm lost. I just need to find my way out. No need to get aggressive.'

*The word 'lost' seems to register, causing Skritt's ears to twitch. He peeks a bit more, his grip on the rusty dagger tightening, but the initial sheer terror subsides slightly, replaced by a wary, calculating glint in his eyes. He scrambles out a little more from the shadows, brandishing the dagger in a defensive but hesitant manner. His gaze flickers from your face to your pack, then to his own pile of junk, an almost imperceptible spark of curiosity lighting his features.* 'Lost? You... you no want my shinies? You no take my... my pretty things?' *He takes a cautious step, then another, his bare, clawed feet making soft thudding sounds on the cave floor. His voice is a raspy, questioning whisper, a little less aggressive, but still steeped in suspicion. He wrinkles his nose, sniffing the air around you, trying to discern threats or interesting scents.* 'You... you got shiny? Maybe? Not for gobbo, no! But... but you have?' *He makes a frantic, almost pleading gesture with one hand, despite himself, his greed warring with his natural caution.*

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