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RocketLord

Mysterious Menagerie of Monsters

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"I could give you many reasons, but you are a servant and not one i need to speak with, so please go and fetch your "master" like a good dog." He waved his hand dismissively at the man.

 

"Hop to it, we don't want for you to be a tardy and insolent whelk now do we?"

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Dog was perhaps not the right word, though there seemed to be something in the animal kingdom. As Oswald continued to look at the man, he was slowly starting to seem less human, and more like, well, a penguin. He was short. The black gloves on his hands seemed to be slowly fusing together into flippers. His nose was long, and his face was growing rather dark. Almost as if there were something that had covered him, but was slowly starting to fade away.

 

By the time he turned with a loud "Hmph!" and walked away, Oswald could swear that he was waddling, rather than walking, and had lost at least a foot in height. 

 

Would he try to enter, or simply wait? The door was open, but the servant had not made his intentions clear, after all.

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Oswald stepped inside the precipice but walked no further than that as was polite until he'd met and spoken with the master of the menagerie at least.

 

There was no need to make things any less pleasent than his short temper and impatience with haughty beings had already made them.

 

He glanced around the premesis as he waited taking notes of the creatures slow change into...or was it...back into a penguin, most intriguing.

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GM

 

It wasn't long before Oswald had stepped in that he heard frantic tapping on the floor coming for him. The man, now fully a penguin, with a butterfly no less, came running towards him, its beak opening and closing rapidly, as it shouted in the same deep voice as before. "Out! Out! You have not been allowed to enter! Begone, you tramp!" It was quite a ridiculous sight, actually. But on the other hand, it was also fascinating. After all, this appeared to be nothing less than a talking penguin. How often would one see something such as that? 

 

The penguin was running straight for him, flapping its flippers. What would Oswald do?

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