Height, six-foot two. Weight, two-hundred and thirty pounds. White and red fur, red eyes, defining features included a scar over his right eye and a nick taken out of the left ear.
Scolereign held the missing zangoose’s report so his beak was pointed right at the target’s picture, the slip of paper fitting in the scolipede’s large mitt like a crumpled napkin. Those feral slits of his eyes swiveled between either reach of the dirt road, one end the first visible spots of color and wood to a village and the other just more and more trees of the dense forest that the very path slices through.
Fitting the report back inside his armor, Scolereign drew out a folded map and unfurled it around his head, drawing an imaginary line of his journey over the various paths and landmarks, the trail ending right at the one town circled in red graphite. Another check or two later, he tilted the parchment down to observe the town again, satisfied that it was, indeed, Buggsende.
Let’s see... He narrated, counting numbers off his own fingers. A week missing and five days to arrive by foot means two to stay in town. No food or clean water to purchase... Just ask every local shop, bar tavern and inn, that meant. A outsider zangoose of his description, one in royal armor was something that couldn’t be forgotten under questioning, just a matter of finding most of the same story from any of the villagers.
Like any great detective knew, all it took was finding that spark of truth. Even if it were tiny, all it took was a spark to erupt into a wildfire.
Gladdened to have yet another cut-and-dry case, Scolereign straightened out his armor, held his head high and proud and began his march to civilization, lips whispering the first few greetings and questions to ask the befriend the locals with. His shoulders squared, spine straightening out so the first thing the wandering denizens would see would be a statue of strength and authority, guaranteeing either an honest answer or a nervous lie from anybody he could come across.
How do you do, sir madam...good day, sirmadam, I’m here on the order of the kind to...excuse me, sir madam, but would you be able to help somebody on the King’s...“Hm?”
If it were a second earlier or after that he shot his eye its way, he might’ve never found it. Fashioned by boards the same bark and grain as the surrounding trees sat a roofed cube satisfied with life hidden from immediate view of travelers, the only clues to its existence a narrow path crudely slashed through the foliage and a single sign with ‘Inn’ wedged into the ground, partly submerged by the growing wildlife.
Scolereign looked back, scratching under the jaw of his beak and sought back to the inn, wondering how visible it’d be to a royal escort. Not likely, “but then again,” Scolereign acknowledged, “not impossible.”
...and as ever good detective also new, when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remained must be the truth. After loosening the straps to his helmet, Scolereign removed the thick metal cap to allow his black hair to tumble free, his large footprints navigating what would’ve been a decent human’s path like he were wading through a swamp.
Much of the pathway’s size spoke for the size to the inn itself, a cobblestone shack with wooden board for the second floor rooms, their windowsills just arm’s reach away from the ten-foot scolipede grabbing on. Understanding the copious ducking and head-banging he’d be in for once inside, Scolereign gave one last chuff of annoyance before straightening his demeanor out again, desiring as elegant an entrance as possible.
...as possible as an elephant could navigate through an art museum, that is, a sight no doubt as ludicrous for the king’s official to squeeze his shoulder’s berth through. Going straight-in proved just as foolish as he’d expect, only reaching about as far in as his head before getting stuck, thus was the king’s official reduced to twisting side ways and walking on his hands and feet’s, much more effective...until he felt his corpulent middle constricted by the doorframe, wedging hm in place even worse. Damning those marreeps whose mutton’s had bulked him up a nice, fiery Tartarus, Scolereign sucked in his gut, his rounded abdomen shrinking just enough inches for him to wriggle free and pop inside, the stampede of hand and hoof falls making his entry well known.
“Coming!” Came a voice from out of the tavern. Relieved that his plight wasn’t witnessed, Scolereign stood nice and erect, just in time for the owner to arrive and at first sight see him in all his splendor...and felt every ounce of the godhood the human projected on him.
Scolereign’s host arrived in the midst of moving some empty trays and dishes from the basement, his five-foot height much more at home with the space that could barely contain, but seeing the armored giant whose stature just barely stood more than twice the human’s height needed the scrawny innkeeper to grab himself when his workload nearly tipped over and smashed on the floor, wondering just as Scolereign himself was over how he’d managed to find his way inside.
“O-Oh...my!” The innkeeper choked out. “G-Good morning...sir...”
Two yellow eyes stared down him from above from a chiseled, pointed head caped by a luscious mane of long back hair, combed backwards like a barbarian and allowed to flow down past his shoulders. All sitting on top of a crude drawing of arms, legs, and a thick torso drawn from some cartoonish assembly of circles and fat ovals that gave way to the semblance of a behemoth of muscle mass, arms fatter in the biceps than the humans waist, even when they weren’t bent at the elbow, and the full brunt of his no-doubt pro-ton weight sat effortlessly on the support of his oxen-sized legs, thighs plump and fattened so he could sense an absolutely delicious male ass under the cover of his armor.
...but the best feature of all, the feature that made his guest so, so much more delectable than those gross, sinewy bodybuilders who’d starved themselves into some agonizing imitation of ‘attractiveness’ was the gut his armor was obviously tailored to contain, a corpulent roundness hidden within thick enough to keep his upper body’s bulk from toppling him over, but also friendly towards indulging in red meats and rich beer...maybe the occasional cake here and there.
“Good day to you, young vendor.” The string of words was eloquently punctuated by a handsome, baritone voicebox. “Pardon me for any startle you may have, I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”
The deep tones that came from the scolipede added a whole new dimension of perfection to the armored behemoth, just soothing noises that the human’s ears were top pleased by to distinguish the words they were made of. Wherever the armor wasn’t there to shine flares of light into the human’s eyes, there was just oak-brown chitin sculpted into the pinnacle of absolute male perfection, and so Arceus-damned much of it.
“Anyways,” Scolereign’s hand pinched into his armor to draw out the very reason of the intrusion. “I’m here on the King’s order to see if we could find one of his escorts. A fellow named Zaine Gelfenne, and from what we’ve heard of our reports, he may have come across the town just ahead.”
Putting the poster to the human’s face broke him out of his little staring contest, and observing the features of the zangoose in question, the stun and awe left his eyes and his face hardened into...nothing, it seemed. “...Ah.” He stiffly let out.
“Yes, so would you have happened to see a man of his description wandering about? Maybe he came in for a drink or bite?”
At Scolereign’s question, the innkeeper went just a bit more soft again, shaking his head. “Uh, no! No, I don’t think there’s a zangoose town. If there was, I’d have probably seen it.”
“Ah,” Scolereign acknowledged, nodding. “Well, no worry, then, I guess I’ll leave you to your work and check around town. Take care, then.”
Setting his helmet back on, Scolereign shook the building up again with his mighty footfalls, back turned to the human so he could set out back to work...
...when...
Choice 1: The innkeeper suddenly seems very, VERY eager for Scolereign to have dinner on the house. And desert. And seconds on desert. And post-desert seconds for dinner. And desert for that.
Choice 2: A bang from downstairs, and Zaine’s voice calling for help!
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