*Achilles begins to sort the different foods he's pulled out of his bag, occasionally slapping Puca's hand when he tried to steal more cheese. Kobold and Twig continue playing their game of cards, seeming to involve a pile of small stones and a piece of wood carved to resemble a sleeping dog.*
"So, miss Luna," says Puca. "We're a bunch of odd nuts- mooncalves, if you will- and spirits of the woods. We have our jobs, usually, but this table here is where we forget our worries and duties. I'm a well spirit, or a naiad as some folks try to insist. Frankly, I don't know what I am- I'm a rat who gives good luck to the travelers who show me the respect I deserve. Kobold and your friend Achilles here are Grogitches, household deities that are indebted to the ones who offer them something in exchange for their services. Their services? Well, it's food. They've got this sack full of food that's just waiting to be prepared and eaten. They're pretty good cooks too. Unless you're Kobold here, in which case your services are nothing but-"
*For a third time, Twig slaps Puca in the face, cutting him off. Puca only rubs his hit cheek, shaking his head out of mild annoyance.*
"And the slap-happy Twig here is. . . something?" Puca continues. "Look, we don't really know what he is- some doll come to life because of a fairy or a horrific wooden creature made by a mad wizard, we don't know. He don't talk much and seems to be nothing but a freeloadin' fool. He's good at games and keeps my tongue-wagging' in check by slapping the-" Puca gets slapped by Twig yet again, though he picks up where would've left off. "-of me. I've gotten used to it in case you couldn't tell by my ironclad resistance."
*Though he says this, Puca begins to rub his stricken face again, wincing a bit. Kobold, with a sudden groan, throws his cards on the table in defeat as Twig celebrates victory in their game.*
"So," Puca says. "What's your story, miss Luna? What was it like living in the stars?"
