Scooby Dooby Doo... That's Kind of You...
Your mind is mercifully silent as you turn round and round, staring at your backside. Well, then.
*Well* then.
"Uh... um... but..." You flick your tufted tail back and forth idly. So you're a... a centaur? But a wolf thing? A wolftaur? Is that what it's called. So it would seem. You turn back so your canine rump.
"Excuse me," you say, "but I'm going to have to panic now."
(Panic session)
"OK... Ok..." calmly you spit the grass out of your mouth and untie your shirt from around your head, putting it back on. "The facts. I need the facts."
The facts. At approximately 9:32 this morning on your morning stroll you happened across a new and unusual shop full of curios. You picked up a lamp once inside and released a genie. Calling itself the genie of transformation, he offered you the traditional three wishes. Not wishing to accept, you angered said genie, and he sent you to this plain as a wolftaur to help with his "breeding program," and here you are.
Immediately one thing strikes a dissonant chord: why would a genie need a breeding program, for any reason? Pacing in a
circle, acclimatizing to the strange nature of your six-limbed form, you ponder this fact. Why does anyone breed anything? To sell the grown animals on the market... or to repopulate an endangered area. Either way, this doesn't seem to be normal genie business.
The shop owner is the second piece of the puzzle. In his possession he held a lamp with a genie that was perfectly willing to kidnap folks and throw them into this suspicious breeding program. Either he was oblivious to the dark nature of his wares... or he was in league with the genie. This made more sense. If the shop owner owned the genie, then perhaps he had the genie under his control. What if one of his wishes was to set up this mystical "breeding ground" and to harvest all the profits himself?
For the time being you put these suspicions on hold; the truly great detectives fashioned their theories from the evidence, not the other way around.
"YEOW!" still circling with your wolfish lower body, you prick your forepaw on something sharp jutting out of the ground. Bending down as much as you're able, you discover a black spire sticking out of the dirt and the grass of the plain. Gingerly you pad together a wad of grass and pull a dirty, pitted obsidian dagger from out of the soil.
"Ah-hah!" Your tail begins wagging as you hold up your first clue.
Written by Mr.Peaches on 06 June 2007
The end (for now)