"The hell’s this?"

Drawn out in curiosity by the small crowd who had gathered on the wide deck outside her establishment, Cass turned around at the familiar low drawl of her most ominous acquaintance.

"Y’looking like the backside of a brute this morning, Trip."

"S’too early, and I haven’t had breakfast. Whass’ the racket?" Even addled by the comparatively early mid-morning hour, their local witchdoctor was an imposing sight, and the knowledgeable crowd cleared around her as she gave a yawn that looked like she’d swallowed a saw or two and left all the sharp parts where her teeth should be.

At the head of the gathering near the waters edge, a particularly small figure stood on a crate she’d found. Despite it, she was still a head smaller than some of the taller swamp inhabitants; because she was notably tiny, and survival of the fittest favoured the biggest around these parts.

None the less, she spoke with stubborn determination, either ignorant to or willfully ignoring the sneers, snickers, and sharp objects that her audience were aiming her way. Although she spoke with confidence and a small mite of charisma, she’d picked her podium poorly. But Ayra was nothing if not devout, and if she were aware of the danger of her situation, she had complete and utter faith that she would be protected by the higher power she preached for, no matter how deaf the ears upon which she preached.

With another yawn that would make a shark cringe, the dragonfolk woman at the rear of the crowd cast a glare at the inn keeper, who shrugged. Cass was opinionated and bitchy, but hard working and a very good businesswoman; she wasn’t about to threaten what could resolve in a large amount of brunchtime orders by starting the fight herself.

Instead, Trip Cycle shouldered her way to the front, sweeping her thick tail lazily in the path that emptied behind her.

"If you only accept in the faith, you will be well served! He is of grace, and beauty, and He endows such upon all of those who come to him, and offers aid to those who are seeking of need-"

At last, Ayra had encountered a glare that she couldn’t continue to ignore, especially as the rest of the people she was trying to make understand the truth she knew had backed away, either avoiding or presenting the massive woman in their centre.

Readjusting her stance on her crate, and flicking her small wings against her back neatly, the small harpbird raised her chin, and her voice, and continued.

"It is a true and enlightened path; I have seen it—" The humongous, unfortunately green woman had stepped closer, and Ayra’s voice rose again, not only in volume but in pitch, "— And it is a good path, I assure you."

"You could want for nothing, my dear people, for everything would be at your fingertips, a great many options opening before you like doorways down the- the hall of this living life. And, without judgement anyone can enter any of them, yes anyone! for unlike the archaic religions of Old, Our True Lord opens His arms to any and all for- !"

Eventually the small speaker’s voice had worked its way up so high in direct correlation to the proximity of the large, dragonic swamp woman, that it became a squeak of shock at the same time that the latter swiped for the small bird. 

Ducking, Ayra stumbled backwards off her crate, barely catching her balance on the golden short spear she held as it hit the floor first, and staggering a few steps away from her attacker. Her audience muttered agreeably and the tiny evangelist took this to be their admiration at her near miss.

"Now I am gathering that you have some resistance to this path, but, y-you must know that what I say is true-!"

Again she squirmed away, abandoning her position near the water as a celebratory whoop went through the crowd. For this moment her small size was an asset as Trip Cycle failed to correctly interpret the distance. Encouraged by the sudden excitement of the crowd that she in turn entirely misinterpreted  Ayra turned to face the witchdoctor approaching her, placing the butt of her spear on the hollow wood beneath them and her small hand on her hip. The monstrous woman made to turn aside as Ayra continued.

"As you can see, as a devout believer, I have given my life to Him, His service and worship, and in turn, He lends me His protecti-"

She was blind sided by something huge and heavy and fast, that knocked her to the planks of the board walk, with an uproarious cry of excited blood lust from the inhabitants of the swamp. Perhaps they weren’t cheering for her after all. 

"Sugar, we don’t want what you got."

From the ground looking up at her attacker, Ayra’s face scrunched. Although like most of her species she lacked a nose, her wrinkled expression of disgust was still clear. She had come to this area knowing that its people lived in uncultured squalor, foolishly clinging to some fairytale about the mythical “Ancient” “Beings”, and had hoped to offer some light for their future by sharing her knowledge.

But nothing could have properly prepared her for their brutish nature, their ragged or missing clothes, or the horrid wet heat of the place.

Ayra’s species came from the mountains, and although she had done her best to shake free of every stereotype of her breed and culture, she was still covered in insulating feathers better suited to mild summers and winters well below freezing.

Even the accent of the scaly woman in front of her echoed with lack of finesse. The small finch had gone to a great deal of effort to sound like she’d grown up in the city and not in the northern wilds, evolving past the grating, heavy, growling vowels and too many r’s she’d been born speaking in. In contrast, the witchdoctor had a voice that rolled with extra d’s and long vowels and a misleading sing-songy lilt.

To Ayra, it sounded every bit as steeped in swamp mud as the bayou itself.

Getting to her feet, and righting her golden headdress- it matched her spear for tacky, over decorative, flimsiness- she faced up to the taller woman. As she opened her mouth and got several words into her next spiel, her opponent stamped her extra large foot down, and the board walk creaked and snapped.

The plank Ayra was on shot up and sent the short girl flying in a show that was comedic for everyone involved who wasn’t her. Her wings were small, and not really adapted for flying, but they prevented her from landing face first in the water and she stumbled a few paces across the board walk instead, now on the far side of the venue.

Someone to her left was casually sipping a mug of coffee, as if this was a regular morning entertainment.

The woman with the spiked tail and wicked teeth was back, and she’d grabbed Ayra by one of her wings and was twisting it in such a way that the young harpbird writhed and wiggled and squealed to try and keep it right.

"Get. And take your new age religion with you. We of the Serpent here and 'ave been for thousands years."

Perhaps this once her Lord would understand if she didn’t keep trying on these nasty, awful people. He was Good and would Accept Her, and in years to come they could return to this place and make these people realize the error of their ways. For now, on her own- for her God could only interfer so much in daily affairs and she could not expect Him to step into such a place- Ayra knew she was outmatched.

Stubbornly, she lashed out with her spear, and rammed it against her oversized opponent. The grip on her wing tightened painfully, but then dropped her, and the finch hopped backwards, looking every bit as tiny and out of place as her bird counterpart.

"Move it, Tweetie. Or’se you an’t gonna see the sunset this evening."

"What I offer you is only truth, and a kindness. You turn it down in foolish blindness following your stupid gluttonous Serpent, but one day, my God and I will return to-"

There was a wicked roar, and it came from the swamp people, and the water and the sky and the trees. The board walk shook unsteadily as the water beneath her feet churned and the crowd, mostly boredly passive all this time, lurched towards her now with their features twisted in hate and defiance.

Ayra was stubborn, and not the sharpest tool in the shed. But she did make a few good choices every now and then, and she made one of them in that moment.