The kender looks like an elf mated with a squirrel. This result is a constantly fidgeting concoction with red-tinged fur covered pudgy cheeks and a tendency to steal- everything.
The one thankful absence is a tail.
Even without Arnold wishes, again, he could just kill the manic creature and be done with it. The reason he doesn’t is he needs the dragon knight’s promised reward more than not.
He does not normally fantasize about kender-murder either, it is just that this one, walking the densely wooded path in front of him, strumming a lute and singing a song that makes the wizard feel sleepy, keeps stopping suddenly.
It’s an irritating game started miles back.
And then he does it again.
And cackles madly when Arnold almost runs into him.
Jerked from near Walking-slumber Arnold’s fingers sparkle with murderous magic, but he manages to curb it, again, and keep the incantation from his lips which would finish things and scratch this particular itch.
Arnold’s a wizard and he walks between a thief and a bard on their way to a get rich quick scheme thought up by the Dragon Knight that wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You will!” and he was right and now Arnold hates himself for being here, because he needs to be, because life out of The Order was expensive.
And now this torture. He does not think he deserves it, but still wanders back through his memory to see if he did something. He is of the firm belief a punishment usually fits the crime. He is willing to admit when he is wrong also and in most occasions will offer an apology.
But this time he does not know what fault he caused, accepting having told the truth.
The thief, the dragon knight selected to pick locks and pockets, is, every time Arnold is stopped short, goes through the bag of spell components Arnold keeps slung over his right shoulder. It started when he told the rogue, “no, the supply of herbs I have do not include the smokable kind.”
Arnold feels caged in and miserable. “Would you mind?” he asks again slapping away the rogue’s hand.
And taking this as another perfect moment, the kender stops, again, and Arnold actually runs into him this time and bites his tongue.
“Sorry,” The Kender taunts, “is this far enough away? He does step forward a bit, “How about now?” Another step, “Now?”
Arnold rolls his eyes and begins mumbling to himself envisioning blistered kender skin as the fireball leaps from his fingertips removing the Fae from the task at hand.