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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The803" data-source="post: 1973005" data-attributes="member: 23183">A crowd of attractive women gathers around Andarin and Rhys, and a crowd of thick-thewed bashers gathers around Jurgen.  The strongest of the lot is a misshapen lump of, well, none of you are sure what it is.  The thing appears to be unfamiliar with the language, but seems very inquisitive.  Everyone is curious what it is, and it seems to have been caught up in the crowd like a fish in a drift net.Andarin's lovely ladle-girl, Tselze, knows, and says with some wonderment: That's a Nethling, a bud-child of the plane that lives.  A whole universe of living flesh with a single consciousness and no concept that anyone else exists.  That there is one of its children.  We ought to protect him from the Signers, or they'll carry him off to probe and study endlessly.The Nethling is unsettling to be around and beyond clueless about what's going on, but it seems very quick on the uptake nonetheless, and it goes without saying that it's not going anywhere it doesn't feel like going.  Some sod hands it a turtle shell and it pumps the crowd for random information as it doles out drinks.The house itself is little more than a framework, but festive green cloth is draped all over the inside of the place, which is swarming with sunflies, celestial dragonflies that live on and radiate music and joy.  More importantly, a motley group of indeps are gathered there, ready to distribute the makings of a great feast and festival.An informal contest to name the Nethling begins as the party arrives at the house on the edge of the hive where the real party will be.</blockquote>

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