It's a Tiny Party in the Woods! (Pinterest Vibes)
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Setting: The WOODS
Time: the deep-dark of Night.
Weather: Humid, Stars, Clear Skies, Puffy Cloud Clumps
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Deep in the Dark Dark Woods... A little rustling might be heard. A faint musical thumping. Tiny sounds like joyful revelry fill the night air.
Funny smells like sentient (and not!) fungi, moss, decay, and magic hit the senses of any being within a 30 foot radius of one thick ring of mushrooms amid fallen leaves and wily grass.
Nearby, the remains of great trees serve as a forrest high rise complex.
Upon closer inspection... a massive colony of tiny-size Myconid seem to be thrumming with party-like activity. Fuzzy kitten bees bumble into each other; tiny plumes of pollen puff off of them with the contact.
There's a very tiny "mush-pit" of jigging and wiggling and whirling.
Fae. Gnome-kin. Spirits. Imps. All Kinds.
Suddenly, a rather tiny shout, "Woah woah!!!!" Across the mushroom party camp ring, a thick Oyster Myconid wearing a mossy hat waves his long “quarter-staff” stick up at a curious doe who very “nearly” crushed through the ring of mushrooms while innocently looking for a late night snack.
Much tiny shouting follows with a back-up chorus of delighted hiccups and giggles.
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______________
Setting: The WOODS
Time: the deep-dark of Night.
Weather: Humid, Stars, Clear Skies, Puffy Cloud Clumps
______________
Deep in the Dark Dark Woods... A little rustling might be heard. A faint musical thumping. Tiny sounds like joyful revelry fill the night air.
Funny smells like sentient (and not!) fungi, moss, decay, and magic hit the senses of any being within a 30 foot radius of one thick ring of mushrooms amid fallen leaves and wily grass.
Nearby, the remains of great trees serve as a forrest high rise complex.
Upon closer inspection... a massive colony of tiny-size Myconid seem to be thrumming with party-like activity. Fuzzy kitten bees bumble into each other; tiny plumes of pollen puff off of them with the contact.
There's a very tiny "mush-pit" of jigging and wiggling and whirling.
Fae. Gnome-kin. Spirits. Imps. All Kinds.
Suddenly, a rather tiny shout, "Woah woah!!!!" Across the mushroom party camp ring, a thick Oyster Myconid wearing a mossy hat waves his long “quarter-staff” stick up at a curious doe who very “nearly” crushed through the ring of mushrooms while innocently looking for a late night snack.
Much tiny shouting follows with a back-up chorus of delighted hiccups and giggles.
______________
Lizbeth is still a fawn, feral and innocent, she heard the rhythmic sound and curiously came closer. Her mom, Angel the hind and her Dad Maxwell weren’t far away, they know that Lizbeth is always curious and the colony of Myconid is no danger to her. “Don’t go too far my little stardust”, she calls her affectionately because of the great number of little white spots in her fur.
Lizbeth little nose lowers on to those small creatures, her nostrils flare, her ears perk at that sound, twitching with those kitten bees bumping against each other. The fawn has to sneeze with a shaking head, a soft bleat coming over her lips.
That was funny for this small doe and she stays there, watching, her rear left hoof starting to tap in the rhythm of the thumping.
Her parents weren’t far, they could see her little white tail wiggling happily, even in such a dark night.
Lizbeth little nose lowers on to those small creatures, her nostrils flare, her ears perk at that sound, twitching with those kitten bees bumping against each other. The fawn has to sneeze with a shaking head, a soft bleat coming over her lips.
That was funny for this small doe and she stays there, watching, her rear left hoof starting to tap in the rhythm of the thumping.
Her parents weren’t far, they could see her little white tail wiggling happily, even in such a dark night.
“Don’t scare the sweet baby!” A soot sprite flies circles about Lizbeth’s flicking ears and urges the Oyster Mushroom man’s stick away with a plastic cocktail saber. The Myconid lowers his staff and bows to the pair. “Alright! Well… er… mind yer hooves! Harrumph!” It’s not long after he continues his stroll that a mossy fae intercepts him with sweet treats. He’ll be fine!
The fuzzy ink-black soot sprite offers their other hand toward the wee babe’s nose, “Honey cakes???” In their tiny outstretched palm rests a small sweet stamped into the shape of a flower.
The appearance of their large guest is quite well-received! The tapping fawn attracts a jovial little audience. Younglings are good luck; Really just a few side steps from general fae-mischief at all times! And usually a fairly forgiving audience!
From all over the colony, many myconid and their party guests gather to admire the darling creature and share their fun! Some do little dances, others perform sparkling magical tricks, and of course there are plenty of tiny-size sweets! Cheering and applause fill the evening around Lizbeth.
The fuzzy ink-black soot sprite offers their other hand toward the wee babe’s nose, “Honey cakes???” In their tiny outstretched palm rests a small sweet stamped into the shape of a flower.
The appearance of their large guest is quite well-received! The tapping fawn attracts a jovial little audience. Younglings are good luck; Really just a few side steps from general fae-mischief at all times! And usually a fairly forgiving audience!
From all over the colony, many myconid and their party guests gather to admire the darling creature and share their fun! Some do little dances, others perform sparkling magical tricks, and of course there are plenty of tiny-size sweets! Cheering and applause fill the evening around Lizbeth.
The little fawn finds these small creatures funny, affairing around her. She can’t look everywhere, surrounded by them, speaking some odd language she doesn’t understand.
She follows the turning flies with her eyes and gets a bit dizzy, shaking her head once more to get rid of that feeling, another soft “ roh “ coming over her lips.
She looks down between her legs, her head upside down, her ears perking towards some Myconid under her, swaying some bizarre translucide piece, seemingly a bit upset. But she doesn’t understand why they are turned upside down, another soft short bleat can be heard.
When she looks up she has a soot sprite in front of her offering a sweet in flower form. She sniffs at that hand and stretches her tongue for the sweet. Lizbeth is obviously happy, her little tail wagging intensely in all directions, her head moves to the rhythm of the little folks music, disturbed by a happy bleat of the fawn.
Her parents observe the whole thing from far, Maxwell is a bit nervous with all these creatures around his little girl, but Angel whispers to him, “let her go honey, the Myconid aren’t dangerous, and they are under protection of the guardian, let them have some fun, by sunlight they will all peacefully sleep together in a chaotic bunch with our little stardust inbetween.”
Lizbeth meanwhile feels like an acclaimed starlet, cheered and having fun. The little head moves in all directions, that cute rear with this wildly wagging tail waving left and right, that fawn was dancing, but yet from time to time she looks if her parents are still there, sending them a playfully bleat.
Well this is a funny evening!!
She follows the turning flies with her eyes and gets a bit dizzy, shaking her head once more to get rid of that feeling, another soft “ roh “ coming over her lips.
She looks down between her legs, her head upside down, her ears perking towards some Myconid under her, swaying some bizarre translucide piece, seemingly a bit upset. But she doesn’t understand why they are turned upside down, another soft short bleat can be heard.
When she looks up she has a soot sprite in front of her offering a sweet in flower form. She sniffs at that hand and stretches her tongue for the sweet. Lizbeth is obviously happy, her little tail wagging intensely in all directions, her head moves to the rhythm of the little folks music, disturbed by a happy bleat of the fawn.
Her parents observe the whole thing from far, Maxwell is a bit nervous with all these creatures around his little girl, but Angel whispers to him, “let her go honey, the Myconid aren’t dangerous, and they are under protection of the guardian, let them have some fun, by sunlight they will all peacefully sleep together in a chaotic bunch with our little stardust inbetween.”
Lizbeth meanwhile feels like an acclaimed starlet, cheered and having fun. The little head moves in all directions, that cute rear with this wildly wagging tail waving left and right, that fawn was dancing, but yet from time to time she looks if her parents are still there, sending them a playfully bleat.
Well this is a funny evening!!
Though the festivities will surely proceed til dawn, the energy of the celebration shifts up and down periodically. In the following lull Lizbeth might see a flat surface, a repurposed pizza stone, revealed in the very heart of the faery-ring.
The welcome-crowd soon disperses from her path. Many of these beings toddle merrily toward the flat dish and form a crowd. Whatever this transitional phase seems to be is not entirely clear, yet seems rather efficiently managed!
A series of beings haul doll-house sized chairs & place them in a fan-shape before hurrying off stage. There’s a lull in the activity when what appears to be a bullfrog with a very fancy hat hops toward center front. The Master of Ceremonies has taken his position!
A hush falls over the crowd. Fireflies dance in a casual chain across the perimeter of the party.
Then! A distinct bellow comes from our M.C. It’s a familiar song of several deep notes repeating rapidly… He’s soon joined by small groups entering the stage from either side: each one comprising a different section of an orchestra!
They serenade the woods with music through the night. Each section takes a turn with a solo performance. The tiny audience members dance and twirl with delight before the fawn. Several small woodland creatures join at her side, settling in the grass to watch.
The welcome-crowd soon disperses from her path. Many of these beings toddle merrily toward the flat dish and form a crowd. Whatever this transitional phase seems to be is not entirely clear, yet seems rather efficiently managed!
A series of beings haul doll-house sized chairs & place them in a fan-shape before hurrying off stage. There’s a lull in the activity when what appears to be a bullfrog with a very fancy hat hops toward center front. The Master of Ceremonies has taken his position!
A hush falls over the crowd. Fireflies dance in a casual chain across the perimeter of the party.
Then! A distinct bellow comes from our M.C. It’s a familiar song of several deep notes repeating rapidly… He’s soon joined by small groups entering the stage from either side: each one comprising a different section of an orchestra!
They serenade the woods with music through the night. Each section takes a turn with a solo performance. The tiny audience members dance and twirl with delight before the fawn. Several small woodland creatures join at her side, settling in the grass to watch.
The fawn halts, something is going on, a hustle and bustle within the Myconid community makes her look curiously to the changes.
They all seem to gather around that flat stone, without warning, without a word. They all stop playing and migrate to the, almost holy, stone. A scene is built, stools are brought, Lizbeth looks very curiously tilting her head towards that building scene, tilting her face to one side and slowly back to the other side, a soft questioning murr emerges from her throat, ears peek in the direction of that appearing Bullfrog. Lizbeth once sniffed and licked on one, a frowned face indicated that it was disgusting, the fawn shakes her head, ‘no no no, not good…’
Lizbeth head goes up, astonishment, her ears pointing at the scene, her eyes open wide, glistening of joy. A bunch of those creatures had shown up and together, well, they start to make music, nice rhythmic music. Lizbeth’ face smiles, the little head starts to move again, tilting rhythmically with the music made.
The fawn gets a bit annoyed by those fireflies twirling around her ears, their humming sound disturbing her listening, a grumpy bleat and some flapping deer ears chase them away. They can seat on her, having great view from above, but not humm into her ears.
She even taps quickly with her front hooves, when the audience claps for some excellent solo performance. Some of the musicians even perform a little show, jumping and turning with their instrument, one even threw his guitar like instrument higher than Lizbeth nose, audience goes “Wooah” clap, clap, tumbling hooves.
The young doe slowly gets the rhythm, that lean small deer body, twitches and moves, hooves tap to the music, the little head with those big ears waves from left to right, with nodding movements, that fluffy tail wiggles and wags furiously in all directions.
Short little bleats come over her lips, according with chords and notes, Lizbeth sings with the Myconid.
It’s going to be a loooooong night!
Angel and Maxwell look from far, the stag fierce, proud of his little daughter, Mom leans her head against Maxwells neck, a tear of joy in that beautiful doe’s eyes.
They all seem to gather around that flat stone, without warning, without a word. They all stop playing and migrate to the, almost holy, stone. A scene is built, stools are brought, Lizbeth looks very curiously tilting her head towards that building scene, tilting her face to one side and slowly back to the other side, a soft questioning murr emerges from her throat, ears peek in the direction of that appearing Bullfrog. Lizbeth once sniffed and licked on one, a frowned face indicated that it was disgusting, the fawn shakes her head, ‘no no no, not good…’
Lizbeth head goes up, astonishment, her ears pointing at the scene, her eyes open wide, glistening of joy. A bunch of those creatures had shown up and together, well, they start to make music, nice rhythmic music. Lizbeth’ face smiles, the little head starts to move again, tilting rhythmically with the music made.
The fawn gets a bit annoyed by those fireflies twirling around her ears, their humming sound disturbing her listening, a grumpy bleat and some flapping deer ears chase them away. They can seat on her, having great view from above, but not humm into her ears.
She even taps quickly with her front hooves, when the audience claps for some excellent solo performance. Some of the musicians even perform a little show, jumping and turning with their instrument, one even threw his guitar like instrument higher than Lizbeth nose, audience goes “Wooah” clap, clap, tumbling hooves.
The young doe slowly gets the rhythm, that lean small deer body, twitches and moves, hooves tap to the music, the little head with those big ears waves from left to right, with nodding movements, that fluffy tail wiggles and wags furiously in all directions.
Short little bleats come over her lips, according with chords and notes, Lizbeth sings with the Myconid.
It’s going to be a loooooong night!
Angel and Maxwell look from far, the stag fierce, proud of his little daughter, Mom leans her head against Maxwells neck, a tear of joy in that beautiful doe’s eyes.
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