A/N:

I hope to update weekly, if not more. This is my first online story, so please review!

Here's a General Summary:

In a world not unlike our own medival times, a kleptomaniacal spriggan named Varke and a well-spoken brownie named Mrall are caught in an act of thievery and mischief one damp night. They are carried to a basement workshop by a cloaked stranger and soon find themselves caught in a struggle for equality and independence between races and genders.


Chapter one:


A gruff voice echoed in the damp alley, "Idjut brownie! Yeh damn near got us bofe caught!" The mammoth silhouette directed his words at the little creature tucked under his arm. The brownie glared up at his captor with arms crossed and sharp eyes narrowed.



"Pardon me," he spat squeakily, "For merely attempting to mess with the fish merchant's rude son a little! It's hardly my fault that his cat caught sight of me! Now put me down, you slimy reptile! You have no business flinging me around like a rag-doll!"



None-too-gently was the brownie's request carried out and he rubbed his sore bottom as he tottered after the monstrous being who was currently trying -in vain- to be stealthy on his oversized feet. The brownie sighed and doubled his pace so he could get close enough to the giant thing to stroke his smooth shin -for that was all he could reach. "My apologies, Varke. I know you and your tendency to be... well... sensitive about your looks. I beg your forgiveness, friend. There isn't another spriggan in the world who's so vibrantly green and can grow so tall as you." The Brownie, Mrall by name, stopped in his tracks and bowed his head, with pointed ears drooping forward. His normally vibrant orange eyes were shaded by the messy brown hair falling into his face.



Varke turned and took a few steps toward the forlorn creature. "And'm sorreh for losin' mah temper on yeh, Mrall. Yeh're realleh not 'alf bad." The once vastly intimidating spriggan was now at his usual stature, and barely an inch taller then the brownie. The yellow iris in his eyes caught and reflected the small amount of light in the alley. Admittedly, Varke was ugly as ever now that he was small again, with fleshy wattles of green-grey skin all around his jaw, clawlike hands and feet, and bulging, toadlike eyes. His slitted nostrils dilated in time with his this chest gently rising and falling above his round, dome-like belly. An awkward smile produced itself on his lipless mouth as he spoke in his now-high-pitched tone, "Can yeh forgive me?"



Mrall would have wrinkled his nose -had he had one- at the softhearted tone of the conversation, but his face instead became a mask of panic upon seeing a foreboding figure stomp his way into the alley on heavy boots- boots with the undoubtable potential to crush him and his friend.