“What is it that ya see laddie? Somethin’ the matter wit’ yer eyes? Or di’ja already forget dat’ yer’ s’possed tah be getting me’ orders from tah market? Now get yer’ kester movin’, be’fer I knock som’ sense inta’ ya fer’ starin’ like tha’! Are ye’ deef? Oft wit’ ya’!”

Your mentor in the ways of the Wood was not what any would call a kind man - nay, not even a man at all, but a satyr. He was a cantankerous old goat through and through - but, after he feasted, he was always a little gentler with his teachings - before the inevitable slumber he entered from excess of food and wine. He was certainly the best shot you had at learning that forgotten magic, to be sure - none had heard of any Woodmagi - nor satyrs, even- in these parts for decades upon decades…

You were alone in your secret knowledge of the goatman - if anyone else from the village knew what he was without a glamour, they’d surely have his head… The bounty of a monster head - especially that of a so-called demon the unruly race of satyr - was most high these days… Not as much as a wildling or an elf, to be sure, but still most high. Best, in that case, to simply get him his grub and keep your thoughts to yourself.

—-

Here’s a piece from all the way back in September of last year! Nothing too special about this one, although it was nice doing a little more world-building in the description of this piece. The anatomy’s a little cartoonish, I’ll admit - apparently whatever race of this is born with cartoonishly small torsos, large arms, and of course, huge bellies - but, I’d say the features fit this old goat perfectly well.