As the two tiny men slowly come to you suggest finding out what that mess was all about. The party nods in agreement, and waits for the two curmudgeons to fully wake up. As the first aggressor opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of Mal’s helmeted face looming over him. The man seems transfixed for a minute as your ears can barely detect the sounds of Mal’s breathing… and maybe the sound of his teeth grinding. It doesn’t take long before the man is openly cringing before the subtle, yet unmistakable display of aggression. In fact, you are also starting to feel on edge as you slightly perceive a low growl from inside the bucket helm. You’re beginning to wonder how long Mal intends to keep this up before Horton taps the fellow on the shoulder.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, he just gets absolutely enraged when people attack those he likes for no good reason. You probably had a good reason, though. Right? I’d hate to hear you used violence against us for something stupid. That would make Mal livid. He’s downright uncontrollable when he gets livid.” Horton and Mal surprise you with this careful display of coercion. You would have expected a display like this to have their roles reversed, and you never would have expected Horton to know a word like livid! It seems to be having the desired effect as the redhead starts to stutter out a response.

“I-I-I” The intimidation factor appears to be a little too strong, though. Lyrrica steps up and bends over, offering a fair amount of cleavage to the man’s view. “Aye-yi-yi…”

Nope. That’s not helping either. As you try and figure out how to get the man into an emotional state that allows a coherent response, you notice there’s a lot more orange in your peripheral vision than you think there should be. In a slight bit of panic you grab Lyrrica by the shoulder. Once she sees what the problem is, the other two seem to notice as well.

The banks of the lake are swarming with orange haired, green clothed, shillelagh wielding men. Not a one of them is looking on your party kindly as they brandish their tiny wand-clubs. Your armor and equipment is held hostage on the shore, and it’s clear from how the first two fought, that your group could never handle this many. A rough looking one walks out of the group towards you. Looking at with his scarred and angry looking face, the man draws breath as if he’s barely restraining himself from attacking you on the spot.

“Top oh the mornin to ye!” He says, suddenly smiling from ear to ear and brimming with pleasantry. “I couldn’ help but notice me mates stahrted a wee scrap wit ye. I can’t apologise enough for the trouble these two knuckleheads are always causing. Neigh, neigh, ye don’ need to explain anytin! Known those two since they were wee babes, I have. I’m certain they gon an stahrted it, an ye had naught to do but defend yerselves…”

With alarming speed, the pleasantness melts away, and an overall sinister mein shrouds his face.

“It’s what ye did with the flippered fella that concerns me.” He says darkly.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this scared of something so small before… except for that time with the mouse… and the cockroach in the baths… or when you accidentally summoned a pregnant tarantula… but this is certainly more prevalent than those other times at the moment!

“Elam, we was tryin te…” Patty begins to explain.

“Quiet you!” The newcomer barks, and Patty complies immediately. “This coulda all been avoided if’n ye had explained it proper! See, ye lot lettin that scaly gobshite run around giving wishes is what i’m on aboot. Leprechaun’s an other wish givin creatures don’t enjoy using our powers fer others. We have ta! There’s quotas ta meet, obligations what needs fillin, ye hear?”

Elam starts to pace along the shoreline, your eyes are riveted to him as you try and think of a way out of this. The small man still seems to be uncommonly angry as he pulls out a pipe and takes a few angry puffs. His face brightens again as he exhales.

“So! I’m the understandin sahrt. ye lot be off on a normal gather quest, an here be this mystical fishy offerin ye the stahrt of a grand adventure! The likes of what ye were spun tales of on yer Pater’s knee. Ye kinnae contain yerselves!” Elam once again changes his face faster than a play masque. “This be the real world, tho. An sure as a clover’s lucky there’s a line to tow! Ye lot dug into our quota, an now yer gonna help us make it up!” Elam gestures curtly with his pipe towards the two.

“Seamus, Patty! Ye two like fightin so much, ye get to show em where the giant birds is!” Elam’s tone brooks no argument, and the two leprechauns gulp nervously as they nod. “Ye lot are on a kill quest now. Take care of another problem oh’ mine and we’ll be square. Bring those two chowderheads back to their mum in one piece, an I’ll even have the boys finish yer gather quest to give ye incentive. An before ye go thinkin ye kin just leg it, pray consider what us magical Fae-folk kin do with a wee bit oh hair from yer head?” Elam looks menacingly at you and brandishes a gilded hair that is definitely yours.

“Or your chin or tail?” He looks from Horton to Mal and pauses when he gets to Lyrrica. “Does yer mother know the state of yer drawers lass? I’ be naught but three inches tall an I kinnae say there’s enough to cover me decent.” As he speaks he begins to draw a curly hair out before Lyrrica puts herself in between the party and the view.

“We get it!” Lyrrica fumes.

So here it is, an offer you can’t refuse from a group of diminutive men holding your underwear hostage. Should you try and negotiate? Do you dare negotiate? You could ply him for more information about what you're getting into. Or you could just accept and get back into your clothes.