The night air was alive with the sound of a crackling fire, the scratching of metal on paper, and the steady, light humming of a certain fox girl. She stood before the fire, using it’s light to scratch characters into a book using a rather fancy looking quill. Nine other books floated around her, her tails working in a fury to copy down more of the calligraphy. Ink wells floated around her as well, her tails dipping in whenever they needed to recharge the ink. Only one tail didn’t work. Her tenth tail. That one was never used to write with. It was special.

Sophia Quill cursed herself for her own sloth. She had neglected to write down more copies of her best selling book. It wasn’t her story, it was the tale of an overachieving paladin and the succubus who rescued him from a life of war and hardship. She had met them on her travels, and with their permission, had written their story into a book. She didn’t consider the tale her finest work, but the story was popular among the monster populace. It sold well enough.

Quill was a wandering scribe. She wrote down the stories and the histories of the interesting places she visited and the people she met. Her cart was full of parchment and books, most of them blank, waiting for her to scribe some tale or story into their pages. So scribe she did, hoping to sell enough to get her to the next town. She was never in one place for too long, the life of a wandering scholar could be lonely.