Mini Ettin

Mini Ettin perches on my shoulder, a compact twin-headed guardian carved from warm stone and mossy hide. Its two heads bob in unison, amber eyes blinking at the world with the wary gentleness of creatures who have heard a thousand rumors. The texture is a tactile map: rough, pebble-like plates run along its back, yielding to a softer, leather-slick underbelly, while pale lichens trail down the neck and catch the light in a slow green shimmer. Two tiny tusks peek when it yawns, and a plump chest rises and falls as if listening to a private conversation only it can hear. A small brass chain collar hangs at its neckline, sturdy enough to reassure, not so heavy that it tethers imagination. Lorekeepers insist these mini sentinels are carved from the same stubborn stone that forms the ettins of old—two minds pressed into one guardian, a myth made tangible in miniature. To hold one is to hold a fragment of that quarrelsome kinship, a reminder that even the mightiest hearts can seek a quiet companion. In practice, the Mini Ettin is a minipet—a small, noncombatant companion that sits on your shoulder, bobbing along as you move. It doesn’t add stats or bonuses, but it does add personality to journeys, with faint rumbles when you pause, and a playful jostle when you stride into a sunny plaza. Collectors prize it for the story it augments—the idea of two minds learning to wander together, bound to your character by a simple piece of crafted stone. Growing its collection is part of a broader quest to show the world who you are: patient, curious, and fond of small guardians with big legends. In the mercantile hum of the Saddlebag Exchange, the Mini Ettin sits among other curiosities, a testament to how far a tale can travel. A vendor’s stall bears a careful chalked price, and whispers float along the aisle as coins exchange hands—silver, copper, and the odd gleam of gold depending on color, condition, and those alluring two-mind vibes. Most days it sits within a comfortable silver-to-gold range, negotiable as travelers haggle about length of stay in a camp, though pristine variants or limited-era editions can swing higher. The talk is less about wealth and more about what it means to own a memory—this tiny two-headed sentinel that makes your companionship feel heavier and more certain, even as it sits perched on your shoulder and stares into the distance with those amber eyes. Sometimes, in the evening market glow, someone asks where you found it, and you tell them it found you, tucked in a satchel between maps and weathered coins. The answer feels like a small legend you can carry and trade, a companion that makes the road feel larger, not smaller, for a moment of quiet companionship.