《Empirical Gnollage》


 0001 - Starting the Story in a Tavern, as is Tradition

    <blockquote>


    Successful adventuring party retiring.


    Junior warrior member needs


    new open-minded adventuring party to join.


    Inquire at Notamimic Manor,


    Village of Goatminster


    NO MURDERHOBOS


    </blockquote>


    ...was written on the large notice stuck there amid the other requests on the board at the back of the Pickled Swine tavern. The expertly-penned calligraphy on the brilliant-white and neatly-trimmed sheet of parchment stood out amid the scattering of tattered scraps of paper. They all seemed to hold pleas for help with things like unusually-large rats, lost sheep, and ordinary misfortunes blamed on probably-imaginary evil forces.


    Bote Wissengr?ber, dwarvish devotee of Indicina - the god of plots and conspiracies and messenger of the other gods - stood before it, entranced. Their exhausted adventuring companions stepped up behind them, wondering what had distracted them from the immediate need for food and rest.


    "It is a sign," Bote mumbled to themself.


    "You always think everything''s a sign." said the gnomish Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer with a rather un-gnomishly flat tone as though she had been in this conversation before - which she had. She brushed back her long brown hair and looked up at Bote, daring them to deny it.


    "Not everything," Bote denied, "just most things. Look, this parchment is white, like the snow. It snowed in my dreams last night. We were ambushed by shadowy figures. Then, an avalanche came giggling and growling and swept our attackers away."


    "''Giggling''? Okay, this is a weird one, even for you," said Al, the human member of the group. He wore torn red-and-black wizard''s robes, incongruously draped over what appeared to be chainmail. He leaned forward to read the note.


    "What does that say? Oh, someone looking to join an adventuring group? Well, we already have a warrior, so..."


    Bote tore their gaze from the message and looked at Al. "Although I sometimes fight when the Ineffable Plans call for me to do so, and I protect my mortal body with armor, I wouldn''t call myself a ''warrior'', exactly."


    "What, there''s no ''Warrior Bote'' in there with ''Cryptic Oracle Bote''? Anyway, I meant me, and you know it! I didn''t spend that time in the army for nothing," retorted Al, patting the long lump in the section of robe over his left hip and thigh under which his mace hung.


    "Although I have many aspects, there is ever and always just the Bote to whom you are speaking," they answered with a relaxed grin.


    "Well, Al, since you refuse to just be the party wizard, that means I have to do it!" Wikwocket announced proudly. She leapt up to seemingly pull a copper coin from behind Al''s ear. She spun it hypnotically between the fingers of one hand, and then the other. Then, with a comically exaggerated wave, it disappeared.


    Al stared, unimpressed. "That was one of mine, wasn''t it."


    "You really need to watch your coinpurse more carefully. It''s hung right there at eye-level where I can reach it easily."


    Bote had gone back to staring at the message. "It is obvious that we are meant to see this."


    "That''s what these message boards are for, yes. Everyone''s supposed to see this. Ow..."


    Al had reached up to rub his forehead and inadvertently touched the cut across his brow.


    "The others don''t matter. We have been guided here. This is for us," Bote insisted.


    Wikwocket cut off Al before he could get the objection out.


    "You know, they say one of the best ways to improve one''s skills is to teach others. I''ll bet it''ll do you some good to show a junior warrior how things are done," she said.


    Al glared at her. "I know what you''re doing. You''re trying to trick me into going along with this using logic."


    "Obviously! Am I wrong?"


    Al glared a moment longer, then sighed, defeated.


    "No. Fine, we can go see what kind of fighter they''ve got and see if they''d be a good fit for our already balanced and complete party, and decide if they''re worth the treasure we''ll need to share with them. Not today, though, okay? I want some food and relaxation and a good night''s sleep first. I need to fix this stupid thing, too," he said, gesturing at his torn robes.


    Bote turned back from the notice board with a small satisfied smile. "Good, all is as it should be now," they said confidently, their attention apparently no longer on the strange thoughts in their own head. They scratched their neatly-trimmed beard thoughtfully and looked up at Al. "We should do something about that cut over your eye."


    "Yes. I know," said an exasperated Al, resisting the urge to reach up and rub it again. "We got a few coins off of those goblins, they should get us a comfortable set of beds and some decent food for the night. You guys hand over your share of the expenses and I''ll go talk to the innkeeper about that."


    "But you already have all of our money!" said Wikwocket, pointing to where his coinpurse hung hidden beneath his robes. Sure enough, now that his attention was drawn to it, it did feel heavier.


    "Okay, but...how?"


    Wikwocket''s hands waved again in what was clearly a mockery of real magical gestures. "My mastery of mighty magical mysteries!" She answered.


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    "And why am I suddenly the exchequer of the party, anyway?"


    "Because the two of us are just a humble servant or servants of the gods and an entertainer, but nobody would dare steal from our mystic warrior."


    Bote snorted in amusement, then quickly turned away to look outside through the tavern window, pretending they hadn''t heard.


    Al gave up with a dramatic sigh, hands and eyes raised and pleading for mercy from the heavens or perhaps whatever small gods might be manifest in the ceiling. Then, he strode back to the bar.


    The man behind the bar was a bald, portly, middle-aged fellow wearing a leather apron over common clothes and a beer-gut. He flashed a professional smile at Al as he approached.


    "What can I do for you? You interested in the quest-board? Requests have been piling up what with all the adventurer-types heading east to deal with those packs of demon-beasts that keep popping up to raid villages over there. Old lady Smitherine would really like some help with those rats."


    "Well, for a start my companions and I would like some food and rest."


    The innkeeper looked around the tavern. At one table, three rather drunk patrons were playing cards. Back in the most dimly-lit corner, there was that one brooding figure whose face couldn''t quite be seen within the hood of his cloak that so often seems to be skulking in these sorts of places. And, there was Bote and Wikwocket, who were casually reading over the other notices on the board. Besides that, it was just unoccupied tables.


    "Well, you''re in luck. Rate for a nice room with all the gruel you can stand to eat and all the small-ale you can stand to drink is one gold per person. Since we seem to be pretty empty today, you can even have your own rooms. Real drinks cost extra. Say, you should do something about that cut over your eye."


    "Yes, thank you, I will," said Al flatly, as he counted out three of the golden coins they''d looted...uh, confiscated...from the two reckless goblins that had attacked them on their journey to the town. The innkeeper hefted each one in a palm to estimate its weight, then examined the markings on them.


    "I''ve never seen this mint-mark before. Is that writing?" he asked, sticking one between his teeth to test how it bent.


    "Don''t know, " said Al, who also didn''t care at the moment. "Maybe that''s what goblin writing looks like."


    "Goblins minting their own coins now?"


    Al shrugged. "I hadn''t really thought about it before, but I don''t see why not. If you''ve got gold and want to do any kind of commerce, having a mint makes sense I guess."


    "You know, over the years I''ve seen coins come in from all over. You ever wonder why no matter how far away the coins come from, they all weigh the same?"


    "Not really. Honestly, right now I just want some food and rest. It''s been an exhausting day, and I feel like tomorrow''s going to be another one."


    The innkeeper shrugged and reached down to drop the coins into the slot on the locked coinbox behind the counter. He came back up with a stack of three cheaply-made wooden bowls and some relatively nice pewter spoons, the ends of their handles flattened by a stamp depicting an upside-down pig.


    "Make sure you leave them here when you''re done. They last a lot longer than the wooden ones and I''ve got a local artisan who cuts me a good deal on them, but they cost too much to give them away. Gruel''s in the pot over the fire, small-ale''s in the barrel next to it."


    The latter was a barrel with several cheaply-made wooden cups chained to it.


    "We''ll return them. Thanks."


    Al made one last, tired gesture of polite gratitude and headed to gruel-pot. A ladle hung from its side, and Al used it to fill the topmost bowl with the brownish-grey sludge from the pot. He noted that there did at least seem to be a few pieces of actual meat of some kind in it. Then he headed to where Bote and Wikwocket were now seated, at a table not far from the card-players. He handed them each one of the empty bowls and a spoon.


    "Alleged food''s over there, alleged drink''s over there. No limit except how much of it you can put up with." He lifted a spoonful of gruel to his mouth. "Food''s not as bad as it looks, so thank the ineffable divine forces for that much at least. Ow," he announced.


    The final exclamation had been prompted by Bote applying a wet piece of cloth to Al''s forehead. Al suppressed an urge to complain as Bote cleaned the shallow cut, then pressed a dry piece of cloth to it. "Thanks, Healer Bote."


    "Now don''t move while I hold this here for a few moments and you should be fine." Bote said, and nodded to Wikwocket. "Your turn, now that we have him sitting still."


    "So, we were looking at the notice board, and it looks like there are one or two that''d be good for us. There''s some sort of monster terrorizing the village of Henhaven just about a day''s walk from here, the village of Turnipseed is asking for someone to go lay some flowers on someone''s grave for them, there''s one complaining about bandits robbing people on the road, there are a number of vague complaints about goblins lately..."


    "Yeah, I think we should stay away from the goblins right now. That many complaints suggests there are far more of them around than the two crazy idiots that attacked us, certainly more than we''re prepared to deal with ourselves," interjected Al.


    "Exactly! And, if we''re traveling from village to village we might run into more of them, or those bandits. Bote and I were thinking we really ought to bring on either some dedicated muscle or find another weirdo fighting-mage like yourself to take some of the work off of you. Right? Or, I guess we could start here first, there''s someone complaining about big rats in her basement."


    "Look," Al said, again having to resist the habitual urge to rub his forehead, "I already said we could go see about that ''junior warrior'', and depending on what they''re like we can decide what to do then. After we get some rest and food, though, you don''t..."


    A drunken shout from the neighboring table interrupted him. "You''re cheating! I know you''re cheating! Gimme back my money you cheats!" A tall, skinny villager lunged up from his seat and sloppily drew a knife from his belt. His two companions leaned away, pulling their winnings towards themselves.


    "Gimme!" the violent drunk shouted.


    Irritation at the outburst crossed Wikwocket''s face and she slid quickly from her seat.


    "I''ll cut you both!" the drunk shouted, waving his knife erratically. Then he suddenly flailed awkwardly as a small person leapt onto his back. He froze as awareness of a cold metal edge pressing against his throat seeped through the drunkenness.


    "Do you know how long it''s been since I got to kill a man?" said Wikwocket with a shocking amount of menace. "You want to drop that knife, before my hand gets twitchy?"


    The hand holding the knife wavered, decisiveness sapped by drink. Then, the fingers loosened and the knife clattered to the floor. The man stood still, fear mixed with confusion running together across his face.


    "I''m hungry and you interrupted my dinner. Lucky for you, I''d rather eat than kill right now," Wikwocket growled. "Tell you what we can do. We can walk over to the door, and maybe I can let you leave and quit bothering me. Unless you don''t want to do that?"


    "N..no..."


    The man felt the cold metal edge press just a little harder.


    "I mean...Yes? I mean, I wanna go home..."


    "Then start walking."


    Trying very hard not to move his head, he carefully made his way across the tavern to the doorway.


    "Open it," Wikwocket commanded. The man obeyed. Wikwocket leapt away from the man, kicking against his back and shoving him out the door. She landed nimbly on her feet and closed the door in one smooth motion, then spun and bowed to the remaining occupants of the tavern. In her fingers, she expertly twirled what she''d pressed against the man''s neck.


    "Tavernkeeper, could I get another spoon? This one''s got greasy neck sweat on it."


    Al shook his head and looked back up at the ceiling.


    "Tomorrow isn''t going to be like this, too, is it?" Al rhetorically asked anyone up there that might be listening.

 0002 - Notamimic Manor

    The trio started the walk down the road to the village of Goatminster rested and refreshed. It was a fine, sunny morning. The rutted dirt path meandered along the edge of the oaken forest which gave the town of Silveroak half of its name, through a peaceful landscape of pastures and farm plots. Birdsong rang merrily through the air and gentle breezes brought the pleasant scent of an awakening early-spring forest to their nostrils. Wikwocket was smiling and occasionally whistling happily in imitation of the birds, laughing whenever they seemed to respond to her. Bote listened to them as well, concentrating, as though expecting to decipher some hidden meaning in the chirping and warbling.


    Even Al, who was still somewhat unhappy to be going off on what he felt was an unnecessary and probably wasted distraction, began to relax and enjoy the ambiance. After a couple of hours of strolling, they began to see farmhouses along the way.


    "How do we know which one is the one we''re looking for?" asked Wikwocket.


    "The innkeeper said to just stay on the main road, and it''d go right up to the gate. It''s a group of what sounds like very successful adventurers settled down among common farmers, I expect the property will stand out."


    This turned out to be true. A few minutes later they reached a fence made of wrought iron bars with a large two-part iron gate running right across the road, blocking the entrance. Some distance beyond it, they could see a fine country manor suitable for at least minor nobility, with several smaller buildings gathered around it and a stone tower. There seemed to be a small coach-house and stables, a modest temple of some sort, and part of a field that seemed to have crude wood-and-straw imitations of various creatures scattered around it.


    Seeing the gate, Wikwocket ran ahead of the others to get a closer look at them before anyone tried to open it. "Oh! Let me take a look! You learn a few things when you spend your youth sneaking into places you''re not supposed to be!"


    "Looks like it''s locked," she said after a short examination, being careful to keep her fingers away. She slid some thin metal tools out from a sleeve and prodded the lock with them. "Do you think they might have any nasty traps set up?"


    "No." answered Bote. Al and Wikwocket turned to look at them.


    "How do you know that? Is there a Traps-Expert Bote with us today?" Al asked.


    "You really should make a better study of philosophy someday. As I said before, there is always and ever only the Bote to whom you are speaking. In answer to your question, though, I don''t truly know for certain," Bote replied, enjoying the banter, "but we were explicitly invited by the notice. The owners might want to discourage casual trespassing but it doesn''t make sense for them to try to harm us for answering their invitation."


    "They''re right, though," added Wikwocket, "at least, I don''t see any sign of traps."


    Al stepped up to the gate and pushed, testing it. It didn''t move, but something just beyond it did.


    There was a flash of bright crimson light and a deep bone-shaking hum from what appeared to be a previously-hidden magic circle, wide enough to cover the entire width of the road beyond the gate. With a horrifying sound as though the earth itself was vomiting something up, a giant mass of writhing tentacles was extruded to the surface. About half of them seemed to be tipped with either an eye or a mouth, each one different from the others. The tentacles squirmed around each other such that it was impossible to tell if there was any body that they were attached to. The continual motion of the tentacular mass was accompanied by a sound like someone kneading a giant tub of entrails. A majority of the eye-tipped tentacles twisted to look at Al.


    All three of the adventurers leapt back away from the gate, and Al flipped the left side of his robe aside to grab his mace, for all the good it might do him if they were attacked.


    The mouths opened, and voices spoke.


    "THIS IS NOT A PLACE FOR AVARICE OR MALICE. WHY HAVE YOU COME TO NOTAMIMIC MANOR?" the voices said, mostly in harmony. Al was sure he heard one of them whispering something about devouring their souls instead.


    "Uh, we saw a notice at the Pickled Swine and we''ve come...," Al began, but the gate had made a click sound and swung slightly open as he said "Pickled Swine". The monstrosity on the other side of the gate seemed not to notice.


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    "THIS WILL BE YOUR ONLY WARNING. IF YOU HAVE COME WITH INTENTION OF VIOLENCE OR THEFT, BEGONE! OR YOUR FATE WILL BE IRREVOCABLE AND UNPLEASANT!" most of the voices said, aside from one quiet voice that seemed to be eagerly whispering about rending of flesh and something it wanted to do with eyeballs.


    To the shock of Wikwocket and Bote, Al was already pulling the gate open and walking towards the thing, as the magic circle flashed again and the writhing mass was pulled down into the earth. By the time Al reached where it had been, nothing visible remained besides the road itself.


    "Close the gate behind you" Al said to the others as they more cautiously approached. Bote did so.


    "Are you crazy?" Wikwocket asked, staring up at Al''s face with concern. "I''m the professional thrill-seeker here, and even I didn''t want to get near that thing! If it hadn''t been sent back where it came from before you got to it, who knows what sort of horrible thing it would have done with you when you got close!"


    "Nothing," said Al, slightly smugly. "Illusion. Didn''t you notice that it kept staring at the gate even after we jumped back away from it? Still, whoever crafted that little show has seen some truly horrifying things to have conjured up an image like that. Come on, let''s get this over with. I still say this is a waste of time, but I have to admit I''m kind of curious to meet whoever made that greeting."


    "Spoken like a true wizard! Guess I''m out of a job now!" teased Wikwocket.


    "Just because I know some wizardry doesn''t mean I''m not a warrior." huffed Al, as they made their way up the path to the front door of the manor. It was a fine, large oak door, bound in iron. It was tall enough to admit one adult human riding on another adult human''s shoulders, and wide enough for three of them to walk in side by side. Trellises running up the walls on either side of the door were covered with healthy ornamental vines.


    Wikwocket drew her rapier, jabbed lightly at the door, and jumped back.


    "What are you doing?"


    "Just testing. I mean, ''Notamimic''? What if it really is a giant mimic, maybe they lure travelers here to feed to it." she replied, watching the door to make sure it didn''t twitch. Then she stepped to the side to repeat the process with the vines.


    "I don''t think real mimics actually get this big." Al said. "As much as people seem to love talking about them, they''re really not that common. I think we''d have heard stories about them if anyone ever found house-sized ones."


    "Or maybe the ones that do get that big eat anyone who finds out about them." She slid her rapier back into its sheath and slowly reached a hand out towards the vines. When they didn''t react, she quickly plucked a leaf and yanked her hand back.


    The vines did not seize and devour her, so she relaxed and examined the leaf, twisting and pulling it. Then with a growing mischievous grin, she eyed the trellis the vines grew on.


    "I think I should check the place out. You know, see what kind of dark secrets they might be hiding from us." she said, tugging at the trellis to see how strong it was.


    "Absolutely not" said Al, "these sound like very experienced and powerful people, I think they might be ... upset ... if they discover someone who could be a burglar or assassin in their house."


    "Come on, I''ll be fine, you know I can be sneaky when I want to. Besides, I came on this journey for some adventure, and I don''t think just knocking at the front door and being invited in is all that adventurous. It''s not like I''m going to take anything or hurt anyone, I''m just going to look around a little and then come back out. You guys knock on the door and when they come to meet you, I''ll find a way in while their attention is on you. Tell them I had to do something and I''ll be along later. After I look around a little I''ll come back out and knock on the front door."


    "Wikwocket, no, seriously, this is way too dangerous. Help me out here, Bote, tell her how dangerous this is."


    Bote looked in Wikwocket''s direction, eyes distant as they tried to see some sign of what was to come. Then they sighed, and turned to focus on Al. "The signs are unclear to me. Could be good, could be bad. Now, rationally, I think you are correct, but I also think we both know that we can''t really stop her if she is determined."


    "Thanks for the help." said Al with obvious sarcasm.


    "The innkeeper seemed to think the folks here were just and decent people. I think as long as she''s not stealing or damaging anything or threatening anyone, the worst that will happen if she is caught is that we''ll be sent away without meeting this junior warrior of theirs. I think this would be unfortunate, but I don''t think they''d do any harm to us."


    "Oh, yes, that''s a good point. It would be such a shame if that happened." Al mused sarcastically. "Okay, go ahead then. But, really, be careful, and don''t do anything else that might antagonize the people here."


    Wikwocket was already halfway up the trellis, nimbly ascending. She waved down merrily, and climbed the rest of the way to the roof, to the apparent notice of nobody but her adventuring companions and a lone magpie lounging in the sun at the top of the trellis. Indignant, it hopped up the roof away from her making angry magpie noises. Wikwocket gave Al and Bote one more wave before moving away from the roof''s edge, and looked around to see what she had to work with. Aside from the magpie, now watching her with curious interest, and herself, all that was atop the roof were chimneys. At one end of the building, smoke poured from one, a faint scent of cooking meat suggesting it came from the kitchen. At the other end, a small dormant chimney, probably attached to a fireplace used for supplemental heat for whatever rooms were at that end. It was too small to fit down. And in the middle - perfect. A large chimney, probably for the central fire to heat the building. No smoke was rising from it - it was such a nice day they presumably hadn''t needed a fire that morning.


    She crawled quietly across the rooftop to huddle next to the chimney, her motion startling the magpie again.


    "EK-EK-EK-EK-EK!" it croaked accusingly at her.


    "EK-EK-EK-EK-EK yourself!" Wikwocket repeated back in a passable imitation of the bird-call. "I''m just going to look around a little, relax!", she added, more quietly.


    "EK-EK-EK-EK-EK!" the magpie repeated. It leapt into the air and flapped away.


    Wikwocket reached up her left sleeve for the hook and the rather expensive lightweight rope it was attached to, and waited.

 0003 - Whats Inside?

    There was no knocker attached to the door, so Al applied his knuckles smartly to it. They made a very small sound against the very large door. Al frowned and tried again harder, making a slightly less small sound. Al was wondering if he should try using his mace to knock when there was the sound of a latch being lifted from the other side of the door, and it swung open slowly. The woman who pulled it open was tall for an elf, with long slightly greenish flaxen hair and emerald-colored eyes. She wore tall leather boots and breeches and a simple white tabard with the symbol of Custodella, goddess of mercy and defender of the oppressed, embroidered on it in black thread. A long sword was sheathed and hanging from her belt.


    She examined the two visitors at her door, then looked out past them.


    "I don''t see a cart full of provisions," she said, "so I assume you''re not here with the weekly delivery."


    "Uh, no. I''m Al, this is Bote, we saw the notice on the board at the Pickled Swine, and my companions insisted that we could benefit from having an additional warrior with us on our upcoming travels, and here we are."


    "Companions?" she looked at Bote. "How many of you are there behind that beard?" she asked with a hint of amusement.


    "I can be many, but at the same time, as I keep trying to explain to Al here, there is ever and only the Bote to whom you are speaking." answered Bote, pointing to his eye, nose, ear, then mouth in the usual manner of a devotee of Indicina. "However, there is a third member of our group. She had to do something but she will be along later. She said she would knock when she got here."


    "I see."


    The elvish woman bowed slightly, cupping her hands together before her in the manner of her own order. "I am Malagriel, paladin of Custodella. So, you, Bote, are the representative of the divine and you", she turned to Al, "are the wizard. I gather we''re waiting for your current warrior?" She squinted slightly as she said this - Al wasn''t sure if she was teasing him purposefully or not.


    "I am our current warrior. I was in the army, you know. I mean, yes, I know some wizardry, it was helpful for a variety of military tasks. I''ve got armor and everything I just wear the robes because..." He stopped himself from rambling any further. My mom made me wear them wasn''t really something he wanted to say out loud. "Well, it''s kind of expected, I guess. Anyway, Wikwocket is our expert in performance, subtlety, and discretion."


    "Ah, your thief."


    "I think that''s unfair, I don''t think she''s ever actually stolen anything from its rightful owner."


    "''Rogue'', then. We made do without someone dedicated to the role in our own endeavors but I must admit we occasionally regretted it. Well, do come in, we can talk in the parlor while we wait for your associate to arrive."


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    <hr>


    From her perch in the shadow of the chimney, Wikwocket couldn''t clearly hear what was said, but she could tell when the conversation moved inside and heard the door thump shut. Grinning, she stepped up onto the chimney and set the hook at the end of her rope over the lip of it. She tugged a few times to make sure it would hold, then she began lowering herself carefully down it. She found herself dangling over a large fireplace. She hung upside down to look out into the room it was attached to. None of the candles were lit, but the curtained windows let in enough sunlight to see that it was large, and seemed to be dedicated to display of the owners'' collection of adventuring souvenirs.


    One wall appeared to be covered with wide variety of weaponry, interspersed with propped up pieces of armor. Tapestries, paintings, and small sculptures from wildly different origins were scattered about. A large bookshelf took up much of a wall and had codices, scrolls, and a few stacks of loose documents along with a few slabs of engraved stone or clay. There was even a corner inhabited by the skins, furs, hides, reconstructed skeletons, and whole taxidermized bodies of strange, dangerous-looking creatures.


    Wikwocket lowered herself further, then swung until she could leap out to the edge of the hearth, avoiding the ashes in the fireplace. She landed almost silently, and froze, listening carefully for any reaction. Hearing none, she relaxed, and quietly made her way around the room examining its contents. Many of the objects had small squares of parchment with them, occasionally clearly indicating where they came from, others bearing cryptic comments apparently referring to some inside joke shared by its owners.


    Unfortunately for Wikwocket, she was too engrossed in a display of sparkling exotic jewelry to notice the dim daylight from the windows reflecting amber from a pair of staring eyes belonging to what she had assumed was a large, mangy taxidermy specimen. It rose slowly, then stalked forward with the quiet swiftness of an experienced predator. The slight motion of the air alerted her too late.


    As she turned to face the sudden danger, one limb shot out and grasped her by the head, short claws digging into the skin around her scalp. The creature pulled her in close, and her small gnomish body was unable to put up any resistance to its strength.


    With the unpleasant clarity of someone facing imminent death, she considered her options - go for her rapier, and hope she might get a stab or two in before the thing ripped her apart? Play dead and hope it let go of her long enough to make a run for it before it devoured her? Yell for help and hope it would arrive in time?


    The creature''s muzzle stretched into a feral grin, showing rows of jagged bone-crushing, flesh-rending teeth, just inches from her face.


    The creature''s other gnarled hand came up, raising one stubby-clawed finger between her and its jaws.


    "Shhhhhhhhh."

 0004 - Dramatic Victim of the Creatures Jaws

    Malagriel ushered Al and Bote inside, then pushed the front door closed again.


    The parlor turned out to be a moderately large square room, undecorated aside from a large four-part candelabra in the center - each candle engulfed entirely in a flame large enough to come from a full-sized torch, though their wicks remained unburned. No smoke rose from them, nor was the wax melting, but they lit the room well. There was also a collection of comfortably padded chairs and couches scattered haphazardly about the room. Each wall had a single door, including the one they entered through.


    "Please make yourselves comfortable, the others will want to meet you as well." Malagriel said, waving towards the array of furniture. Bote chose an armchair near the flames, which they proceeded to stare into. Al settled onto a comfortable-looking couch.


    Malagriel nodded to them. "I''ll be right back." Then she left through the opposite door, closing it quietly behind her.


    As soon as the door had shut, Al leapt back to his feet. Looking slightly embarrassed, he traced mystic symbols in the air with his fingers, muttering a short incantation. Then, he walked quickly around the room, giving every feature a close look.


    "I''m a little surprised", he said, "it doesn''t appear there are any wards on the doors, no dormant or active magical influences. Nothing at all aside from their fancy lighting." He looked again at the candles, engulfed in their unnatural flames. "I think I''ve read about this. It''s still a little over my head, but it''s a well-documented spell. It''s a bit expensive though, there''s an alchemical effect involved and the cost of the ingredients for all four of these would probably keep someone fed and out of the weather for a year."


    "That''s good, if there are no supernatural influences observing us, that means they are also not watching you snoop around their parlor either. Well, not magically, anyway." Bote replied, still staring meditatively at the flickering flames.


    "Ah. Yes. Well, I wouldn''t think they''d be offended if their guests admired the room they''d been invited to, right?" Al quickly went back to his couch and sat back down. He fidgeted.


    "So...what kind of person do you think this ''junior warrior'' might be?", he finally asked.


    "The future still has secrets. We can assume that a paladin of Custodella would not associate with anyone who is greedy or cruel, I think." Bote answered, turning away from the flames to face Al.


    "Why would they need us to be ''open-minded'' then?"


    "Perhaps they have some sort of unfortunate ancestry. Grandfather was an orc, or even demonic, that sort of thing?"


    "I don''t know, that''s a lot more common than you''d think. I fought alongside a Sergeant Prudence in the army...well, okay, I sharpened swords for her. She was like that, though, she had the whole horns-and-tail thing, but she was just another soldier really, other than always ending up on night-watch duty because of her eyesight." Al scratched his chin, thinking. "Hmmm, they wouldn''t perhaps be some sort of undead thing, would they? I don''t know of any way any decent person could forcibly drag the spirits of the dead back to walk the living world, but the unfortunate soul victimized that way doesn''t themself need to be malicious from what I''ve read."


    "Custodella and her followers consider the undead to be victims of a sort of curse or disease to be cured. I don''t think they''d be adventuring with the undead, and certainly not sending them out into the world on their own."


    They continued speculating for a while, but had to finally admit they had no way to guess.


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    "Maybe they''re just ugly." considered Al.


    Their conversation was interrupted by a single startling loud thump as if from a battering ram, from the door they''d come in through. Its latch lifted itself, and the door was pushed open. Through the opening squeezed a thin, frail-looking, middle-aged woman, human to all appearances. She had long greying blonde hair and blue eyes, and she wore expensive-looking gold-colored wizard''s robes, trimmed in blue. A matching traditional wide-brimmed pointed hat was on her head. Atop the hat, a magpie was perched. With obvious effort, she pushed the door closed again.


    "Codex told me we had a guest." she said. Her voice was quiet and delicate, but confident. She looked Al and Bote over, then took off her hat. She held it in front of her so that her eyes were level with the magpie perched atop it. "A guest?" she asked it. It chirped and warbled at her in response.


    "I see." she said, and replaced the hat on her head, giving Al and Bote a suspicious look. The bird hopped slightly to remain facing forward. "I''m Melissa. And you are?..."


    Al stood and gave a small, polite bow. "I''m Al, this is Bote. We''re here to ask about your notice at the Pickled Swine. Say, was that your illusion at the gate?"


    Melissa''s face brightened. "Yes, it is. Did you like it?"


    "It was horrifying," Al answered approvingly. "Someone you know?"


    "An associate of a curious little old wizard I''m acquainted with. I don''t know the precise nature of his arrangement with the demon, but I expect it''s something dangerous. You know how foolhardy gnomish folk can be."


    "Uh...heh heh...yeah." Al laughed nervously.


    He was saved just then by the reopening of the door Malagriel had left through. The man who entered through it looked more like a farmer than an adventurer. He might charitably have been described as "stout" - or uncharitably as "pudgy." He was short by human standards, and wore a one-piece garment of thick, plain cloth that covered his legs and body, reinforced at the knees with sewn-on patches of leather. This was worn over a plain shirt that was similarly patched at the elbows. His calloused right hand held a simple shepherd''s crook. His gentle smile and soft brown eyes suggested a man living a contented life. He took off the straw hat he was wearing, revealing brown hair with a bald patch on top. Malagriel followed him in and introduced him.


    "This is Bob, devoted servant of Pecus" she said. The god of herds and flocks was popular among rural folks for obvious reasons. "Ah, Melissa, I see you''re already here. I''ve informed Grakthor, so he should be along as well shortly. Your companion hasn''t arrived yet?"


    "Uh, no, no, not yet, but she won''t be far behind us." Al replied, suppressing his nervousness.


    "I''m sure we''ll be meeting her very soon." agreed Melissa. Al was beginning to sweat a bit.


    "I hope so, " replied Malagriel, "I''ve asked the cook to get an early supper prepared. We should have our junior member meet his prospective new party and discuss matters over a meal."


    "I hope you like cheese," Bob chimed in, "we get quite a lot of it from our goats and sheep."


    Then, one of the side doors opened, and a large fellow marched solemnly in. For just an instant, Al was both hopeful and envious, as the newcomer had the look of a natural warrior. He was very muscular, with greyish skin and visible tusks indicating orcish ancestry. Al could understand why the notice called for open-mindedness, orcish culture and people weren''t well-regarded, in general. This newcomer looked like someone who would be very capable in battle, but therefore someone who would likely outshine Al there. He wore rough leather boots and dark-grey pantaloons and a shirt made of a coarse, tough-looking cloth. He held the end of a rope in his right hand as he proceeded into the room.


    "Ah, Grakthor, these..." Malagriel began, but stopped suddenly, looking at whatever was beyond the door. Her face fell, and Al heard her quietly say: "Oh, no." Bob was also looking, eyes wide. He clamped his hand firmly over his mouth. Staring straight ahead, Grakthor continued into the room and Al froze as he saw what was at the other end of the rope.


    It was some sort of large, bestial thing on all fours. The other end of the rope was tucked into its collar. Its appearance stirred some memories of something Al had once read about, but he was unable to consider or examine any further than this as his attention was fully fixed on the thing''s jaws.


    The jaws which carried the limp body of Wikwocket by the back of her neck.

 0005 - The Helpless Gnomish Maiden

    Despite the shock and horror, Al reflexively flipped back the corner of his wizard''s robe and had the mace ready by the time his consciousness was considering what to do. She might still be alive, he thought, but she might not stay that way if things get any more violent.


    "Let her...! If you..!" Al shouted, sputtering.


    Wikwocket''s body twitched, and a small, strangled noise escaped from her lips.


    She might still be saved!


    Al spared a quick glance at the others in the room. Malagriel had lowered her face into her hands. Bob was still staring with his hand clamped over his mouth. Bote had taken a step forward and leaned in, watching the creature closely. Grakthor stood straight as though at attention, though Al thought he saw Grakthor''s eyes turn in his direction. Finally, risking a swift look back behind himself revealed Melissa had just the slightest expression of what seemed, oddly, to be pleasant surprise. Then Al''s attention was back on the creature and its handler.


    "Make it put her down!" Al demanded, "I swear if you''ve harmed her I''ll make you pay!"


    He wasn''t sure how he would make them pay if they refused, but there wasn''t time to think about it.


    The creature''s head immediately turned and its eyes met Al''s gaze directly, with more awareness than any dumb beast should have. It lowered its head slightly and set Wikwocket''s limp body on the floor, not breaking eye contact but baring its teeth in challenge. It''s jaws opened.


    And then it spoke.


    "My...dear...fellow..." the deep, slightly growling voice began, enunciating slowly as each syllable seemed to crawl up from deep inside the creature''s throat. Its brow furrowed as though choosing the words to recite was a substantial effort of concentration. "There is no need...for this...hostility. We are...merely...performing...for...entertainment," it finished.


    The strangled sound came from Wikwocket again and finally burst out as her body convulsed...with laughter. Her pretend-murderer rose up on its hind legs with an animalistic barking noise that might have also been laughter. Wikwocket rolled nimbly to her feet, still laughing, and held one closed fist up towards the beast, who stared at it for several seconds. It''s barking tapered off. Then, realizing what was expected of it, it tentatively reached out with its own large fist, bumping hers.


    Bob''s facial expression hadn''t changed a bit and his hand was still clamped over his mouth, but a snort of amusement escaped from his nose.


    "Gruntle," came the exasperated, muffled voice of Malagriel from behind her hands where her face was hidden, "you are embarrassing us. And furthermore, if this fellow had rained magical retribution down upon you, you''d have deserved it."


    "Sorry, Pa." the beast replied gruffly, but without obvious regret. It tugged the rope out from under its collar and handed the end back to Grakthor, who took it and coiled it up without looking. He turned his attention instead to Al, who was still standing with his mace held at the ready despite his growing uncertainty. Grakthor evaluated for a moment and then smiled slightly, giving a small nod of approval. Al frowned in confusion but slowly relaxed.


    "This is worse than the time we got to the tavern right when she started that impromptu performance of the death scene from The Poisoner''s Apprentice for the other customers." Bote observed.


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    "You mean better," retorted Wikwocket. "You have to admit that was convincing, right? This time I had a real, live, ravenous beast who brutally slaughtered a helpless gnomish maiden!" As she said the last of this, she pressed one hand to her heart, and the back of the other to her forehead, then with ridiculous exaggeration she "fainted" against a nearby chair.


    Al snorted in annoyance. "...''helpless maiden''...," he muttered. He hung the mace back under his robes again, feeling a bit abused.


    "Ek-ek-ek-ek-ek!" interjected Codex the magpie from atop Melissa''s hat.


    "Yes, I had guessed that." Melissa answered.


    Malagriel lifted her face from her hands, took a deep breath, and attempted to regain control of the situation.


    "This is turning into a far less formal introduction than I''d intended." she said. "As I was saying - this is Grakthor, our warrior. And the unrepentant gnomish-maiden-murderer here has, until recently, been our party mascot. We''ve named him Gruntle."


    Now that the drama was over, Al was able to spend a few moments examining the bestial, inhuman thing. It...he...rested in a relaxed crouch that resembled the posture of a man attempting to sit like a dog. Even in that posture, he stood nearly as tall as Grakthor, who himself was taller than anyone else in the room. Most of his body was covered with very short mottled hair or fur - sand-colored with dirt-brown spots. A strip of denser fur stood up from the top of his head and tapered down the middle of his back. The thin fur around his long, thick muzzle and eyes was blackened, giving the impression that someone had thrown soot in his face. Gruntle''s legs and short tail resembled something doglike. His arms were shaped almost like a human''s, though they seemed misproportioned. They looked longer than they should be and ended in thick hands, each finger tipped with a rough, stubby claw. The arms hung from shoulders that were more humanoid than animal, in contrast to his canine head and hindquarters. On the head were wide, upright, leaf-shaped ears that twitched and turned to catch sound, and heavily muscled jaws with a set of wide, sharp, jagged teeth. They didn''t look quite as sharp as something like a cat might have nor were the fangs quite so prominent, but it seemed like they would easily tear flesh from bone, and then crush the bone. Close-set amber eyes watched the world from over his snout.


    He wore only a belt with a rough leather flap serving as a "loincloth" - stained but not apparently soiled, thankfully, and a simple buckled leather collar around his neck. Taken altogether, he gave the impression of some predatory or scavenging animal that had been warped, enlarged, and twisted by horrible demonic forces into a mockery of humanlike shape. It reminded Al of something he''d read about once.


    "You may not be familiar with his kind," Melissa spoke up from behind Al, "as they do not normally have nonviolent interaction with other than their own kind, and don''t normally stay around in one place very long. His kind are called..."


    "That''s a gnoll!" exclaimed Al, finally remembering the set of illustrated scrolls he''d found in his parents'' library, which had included some description of them. "An actual, demonic, vicious, murderous, man-eating gnoll! Like the ones that keep rampaging out east! You made that your party mascot?"


    "That''s right," Melissa answered, and then with a note of triumph added: "Successfully! He''s quite remarkable, actually, and this has been a very productive experiment the results of which I am eager to publish."


    Al looked, slack-jawed, from Melissa to Gruntle - who seemed to have gotten into a staring contest with Bote - then back to Melissa again.


    "It shouldn''t even be possible to tame a gnoll...should it?" he asked.


    "Well, ''tame'' is not really accurate," began Melissa, but was interrupted by a distant rhythmic sound of metal-banging against metal.


    "Finally," muttered Malagriel. "Supper is prepared, why don''t we move this discussion to the dining room."


    Gruntle immediately lost the staring contest, rising back to his full height and loping eagerly to the last door, pulling it open and rushing through. Grakthor chuckled, and gestured for the guests to follow.


    He patted Al briefly on the shoulder as Al went by.


    "Better reflexes than most wizards." he nodded. Then he followed Al as everyone went through the door to the dining room.

 0006 - Brunchtime with the Beast

    The dining room was smaller and more intimate than the parlor, but still had plenty of room for them all to gather around the long feastworthy table at its center. Above it, a crystal chandelier hung, with three more of the magical flame-engulfed candles providing light that sparkled along the walls. Individual bench-style chairs were arrayed along both sides of the table, though Gruntle had pushed one aside to squat down directly on the floor at the nearest corner, which still left him looming somewhat over the dishes set out for him to use.


    A row of platters holding cheeses, cuts of meat, a loaf of bread, and a pot of some sort of sauce ran lengthwise down the middle of the table, and at the far end, a selection of cups surrounded a cask of wine. Bob, Malagriel, Grakthor, and Melissa had seated themselves on Gruntle''s side of the table opposite Al, Bote, and Wikwocket. Al had placed himself across from Melissa, in order to better continue his conversation with her and not, surely, to be as far from the gnoll as possible.


    "...and with toothy death staring me in the face, making any sudden movements seemed like a bad idea," Wikwocket was cheerfully explaining, with appropriately dramatic gestures, "so the only thing left to do was to try to communicate, but in the moment I didn''t know what to say so I just blurted out, ''Do you have anything to eat around here?''"


    There was polite laughter in response from everyone present, except for Bob, who laughed rather more enthusiastically, and Al, who just gave a wry, pained smile. Even Gruntle chuckled, if that''s what the series of grunting-huffing noises were.


    "Of all the responses I might have anticipated, ''cheese'' was not one of them. Gruntle''s not the most articulate guy but we had a nice chat, and he said he needed to take me to see the ''the party'', and I thought it''d be fun to make a dramatic entrance. Carrying me in like something he''d hunted down was his idea. Oh, Al, could you fix the back of my collar later? It''s got some holes in it now." Wikwocket finished.


    "He really came up with that himself?" Melissa interjected, smiling slightly and eyes wide in surprise. "I shall have to add a few more observations to my treatise then."


    "Our boy''s growin'' up." Grakthor added, perhaps a little wistfully.


    "Well, you are either quite smart, have good instincts, or are just very lucky. Gruntle is amazingly civilized in comparison with a typical gnoll, but he is quite brutal if provoked." Malagriel said.


    "I like the sound of ''quite smart'', let''s assume that!" Wikwocket replied.


    "As you prefer. However, our shared meal will be cold if we don''t start soon. Bob, would you like to say a prayer over the food?"


    "A wonderful idea!" Bob agreed. "Let''s see if divinity will smile upon this gathering, shall we?"


    <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none" title="The DM is cheating a little here for flavor. *Technically* Bob should


    be using some sort of re-usable consecrated objects ''worth at least 25gp'' to cast Augury. It''s good cheese, but not *that* good.  Maybe it''s cheese made with holy-water or something. More officially-acceptable but similar consumable substitutes might be reading the entrails of an expensive sacrificial animal or reading exotic, expensive tea-leaves.">Bote watched attentively as Bob placed his right hand on the shepherd''s crook he''d leaned against the table next to his seat, and placed his other hand over his heart. He closed his eyes and quietly murmured a long prayer, asking the god of herds and flocks if they would look favorably upon this meeting. The prayer ended abruptly in a moment of silence, and then Bob''s eyes popped open and he suddenly reached out to grab a handful of cubed pieces of cheese from a platter, and rolled them onto his plate in front of him like a gambler rolling dice. He stared at them for several seconds, and then his smile grew wider.


    "Our gathering is blessed, divinity approves! Let''s eat!"


    Malagriel''s polite but stern facial expression softened, and she smiled. Al noted that she seemed to relax. Had she been worried the gods would disapprove of them eating food?


    Wikwocket had no such worries, she was already piling chunks of cheese onto her plate.


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    Bote leaned forward to pull a piece of bread off of a nearby loaf. "You ask the gods for approval rather than simply calling for a blessing?" they asked Bob.


    "It may not be usual among those of us called so directly to the service of the divine, having been granted divine authority to command certain things, but I think the gods like it when we still take their opinions into consideration before acting."


    "You are a wise man. There are many mysteries that the divine may reveal to those who are receptive," Bote concluded.


    "Wikwocket, " Malagriel began to ask, "would you..."


    "Hey, Gruntle, catch!" Wikwocket called, tossing a piece of cheese at Gruntle''s face, threatening Al with a heart-attack. Gruntle caught it with a flick of his head and snap of his jaws.


    "Thanks, Wikwocket." he recited, slowly.


    "Yes, well, never mind." said Malagriel, "Bote, would you mind passing some bread down to Gruntle?"


    "Certainly."


    "It''s not necessary to throw it," she hastily added, as Bote reached to tear another large piece off of the loaf. They leaned forward, holding it out, and Gruntle''s long arm reached across the table to take it. The whole piece was stuffed into Gruntle''s mouth and swallowed with little chewing.


    "Thanks, Bote.", he recited again. It sounded almost ritualistic to Al. He recognized the pattern as all eyes turned towards him. He watched the gnoll nervously.


    "Al," asked Malagriel, "all of the wine is at your end of the table, Would you please pour out a glass for Gruntle?"


    "Yes. Yes, of course." Al said. He selected the largest of the cups and poured wine from the cask into it. He held the cup out to his left towards Bote. "Bote, would you pass this on to..."


    Malagriel cleared her throat loudly.


    "Al," she said, looking him in the eyes. "Could you hand that to Gruntle, please?"


    Ah, thought Al. It''s a test. They want to make sure we''re brave enough adventurers for their warrior to join us. He considered pretending to panic in hope of disqualifying themselves and ending this whole uncomfortable encounter, but Bote and Wikwocket were watching him. He knew they were counting on him not to hurt their reputations. Al had also become curious about a few things and in spite of himself wanted to know more.


    "Oh, yes, I understand," he said. He stood from his seat and, concentrating on maintaining even breath and a politely-bored facial expression, he deliberately walked around the end of the table until he was standing right next to Gruntle. From that close, he could even smell the gnoll''s strange scent - like mulched grass, blended with hints of "wet dog" and sulfur, but faint enough to not be terribly unpleasant. He held the cup out and forced a smile.


    "Cheers, Gruntle." Al said.


    Gruntle accepted the cup, and at that moment Al felt a tension in the air that he hadn''t previously noticed seemed to fade away. He tried to keep his incredulity from showing as he watched Gruntle clumsily swirl the wine in the cup, then stick his muzzle into it to sniff at it. Finally, Gruntle''s tongue lapped, just once, at the wine. He licked at his muzzle a few times as if carefully considering the flavor.


    "I like the red kind," he finally said. Then he recited again. "Thanks, Al."


    "You''re...welcome, Gruntle," Al replied, feeling confused. He stood for a moment longer, then made his way back to his seat.


    "Well, that''s the ritual portion of the meal completed." Malagriel announced. "Please, eat."


    "So, does that mean we passed?" Al asked.


    Bob laughed. "We wouldn''t have asked you to share food with Gruntle if you hadn''t," he chuckled.


    "We met your approval before that? Then what was all the food-passing about?"


    "That," Melissa explained, "makes you honorary members of Gruntle''s clan."


    "That''s all it takes?" Al asked.


    "Kind of a trick." Gruntle answered. "If you share food, feels like you''re clan. Outsiders and clan wouldn''t share food."


    "Wait...you know it''s a psychological trick?"


    The gnoll gave a short grunt of affirmation.


    "And it still works?"


    Grunt.


    "Does that bother you at all?"


    "Nah. Food is good. And bigger clan is stronger clan." Gruntle suddenly turned his head to catch a piece of flying meat that Wikwocket had tossed. He squinted at her as he chewed, then picked up a piece of cheese and tossed it at her face.


    Malagriel lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sight of their antics, and gave a long-suffering sigh. "As long as they don''t get it all over the walls and floor..." she muttered.


    Al shook his head. "Before today, I was certain that all gnolls, without exception, were inherently creatures of demonic violence." he said to Melissa.


    "Oh, they are. Even Gruntle." she replied.


    "He''s okay though." Grakthor added. "Taught him how to aim it properly."


    "You seem pretty fond of him." Al said to Grakthor. "Are you going to be okay with leaving him behind if you join us?"


    Grakthor cocked his head to the side quizzically. "I ain''t joinin'' you."


    "But...we passed your tests, right? And you need to join a party?"


    "Oh dear." Melissa giggled. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. Grakthor is our senior warrior."


    "I''m retired." Grakthor added.


    "Then who..."


    And then realization dawned. Al looked in horror towards the gnoll exchanging volleys of foodstuff with Wikwocket.


    "ABSOLUTELY N..." he said, his utterance interrupted by a hunk of cheese smacking against the side of his head. He turned to see Wikwocket giving him the fiercest, sternest look he''d ever seen on her. As he watched, her face expertly transformed itself into a soft, pleading expression. Her lower lip even trembled slightly.


    "We followed him home. Can''t we keep him?" she said.

 0007 - Origins

    Al knew Wikwocket was just putting on a show, but he still couldn''t bring himself to argue with that pleading face. Instead, he turned desperately to Bote.


    "Bote, please, back me up on this. We can''t just..." He waved questioningly in Gruntle''s direction. "...right?"


    Bote''s answer was delivered with that piercing stare they had when they felt they were announcing divinely-inspired wisdom.


    "I don''t believe this is a question of *can*, but rather one of *should*, perhaps even *must*. I feel this is why we have been guided here." They paused for a moment, silently considering, or perhaps listening to real or imagined supernatural voices in their mind. "I cannot say if he is to leave with us, but I am certain that we should at least hear his story and evaluate our decision fully-informed."


    "You seem more reluctant than your companions." spoke Malagriel, still blocking her peripheral vision with one hand so as to continue not to see food being thrown. She very deliberately didn''t see as Wikwocket suddenly launched a small hunk of goat meat at Gruntle''s head. Distracted by the ongoing discussion, he didn''t notice in time. It lodged itself momentarily in Gruntle''s right ear, then dropped out and fell to the floor. Al stiffened, expecting an outburst of violence, but none came. Instead, Gruntle reached down to pick it up, and ate it.


    "For one thing," Al said, pulling his gaze away from the compellingly strange sight of the gnoll swallowing the floor-scavenged meat as he thoughtfully considered which piece of food to throw back, "none of us really have the knowledge or skills to maintain whatever charming-spell you''ve cast on him."


    "Oh, this is no spell." Melissa said, taking a sip of her wine. "What you see here is the result of a carefully guided upbringing. Would you like to hear about it?"


    <hr>


    Three entire families of isolated settlers out in the borderlands had been mercilessly slaughtered one by one before a survivor managed to get away from an attacked village to bring the news to others. She stumbled into town, exhausted from pushing herself on foot all night in terror. Before collapsing into unconsciousness, she described a raiding horde of vicious demons charging out of the nearby forest without warning. They speared, cut, bashed, or simply bit the unprepared villagers that were around and had begun smashing down doors to get at the residents inside the village''s small houses. The survivor had just been heading away from the other end of the village to gather firewood the evening it began, and she''d started running the moment she saw what was happening.


    The nearest Casusian militia was too far away to be reached in time to do any good. However, by happenstance a certain group of moderately experienced adventurers had been spending some time relaxing there while they decided where to go next. The members could not in good conscience ignore the pleas of the townsfolk for help. They put on their adventuring gear in haste and accepted the lending of some horses. They were on their way out of town at a trot within an hour of the news.


    "You know," Melissa said as they rode, "if they are actual demons we are probably getting in over our heads."


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    "I know, but something has to be done. We''re the best chance of saving anyone that might be left and preventing any further slaughter," said Bob.


    "Agreed," Malagriel said with conviction. "We''re also the most likely to survive investigating, even if we end up having to retreat. At least we''ll be able to bring a more accurate account of the danger and help gather whatever forces it might take to deal with this threat."


    "The good news," said Melissa, "is that the general description the poor woman was able to give us could be a number of things besides actual demons. We could be facing anything from Unseelie fae, to rabid or enchanted beasts, to spiritually-possessed ordinary people, or something in between. If her description was accurate enough, though, I think we may be up against a clan of gnolls."


    "Don''t know much about gnolls," Grakthor said, "They kill us?"


    "Well, they might, and they''ll certainly try if that''s what they are. However, depending on how many there actually are, a group with our abilities has a reasonable chance of surviving such an encounter as long as we''re not stupid about it."


    "I don''t know much about them either," said Bob, "though I''ve heard of them. They''re some sort of demon-spawn aren''t they?"


    "The literature isn''t entirely clear on that matter, but it''s generally agreed that their ancestors were ordinary beasts. They were grassland-dwelling pack-hunters and scavengers referred to as ''hyenas''. I''m not certain where that name comes from. In any case, some accounts say gnolls were intentionally created from those beasts by some demon-lord who had found its way into our world, others suggest the transformation was accidental, due to packs of hyenas following this reputed demon-lord, scavenging from everyone and everything it slaughtered and being warped by their exposure. There are one or two accounts that blame incautious wizards or crazed alchemists but they are far from the consensus. In any of these cases, what we''d be facing with gnolls would be something like a band of large, strong bandits with violent and impulsive natures. Now, if we''re dealing with fae on the other hand..."


    Melissa spent much of the rest of the trip giving an impromptu lecture on all of the things she could remember that might conceivably match the vague description they''d gotten. None of it was very reassuring.


    She was just winding down her discourse on what she remembered about the spiritual possession that afflicts were-beasts when Grakthor spotted the smoke over the hills surrounding the village. They selected a small grove of trees to tether the horses in, and carefully made their way on foot to the top of a hill at the edge of the village.


    The sight was not as horrifying as they feared, but only because the more gruesome action had clearly finished many hours ago. Most of the village''s buildings were still standing, but all seemed to have suffered damage - every door had been smashed down or torn away, the windows were broken holes in the walls with tattered remains of curtains. Next to the well in the middle of the village a bonfire raged. Wood from village structures mixed with bodies of victims fueled it.


    The assailants were gathered around it. They were large beasts mangled into a mockery of human-like shape, most wearing random bits of clearly scavenged armor and carrying crude and poorly maintained spears, swords, axes, or clubs. There were between 20 and 30 of them of varying size, from "small man" to "much larger than a man". They were either lounging contentedly on the ground or fighting amongst themselves for any un-gnawed bones or scraps of flesh that could still be found littering the ground.


    "This is the first time I''ve seen gnolls in person," Melissa murmured, "but they match the descriptions and illustrations I''m familiar with quite well."


    "They got no discipline," Grakthor quietly observed. "Big and a lot of ''em though. Enough to mob us."


    "No matter. They need to be stopped and destroyed before they can commit further atrocities," Malagriel insisted. She was already drawing her sword, her normally serene face a mask of rage and disgust.


    Bob gently put a hand on her shoulder.


    "Plan first, then divine retribution. Please?"


    "You know how much I hate being at the front of things," Melissa mused, "but I think I''m going to need to."


    Malagriel closed her eyes, scowling. "Custodella preserve my patience," she muttered. "What''s your plan?


    "You see that barn there just ahead of us to the right?" Melissa pointed as she explained, "If I can get inside and up to the loft without being spotted..."

 0008 - Plan of Attack

    The plan was discussed and agreed upon without objection. The four of them crept up behind the barn.


    Melissa adjusted her spectacles and spent a few seconds tracing mystical symbols in the air with her fingers and murmuring a brief chant. Then she touched her forehead and vanished from sight.


    The sound of quiet footsteps slowly faded around the corner and headed away towards the front of the barn. The others carefully took up their positions to wait for a signal.


    <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none" title="Melissa isn''t particularly proficient in Stealth, but the gnolls are


    tired, preoccupied, relaxed, and have no reason to expect any interruptions. DC for this check would be pretty low given the invisibility. If the roll goes badly wrong, perhaps one of the gnolls catches her scent, or she trips over something.">Unseen, and unnoticed by the sated bestial mob, Melissa made her way to the front of the barn. The doors had been broken from their hinges and pulled down. The blood of the brutally-slaughtered animals that had been inside soaked the hay spread on the ground. She paused at the ladder up to the loft to listen for a moment, then climbed slowly up. She crawled to the open hayloft door and looked out over the assembled gnolls, sprawled around the town center sleeping off their gluttony or casually fighting each other.


    Melissa crouched low and moved back and to the side hoping to remain out of sight, and reappeared. Peering carefully around the corner, she adjusted her spectacles again, and began a new series of gestures and utterances -as quietly as possible - and waited for an appropriate distraction.


    Fortuitously, one appeared just as a restless gnoll stopped scratching itself and began to turn in her direction, its ears perhaps picking up a hint of her voice. An infantile squeal and small grunting sounds came from the ruins of a small house nearby. Every wakeful gnollish head whipped around to look as a baby, somehow missed in the rubble, crawled into view at the door. Drooling gnolls rose to their feet as the baby stumbled trying to crawl down to the ground outside. It bumped its head on the step and rolled onto its back, flailing its little arms and legs and wailing loudly. The still-sleeping gnolls jerked to wakefulness at the sound, and the entire bestial mass surged forward, fighting each other the whole way to be the one to claim the crying morsel.


    The doomed infant was given just a few seconds of additional lifespan as the infighting grew more frantic the nearer gnolls got. Snarls of rage and yelps of pain poured from the crowd as they clawed and bit each other and dragged each other back. As the nearest got within arm''s reach of the baby the fight over the prize redoubled, until finally a half-trampled gnoll clutching a spear ran across the backs of its squabbling clanmates and lunged, spearing the baby directly through the chest, claiming it as its own.


    Confusion rippled through the nearest who could see what had happened, when the baby continued crying as though it hadn''t noticed the spear at all...then it shimmered and disappeared.


    One smaller gnoll, at the back of the group clutching a ruined, bleeding eye, had just enough time to point and yelp as a spark flew from the hayloft of the barn and struck the ground where the illusionary baby had been. The whole group was engulfed in an explosion of fire, and the pounding footsteps and battle-cries of the other adventurers surged out from between the buildings towards them.


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    The explosion was over in an instant, revealing about half of their number lying, charred and unmoving, around the front of the ruined house, smaller flames persisting in places along its wooden structure. The other half were badly burned, but saw that they still outnumbered the smaller creatures attacking them at least 4 to 1. Snarling and howling, the survivors raised whatever weapons they had and charged to meet them and take their revenge in a violent fury.


    If they had been smarter creatures, some of them might have fled and possibly lived.


    Instead, to their shock, the gnolls were cut down one by one with sword, axe, conjured arrows of flame from the hayloft, bursts of holy light stabbing down from the sky, and, incongruously, the vigorous headbutts of a spectral goat. The gnolls fought savagely but in the end were outplanned and outmatched. The last survivor did finally try to flee, but was struck down by a trio of slivers of light which shot from the hayloft and unerringly found the back of its head.


    The party waited, ready for any last-moment attacks, but none came. Melissa descended the ladder and emerged from the barn while Grakthor retrieved some bandages from his pack and pressed them to the bleeding gouge along his left shoulder where a spear had managed to get past his shield. Malagriel, wincing, unbuckled and removed the vambrace that was painfully crushed around her sword arm where the jaws of a gnoll had been briefly clamped during the fight. Bob sighed and began his solemn duty, walking among their fallen foes looking for any remaining sign of life and, with a brief prayer, bringing a large hammer down upon the heads of any that were found.


    "I do, truly, understand that this is necessary to protect the people and the flocks, but I can''t say I really like this part," he lamented.


    The final distasteful task of searching the fallen for valuables and clues took a while, but in the end all of the dead creatures were piled around the still-burning bonfire. They''d had almost nothing of any real value, aside from the scavenged junk which, perhaps, a blacksmith or tinker might conceivably melt down or beat into useful shapes. The creatures seemed to have been far more interested in rampaging than pillaging.


    "I don''t understand why they do it." Bob wondered as the party sat down to rest before heading back to town. "They''re not taking anything of value aside from lives, which doesn''t really help them. It''s not even a normal predator thing, or else they''d have an easier time raiding livestock or forest animals...right?"


    Grakthor shrugged. "When you''re big and strong and good at killing things, it''s kinda fun to break stuff and kill things."


    "They''re just evil. Nothing more. Demon-possessed flesh left in our world to cause torment and misery. That''s all they are," Malagriel said, with her usual intensity when discussing wrongdoing.


    Bob sighed. "That''s sad. Even pirates and conquering overlords usually have some misguided sliver of good intention driving their actions. The idea of not having any positive guiding purpose at all...well, it just makes me feel bad for them."


    "I''m not sure that''s entirely true," Melissa thought aloud, "I believe they have a certain degree of instinctual loyalty at least."


    "Loyalty?" an incredulous Malagriel retorted. "Loyalty to who?"


    "Their party I think," Grakthor answered. "Seemed like they were trying to help set up openings for their other party members to attack."


    Malagriel rubbed her bruised sword-arm, remembering the sloppy stab one of them had made at her with a rusty sword, leaving it wide open for her to strike at, when another of them had lunged and bitten down on her forearm. If not for the metal vambrace protecting it she''d have been left with crushed bones and in far greater danger.


    "The literature tends to prefer to call them a ''clan'' or a ''mob'' rather than a ''party'' but yes," Melissa said, fiddling with her spectacles as she often did while thinking. "Did you notice that although they have a reputation for cowardice, none of them tried to flee until the last one? I wonder if perhaps they felt an innate urge to defend each other, or at least try to suppress us until they could make an opportunity for more of them to escape."


    Malagriel sighed. "I do wish you wouldn''t make moral issues so complicated."


    Their discussion was interrupted by the sounds of movement. From the side of the village nearest the forest they heard an intermittent dragging noise, punctuated by grunts. Grakthor and Malagriel picked up their weapons to meet whatever was coming.

 0009 - The Smart One

    One last, lone gnoll came into view from around a ruined house. This gnoll was on the small side, standing nearly the height of a young-adult man. It wore nothing and carried nothing, aside from a dead deer. The gnoll''s arms wrapped around the deer''s neck and its jaws were still locked around the back of its head as it dragged the large deer carcass backwards. As it passed the corner of the house it looked back, and saw them. It dropped the deer and spun to face them, crouching and snarling. It looked to its dead clanmates around the bonfire, and back to the party of four. It growled.


    The discussion they''d been having had removed her enthusiasm for the slaughter but Malagriel stood wearily to go finish this last one off, when she heard Bob mutter: "Poor thing."


    She turned slowly and gave Bob a bug-eyed stare.


    "I understand why we can''t just let it go," Bob elaborated, "But it''s just...well, everyone it knew is dead now and it''s all alone."


    Malagriel gave an exasperated sigh. "If there is such a thing as too much compassion, you have it." She lowered her sword.


    "I''ll do it. It''s little, won''t be hard," Grakthor said, standing.


    "No, wait," Melissa interrupted, watching the gnoll. "I want to see what it does."


    Everyone turned to look at her.


    "What it''ll do is run away or attack us," opined Grakthor.


    "And then I will have my answer and you can kill it. But let me see what it does first, this is probably not an observation anyone has had an opportunity to make before."


    "Academics...," muttered Malagriel.


    "Fine," said Grakthor.


    The gnoll continued growling, but neither charged nor fled. It stood, looking and listening. Its growling ceased, and it called out - a low sound like a wolf''s howl, with a quick high whoop at the end, aimed downward as though it was yelling at the ground. It listened for a moment, then called out again. And then again.


    "Now it seems even sadder," Bob commented.


    "Will you stop that?" said Malagriel.


    Melissa was smiling, eyes wide with scientific joy. "Wonderful! So that''s what it sounds like! The literature describes this sound, it''s believed this is an identity call. It''s, well, sort of its name. This call probably means something like it''s me, is anyone else there? If we hear any answers, we''ll know we missed one."


    "Is this really the time for a scholarly lecture?"


    "Why not?" asked Melissa.


    "It doesn''t seem to be giving us an excuse to kill it right now, does it?" mused Bob.


    "Bob...," Malagriel began, then gave up and just sheathed her sword.


    The gnoll had ceased its calling and was watching them, still crouched and ready to move, but its brow furrowed in confusion.


    "This one seems smarter than its former clanmates. I do believe it''s actually thinking about what to do," Melissa observed.


    It cocked its head, hearing but apparently not understanding. It looked away, and tried calling out one more time.


    "Melissa!", Melissa called out in response. Everyone, including the gnoll, stared at her.


    The gnoll called out again.


    "Melissa!"


    "Bob!"


    Malagriel swatted Bob on the arm. "Well this is all very amusing but we still need to deal with this."


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    "Yes, I think it''s time we do so. No, Grakthor, please wait a moment," Melissa said, as Grakthor began to take a step forward.


    The gnoll crouched lower, still uncertain.


    "What?" Grakthor asked impatiently.


    "I''m sure we have plenty of rope. I want to see if we can learn something from it."


    "Oh. Interrogation." Grakthor opened his pack and began pulling out some rope.


    The gnoll slowly took a step back.


    "No you don''t," said Malagriel, swiftly tapping her spectacles, tracing arcane sigils in the air, and speaking words of power.


    The gnoll rose to run, but immediately flopped limply back to the ground. It snored slightly as Grakthor ran to bind it.


    "Bring the deer back, too, I do like venison."


    <hr>


    The gnoll awoke lying on its back to see the largest of the prey-people that it had found by the bodies of what had been its clan. It was kneeling by its feet, binding them with rope. The gnoll tried to lash out only to discover that its arms were similarly crossed and bound behind it. It continued struggling as its captor finished, then stopped struggling when a painful kick struck its ribs. It wasn''t an attack, really. It had obviously been simple chastisement, just the same as the members of its clan had done to each other during the frequent minor disputes over dominance. Its captor grabbed the rope binding the gnoll''s legs and began dragging it towards where the corpses of its former clanmates smouldered by the bonfire.


    It knew it''d be tormented for sport and then killed. There was no malice attached to this realization, that was just how things naturally went. It had noticed, though, that its head was still free. It would do its best to take a chunk or two of flesh from its tormentors before it died. It would be one last glorious expression of the violence that formed all that was left of its purpose, now that it had no clan.


    Its captor and the other prey-people babbled to each other with the strange noises that seemed to pass for speech to them. The gnoll saw its captor head back to claim the deer the gnoll had hunted, as was its right. The gnoll felt a twinge of hunger and regret that it would not be able to share the deer with its clan as it had planned to.


    One of the smaller prey-people took a long knife out of a pack.


    The gnoll grinned excitedly, and waited for the violence to begin.


    <hr>


    "I don''t like the way it''s been looking at you since you got out that knife," Malagriel said, watching the bound gnoll suspiciously. It lay there on its back, watching Melissa with a manic grin.


    "Maybe it thinks she''s going to cut it loose and challenge it to a duel." Bob mused.


    "I don''t believe their culture, such as it is, goes for that sort of thing," Melissa said. "I would guess it''s expecting the knife to be used as a weapon or torture implement against it. Their kind are not known for using cooking utensils."


    Grakthor returned with the deer over his shoulder, and then set it on the ground. Melissa knelt down and began cutting portions of meat from its haunches.


    "All these years and I never realized you knew how to cook," Bob said.


    "I''m not really a cook, but I''ve performed many dissections in my research over the years" Melissa answered, "The difference between dissection and butchery is simply one of precision, isn''t it?"


    They scavenged some of the dead gnolls'' spears as makeshift skewers, Bob saying a brief prayer over them to banish any corruption that might spread to the meat. They built a campfire, not wanting to cook over the burning bodies, and began roasting the venison.


    A growl came from the captive gnoll. It was not from its throat, however, but from its stomach.


    "Guess the prisoner is hungry," noted Grakthor.


    "It''s probably never even smelled properly cooked food before. They eat everything raw, don''t they?" asked Malagriel.


    <hr>


    In fact, this gnoll liked cooked food very much. It was familiar with the concept after finding food being cooked by the villagers they''d been slaughtering over the past few months. It had found that as wonderful as fresh raw meat was, cooked meat was even better. It never understood how the magic fire ritual that made the cooked food worked - the times it had tried on its own the meat had become inedible blackened charcoal. And now the prey-people were performing the ritual right there in front of it.


    <hr>


    "We should feed it. I would like to see how it reacts. Hand me one of those...," Melissa began as she stood up.


    "No," Malagriel said firmly. Melissa protested before she could say any more.


    "Are you standing in the way of discovery itself, madam?"


    "No. However, you are not going near that thing. You''re not exactly a close-combat expert and although I trust Grakthor''s skill with the rope, if that thing did manage to get to you somehow it''d tear you apart. It''s immoral to starve a captive, though, so I will do it."


    This placated Melissa. "Oh, good. I''ll be able to observe while you do, then."


    Malagriel took a piece of meat from a skewer by hand, and approached the gnoll, who sat up as best it could to watch her warily. Its eyes flicked repeatedly to the sword still sheathed on her hip.


    "No, I''m not going to kill you right now," she said, though she didn''t think it understood what she was saying. She hoped her tone of voice would get through at least. "I''ve brought you some food."


    She held out the chunk of venison. Rivulets of drool emerged from the gnoll''s mouth.


    "That''s disgusting. Here." She tossed the meat to the ground next to the gnoll, which lurched immediately to the side and contorted so it could reach it with its mouth. It sat back up, chewing with happy grunting noises.


    It stared at Malagriel as she turned and walked away.

 0010 - The Strangest Clan

    You don''t share food with victims. You share food with clanmates.


    The very concept of being a gnoll without a clan had never previously even occurred to it. The notion was absurd, and the reality when it had actually happened had been horrible - like waking up to discover your head was missing, and you somehow continued to exist while a crucial, fundamental part of yourself was gone forever.


    And now the prey-people were chastising and feeding it as though it was part of their clan.


    <hr>


    "Oo! Me next! I want to give it a treat too!" said an eager Bob.


    "Bob, it''s not a puppy," Malagriel told him.


    "It''s kind of cute, though, right?"


    "No."


    "Aw, come on, it''s like a bulldog, it''s ugly but in a cute kind of way."


    "No," repeated Malagriel.


    "No," agreed Grakthor.


    "...perhaps," Melissa finally added skeptically. "We should probably also give our experimental subject..."


    "Prisoner," corrected Malagriel.


    "...some water as well, Bob," Melissa finished, ignoring this. "You may need to put it in a bowl."


    Bob eagerly retrieved a canteen of water and a wooden bowl from his pack. He held the bowl of water out in front of him as he cheerfully approached.


    "Who''s a cute bestial thing?" he crooned. "Who''s a good gnoll?"


    "Bob, I know you''re doing that on purpose," Malagriel called out.


    Bob chuckled. "It''s the novelty. You have to admit this is an experience probably nobody else has ever had, right? You''ve got to have fun with it."


    He gave the gnoll a broad smile and held the bowl out. "I brought you some water. Uh...here, let me pour some out for you." He tilted the bowl, splashing water across the gnoll''s nose. It looked blankly back at him, licking the dripping water from its muzzle.


    Bob laughed. "Well, that doesn''t work, here maybe if I do it like this..." He knelt down and held the bowl forward at the gnoll''s mouth level. Hesitantly, it leaned forward and lapped at the water for a while.


    When it stopped, Bob put the bowl on the ground. "If you want more, just ask," he told the gnoll.


    <hr>


    The prospect of the violence it had been expecting had never materialized, instead being replaced by the uncomfortably alien social situation. The gnoll tried to work out what was happening.


    Clearly, the big one who had tied it up was the matriarch of this clan, because the biggest one was always the dominant female.


    The one with the good armor and the sword that had given it food could be a less dominant female or dominant male. That one had an air of confidence to it and the matriarch hadn''t shown any inclination to perform any dominance-reassertion towards them, so probably the dominant male of the group, it decided.


    The one that had just given it water was a puzzle. It had bared its teeth in challenge and then mockingly poured the water on its face in dominance, but then immediately had submissively knelt and offered the water, though at no time did its confidence seem to waver. It seemed to be well-fed, so it had to be reasonably dominant but hadn''t visibly done any of the little things to maintain dominance over the others. Now it sat there right in front of the gnoll, relaxed and fearless. The uncertainty of what was happening was making the gnoll uncomfortable.


    And then there was the little, weak-looking one. The one with the unspoiled body-covering and the ostentatious face-trophy that no weak clan-member would be able to keep from the others. This one scared the gnoll - it was clearly this clan''s shaman. A clan that had a shaman was to be feared and respected. A shaman''s command of incomprehensible supernatural forces meant it could do unthinkable, terrible things. The gnoll remembered how it had been sapped of all vitality and consciousness with a casual wave of of the shaman''s hand. And since it had awakened, unexpectedly - they could have easily killed and eaten me then! - the shaman had kept watching...


    The gnoll flinched as the shaman gestured at it, and spoke.


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    <hr>


    "Yes, yes, wonderful! I believe I''ve seen enough - no, Grakthor, I am not suggesting that we kill it yet." She gestured towards the bound gnoll. "Bob, I think you can untie its hands now."


    "DO NOT!" Malagriel shouted, stomping angrily towards Melissa, "This has gone far enough. Are you possessed? Do you understand what this thing is?!"


    Melissa stood and looked defiantly up at the taller woman. "No, not fully! But clearly, neither do you! Haven''t you been paying attention to what''s been happening here? Don''t you realize what we''ve discovered?"


    "You said it yourself! ''A creature of inherent demonic violence''!"


    "That''s what the literature says, but the literature is clearly incomplete!"


    "THIS CREATURE IS A MURDERER!"


    "THIS CREATURE has not threatened us once since it woke up! A moment ago it had a perfect opportunity to bite Bob''s hand off!"


    "THAT''S BECAUSE IT KNOWS WE CAN KILL IT AT ANY..."


    "Stop it, you''re scaring it!"


    Bob''s shout interrupted their loud argument and they turned to see the gnoll watching them in wide-eyed terror. It flopped backward as best it could to get away from them with its arms and legs tied up. It uttered desperate high-pitched whines.


    Grakthor stepped up behind it and its clumsy retreat was stopped as it bumped into Grakthor''s legs. It looked up and yelped.


    Malagriel was stunned to feel a pang of pity for the ... poor thing.


    "Shutup." said Grakthor to the whining gnoll as he leaned down to casually punch it in the head.


    It grunted once. Then to everyone''s surprise, it seemed to relax. It sat up, no longer struggling, though it continued warily watching Melissa and Malagriel.


    Grakthor frowned and looked at his fist. "I don''t get it. Didn''t hit it that hard."


    "We weren''t even yelling at it. I don''t understand. What is going through that thing''s mind?" Malagriel wondered aloud.


    "You see? Now you''re wondering too!" Melissa answered triumphantly.


    <hr>


    Oh no oh no NO NO NO the armored one was starting a dominance dispute with the shaman you never got the shaman involved in a dominance dispute BAD BAD THINGS happened if the shaman got involved in a dominance dispute and not just to the ones involved must get away must get away...


    Something stopped the gnoll''s retreat. It looked up to see that it now had the full attention of this clan''s matriarch. Could things possibly go any more wrong?


    It yelped a hasty apology to the matriarch, who growled back and delivered chastisement.


    Finally - a normal, understandable interaction was happening. It was somewhat reassuring. It hadn''t understood the speech but the message of "be still" was clearly received. The gnoll grunted acceptance and sat up. The dominance dispute had been suddenly abandoned, which was very strange but welcome. The armored one must be quite sure of...his?... status, or was insane, or both. The dispute might restart, but it seemed the matriarch had things under control for now.


    <hr>


    They all stood around the gnoll.


    Malagriel took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a long, slow sigh of resignation. She gave Bob a half-hearted glare. "This is your fault, you know." She looked back at the gnoll. "I can''t kill it now."


    "I can," said Grakthor.


    "But you shouldn''t," Malagriel said firmly. She turned to Melissa. "All right, what exactly did you want us to do with it."


    Melissa inspected the gnoll. "I want to find out from it as much as I can about its kind. First, it..." she paused and looked down, adjusting her spectacles for a brief, clinical, visual examination. "...HE will need some sort of clothing. I saw some of its former clanmates wearing bits of things, I imagine we can at least piece together some sort of loincloth."


    "Why?" asked Grakthor.


    "Because we can''t have him parading around in public naked, be reasonable." Melissa answered.


    Bob grinned. "Are you thinking what I think you''re thinking?"


    "Possibly. After all, it''s not exactly uncommon for a successful group of adventurers to befriend or tame some exotic creature and keep it around as a sort of pet or mascot."


    "No," said Grakthor.


    "Is that even possible with this... this...," Malagriel began. Thing or creature no longer seemed appropriate.


    "No," repeated Grakthor.


    "Oh! We''ll need to give...him a name!" Bob said eagerly.


    "No!"


    "We have to, Grakthor, there''s no way I can go around calling him uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhWHEE!" Bob said, in a very bad imitation of the gnoll''s earlier identity-call. The gnoll gave Bob a quizzical look, head cocked to the side like a confused dog, then grunted once.


    "Gruntle!" Bob decided.


    "Melissa, I hold you responsible for preventing...him...," Malagriel rolled her eyes at Bob, "Gruntle from doing harm to us or any innocents or their property. Are you confident you can handle this?"


    "No," Grakthor answered.


    "Yes," Melissa corrected, "I believe so. You''ve all seen how he''s behaving. He''s been interacting with us on a social level at this point. I will stake my scholarly reputation that he accepts our dominant position at this time. Look at him, he''s practically asking to be our mascot!"


    "NO MASCOT!" Grakthor shouted, backing away.


    "I feel your reluctance, Grakthor, but you''re outvoted. You can still kill him if he tries to harm anyone," Malagriel replied to him with sympathy.


    "Bob, untie his hands and see what he does," Melissa said.


    "DO! NOT! WANT!" shouted Grakthor...


    <hr>


    ...3 months later...


    "Get the stick! Get the stick!"


    Grakthor held a long tree branch over Gruntle''s head - with some effort. Gruntle had grown quickly and was as tall as Grakthor now and would probably soon be taller. Grakthor flicked the branch to the left.


    "Come on - get the stick!" he twitched the branch, teasing, then whipped it down to Gruntle''s side.


    "Get the stick!"


    As he tried to move it again, Gruntle lunged forward, clamping his jaws on it.


    "Gottastick," he growled around the mouthful of wood.


    Grakthor laughed. "Might be a good move in a real fight, but we''re supposed to be practicing with that." He pointed to the crude club Gruntle held in his right hand.


    "Gottastick," repeated Gruntle. Jaw muscles clenched and the branch splintered and broke off on either side of his mouth. He spat out the rest.


    Grakthor shook his head, amused. "Okay, we''ll just spar. Pick up your shield..."

 0011 - Belated Realization

    Melissa''s story of how they had acquired Gruntle ran on until most of the food and wine was gone. The other retired adventurers chimed in occasionally to clarify particular events.


    They described how they''d gone back to the town, and had to dissuade an angry mob from taking vengeance on Gruntle by convincing them they''d enslaved him and hinting that they would do terrible things to him over a long period of time - which in the end had been sort of true. The townsfolk had almost lynched him anyway when Gruntle stepped in front of the adventurers, growling threateningly, apparently to protect them from the townsfolk, but seeing Gruntle crouch down and back off after Grakthor slapped him in the back of the head and told him to knock it off made him seem sufficiently subservient to mollify the crowd.


    Melissa had gotten to work with some language-comprehension magic to document the simple speech of the gnolls and over time had taught Gruntle to start speaking the common language. One of the first hurdles was Gruntle wanting to know what words meant "dominant female" and "dominant male". Since "matriarch" and "patriarch" were quite difficult words for him to start with, he ended up with just "Ma" and "Pa". He never did get over referring to Grakthor and Malagriel that way, respectively.


    Despite Grakthor''s intense objections, they found Gruntle was especially obedient to him since he had been deemed the "matriarch" of this strange little clan. Grakthor was eventually convinced to spend some time with Gruntle and found him a surprisingly enjoyable sparring partner who didn''t complain about bruises or being knocked around. His natural inclination to violence made him persistent while his natural reluctance to challenge the clan matriarch for dominance kept him from going too far.


    Al was still hung up on one observation.


    "So, again, let me see if I understand this - you accidentally made yourselves a gnollish clan by inadvertently treating your captive gnoll like...uh, a gnoll?"


    "In large part, yes," explained Melissa, "though it seems we had other conditions working in our favor to make that possible. Firstly, Gruntle was quite young and still adapting to his environment at the time, and secondly he knew his entire clan had been destroyed so his attachment to them and their cultural reinforcement was cut off. This also triggered an instinctual need to find a clan to be a part of, so he was primed to join up with any group that seemed sufficiently gnollish. Through my extensive research and experimentation I don''t believe this has much likelihood of working with an ordinary adult gnoll abducted from a randomly-chosen clan, but I''ve developed a protocol that is only a little dangerous and has a good probability of success under properly-engineered conditions. I very much look forward to hearing the results of others who try it out after I publish it. Perhaps it might even be possible to successfully isolate and civilize enough of them to a similar extent as Gruntle has been, and establish them as a less destructive population."


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    Al looked over to the gnoll. Several large plates heaped with food and a few cups of wine had finally satisfied his appetite and he had carelessly slumped forward, half-lying on the table. His eyes drooped slightly though he still seemed to be paying attention to the conversation. Al found Gruntle less worrisome now, but he still felt quite nervous to notice that Wikwocket had snuck up onto the table and tiptoed across while they were talking. She was sitting next to Gruntle''s huge head, tentatively reaching out. She made up her mind after a short hesitation and leaned forward to scratch behind Gruntle''s ear.


    He let out a quiet contented groan and his eyes slowly closed.


    "Gnolls really are simple creatures, despite the metaphysical complexity of their origins. Gruntle is mostly interested in just three things, all of which are sinful. The third of these is indolence," Melissa explained.


    "What are the other two?" asked Al.


    "Violence and gluttony."


    "Especially violence," Malagriel insisted, giving Wikwocket a pointed look, "I don''t think you appreciate just how close you came to a terrible end when you first met him."


    "It''s true," Bob said, a little sadly. "We''ve all worked very hard to shape his behavior away from murderousness, but the animal instincts and the demonic urges are just part of who he is. There''s no way to really eliminate them."


    Wikwocket scoffed. "No way, he''s just a sweet guy! You wouldn''t really have hurt me back then, right Gruntle?"


    "Yeah," Gruntle mumbled, his eyes still closed. Wikwocket stopped scratching his head.


    "You...would have?"


    He grunted in affirmation.


    Wikwocket slowly pulled her hand away.


    "Why?" she asked. Her usual cheerful expression slipped, and she looked a bit hurt.


    "Stranger invading clan territory. Probably attacking or stealing. Get to kill to protect clan."


    "But...you didn''t. You shooshed me."


    "Pa and Uncle Bob would be mad if they heard me killing and eating someone in the house. Had to be quiet."


    The whole table was still. Wikwocket''s shocked expression made Al feel bad for her.


    After a while, she spoke again, quietly.


    "Why didn''t you?"


    "If you try to run you''re prey and I get to hunt and kill you," Gruntled answered. His eyes opened and his pupils dilated wide for a moment as he said it, then they returned to normal and his lids shut again. He continued sleepily.


    "If you attack, you''re attacking the clan and I get to kill you. If you make a lot of noise, you''re calling for help and I have to kill you before other invaders come. You talked friendly-like about food. Attacker shouldn''t do that. Maybe you''re clan member never met before. Had to ask the party. Could always kill you later if they said it was okay. Then you wanted to play with party, showing off. Only clanmates play."


    He shifted to get more comfortable, his head rolling a little to the side.


    "New party in clan is good," he mumbled as his thoughts rambled away from wakefulness. "Good party. Stronger clan."


    The rest of the table sat in thoughtful silence, aside from a few softly snoring noises from Gruntle.


    Finally, Wikwocket reached out, and gently scratched behind the sleeping gnoll''s ear again.


    "You okay?" Al asked, concerned.


    "Yeah. Just thinking maybe that was even more adventurous than I''d meant it to be. Sorry." She smiled softly. "It''ll make the story a lot more dramatic though, won''t it?"

 0012 - Decision

    Melissa was the first to speak up.


    "That may be the most complex series of concepts Gruntle has verbalized since his adoption into our virtual clan. You seem to be having a good influence on him. A majority of his speech simply involves some variation of a demonically-inspired desire to fight or devour, or sometimes both, and not necessarily in that order."


    Wikwocket sat back and considered the creature slumbering sprawled across the table in front of her. "So, he really is a demon?"


    "Yes." interjected Bote, who up to this point had been listening without comment. "But not entirely. When we first met, when the excitement calmed down, I looked into his soul. There is undeniable fiendish spiritual heritage, but bound and co-mingled with something more benign. Al, do you recall our discussion on the mystery of the multiplicity of the singular self as revealed by the divine?"


    "Oh, hello Philosopher Bote," Al answered, unable to resist the banter the discussion had prompted ever since, "Yes, I remember. Poor individual mortals like me can''t understand."


    "You are not meant to. That is what makes it a mystery. However the nature of this gnoll may guide your steps towards enlightenment."


    Melissa reached up to adjust her spectacles and explained. "Yes, evidence thus far does lend support to the theory that gnolls were ordinary social beasts whose souls were... I suppose infested or colonized might be appropriate terms... by the spiritual essence of a very potent demonic entity. This was persistent enough to propagate throughout their lineage as an inherent part of their nature, through every generation to the present. Their original natural spiritual essence has remained strong enough to coexist with this fiendish essence at the same time." She raised both hands in front of her and put them together, interleaving her fingers. "My investigations suggest that the two essences are inextricably intertwined in his soul but still distinct, not dissolved into a single spiritual essence. In their normal feral environment the natural instincts of a mob of gnolls is easily bent towards killing and devouring by the intense demonic urge for violence." She used the fingers of her right hand to fold the fingers of her left into a rude gesture by way of illustration. "What we have done through careful, persistent conditioning is to strengthen and guide the natural social-animal instincts to establish more civilized...well, perhaps that''s going to far, but at least behavioral habits that can function in polite society." The fingers of her left hand stretched out to press the right hand''s fingers into a loose fist and enclosed it. She wiggled the enclosed fingers of the right hand as if they were trying to poke out between the enclosing fingers of the other hand. "This does not in any way subdue the demonic nature, which remains as vigorous as ever. This brings us back to our posting at the Pickled Swine."


    Bote was nodding in understanding. "You are trying to find a socially-benign outlet for demon-Gruntle''s drives."


    "Precisely. As young and inexperienced as he is, he wasn''t able to fully participate in our active adventuring much but we were able to give him plenty of opportunities to exercise his violent urges. Now, we''re leaving that line of work behind, so even that is no longer available."


    "Hunting and sparring helps, but it''s not the same. He''s getting kinda jumpy. Gotta let him go," said Grakthor.


    "And you''re desperate enough that you''re eager to send him off with the first party that shows up?" asked Al.


    "Oh, you weren''t the first," Malagriel assured him. "Not counting any applicants who may have been deterred by the greeting Melissa set up at the gate, we''ve had two others before you. The first was a small mercenary band bound for the border with Sabbatalia to help deal with the foreign militias that have been testing the boundaries lately. They seemed decent enough for mercenaries but we didn''t think the lifestyle would work for Gruntle. They agreed politely enough. The second bunch were..."


    Malagriel frowned.


    "A trio of bandits looking to expand into graverobbing," Bob bluntly completed for her with clear distaste.


    "Yes. They were not good role-models. That interview didn''t go well at all. Their ostensible leader depended far too much on intimidation for his status."


    "Gruntle is remarkably unaffected by typical provocations," Melissa added. "We''ve taken great pains and even called upon quite a lot of divine guidance on how to best impress upon him that we''re effectively a very large clan, spread out over a wide area and made up of all decent, civilized people, and so anyone he has never met before could be a clanmate. I believe he understands on a conscious level that this is more of a metaphor, but it''s enough that he won''t immediately assume a stranger is an enemy. For him, insults and even minor violence without lethal intent such as shoving or fisticuffs are simply forms of play. Actual threats of serious bodily harm to himself or known clanmates are a different matter."


    "We managed to stop things before anyone died," said Malagriel.


    "We shouldn''t''ve. Won''t next time," Grakthor grunted angrily.


    Even Bob nodded agreement.


    Malagriel continued. "Sadly, our experience over the years has been that most groups engaged in what would be considered ''adventuring'' are either irregular militia for hire or random misfits looking for loot. And then there''s you three."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Don''t give us too much credit. I''d be lying if I denied that opportunities for wealth are an incentive." Al admitted.


    "Certainly, but that''s not what drove you to choose this lifestyle, is it?"


    Al looked to Wikwocket, who was still lost in thought, then to Bote, who nodded encouragement.


    "It''s kind of a long story, but I guess I owe you one after the one you gave us. See, my whole family has a knack for magic. I''ll admit I also have a decent amount of talent for wizardry myself. I find the bookish life stifling though. I fantasized about running away to join the army since I was a young boy. When my parents made me start my formal education in magic, I decided to focus on learning things that would be useful for the sorts of basic chores I knew soldiers needed to be able to do, like fixing equipment and digging holes and carrying things. My father really didn''t mind since he saw I was being diligent about it, but Mom was pretty disappointed that I wasn''t trying to do anything flashy or dangerous. She''s got a more innate affinity for magic and she can be kind of intense. I think maybe that''s typical of sorcerers."


    "Interesting," Melissa said, "Do you happen to know where her sorcerous heritage comes from?"


    Bote was grinning with obvious amusement. "Yes, Al, you should tell our gracious hosts this story."


    "I told you, I don''t actually know!" Al pleaded. Bote leaned forward, insisting.


    "Fine." Al finally said. He looked down at the table, embarrassed. "It''s the same insane nonsense you hear about a lot of sorcerers. The family rumor is that great-grandma was a bard, and, well, there was this dragon..." He trailed off. "I don''t know why anybody believes these crazy stories. How would that even work, dragons are huge and not even human-shaped. So, really, I don''t know where it comes from."


    "There are those that say they walk among us in the guise of ordinary folk, meddling in politics and commerce for their own secret ends." Bote said.


    Al rubbed his forehead in aggravation. "Yes, yes, the lizard-people who secretly run the world. For all of the insight you usually show, it''s shameful that you would believe any of these crazy conspiracy theories."


    "I have met quite a wide variety of unusual people throughout my experiences, but I can honestly say I''ve never met someone who was secretly a dragon," Melissa agreed.


    "As far as you are aware," Bote corrected.


    Al made an effort to get the discussion back in its original direction.


    "Anyway, as I was saying... a little over a year ago I finally did it. A regiment of the royal army was passing through the area so I snuck out and signed up. They stuck me with the other new recruits, slapped a badly-fitting set of leather armor on me, handed me a mace. They put me through basic training and had me do a lot of common labor that people often forget soldiers have to do. One day they caught me using magic to help me dig the latrine. I thought I might get in trouble when they took away the leather armor but then they gave me a chain shirt to wear and reassigned me to the quartermaster. There, they trained me in maintaining and repairing equipment and put me to work checking things for enchantments and curses. I didn''t see much combat while I was there, but I got enough to at least confirm that I don''t exactly like it, but I don''t feel bad if I have to kill someone for a good reason."


    "The very day before I was due to sign on for another year, I woke up to find my parents standing outside my tent. They told me they''d indulged me for a year and now it was time to come home. I tried to argue but they were very insistent. Father was just stubborn and Mom was...intense."


    "Did she breathe fire?" Bote teased.


    Al tried to be angry but...actually, she had. But that was just magic, anyone with the right spell could do that. He ignored Bote and continued.


    "Not long after we got back I was in my hometown''s tavern, complaining to the bartender about my situation and watching a traveling performer" - he gestured towards Wikwocket - "putting on an impromptu acrobatics act for tips. Then Bote came through the door, sat down at the bar, and insisted that they''d been sent there by divine command. Wikwocket overheard us talking and things were discussed and decided rashly right there over beers. So, to get to the point and answer the unspoken question, Wikwocket is in it because she was tired of telling stories about other people''s adventures and places she''d never visited, and Bote is here because they believe they are enacting ineffable divine will...or maybe secretly working for lizard-people."


    "Or both," Bote corrected, with a smirk that Al was pretty sure meant they were joking.


    "And what about you?", Malagriel pressed.


    "I just want to accomplish something noteworthy. Something of lasting value. Something more useful than he cast a big magic spell one day or he wrote a really long book detailing the differences between green three-headed filth-demons and greenish-brown three-headed filth-demons that perhaps 2 other people will ever even read over the next few millenia. I''m out here looking for what that something is."


    Bob chuckled. "Becoming clan-sibling to a gnoll is pretty noteworthy, isn''t it?"


    "Not the kind of thing I had in mind, but, yeah, technically that is pretty unique. I''m still not sure this is a good idea. How much does he cost to feed?"


    "He''s a good hunter. Lot of times, he can feed you," Grakthor answered.


    "He''s also proven willing to endure hard labor. He''s quite strong," Melissa added, "But it may help you if I clarify that we don''t propose to simply dump him on you and send you away. There is compensation involved. We''re willing to make some investment in your adventures. In exchange, though, we will expect regular correspondence. My research is still ongoing, and we''ve all grown fond of Gruntle and will want to know how he fares - along with yourselves of course. We will naturally want our share of whatever profits your adventures bring, in proportion reasonable for what we invest."


    "That...does seem like a fair offer. I guess I''m not really opposed but..."


    Al''s last remnants of reluctance demanded one final speck of attention.


    "It feels rude to ask at this point but I think I need to: what would be the risk of him killing and eating us someday?" Al asked.


    Malagriel was the first to speak up. "The three of you? I feel that''s very unlikely. He''s clearly accepted you as members of our extended clan, and your temperaments and supportive relationships tell me that you aren''t abusive to your party-members. The real danger for yourselves would be in provoking him into testing dominance in a way that escalates. Something tells me that''s not going to be a problem with any of you."


    "All right. It''s not my decision alone though. Bote? Do you think we should?"


    "I believe the ineffable divine plans call for it. Who are we to question the gods?"


    "Right, of course. Silly of me to ask." Al looked over to Wikwocket, who had started absentmindedly scratching Gruntle''s head again.


    "What about you?", he asked her gently. "You still want to bring him with us?"


    "...yes. I think so." Her usual cheerful expression returned. "We gnolls ought to stick together, right?"

 0013 - Preparations

    They left Gruntle napping sprawled across the table in the dining room and returned to the parlor to discuss the boring parts of the negotiation - the responsibilities that Gruntle''s new party would have and in return the amount and kind of investment in both money and assistance that would be provided, the shares due in return, how non-monetary gains would be accounted for, and so forth.


    "...of divisible wealth including proceeds from sales of spoils, a minimum of 50% until a sum equal to our investment is repaid and then 15% subsequently for a period 2 years." Malagriel was explaining, as Melissa wrote out the agreed-upon terms down a scroll of parchment.


    "What about non-divisible things like artwork or artifacts, or things like jewelry or gemstones if we don''t intend to sell them?" Al asked.


    "If this were a typical agreement, we''d have an entire addendum with detailed rules for valuation and under what conditions we may claim such things for ourselves, but I think we can dispense with it. We''ll limit our share to coinage, so anything you don''t exchange for coin is your own affair. Of course, we''ve got a few atypical requirements we''ll be imposing in return." Malagriel looked to Melissa for confirmation. Melissa nodded.


    "In addition to the aforementioned shares of your earnings, we will require regular correspondence, say, at least three times per season. Some formal allowance will be made for unavoidable loss of messages during transport, accidents do happen to couriers from time to time, but you''ll still be required to make every reasonable effort to ensure your missives reach us. We won''t dictate any particular length or format but you must particularly pass along descriptions of your accomplishments and any observations you find notable about Gruntle''s behavior and development."


    "Hmmm." Al pondered. "Our immediate plans have us headed into some very... un-cosmopolitan places. I''m not sure if Henhaven or Turnipseed have any reliable couriers who might be headed this way. Will we need to travel back here every season?"


    "That won''t be a concern." Bote assured him. "The Church of Indicina funds itself in part by courier services. We will have no trouble finding someone, regardless of where we go, so long as the church has any influence there. Sometimes even if not."


    Al''s eyebrows went up. "How did I not know that?"


    "You are a wizard from a family of magical folk. Such people often have their own means for delivering messages."


    Al himself hadn''t yet learned any of those tricks, but he had witnessed or read about many of them. His mother''s habit of occasionally showing up in his dreams to remind him of household chores was very annoying. His father preferred to conscript birds or rodents to carry his messages most of the time.


    "Well, that''s one worry taken care of, at least. Now, um..." said Al. He rubbed at his forehead for a moment, thinking, then continued. "I know you can tell me more about how dangerous adventuring is as a profession than I can tell you but...well, you did say that Gruntle has not had a lot of opportunity to directly participate in adventuring with you and...what if...you know..."


    Malagriel nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. Mortality. As with all matters of mortal peril there can be no guarantees and we hope you will take appropriate care to minimize risk." She looked to Bob, who nodded back. "If in the course of your enterprise Gruntle should meet his demise..." She paused and looked again to the other members of her own party. They all nodded assent. "...or for that matter any other members of your party, recover their remains as best you can and bring them back here. We can''t make any promises, but Bob still serves Pecus and has the authority to perform certain miracles. We''ll do what we can. We can discuss the prerequisites involved if and when it''s needed. We will hold you legally blameless for any deaths."


    Melissa dutifully added this to the growing contract, adding both aloud and in ink: "In the event that you experience misadventure requiring invocation of this clause, we also require that you inform us of the circumstances leading up to the death in as much detail as you can, as soon as you are able. It would be ideal if we had plenty of advance notice before someone shows up on our doorstep with one or more dead bodies." She stopped writing but continued speaking "While we promise you are indemnified against legal responsibility for deaths, if it happens as a result of stupidity or worse personal failings, you will be lectured and insulted to an appropriately unpleasant degree. Fortunately, I don''t believe this will be a concern, will it?"


    "No, ma''am" Al replied. "We try very hard to keep each other alive. It would hurt me if anyone in my party got killed. Including myself, I would assume."


    "Reports vary." interjected Bote. "It depends a great deal on the sort of life you''ve lived and how much unfinished business you''ve left behind. Sometimes it also depends on how much you''ve angered various gods or other ...entities."


    "I try to be good." muttered Al, who hadn''t been expecting a serious reply to his half-joking comment.


    "I''m just trying to be entertaining enough that any gods watching will find me too much fun here in the mortal world to want me to leave it." Wikwocket said.


    "Well, however you approach it, just make sure you avoid dying. Shall we continue?" Melissa said, nodding to Malagriel.


    "In exchange for your agreement to and performance of these duties as specified, " Malagriel announced, "we will advance you 500 gold coins, valued at 500 gold coins..." she saw Al''s skeptical look. "I assure you such specificity is necessary in a proper legal contract, particularly one for which there will be a binding oath. If I may continue... we will also provide you with 10 alchemical elixirs for the healing of injuries, which should be valued at at 50 gold coins each but which we will list at 25, since quite honestly Bob and Melissa enjoy making them so much that we have more than we can easily find buyers for in Silveroak. It''s a rather unique formula, I hope you like yogurt. I think this should be a good start for your venture. Is there anything else we need to add?"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Melissa''s quill caught up with the discussion...and then continued. "Yes," she added, "arcane writing supplies valued at, let''s say, 100 gold coins. I will donate some arcane consultation and a copy of the current draft of my treatise on gnolls, which I hope you will find useful."


    "''Arcane consultation''? Are you going to consult with the spirits to tell our fortunes?" joked Wikwocket.


    Melissa gave her a look over the top of her spectacles. "Very well." she finally said. She pushed her spectacles back up, closed her eyes, and intoned:


    "O spirits of the beyond, speak to us! I call upon you to impart to us your wisdom!"


    She made a complex gesture with her hands. Her eyes snapped open.


    "I sense the spirits are here." she said. "Speak, spirits! What would you have us know?"


    A deep, hollow, inhuman voice spoke from the empty air in return.


    "The gnome is a smart-ass.", it said.


    "The spirits speak truth!" Wikwocket exclaimed, throwing her head back and laughing.


    "Seriously, though, what sort of ''arcane consultation'' did you mean?" asked Al.


    "Are you truly a wizard?" the disembodied voice responded.


    Al squinted at the empty air where the voice seemed to be coming from, then at Melissa. He gave his answer to her.


    "Yes, I am also a wizard. Despite my best efforts so far, I''m probably more ''wizard'' than anything else."


    "Then why do you draw an ordinary weapon to face a threat rather than a tool of wizardry?" the voice probed.


    Malagriel drummed her fingers disapprovingly on the writing-table. "Melissa, please..."


    "Slayer of mirth! Despoiler of fun!" lamented the disembodied voice. "I am banished!" it continued, the last word fading out and then cutting off with a comical popping sound.


    Just the slightest hint of a smile could be seen on Melissa''s otherwise perfectly serious face as this happened. Wikwocket laughed harder, clapping and kicking her feet with glee. "Oh, I wish I could do that!"


    Al brought his mace back out from under his robes. "I learned to work magic with a wand, you see." he said as he handed it over to Melissa for inspection. The head was a heavy studded ball of iron, and the shaft was a long, thick piece of wood. A strip of copper, engraved with a pattern of mystical symbols, was wrapped spiraling along the entire length of the shaft. "I actually made it myself, well, I mean, I made a wand out of it myself."


    Melissa turned it over, examining it, tracing the spiral of symbols along the shaft. Then she nodded, handing it back. "A tolerably competent result. Not at all bad for someone who doesn''t yet have extensive experience."


    "Do academics have a script-book they share? That''s almost precisely what Father said. Mom liked it a lot, though. A tool that combines potentially throwing bolts of lightning with bashing heads was a wonderful idea in her opinion."


    "That brings us back to the point. Do you, in fact, know how to throw bolts of lightning?"


    "No, of course not. Not yet, anyway. There''s quite a lot to learn before I''ll be able to do things like that."


    "Have you learned any means of inflicting violence upon a foe by means of wizardry?"


    There was one small spell Al had taught himself that was of some use in conventional conflict, but Al knew that wasn''t what she meant.


    "Well, no, not really."


    "That is what the *arcane consultation* and the writing supplies are for. I have a selection of magical formulae in my library that I do not consider any sort of trade secret, many of which should be suitable for your current degree of practice and education. We will discuss your needs and then you will choose two of them, for which I will provide instruction and sources from which you may transcribe for your own reference. I will insist that at least one of them be useful for the direct application of magical violence. You''re an adventurer now and there will be many, many times when your party will need you to have it to survive."


    Al sighed. "I suppose I was going to have to eventually."


    "Why would you, who knows something of military duties and now has taken up adventuring, be so reluctant about this? There''s certainly no shame for a wizard to focus on other things, but such wizards do not, as a rule, take up adventuring."


    "I just don''t want to get lazy, that''s all."


    Melissa gave him a truly puzzled look.


    "Let me see if I can explain...you seem to be an accomplished scholar. Have you ever met a wizard named Arnold Arcanisen?"


    "No, that name doesn''t sound familiar at all."


    "Oh, that''s right, I''m sure he''s still using the original family name. Arnold Bookminder?"


    "Bookminder? That does sound familiar." She considered. "Oh! Yes, I do believe he published a remarkably thorough work on the use of wizardry to raise, demolish and move buildings and villages? I have a copy of that one myself. I recall the writing seemed to casually assume quite a lot of magical potency on the part of the reader."


    "Yes, that''s him. He''s my grandfather on my father''s side. Have you ever met him?"


    "No, not in person."


    "Well... he''s just as capable as his writings suggest, maybe more so. He never lacks for anything. Whatever he wants - food, supplies, clothing, communication, transportation... he just casually conjures it up through wizardry. He never needs to lift anything or even stand and walk. It''s good that he''s got an academic outlook rather than a martial one because I think he could probably utterly destroy or dominate whole nations through magic if he really wanted to."


    Al paused a moment before continuing.


    "He looks like a skeleton draped in a skin of grey pudding. Like he''s trying to become a lich by some weird, gradual process. If his magic ever failed for even a moment, I think his body would fall over and fatally break. I don''t want to end up like that. I know I''ve got some talent for it and I''ll even admit that I find the study of it interesting and useful. I just want to make sure it only helps my efforts and doesn''t replace them."


    "I see. Have you ever used a bow or crossbow?"


    "Yes, of course, most of us get introduced to them early on to get used to targeting for spellcasting later, don''t we?"


    "Then I think we have a psychological approach to make this work despite your self-imposed limitation. Now then, I think that covers everything, unless anyone else has anything to add or dispute?"


    "I''m happy with it!" announced Wikwocket, who had been satisfied as soon as she''d heard the part about having a monetary advance to work with.


    "I believe Al has something else." prompted Bote, who as usual had been quietly observing the negotiation up to this point.


    Al hesitated. "It''s nothing that needs to go in the contract...uh, I hope this isn''t rude either, but...Gruntle is big and dangerous-looking, but you mentioned that he hasn''t really done much adventuring before. How ready is he for this, I mean, does he have armor, does he know how to use a proper weapon, or does he just run around biting people?"


    Grakthor answered. "He doesn''t like wearing stuff. Only reason we got him to even wear the loincloth is taverns feed him better if he ain''t naked. I taught him to use a shield, and taught him to use proper weapons. He''s pretty good. You could spar with him before you leave if you want. He does bite people, too."


    This did not particularly reassure Al.

 0014 - Preparation for Departure

    The contract was agreed to with no further fuss - that they were getting any investment at all was a far better outcome than expected, aside from Al''s ongoing discomfort about the nature of their new recruit.


    Melissa had invited them all to her tower to observe as she assembled the promised copy of her current draft of her treatise on gnolls. Naturally, this was produced with flashy wizardry. The party watched - Al with scholarly interest, Wikwocket with amazement and a touch of envy, and Bote with...well, one could never quite tell with them, but they watched attentively nonetheless. Melissa gathered a pile of plain blank vellum sheets, a small roll of darkly-tanned leather, a rather large bottle of ink, a sheet of gold leaf, a small pot of glue, a strip of cloth, and a codex bound in plain black leather labeled:


    <blockquote>


    On Gnolls


    Their Origins,


    Habits,


    and potential for Domestication.


    (DRAFT)


    by Melissa Browne


    </blockquote>


    She motioned for quiet and began the work. Her right hand started a long and continuous sequence of complicated multi-fingered movements while her left shifted her spectacles from moment to moment to focus. A muttered chant, rhythmic but not quite repeating, urged the magic through its task.


    The sheets of vellum flipped into the air, stretching and shrinking until each was the same perfectly-rectangular shape and size, then shuffled themselves together into a neat stack. The codex flipped itself open to the first page, and a flicking of Melissa''s fingers compelled a stream of ink to spurt from its bottle and onto the top sheet of blank vellum, writing out the same words and illustration as the first page of the codex. The first page of the codex and the newly-written sheet both turned themselves over, and the second page was copied out. And so it went for many minutes, the newly-formed pages seeming slightly different, but clearly copied from the original. Finally, a strip of cloth glued itself to the edge of the stack of vellum, and the leather molded itself around the outside. The spell was completed as the sheet of gold leaf tore itself up from its paper backing and pressed itself to the new codex'' cover, spelling out simply:


    <blockquote>


    On Gnolls


    (DRAFT COPY)


    by Melissa Browne


    </blockquote>


    The chant ended, and Melissa lowered her hands. She picked up the newly-created codex and flipped quickly through the pages, inspecting. She nodded approval and handed it to Al.


    "Now that is magic!" an impressed Wikwocket exclaimed.


    "You''ve seen me work magic before." complained Al, surprised to feel just a bit put down by the comparison.


    "Yeah, but you only do boring magic, not like this!"


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    Al looked exasperatedly towards the ceiling for a moment, once again entreating whatever deities might be above while making a melodramatic *you see what I have to endure?* gesture towards Wikwocket. Then, he rubbed his forehead.


    "Not you too, I get enough of that from Mom." he said.


    "I think now would be a good time to start doing something about that." Melissa said, reaching to pull a well-worn book from a nearby shelf. "Let''s see what I might teach you."


    <hr>


    Al was eventually convinced to learn a simple spell for combat-magic, and at Wikwocket''s insistence, a literally flashy spell suitable for blinding and distracting enemies. As Al adapted the magic to his own mnemonic needs so he could work them, Melissa encouraged him to incorporate some gestures resembling what he would use to operate a crossbow. By the time they were done it was quite late, and the adventurers spent the night in some of Notamimic Manor''s comfortable guest-rooms.


    The next morning, after a simple breakfast of cheeses, bread, and smoked meats, they all relocated themselves to the training-field behind the manor. Gruntle arrived carrying a plain round wooden shield, and a flail. Al remembered many of the illustrations in the book he''d found in his home''s library had depicted gnolls wielding nasty-looking flails with spiked balls on chains, but what Gruntle carried looked more like a farmer''s grain-threshing tool - a large, simple club cut in half, with the heavy end attached to the handle by a very short bit of chain.


    It was much larger than Al''s mace. Al was having second thoughts about this.


    "You wanted to see him fight." Grakthor reminded him, beckoning him forward. "Just a light sparrin'' match."


    "Yeah, show him how to fight!" Wikwocket shouted encouragingly behind him. Al turned back to look at her.


    "Which one of us are you talking to?"


    Wikwocket shrugged. "Does it matter? This should be good either way!"


    "Thanks a lot." said a sarcastic Al, turning back.


    Grakthor reached up to pat Gruntle on the shoulder. "Just practice. Just show ''em you know how to use those."


    Gruntle gave a single grunt of assent, and raised his weapon and shield into a "ready" position. The pose looked completely out of place somehow - a mass of bestial violence made into a caricature of a student getting a lesson from a weapons-trainer.


    Al took out his mace. He and Gruntle faced each other, motionless. Unsure of what to do, Al aimed a light overhead swing up towards Gruntle''s collarbone. Gruntle moved his shield to intercept. The movement was... technically correct and accurately stopped the strike, but it was mechanical and deliberate. Gruntle twisted at the hip as the mace bounced off of the edge of his shield to swing his flail sideways toward Al''s head...again, accurately aimed, but slow and without much force. Al crouched as it went overhead, then rose back up to aim a straight shot up at Gruntle''s sternum.


    And so it went for several exchanges. Al felt like he was back in the army camp, going through the practice drills they had all the new recruits repeat. He half-expected Gruntle to start shouting the little exclamations the trainers had them use to keep cadence. "Ha! Hoo! Hai! Yah!"


    Al''s brow furrowed as they continued. This wasn''t at all what he''d expected - this vaunted creature of violence had clearly practiced how to properly hold his martial tools, but there was no hint he''d ever had any experience in real combat. Al turned to look skeptically at Grakthor.


    "Are you sure...?"


    There was a sudden change in the tempo. Al''s question was cut off by a loud CRACK!, and his hand went numb as his mace was knocked away and sent flying across the field. The eager jagged-toothed maw unexpectedly looming towards him made him stumble backwards with a surge of reflexive fear.


    Beady amber eyes glared into Al''s own.


    "Gottastick." Gruntle said. Then, he lowered his flail and shield, relaxing into a slouch that would have gotten an army recruit yelled at for laziness even after an "at ease." Al tried to look stern and disapproving as he waited for his heart to stop pounding. He ignored Wikwocket''s enthusiastic clapping and cheering as best he could.


    "You move like someone experienced enough to know not to look away from opponents." Grakthor told Al. Then he gestured across the field. "C''mon, let''s go get your weapon."


    They walked a few steps in silence, and then Grakthor spoke up again.


    "You''re not tryin'' to kill each other."


    "I know, I wasn''t...," Al began to answer.


    "I mean, you were wonderin'' why it didn''t seem like he was really fightin''."


    "Oh. Right. So, are you sure he''ll do okay in a real fight?"


    "Seen him do it. He''ll be alright. And now you know he can fight like a regular person and he''s not just feral."


    "Yeah, speaking of that," Al countered. "At the end there, for a second I thought he might try to eat my face."


    "Nah, probably not."


    "...''probably''?"

 0015 - Return to Silveroak

    The weather was beginning to turn colder and cloudier at midday as they started back to Silveroak with their new party-member. Wikwocket was thoroughly enthused.


    "...and we can get them to do that thing where they put silver on my sword! No idea if that really does any good but it sounds awesome! Oh, and magic stuff! I want to be able to stab bad people with magic! Maybe we could get some of those magic rings that give you special magic powers! Oh, we should get some nice outfits made out of cloth-of-gold in case we get invited to a noble''s dinner-party! That''s a thing that happens to adventurers, right? And ponies, so we don''t have to walk everywhere!..."


    Wikwocket clearly didn''t have a good idea of how much 500 gold coins was beyond "far more than she''d ever had at any one time before", but Al didn''t feel like dampening her enthusiasm. Bote was quiet as usual but their bearded face sported a contented smile.


    Gruntle walked along just ahead and to the right of Al, where he could be watched. As promised, Gruntle was carrying a bit of everyone else''s gear to lighten their load. He''d had plenty of room in his pack, as he seemed to be bringing a bare minimum. There was large, sturdy blanket to serve as a bedroll, a bowl, spoon, and knife for eating, the traditional coil of rope, a waterskin, a firestarting kit, a small coinpurse, and a cloth bag filled with balls of dried fatty mutton mixed with berries and hard cheese for traveling rations. The only thing odd that had been added was a length of fine black-and-silver cloth, carefully folded into a thick square. They''d watched the retired adventurers pack his traveling supplies for him, all the while giving him little bits of advice on how to behave properly as an adventurer, as though Gruntle were a child "setting out to seek his fortune" rather than a demonic, bestial thing. It had been surreal.


    Al was feeling increasingly worried as they walked. They were planning to stroll right into a civilized populace with a very large, armed, almost naked, clearly monstrous creature. How were the townsfolk going to react to this? The retired adventurers that had sent him off hadn''t seemed to think there would be any problems, but Al wasn''t feeling so confident. His idea of finding a very large hooded cloak to throw over Gruntle had turned out to be infeasible. Gruntle was willing to carry quite a bit, but he had some sort of irrational hang-up about wearing any kind of clothing or armor. "Gets in the way", he had grumbled. Melissa had cautioned Al about forcing the issue.


    "You can ask him to do whatever you want. As far as Gruntle is concerned you and Bote are both a sort of clan shaman and he has an instinctive reluctance to challenge you. If you come up with a clever justification you might get him to put up with it for a short time. However if you try to force the issue it could end up being a dominance problem. You should avoid that," she had said.


    At least their first stop was right by the town entrance. The Pickled Swine was situated to catch travelers coming into town from the Northern or Eastern roads right as they arrived. If the townsfolk reacted as badly as Al feared they could, they''d at least be able to leave quickly and hunker down somewhere away from the town boundary and send in one of the more human-ish members of the party to try to stock up on the supplies they were after.


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    Al was able to distract himself from his thoughts for a while by watching Gruntle walk and wondering how he kept his balance. His feet were like giant dog''s paws, though proportionately wider than a Gruntle-sized dog''s paws would be. Anatomically, it was similar to a humanlike person walking around on the balls of their feet. Al glanced to make sure nobody was watching too closely, and tried it himself. He was surprised to find it more comfortable than he expected. The steps put a bit less strain on his knees that way, and he found it was easier to walk quietly. However, it was harder to keep his balance, and he could tell that if he kept it up for more than a few minutes his calves would become very unhappy.


    "And we can get new boots for you, Al! Magic ones!"


    Al returned to walking normally.


    The rest of the walk back to town was quiet, and their arrival less dramatic than Al had feared. Most people seemed to be staying indoors away from the unseasonably cold weather. He did spot a young child pointing in their direction as her mother walked her down the road, but her mother made her put her arm down and rushed her away down a side-street. At least there was no screaming.


    The sign depicting an open winebarrel with a pig''s head sticking out of the top announced they had arrived back at the Pickled Swine. Al picked up his pace to get ahead of the others. He turned to walk backwards as he gestured for the others to slow down.


    "Let me go in ahead to warn them before you go in, we don''t want anyone to panic when...you know." Al said, nodding in Gruntle''s direction. Then he spun and sprinted ahead to the door.


    "Oh, you''re back," the tavernkeeper said as he looked up from his seemingly perpetual job of cleaning mugs. "So how did it go, do you guys have another warrior now?"


    "Thanks," Al said, appreciating the another, "But, look, we''re about to bring him in here and he''s kind of ... frightening." He raised his voice a bit so the other patrons could hear. "Don''t be alarmed, he''s not going to hurt anyone! Probably..."


    "Now, don''t worry, we may not be one of those big-city adventuring taverns or anything, but we get a lot of different kinds of people here. I''m sure we''ll be fine."


    "No, you don''t understand, he''s not a regular person, he''s kind of...monstrous! Just don''t..." Al began urgently, knowing the others would catch up and come in at any moment.


    The tavernkeeper interrupted with a cheerful, dismissive wave.


    "No, really, it''s okay." He looked up at the sound of the door opening. "Oh, hey Gruntle. How''s the new party working out?" he asked, cheerfully.


    Gruntle grunted in reply as he stepped inside. Al stared at the tavernkeeper in shock, then in accusation.


    "You...you know Gruntle?"


    "Oh, yeah, he and that adventuring party he was running around with come into town from time to time."


    "Did you know he was the ''junior warrior'' mentioned in the posting on the board?"


    "Well, obviously, who else would it be? The rest of them are retired."


    "Why didn''t you say something?!" Al nearly shouted.


    "They told me not to."


    In response to Al''s glare, he elaborated. "Gnolls have a well-earned reputation around here, we had some real problems with them a few years back. Still do, up in the northeast. A lot of people have died. It was pointed out to me that the kinds of people who would want something like that in their group would not be the kind of people they would want Gruntle traveling with. I guess the other way around is true, too. If I''d told you he was one of the monsters that had been murdering their way across the monarchy, would you have still gone to answer the posting?"


    "Absolutely not! Okay, that''s a fair point."


    It seemed there would be no problems after all. No panic, no shouts of "slay the beast!", no city watch accusing Al of trafficking in demonic creatures. Al began to relax...


    ...until he turned around to see a man throw a punch at Gruntle.

 0016 - Tavern Travails

    The man was a hefty fellow who appeared to be made of muscles and gristle. His entire head was shaved smooth, and his arms marked with a few scars. He and his rough clothing were stained with soot. He was also quite tall, his face level with Gruntle''s upper chest. The man''s meaty fist struck there with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a cow. It actually forced the larger gnoll back a half-step.


    Gruntle steadied himself and bared his teeth. His jaws opened slightly to let out a barking sound like mocking laughter as he focused on his assailant.


    Al was just starting forward with the intention of somehow calming the situation before blood was shed, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.


    "Better off just letting them finish. They do this every time they run into each other. Loser buys the drinks." the tavernkeeper told him.


    Al opened his mouth to say something, but there were no words. He watched Gruntle set his pack down and then inexpertly shift himself into an absurd likeness of a stance that a normal human-shaped pugilist would be trained to use. His punch back was awkward but fast, with much of his weight behind it as he struck downwards at the shorter man''s chest. The man exhaled sharply as he was struck and rocked back, but held his place. He returned Gruntle''s feral grin with one of his own, and squared up for his turn to punch.


    Al slumped onto a barstool and dug the fingers and thumbs of both hands into his forehead as though he was trying to physically squeeze all of the aggravation out from his skull.


    "Lately, I feel like there''s a lot going on that nobody''s bothered to tell me about," he muttered.


    The contest lasted just long enough to start getting boring, though Wikwocket kept up the shouts of encouragement the whole time. After each punch was given and received, the two contestants would reposition themselves and go again. Things finally ended when Gruntle put himself a bit too close to one of the tables. He absorbed the man''s punch easily enough but the slight step back as he did so was tripped up by a chair leg. The fall backwards was almost graceful, then somehow turned into a sudden flip forward and a snarling head-first lunge along the floor towards the offending chair leg. Jagged teeth buried themselves into the wood with a loud crunch.


    "Hey, no breaking the furniture!" admonished the tavernkeeper. A low, menacing growl was Gruntle''s reply. For a moment, the tavern went quiet. Then Gruntle snorted once, reluctantly unclamped his jaws from the chair, and stood back up.


    "Well, the chair was asking for it." Al quipped, though he immediately wondered why he found that funny.


    Gruntle eyed his victorious opponent. Then, hesitantly, he extended a fist towards him. Surprised, the man laughed as he tapped the fist with his own.


    "Getting downright civilized now, are you?" he said, still laughing.


    "I taught him that!" Wikwocket announced proudly.


    The man turned to look down at her, then smiled and held his fist out to her as well.


    "Oh? I''m Roderick, best blacksmith anywhere around here. And you are?..."


    Wikwocket reached up to bump fists. "Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, adventurer, entertainer, thrillseeker." She pointed out Bote over by the message-board and Al sitting at the bar. "That''s Bote and that''s Al. We''re gnolls, too!" she finished, with a mischievous grin.


    "I...see."


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    "It is an honorary status." Bote explained.


    "Oh, so you three are partying with the vicious beast over there?" Roderick asked, pointing a thumb over towards the gnoll who was not-especially-viciously rummaging in his pack for coins.


    "We are. I think he''ll be a formidable fighter." Al said. He still wasn''t so sure of this himself, but didn''t feel right letting other people aim sarcasm at his party. Not even if it was friendly.


    "Oh, I''ve got no doubt about that." Roderick agreed, wincing as he massaged his chest. "He was a lot easier to punch into submission when he was smaller. I win less often these days. I figure by this time next year I might as well just hand over the drink money right from the start." He brightened up. "Speaking of which, I''m sure you brave folks will need some equipment for your enterprise. I just happen to have a selection of tools and equipment made by the best metalworkers in town. That''s me and my apprentices, by the way." he finished, with a hopeful look.


    Wikwocket jumped in before Al could reply.


    "I want magic silver knives! Oh, and maybe a magic crossbow, I know how to use a crossbow! Oh, do you have any of that special armor that the elves make? Can you make my sword magical? And maybe..."


    Roderick''s friendly smile didn''t waver as he held up his hands as if to defend himself from her requests.


    "Whoa, whoa, slow down! I can see you''re a very brave and dedicated adventurer if you can afford that sort of thing and you''re not already retired into luxury! I''m afraid I''m not an enchanter, just a very skilled smith. Tell you what, my smithy is just down the main road here right next to the market. Stop by later and I''m sure we can find some useful goods for you."


    Wikwocket pouted. "No magic? Can you at least do the silver thing?" she pleaded.


    "That, I actually can do, along with one of my apprentices. It''s fussy work but we can do that in a couple of..."


    Roderick was startled at this point by a mug unexpectedly put in front of his face from over his shoulder.


    "GODS!" He looked incredulously back at Gruntle as he took the mug. "It''s unnatural that someone as big as you can move so quietly."


    Gruntle shrugged and lapped at whatever cheap wine the tavernkeeper had given him.


    <hr>


    Roderick joined the party at an empty table and they chatted for a short time. His workshop made axes for the woodcutters, mining equipment for the nearby lead mine, agricultural tools, nails, chains, and various other useful goods, he explained. It seemed they had a steady business going. He spoke favorably for his apprentices as well. Afterwards, having drained his mug and extracted a promise that the party would visit his shop, he left to get back to work.


    Then, the party gathered at the notices board. Al took down the now-answered missive from Notamimic Manor as they contemplated the others. There were a few open-ended requests for people to guard travelers from bandits and/or goblins. The plea for help from Henhaven that had caught their attention on their previous visit was also still there.


    <blockquote>


    Village of Henhaven begs for aid!


    Hunt the beast that hunts us!


    It comes in the daylight to murder us!


    We are not wealthy but we will give what we are able as reward!


    PLEASE HURRY, WHILE SOME OF US REMAIN!


    </blockquote>


    "I think this is our best option to start with," Al said, "it''s only a day''s walk south of here. There''s probably not a lot of money in it, but then, there probably isn''t a lot of money in most of these. These look like very small jobs, aside from the caravan-guard requests and this one down in Turnipseed."


    <blockquote>


    A simple request!


    Village of Turnipseed


    Flowers to be laid on the grave of an ancient guardian


    Annual tradition neglected, now we are punished.


    Tomb may be slightly dangerous


    Reward!


    </blockquote>


    "That''s not far beyond Henhaven in the same direction. Again, maybe not a lot of money but both of these are the sorts of jobs that make a name for freelance adventurers. It doesn''t seem like this part of the kingdom has a lot of competition for adventuring parties since most of them head northeast where most of the action is right now, so I was thinking that if we hurry we might have an easy time establishing ourselves before anyone else shows up for these kinds of jobs around here."


    "There''s one right here in Silveroak if you''re in a hurry." Wikwocket suggested, pointing. There were two small roughly-cut squares of paper affixed to the board. The top one said:


    <blockquote>


    There are rats in my basement


    I am too old and frail to kill them myself


    Won''t someone help me?


    1 cp per tail!


    Priscilla Smitherine


    2 Cheesemonger Lane


    </blockquote>


    Below this, a second, fresher piece of paper had been added since they last saw it. It said:


    <blockquote>


    Some of them are quite large!


    Please help me!


    2cp per tail!


    </blockquote>


    Al shook his head. "I think we can leave pest-control jobs to regular folk. If we agreed to a job like that I''m afraid we''d end up forever being ''the pest-control party''. Besides, we''ll have already lost two days before we can leave tomorrow morning. It sounds like the matter in Henhaven is more urgent."


    Bote reached out to touch the message from Henhaven. "I agree with Al. I believe we are meant to go to Henhaven." they said after contemplating for several seconds.


    Wikwocket looked relieved. "I guess you''re right, a story about how I spent a day killing rats doesn''t sound very exciting. What about you, Gruntle?"


    "They taste okay and crunch nice. Boring to hunt though."


    "Well, it''s unanimous then." Al announced, "We''re running out of daylight, so let''s go see what kind of beast-hunting supplies we can find."

 0017 - Shopping for Supplies

    Roderick''s shop had no written sign marking its location. Despite this, it was easy to find due to the constant sounds of hammers on metal and the roar of the forge''s flame.


    "Listen to that!" Wikwocket marveled. "They must have a whole armory going in there! Swords! Axes! Suits of armor!"


    There were, in fact, axes, though they were forged more for wood than battle. There were also mining picks, hammers, chisels, buckets of nails, and iron spikes. The only "armor" was a small selection of helmets, clearly intended to protect heads from falling rocks rather than weaponry.


    The wall and door separating the small shop area at the front of the smithy from the forge area muffled the sounds of metalwork enough to permit conversation. A stout young woman hefted a barrel full of shovels into place.


    "Ho there!" she said, "What do you need?" She turned to look, and spotted Gruntle. She gasped and lunged to grab a hammer before she realized there were "normal" people with him. "Gods! You could have warned me. That must be ''Gruntle''?"


    Still breathing heavily, she slowly lowered the hammer.


    Al nervously watched Gruntle rise back up from the slight crouch he''d dropped into as the manic, bestial grin faded from his face. He seemed disappointed.


    "Yes, sorry about that. I was worried people might not be comfortable around him, are you okay? We can leave if it''s a problem." Al answered.


    "It''s fine, it''s fine, Roderick keeps telling us about him, I''ve just never met him before. I''m Hilda, one of Roderick''s apprentices." She took a deep breath and gave Gruntle a skeptical look. "He''s not going to punch me, is he?"


    "You can go first." Gruntle offered.


    She seemed startled to hear him speak.


    "...um...thanks, but I''ll decline." There was an awkward silence while she regained her composure. "Well, is there anything we can help you find?"


    "Magic?" Wikwocket tentatively asked.


    Hilda just laughed. "Our work is good, but hardly magic. If we could work magic, we''d have a much fancier place and we wouldn''t have to work so hard."


    Wikwocket sighed. "I had to ask."


    "If you''re looking for magic, the closest thing you''ll find for sale in Silveroak is probably at Gerhardt''s apothecary. I''d be careful with that though, he''s a little high on his own supply, if you catch my meaning."


    "Well, I think we''re on our way to hunt a monster," Al said, carefully not looking at Gruntle. "Anything you can recommend?"


    Hilda rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "We do make spears for boar-hunting. That might be useful if you''re any good with a spear. We make the arrowheads for the local hunters as well."


    "Polearms was infantry stuff for soldiers closer to the front of the line, I never really got any training with spears. You guys?" Al asked his companions. Wikwocket and Bote shook their heads.


    "I can throw a spear," said Gruntle.


    "You wouldn''t normally throw a boar-spear," Hilda pointed out, "The spearhead has a crossbar on it. You stab whatever you''re hunting, and the crossbar keeps them away from you while your companions finish it off."


    Gruntle''s brow furrowed in confusion.


    "If you keep them away, how do you bite them?"


    Hilda opened her mouth to answer. Then, she closed it again. Finally she said "Up until now, all of our customers would wait until it was killed and cooked before biting it."


    "Oh."


    "What about silver, could you make my sword all silvery?" Wikwocket asked.


    Hilda''s face brightened. "Oh! Nobody ever asks me for that! Yes, I actually can! Just leave it with me for a few days and I can do it for about 100 gold coins. I''ve been practicing, I think I''m pretty good at it now!"


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    "...a few days? A hundred gold?"


    "Well, yes, it''s detailed work, you can''t rush it."


    "We''ve got to get going in the morning," Al explained.


    "That would limit what kind of work we can do, yes. I''m sure you must at least need some tools, don''t you? Maybe some stone-breaking tools or climbing gear?"


    Wikwocket scoffed, reaching for her left sleeve. "I have all the climbing gear I need right ... here?"


    A look of horror fell across her face as she remembered a certain chimney with a fine silk rope still dangling down it from a grappling hook.


    <hr>


    In the end, it had not been the most productive commercial transaction, but Hilda did offer to add a protective yet attractive pattern of metal studs and small plates to Wikwocket''s leather armor, as well as supplying a new grappling hook. They haggled down to a 40 gold coin price for getting the work done by morning. Then, they got advice on where to try to buy a pack-animal and perhaps a cart.


    That was an even less productive visit. As they approached the stables, the various animals inside began making increasingly loud sounds of nervousness. This turned into outright panic when they tried to enter. The stablekeeper, nearly as panicked himself, had insistently begged them to leave immediately as he tried to calm his frightened collection of horses, donkeys, and mules.


    "Lot of good meat on those," Gruntle had observed.


    "Not helping, Gruntle," Al grumbled back.


    <hr>


    Al was relieved to find the market uncrowded. A few townsfolk wrapped in cloaks against the chilly air wandered among the carts that were selling wheat, chickens, butter, and handcrafted goods. Gruntle''s presence here didn''t seem to cause any disruption, though Al noticed many of the vendors seemed to nervously hunker down or look away. The only real exception was a man selling skewers of meat. He appeared to go immediately from bored and uncomfortable to enthusiastic when he spotted Gruntle. He waved the party over, and by the time they reached him, Gruntle already had a handful of coins ready and was visibly salivating.


    The man greeted them. "Wonderful to see my favorite customer today! And it looks like you''ve brought me some new ones, who will surely appreciate my cooking!"


    Gruntle''s handful of copper and one or two silver coins was eagerly dropped into the merchant''s hands. Al guessed Gruntle hadn''t even bothered trying to count them, but the meat-vendor expertly estimated their value with a glance before pocketing them. He smiled widely as he handed over a selection of meats on sticks, reciting what each one was.


    "Grilled beef! Vinegar-marinated chicken! Roasted venison! Smoked trout!..."


    More than one belly rumbled in approval. The party left the happy vendor behind with less inventory but more coin, as they went looking for what they''d really come for.


    "Everybody needs rope," Al speculated, "so somebody here must have some. Look, that woman over there seems to have some coils of it." He pointed towards a table laden with rope and twine, with a suddenly worried-looking woman sitting behind it.


    "It can''t just be ordinary rope!" Wikwocket insisted. "The whole point of silk is that it''s very strong, so it can be light. It''s also soft to hold. If I tried to coil thirty feet of ordinary rope up my sleeve, my whole left arm would bulge out and be chafed completely within a day, and I''d be wobbling off-balance walking around! Maybe we should just go back and get the one I had to start with?"


    "No time. Unless we want to be wandering the roads in the middle of the night, we''d lose a whole additional day before we got where we''re headed. The villagers'' lives are in danger, we shouldn''t take any longer than we have to."


    "Perhaps a cloth merchant then," offered Bote. "That couple over there seem to be the only seller here with any variety." They pointed out another table with rolls of dyed cloth mingled with displays of several colorful balls of yarn hung out for inspection.


    "Oh, pretty!" Wikwocket enthused. "I''ll go ask!"


    Al let her get well ahead of them so he could gauge the reaction of the couple as they approached. The cloth-merchants watched Gruntle warily, but seemed less bothered than some of the other merchants. They smiled at Wikwocket''s eager greeting.


    "Hi! You got any silk?"


    The couple looked at each other, bemused. "That''s a rich-people cloth for nobles and suchlike, isn''t it? Not much call for that around here. We got flax and wool." said the woman. The man looked up as the rest of the party approached.


    "That''s the good one, right?" he asked Wikwocket quietly, furtively pointing at the approaching adventurers.


    "Oh, yeah, he''s kind of cranky about being a wizard if you forget he can fight, too, but he''s a decent guy!" Wikwocket said, gesturing at Al.


    "You''re very funny." Al said in a voice devoid of amusement. "Yes, he won''t hurt you. This is Gruntle," he answered the man.


    "Those things are dangerous", he said, "but I heard those folks up at the manor tamed one."


    "Tamed isn''t really...," Al began, but stopped. The distinction wasn''t really important here. "Yeah, this is him. He''s with us now."


    Wikwocket, meanwhile, was examining a skein of yarn. "It''s so soft! How do you get this wonderful blue color?"


    "I can tell you it starts with flowers, but the rest is a trade secret," the woman answered, tapping her nose conspiratorially.


    Wikwocket tugged thoughtfully at a length of it. "How strong is it?"


    A few minutes later, everyone was treated to the bewildering sight of a dangerous demonic creature holding a length of blue yarn in the air while a small gnome bounced and swung from the other end.


    They decided it would hold Wikwocket''s weight safely enough, especially if she doubled two lengths of it together, while still being light and soft enough for her purposes. They weren''t confident it''d hold the weight of anyone else in the group, but there wasn''t really a better option.


    "Now can we go see the magic?" Wikwocket asked as Al paid for the yarn from the party''s funds. Al sighed. He''d had a small hope she''d forget about that. But, then again, maybe there would be something useful for them there anyway. He gave the cloth-merchants a friendly smile.


    "Do you happen to know where we can find Gerhardt''s apothecary shop?"

 0018 - Gerhardts Apothecary

    Gerhardt was apparently famous - or perhaps infamous - locally. The cloth merchants were able to give detailed directions to his shop. They had high praise for the efficacy of Gerhardt''s medicines, but warned them about anything else.


    "He''s a little untethered in his head, always trying crazy things. Be careful he doesn''t talk you into buying something dangerous...or weird."


    The apothecary was right where it had been described. Unusual odors in the area, mostly unpleasant, were familiar to Al as typical of an alchemical laboratory. The squat brick building sat in the middle of a large patch of bare earth and stone. The walls had additional buttressing built of brick in several places around the outside. The roof was covered in clay tiles and the visible wooden portions were blackened and seemed to have been rubbed down with some vaguely oily substance.


    The roof didn''t quite line up with the walls, and appeared to be tethered to the ground at each corner by heavy chains. A slab of wood hanging above the door was painted to depict a traditional alchemists'' round-bottomed glass flask half-filled with a clear blue substance, alongside a stylized drop of blood. The sign swung slightly in the chilly late-afternoon breeze.


    Contrary to Al''s cynical expectation, there was no comically-timed explosion from inside as they approached. There was, though, a sudden movement of an overeager gnome knocking him off his balance, followed by nearly getting stepped on by a gnoll as he stumbled. Bote chuckled as they helped Al back to his feet.


    The four of them crowded into the small open space that served the public. A long, low counter bisected the room. Behind it was a vast array of plain but sturdy-looking wooden cabinets, all padlocked. One cabinet near the middle had a glass front, and Al could see a stack of familiar bottles containing a milky fluid. Apparently, Gerhardt was the local reseller of the manor''s health potions, among other things. From somewhere behind the cabinets, a quiet hissing/roaring sound told Al there was an alchemical flame-generator in use.


    Wikwocket looked at the locked wooden cabinets, disappointed.


    "Where''s the magic?"


    "Magic? What? Bah!" a slightly muffled voice answered from somewhere behind the cabinets. The sound of the alchemical apparatus stopped abruptly and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching. One of the cabinets swung back, and the skinniest dwarf Al had ever seen came stomping indignantly out from behind it. His hair and beard appeared to be waxed or oiled with a black substance and were both tightly braided and tied. He was about the same height as Bote, his head level with Al''s chest. He wore thin, flexible leathery shirt and set of coveralls, heavy boots, a tightly-meshed chain shirt, and an odd pair of protective goggles over his eyes, with glass or polished-crystal lenses - one blue and one red. He seemed to have no eyebrows, and his thin build made his clothes look too big for his body. Al wondered if this dwarf ever ate real food.


    "Gerhardt Wasserbrenner does not deal in anything so capricious and unreliable as magic. The noble and practical science of alchemy is practiced here!"


    His speech cut off and his eyes went wide as he saw Gruntle standing with them. Al hesitated to speak up in reassurance, perhaps subconsciously hoping for a bit of payback for maligning Al''s family craft, but it was no matter. It turned out that Gerhardt wasn''t actually frightened at all. Instead, he clambered frantically over the counter to stand looking up at Gruntle.


    "What is this you have brought to me today, hmm?"


    "He''s a..." Al started, but was hastily waved into silence by Gerhardt.


    "Shh! Shh! Don''t tell me, I will remember!" Gerhardt slowly walked around Gruntle, intently examining him. Gruntle stood, baffled, as Gerhardt bent down to examine Gruntle''s toes, lifted Gruntle''s loincloth for a moment to look underneath, then stared intently into Gruntle''s right eye. Finally, he leaned in and sniffed deeply. A wide-eyed look of sudden recognition stretched across Gerhardt''s face.


    "Gnoll! You are a gnoll!"


    Gruntle grunted and cocked his head to the side with obvious confusion. A crooked smile parted Gerhardt''s beard.


    "I do not have any gnoll."


    Gerhardt clambered back over the counter and in what seemed like a single motion kicked a stool into place in front of one of the cabinets, jumped up on it, pulled a ring of keys out of a pocket, selected one without even looking, and unlocked the cabinet with it. He pulled open the door of the cabinet. It was full of glassware. Gerhardt selected a large, empty glass beaker from a lower shelf. Then, he was back over the counter and standing in front of Gruntle again. He held the beaker up.


    "Here, fill this as best you can. If you need another beaker please tell me, and try not to spill." He shook the beaker impatiently.


    As Gruntle hesitantly reached out to take it, Gerhardt blinked rapidly. He looked around as if only now realizing where he was. He slapped himself once, and pulled the beaker back before Gruntle could grab it.


    "You are customers, not...Yes, well, please excuse me, sometimes my research distracts me. Just a moment please," he said. One last time, and with less unseemly haste, he climbed back over the counter. He swung the open cabinet door a bit wider and put the beaker back. As he closed it, Al noticed that all but the bottom few shelves were filled with bottles of varying shapes and sizes, all containing transparent fluids ranging from nearly clear to golden to amber-colored. Each was labeled in dwarfish runes. Al caught the words for "cow" and "horse" on two of the larger bottles before the cabinet door was swung shut and locked back up.


    "Now then," Gerhardt said in a more business-like tone, "What problems can Gerhardt Wasserbrenner solve for you with alchemy?"


    "Do you have anything to deal with villager-eating monsters?" Al challenged.


    "What sort of monster?" Gerhardt asked, looking up towards Gruntle.


    "Not him. We don''t actually know anything about it yet, just that it''s killing people in Henhaven."


    "We are not entirely ignorant," Bote corrected, "we do know the villagers describe it as a beast which suggests that it has attributes resembling a predatory animal. We also know they say it hunts them in the daylight, so it doesn''t fear the sun, and perhaps dislikes darkness. This may not be much, but it is something."


    Gerhardt nodded appreciatively at his fellow dwarf. "This is not enough to formulate a specific remedy for your problem, but I can make some useful suggestions."


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Kicking the stool from place to place and unlocking cabinets, he selected a small collection of glass and clay containers. He arranged them neatly on the counter in front of the party.


    "Now then, the obvious treatment for hostile beasts is of course fire. Most find fire quite harmful and they have a natural aversion to it."


    He hefted a clay pitcher and carefully dispensed a single drop of a thick, oily, black substance onto a fingertip. He held this out proudly for the party''s inspection.


    "My own invention, a truly dephlogisticated oil! Rubbed into any material it provides proof against catching fire, and some degree of protection from heat. The material it is rubbed upon may even be live skin, it is quite harmless." He rubbed the drop into his hands to demonstrate.


    "How does this help with the monster?" Al asked, skeptically.


    "It is obvious! You see, there is a byproduct of the process by which my dephlogisticated oil is made. This," Gerhardt said, lifting a sealed glass ampoule full of a thin, clear liquid, "is ultraphlogisticated oil. When exposed to the air, it will immediately burst into flame without fail. Allow me to demonstrate." Gerhardt lifted the lid off of a small clay pot, which turned out to be filled with wax beads.


    "Encased in each bead is a small sample of my ultraphlogisticated oil. As you can see, I need merely break the wax..."


    He clapped his hands together, smashing the bead between them. His hands were immediately engulfed in a flash of bright yellow flames, which continued to flicker for a second or two before going out.


    "As you can see, my hands are not aflame, and I have only experienced some minor discomfort from the momentary heat," he said proudly, flapping his hands to cool them off. It was true, though, all of the hairs on the dwarven alchemist''s hands remained un-scorched and there was no obvious sign of harm.


    "Ooo! Ooo! I want to try that!" Wikwocket enthused, holding out her hands pleadingly. The bemused Gerhardt offered her a drop of the dephlogisticated oil for her hands and a wax bead. Wikwocket clapped her hands together. She cheered and did a small dance as her own small hands were momentarily covered in flames. She laughed as she flapped her own hands to cool them.


    "That does get a little hot, doesn''t it?"


    Al rubbed his forehead.


    "So...you''re suggesting we smear ourselves with dephlogisticated oil and then try to frighten the monster off by setting ourselves on fire?"


    "Very good, yes! Precisely! Beasts will not try to eat you if you are covered with fire!"


    "The logic of your statement is indisputable," Al deadpanned.


    "Thank you."


    "And how much do these ingenious inventions cost?"


    "Twenty-five gold for enough dephlogisticated oil to cover a person your size, or the same for an ampoule of ultraphlogisticated oil. Because you seem to appreciate good alchemical work, I would sell you both together for forty, as this will help me avoid unnecessary surplus."


    "What about the little wax ones?" asked Wikwocket.


    Gerhardt waved dismissively. "They are far too small for any real usefulness. They are only for demonstration."


    "But what if I want to demonstrate?"


    Gerhardt chuckled, pleased at the interest in his work. "Very well, if you will buy the regular product, I will give you some. If not, perhaps 1 gold each."


    "Before we make a decision," Al said carefully, "we should see what other advice Gerhardt Wasserbrenner has for us, I''m sure he has devised many products that would be useful."


    Gerhardt nodded. "You seem quite rational for a wizard."


    Well, Al thought to himself, he seems friendly enough, let''s see, how do you say this in Dwarvish again?...


    "Ich bin auch K?mpfer," Al said, once again reminding someone that he was not only a wizard. His accent was atrocious, but Gerhardt seemed to appreciate the effort.


    "Und Sie sprechen auch echtes Sprache. Sehr gut," Gerhardt replied, pleased to meet someone non-Dwarvish who clearly understood the value of Dwarven language and culture. He nodded to Bote and expressed approval. "Ich mag Ihr Zauberer."


    "A warrior must deal with worldly practicalities that most wizards strive to avoid," Gerhardt continued in the common language. "This is a good thing. This would of course make for an improved wizard."


    Al aimed a smug expression at the rest of his party as Gerhardt returned to showing his wares. He had a collection of medicines to treat a number of common illnesses that might be spread by animals, salves to prevent wound infections, antidotes for a variety of common toxins, and an ointment to cure and prevent fleas.


    "And then I also have something new I have only recently invented which you might find useful when dealing with beasts that eat people."


    Gerhardt lifted a small round-bottomed glass flask containing a cloudy mint-green liquid. Al read the dwarven writing on the side.


    "Poisonousness?" Al guessed. Gerhardt nodded. "Very good. Yes, it is a potion of poisonousness that I have formulated. It has not yet been well-tested I''m afraid, but it should be very effective."


    "So we would put it on our weapons before we attack the monster? Or do we put it on some meat and get the monster to eat it?" Wikwocket asked.


    "No, no, you are thinking of poison. This is a potion of poisonousness," Gerhardt corrected.


    Al thought about this. "So...you drink this, and you become poisonous?"


    "Correct again. I assure you it is quite harmless to the one who ingests it, I have tested it myself."


    "Oh, like a snake! I could kill the monster by biting it!" Wikwocket exclaimed.


    "No, that would be a potion of venomousness. Who has ever heard of such a thing?"


    Gerhardt paused at this. He unlocked a drawer in the counter and pulled out a notebook. He scrawled a quick note in ink, then closed it up and locked it back in the drawer.


    "Perhaps a future project to explore. But again, no. Simply put, if a beast were to eat the person who drinks the potion of poisonousness, they would become very sick and possibly die. So far, I have tested this against mosquitoes with great effectiveness. Now, then, what would you like to purchase?"

 00019 - The Tavern Awaits

    "You''re not really planning to set yourself on fire, are you?" Wikwocket asked as they left, looking skeptically up at Al with his now-slightly-clinking pack.


    "No, no, I don''t really think that''ll actually be a useful strategy, but alchemical fire is certainly going to be useful somewhere. I can''t help but think the fireproofing oil will come in handy at some point, too. There are a lot of formulations for making alchemical fire out there, but I''ve never heard of fireproofing oil before."


    "I hope it''ll be useful, I''m surprised you bought so much of it. By the way, I''m not drinking the poisonousness potion and feeding myself to the monster, either."


    "I wasn''t going to ask anyone to! We just don''t know when we might be by again or when we''ll locate another competent alchemist. Best to stock up on anything potentially useful while we can."


    "I think it''s because Gerhardt flattered you."


    "He was just appreciating my practical nature!"


    "It''s true," Bote agreed, "our culture does not indulge in flattery."


    "Well, I guess it''ll be fun anyway," Wikwocket admitted. She''d been given a bag of the wax "demonstration" beads and a small vial of the dephlogisticated oil for her own amusement.


    Al looked up at the darkening sky. Somewhere behind the gathered clouds and cold breezes, the sun was settling down towards the horizon. He sighed.


    "Well, I guess that''s about all the preparation we''re going to accomplish here before we need to move on tomorrow, unless there''s anything else anyone needs. Bote, anything you wanted to try to accomplish?"


    "Rest. All is in order. I believe we will want to be well-rested before the trials that await us tomorrow."


    Not for the first time since they''d started traveling together, Al wondered if Bote was referring to some unmentioned premonition, or just ordinary common sense. Either way, it was good advice.


    "Definitely. What about you, Gruntle?"


    "Food. I like food."


    "Sounds like we''re done for the day then. Let''s head back to the inn."


    <hr>


    The lamps outside the door of the Pickled Swine were lit, and the noise from inside suggested it had gotten much busier since the party had visited earlier in the day. Pushing open the door, Al saw people gathered around every table and crowded at the bar, most in lively conversation. Even the table in the dark corner had a few people chatting, to the perceptible annoyance of tonight''s hooded figure seated there who had clearly wanted to brood quietly, undisturbed and alone.


    Al froze as the conversations all sputtered out and practically everyone in the room turned to look at him. This only lasted a moment. Apparently not seeing what they were waiting for, the customers all began to resume their conversations as Bote and Wikwocket came in behind him.


    Then the conversations all died out again and everyone turned to stare as Gruntle followed them in, ducking a little so as not to hit his head as he came through the door. As they continued to stare, Al could hear bits of the excited but hushed conversations that started back up.


    "...told you it was here today!..."


    "...teeth! I wouldn''t want to have to fight one..."


    "...pretty big but I thought it''d be bigger..."


    "...uncle was in the militia, fought some of them at..."


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "...can''t just be the one, there''s never just one gnoll..."


    "...thought you were bluffing you bastard! Fine, you win this bet but..."


    It was impossible to follow any individual conversation, but all together it seemed to be mostly curiosity and caution.


    Al looked towards the crowded bar. The tavernkeeper saw him looking and, hands full of beer mugs, inclined his head to indicate Al should move closer. As he approached the bar, the rest of the party followed. Most of the people at the bar moved a little aside, watching Gruntle warily. A hefty man with several empty mugs in front of him chastised the others.


    "Buncha babies you are. He don''t look that big." He turned towards Gruntle, leaning against the bar for balance. "Bet I could deck ''im in...deck ''im..."


    It took a couple of tries but he managed to finally aim his fist accurately at his other hand to illustrate. He immediately had the full attention of Gruntle, who swiftly dropped into a crouch, fists raised. The man''s eyes fixated on the manic grin full of jagged teeth. "I...uh..."


    "Hit me!" Gruntle growled eagerly. Al heard an annoyed shout halfway across the tavern. He gave a brief glance in that direction to see someone handing a coin over to another smirking fellow at the same table.


    "...told me they couldn''t talk!..." the loser of the bet seemed to be complaining. Somewhere else, a quiet debate started up over whether this would end with fists or teeth-and-claws.


    The man at the bar backed away unsteadily. "Yeah, but...gettin'' dark...gotta wash the chickens..." He turned and staggered quickly away and out the door.


    A frustrated cross between a whine and a growl bubbled up from Gruntle''s throat. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly.


    "Hey, you''re good at this, you won already!" Al tried to reassure him.


    "Got to buy the drinks," grumbled Gruntle, unclenching his fists a final time and slowly rising again.


    "Well, uh, since...I''m the one managing the money, uh, he gave the winnings to me so I can pay for the drink. He already had his, and, you know, he had to go...wash...his chickens."


    Gruntle gave an annoyed huff in reply, but seemed to accept this.


    "I''ll take care of it," said the tavernkeeper, passing out the last of the beer he was holding. Then he got out an empty mug and half-filled it with a dark purple wine from a tap in the second-largest barrel behind the bar. He handed it to the gnoll, who grunted with probably-gratitude as he took it.


    "How much...?" Al started to ask, but the tavernkeeper just shook his head.


    "It''s paid," he said, jabbing a thumb towards the hefty man''s now-abandoned spot at the bar and winking. "It''s honestly not that good, but it''s cheap. Of course, I expect you''ll be wanting to buy food and drink for yourselves. I imagine you''re also hoping there''s still a room to sleep in here, despite the crowd."


    Al cursed silently at himself for not remembering to arrange that when they were there earlier. "Yes, uh... is there?"


    "Gruel and small-ale and a room to sleep in will cost you each the same as it did two days ago, but this time you''ll have to share the last room, which is only available because I was holding it for you."


    "Oh, thank you, that''s very generous," said Al, but the tavernkeeper chuckled.


    "Don''t be too thankful, it''s a matter of greed, really. Like I said before, the folks up at the manor would bring him along to visit once in a while, so just about everyone in town has heard about Gruntle. They never stayed for long, though, so only some of the town has ever even seen him, and just a few have ever seen him up close. When word got around he might be staying here a lot of curious folk started showing up and buying a lot of drinks while they waited. If you all stay the night, a bunch will probably come back in the morning to get another look, or settle some bets."


    "Oh. Well, still, thanks."


    "You know, if you''re a betting man you might be able to get in on it. There''s someone taking bets on whether Gruntle reverts to his bestial nature in the night, and tries to murder you all and eat your corpses. You''ll be happy to know that odds of that happening had come down to about five to one against it, last I heard."

 0020 - Adventurers Need Rest

    Adventurers in the stories often got showered with attention when eating meals in public. This was usually presented as adulation and praise and occasional offers of marriage at luxurious feasts. Al didn''t remember any of the stories where it was crowds of pub-goers pestering them with strange and inane questions, mostly about one of the party members, while they were trying to eat gruel.


    Bote got through it easily by simply answering questions directed to them in their usual cryptic way until people gave up on trying to understand. The crowd hardly noticed when Bote finished their meal and excused themselves to find their room and begin their nightly religious meditations.


    Gruntle got few questions as few people seemed comfortable getting near him, and it seemed there was some uncertainty over just how verbal he was. He didn''t do much to settle that as the questions he did get were answered mostly with a few simple words or just vague gestures and grunting.


    Al was polite, and tried to answer each question directly and accurately. "No, I have not seen him eat anybody" and variations of that were the most common theme. Luckily, Wikwocket ended up claiming the center of attention, and Al was able to fill his belly and make his way towards the stairs without attracting attention. He hesitated there, looking across the tavern. Wikwocket had an enthusiastic crowd fully engaged with a somewhat embellished story of her first meeting with Gruntle. Gruntle still had the attention of a few curious folks as well. Gruntle had claimed Bote and Al''s bowls when they''d finished, and now sat at a table by himself, all three bowls filled. He''d also given up on the small spoon he''d been given and had taken the ladle from the pot. Al could barely hear a few members of Gruntle''s audience quietly arguing over whether the fact that he was eating with a utensil meant he ate "like a civilized person", or if his gnawing and licking at the ladle with each scoop meant he ate "like a beast". Al wondered for a moment if he should force himself to stay, to make sure nothing went wrong. He finally decided that if Wikwocket was still there, too, things would probably work out. Besides, if he tried to watch Gruntle any time he feared something might go wrong he would never sleep again. He gave a small wave to get Wikwocket''s attention so she''d know he was heading upstairs. She gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and continued her story, pointing him out to the crowd.


    "And that''s when Al there fearlessly stepped forth, his mace held high to defend this helpless gnomish maiden''s life with his very own!..."


    "Mace?" heckled someone in the crowd, "I thought you said he was a wizard? Doesn''t seem like a very wizardy sort of thing."


    Al gave an exasperated sigh and stomped up the stairs and the sound of Wikwocket playfully arguing with the heckler in his defense faded away.


    "...also a wizard, and he bravely served in the monarchy''s army..."


    Al reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway to the room the tavernkeeper had kept for them. Inside were four cots, each with a small nightstand with a candle on it, which Al could barely see from the lamplight in the hallway. Bote hadn''t bothered to light any candles. Instead they just sat on the cot nearest the door, eyes closed and quietly praying in the dark. Al moved to the cot furthest from the door and set his pack on it. He allowed himself to light the candle with a bit of magic, reasoning that it was less wasteful than using up supplies from his fire-starting kit. He did walk back across the room to shut the door like a normal person, though. He returned to his cot and pulled Melissa''s dissertation from his pack to settle in for a bit of educational reading before sleep.


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    It was a surprisingly short time before the floorboards in the hallway creaked under a heavy weight, and the sound of sniffing around the edges of the door was heard. The door opened, leaving Gruntle just about filling the entire doorway. He crouched to fit through, squeezing into the room like a predator invading a helpless bunny''s burrow. He looked expectantly to Al, perhaps too directly for Al''s comfort.


    Al decided it was worth providing a small reminder of who the shaman was around here. Gruntle tensed, crouching slightly, as Al made a quick gesture and spoke a few words of arcane speech, commanding the other three candles in the room to light one after another.


    "Now that you''re part of the party, you can claim any of the spots that are open when you get here. Get comfortable and get some rest, we''ll probably be walking all day tomorrow. Please close the door behind you."


    Then, having picked up a few tricks from watching Wikwocket as they traveled, he added an entirely unnecessary dramatic snap of his fingers and conjured a small shower of golden sparks. Gruntle relaxed after they faded out of existence, and he grunted once in acknowledgement. Al returned attention to his book as Gruntle closed the door and put his pack down on the bed in front of Al''s. Then, it was Al''s turn to tense up as Gruntle padded over to Al''s cot. To Al''s amazement, Gruntle then knelt down, and crawled underneath, pulling his limbs in tightly to curl up. Gruntle gave a quiet groan of relaxation.


    Al leaned over to look under the cot. Two points of amber light shone back, reflecting the room''s dim candlelight.


    "What are you doing?" Al asked.


    "Said I could have any open space." Gruntle answered.


    "Why this one?"


    "Fits good. Hidden. Dark. Safe. Good place to ambush from if someone comes to kill us."


    Al disagreed with the sentiment, but couldn''t think of any good counter-arguments. "Okay," he finally said, and sat back up to try to read some more. Helpfully, the beginning of Melissa''s treatise seemed to be a simplified overview of the details contained in the rest of the work. Even as a summary, it was quite dense and full of citations to other works. Although Al generally enjoyed reading academic work - especially when grounded in actual field-research and practical applications - the fatigue of the day quickly caught up with him as he read. When Wikwocket finally arrived, cheerfully worn out from her performance, Al gave in and closed the book.


    "What a fun audience!" Wikwocket exclaimed as she set down her own pack and flopped onto a cot. "I''m thoroughly worn out!"


    "Well, everyone get plenty of sleep while we can. No telling what we''ll find ourselves facing tomorrow."


    "That''ll be easy after everything we did today," said Wikwocket. She blew out the candle on the nightstand where Gruntle''s pack rested, and then the one on her own.


    "There will be danger and excitement as befits us, I am certain." Bote pronounced as they blew out their own candle and pulled the thin blanket over themself.


    Al leaned over to look under his cot once more. The amber glow of Gruntle''s eyes looked back at him. There was a single grunt of acknowledgement, and the eyes closed. Al sat back up, and blew out the last candle.


    He lay there in the dark for a little while. He''d actually expected Gruntle to make some sort of bestial noise as he slept, or at least to snore, but he was still and quiet. Al could just barely hear the steady breathing if he listened carefully.


    Al had already assumed the practical realities of actual adventuring would end up being different from what storybooks made the profession sound like, but the specific ways that things were turning out to be different from his expectations continued to be surprising.


    He''d been through a lot of weirdness over the last few days. He was planning to expose himself and his party to the first intentional adventuring danger as early as the next day. And, on top of that...he was trying to sleep in an unfamiliar room where there was literally a monster under his bed.


    Al wondered if he''d be able to sleep at all.

 0021 - The Road to Henhaven

    The concern for being able to sleep was Al''s last thought before he was awakened by a sudden burst of light. He jolted upright and looked around. It was daylight. The sun had risen high enough to shine through the window into Al''s face.


    Wikwocket was sprawled ungracefully across her cot, snoring lightly and tangled in the thin blanket as though locked in battle with it. Quiet breathing from under Al''s cot confirmed Gruntle was still there. Bote''s pack was next to their cot, but Bote themself was gone.


    That mystery was resolved moments later when careful footsteps arrived outside their room''s door and there was a gentle kicking at it.


    "If you would please open the door, I have food for us," came Bote''s voice.


    Al''s cot was jostled as Gruntle poked his head out from underneath. Simultaneously, Wikwocket went from snoring gently to sitting up and fighting to free herself from the blankets.


    "Food??" they both said together.


    Wikwocket looked at Gruntle and laughed, still disentangling herself. Gruntle just watched the door.


    "If the door remains closed, there will soon no longer be food for us unless you want to eat it from the floor," Bote insisted.


    Al got up and opened the door. Bote stood outside, stoically balancing three bowls and a bucket in their arms. The bowls and bucket had been filled from this morning''s gruel-pot. Al carefully took a bowl and the bucket from Bote.


    "Henry kindly allowed us to borrow the bucket. He even washed it first. We do, of course, need to return it before we leave."


    "Who''s Henry?" asked Al.


    "He is the tavern keeper. Did you not know his name?"


    "It never came up in conversation. How did you know it?"


    "There are many paths to knowledge," answered Bote.


    "...right. Which one led to the tavernkeeper''s name?"


    "The one that starts with asking. Not all paths need to be esoteric."


    Al shook his head and turned back to the room, where he was met by the expectant stares of gnoll and gnome.


    "I see some of us are in danger of perishing from starvation," Al joked.


    "Me! I am!" Wikwocket cried out, "It has been a number of days since I have had any food!"


    "You had plenty of food just yesterday evening."


    "One is a number!"


    Al stepped back into the room and handed the bowl to Wikwocket while Gruntle slid out from under the cot and stretched dramatically. Al handed the bucket of gruel to him. After a single grunt of what Al assumed was gratitude, Gruntle had his snout in the bucket and was noisily eating. Bote passed out spoons to the rest of them.


    "Eat up," they cheerfully advised, "the crowd downstairs is eager to see us."


    Al really didn''t care what their unexpected audience wanted, but he added his own encouragement for everyone to eat quickly for other reasons. They were getting a later start than he''d expected. He had assumed he was going to have a night of fitful, uncertain sleep and get up at dawn with just enough rest not to be impaired. Under the current circumstances, he would never have believed he''d have felt comfortable enough to sleep soundly through the night and wake up so late. Perhaps knowing that any danger that showed up in the room would be met with a face-full of gnoll was reassuring somehow, Al hypothesized.


    Mysterious though it was, he wasn''t complaining. He felt refreshed and invigorated. He shoveled his bowl of nutritious slop into his belly and began packing for the day''s march. Once the others had finished doing the same, they headed out.


    Coming down the stairs, they were greeted with cheering and some scattered applause, mixed with a few groans of disappointment from a few folks who had been betting there would be obvious injuries or deaths overnight. Al and Bote returned the bowls, spoons and bucket to Henry. Wikwocket gave the assembled patrons a promise that she''d have more exciting stories the next time they passed through the area, to more applause. Then, they were out the door and on their way to the smithy for Wikwocket''s supplies.


    It was still very early in the Spring season, so finding the ground covered in a few inches of wet snow in the morning wasn''t too much of a surprise. The cold storm that had blown through overnight and been replaced with clear skies and calm winds. They left their odd collection of muddy footprints through the town as they visited Roderick''s smithy and collected what they''d paid for from a tired Hilda, and then made their way out of town along the southern road.


    <hr>


    The air along the forest road was chilly but clumps of heavy wet snow melted in the sunshine and dropped periodically from the newly-budding trees of the forest.


    Al let Gruntle lead the way. This was purely a strategic matter of his height and feral instincts making him more likely to spot any dangers that may be up ahead of the party. It was certainly not because Al still didn''t feel comfortable having a big demonic beast stalking behind him.


    Gruntle was still carrying more than his fair share of the party supplies and equipment. He trudged through the dense snow wearing no clothing besides his leather "loincloth", and the plain leather collar around his neck. Despite all of this, he made no complaint. He hadn''t even objected when Wikwocket clambered up and sat atop the pack he was carrying. Gruntle''s bare feet left behind large footprints in the snow, resembling tracks of a giant wolf or perhaps a bear.


    Other than the extra effort of occasionally slogging through a damp snowdrift, it had been a nice enough few hours of hiking south along the forest road out of Silveroak when Gruntle''s ears twitched and he suddenly spoke up.


    "Somebody up ahead."


    Al squinted into the glare of sunlight reflecting from the snow. Just up ahead of them, the road curved sharply to the right to avoid a rocky outcrop. "Who is it?"


    "Don''t know. Edge of the road by the curve. Was just looking around the corner and ran off."


    Gruntle''s ears swiveled. "Think I hear talking but can''t hear what they''re saying."


    He shifted his shield down from its resting position and down to his hand without breaking stride.


    "Think I hear crossbow being wound up."


    Wikwocket hopped down from her perch on Gruntle''s pack and darted into the foliage beside the road. Al thought he spotted her scurrying up ahead of them for just a moment before losing sight of her. He looked back at Bote, who was scratching their beard and looking thoughtful as they trudged along. They saw Al looking at them.


    "This seems familiar to me, for some reason," they said.


    "Maybe we should stop, if this is an ambush we''re about to walk right into..."


    With a muffled THUNK a crossbow bolt appeared in the road in front of Gruntle''s feet. He stopped. From up in a tree to their right, the sound of a crossbow being rewound was heard. To their left, a man with a still-loaded crossbow stepped out from behind a wide oak, shifting his aim back and forth between Al and Bote. Just ahead, four more emerged from the bushes. Three of them warily aimed crossbows at Gruntle, being the largest and most dangerous-looking of the travelers. The fourth bandit approached and pointed a worn but sharp curved sword at Gruntle as he looked at Al. Al noted that despite his bravado, he''d stopped well outside of Gruntle''s reach.


    "What is this thing, your pet?" he asked Al, to the subdued chuckling of his companions.


    "Nah," answered Gruntle, to the surprise of the questioner.


    "Hey, it talks! Well, then, whatever you are, maybe you and your two owners are smart enough to know what''s happening here. I''m sure it''d be a relief to you if you didn''t have to carry so much. It just so happens that we''re kindly willing to take on the burden of any heavy valuables you may be carrying."


    "Nah," Gruntle repeated. His right hand slowly rose up and unconsciously rubbed at the collar around his neck. "Not that heavy."


    "Are you stupid?" the bandit leader asked, getting another round of chuckles from his gang.


    "Kinda. You?"


    One of the bandits snickered.


    "All right wise-ass, I''ll make it simple for you...," their leader began angrily.


    "Hey, now, I wouldn''t provoke...," Al started to say.


    "I wasn''t talking to you!" yelled the bandit, not taking his eyes off of Gruntle. He looked at Gruntle''s right hand, still rubbing at the collar. "Let''s start with that collar. You like that collar?"


    "Yeah," answered Gruntle.


    "Well, too bad. It''s mine now. Give it to me."


    "Why?"


    "Because if you don''t we''ll kill you all and take it anyway!"


    Gruntle''s short burst of barks sounded to the bandit leader a bit like nervous laughter. Al noticed that it must have sounded like something else to Bote, judging by their widening eyes and growing grin.


    Gruntle''s brow furrowed deeply with intense mental effort. "Yes...sir...," Gruntle said, much to Al''s confusion. He turned slowly back towards Al and Bote as he fumbled with the buckle on the collar.


    "My...dear...colleagues...," he said, each word chosen with slow deliberation, "...these...ruffians...outnumber us. We must...give it to them." He raised his left hand, still holding the shield, just enough to point at Al''s hip. "Do not ... seek to hide...what you have...hidden there...from them. Give it to them."


    Al looked into Gruntle''s eyes, and felt a burst of adrenaline. Gruntle''s pupils dilated until his eyes appeared completely black as the buckle on the collar came loose, and he started to slowly turn back to the robbers.


    "Yes. I guess I should give it to you, then?" Al said, as he pointed to the one aiming the crossbow at him. It was a subtle bit of magic, much maligned among wizards, but just perfect for this situation in Al''s opinion. Guided by supernatural insight, he''d already decided how to make the first strike, as he slowly reached under the robes with what he hoped would be seen as a conciliatory not making any sudden moves manner.


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    "Kind...sir...," Gruntle said with deep concentration to the bandits'' leader, who still held the saber threateningly in his right hand as his left made hand it over gestures. "As per...your...instruction...I give this...to you."


    With a gentle underhand toss, he sent the collar towards the bandit leader at eye level. Smirking, the bandit reached to grab it out of the air.


    At the moment his attention was on his fingers closing around the flying collar, the explosion of action began. He heard the sudden snarl and flash of motion as the seemingly subdued creature whose collar he now held leapt towards him, clumps of wet snow launching upwards from its feet. Its right hand smoothly took the flail from its belt as it closed in. Its shield deftly knocked aside his desperate attempt at a stab. He heard his companions'' crossbows fire, saw one of the bolts strike the creature below the shoulder as the flail came down. He felt more than heard the loud crunch in his head. Then nothing else.


    Gruntle''s sudden rush carried him past the collapsing bandit leader and headfirst into one of the three who had been behind him. Gruntle''s teeth sank into the wide-eyed robber''s shoulder as he tried to drop the crossbow.


    Al shouted a quick invocation and made a gesture with his left hand as his right pulled the mace from under his robes. His foe fired the crossbow at him, but the bolt was deflected away by the magical ward Al quickly conjured up to stop it. Al heard Bote calling for the favorable attention of the gods as Al ran forward to swing at the man who''d just tried to shoot him. His mace slammed satisfyingly right into the bandit''s ribs, exposed below where his arms were raised to hold the crossbow.


    Up in the tree where they''d heard the crossbow being wound, there was a startled cry of pain and a crossbow bolt flew aimlessly into the forest. This was followed by another shout as a man fell from the branches and hit the ground with a thud. Wikwocket jumped down after him far more gracefully, then disappeared again into the brush.


    The remaining bandits were realizing their advantages had evaporated suddenly and they dropped their crossbows, drawing a collection of short blades as they tried to back away from Gruntle. Al''s opponent swung and stabbed wildly, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He managed to get around Al''s guard to inflict shallow stabs to Al''s leg and arm.


    Bote called down divine punishment on Al''s assailant, who screamed as flesh seared in the light that stabbed down from the heavens. The slightly smouldering bandit clumsily tried to hold Al off as their exchange of blows continued. The bandit was tricky and light on his feet, but at the last moment Al felt a subtle spiritual nudge change the angle of one last swing just enough, and his mace struck the bandit across the temple, felling him.


    Now Al could finally pay attention to what was happening in the noisiest part of the fight, where the last three bandits were throwing themselves at Gruntle. The bandit missing a chunk of flesh from his shoulder was being smashed to the ground by Gruntle''s flail. As that bandit fell, Gruntle rushed a second one who raised an arm defensively, then screamed as jaws closed on it, crushing it. The last bandit was able to get in a slash across Gruntle''s abdomen, though Gruntle didn''t seem to even notice.


    Al had heard of battle rage before, but to him this didn''t look like rage at all. The feral grin and eager animalistic vocalizations seemed more like an ecstatic mania. Gruntle was enjoying this. Al wasn''t sure what to think when he realized he was enjoying watching it, too, from far enough away to keep the melee from running over him.


    "Should we help this Gruntle?" Bote asked, walking up to watch with him.


    "I...don''t know," Al replied. Would it bother Gruntle if they joined in? Al didn''t think so, but...


    As they hesitated, the bandit with the crushed, bleeding arm tried desperately to avoid death. His wild swings were keeping the gnoll busy, but then he and the other bandit turned to run. Gruntle''s flail smashed across the back of the broken-armed man''s skull, and Gruntle gave chase to the other.


    The twang of a crossbow being fired came from the brush at the side of the road, and a bolt struck the fleeing bandit in the back. He stumbled, but kept running.


    Al sighed. He made a brief incantation and a swift gesture, and three shimmering slivers of magical force manifested themselves in front of him. Al mimed firing a bow, and the three slivers shot down the road and struck the last bandit in the back of the head.


    "Still feels like cheating," Al muttered.


    Gruntle reached the body as it fell and he lurched forward, tearing a ragged strip of flesh from the body''s neck with his teeth, leaving no doubt that the last bandit was dead.


    Gruntle spun on his feet, panting eagerly, looking for more enemies. He took a step forward as he heard motion in the bushes nearby, but it was only Wikwocket, dragging a crossbow that looked to be far too large for her to comfortably use. She cheered and pumped a fist in the air. "WHOO! Adventure!"


    His clan-party safe and the excitement having run out, Gruntle hung his flail back on his belt. As he did this, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out in a raspy sigh of relief and contentment. Al thought it was a sound that wouldn''t have been out of place coming from the other side of a door to a bedroom shared by lovers.


    Thanks, Al, he sarcastically thought to himself, that is not the kind of association I wanted bouncing around in my head.


    Still grinning and, Al noted queasily, quickly chewing and swallowing something, Gruntle opened his eyes again and stepped back to where the bandit-leader''s body lay. He felt around in the snow, then stood back up, buckling his collar back around his neck.


    "Now what?" Gruntle asked Al. Al regarded the amber-colored eyes of the gnoll. They looked back at him, alert but unbothered. Their pupils had returned to normal.


    "Is your collar enchanted or something?" asked Al.


    "Nah. Just a belt. Bought it from a gnome. It''s a reminder."


    Blood dripped down the front of Gruntle''s body, some of it his own. A crossbow bolt still jutted from under his right shoulder. It hadn''t gone in far, but it still looked like it ought to hurt. Al pointed to it. "Uh, you''ve got a little..."


    Gruntle looked down. He twisted his head to the side to grasp the bolt and yank it out with his teeth, adding a little more to the blood. Speaking of blood...


    Al looked around the scene of the carnage. The snow was trampled, muddy, and blood-stained. The corpses of the bandits were scattered around in ragdoll poses.


    "We should do something about our injuries, then I think we should do something about all the dead people. We can see what we can confiscate from them, then we should figure out some way to dispose of the bodies."


    "Eat ''em?" Gruntle asked. Al shuddered.


    "We really can''t be eating people, Gruntle. That kind of thing would give us a bad reputation. The food in Henhaven will be better anyway I''m sure. Besides, we''d still have to do something with the bones."


    "Eat ''em?" Gruntle repeated.


    "Still no, Gruntle. Please, we need people to want us around. It''s going to be hard enough for us to be the ''gnoll party'', it''ll make it much harder for us to be successful if we become known as ''the cannibal party'', too. I promise we''ll get you something better than dead bandits to eat when we get to town."


    This was something the stories always left out. They always described the heroic battle in glorious detail, and then jumped to the triumphant protagonists marching away with riches plundered from their attackers (loot, in the trashier stories).


    Al was pretty sure "heroic adventurers" didn''t just leave mangled dead bodies in their wake. What did they do with them?


    In the army, they''d had a dedicated team that roamed the battlefield respectfully gathering their own fallen soldiers for proper burial, and gathering the fallen enemies to be piled up and burned after confiscation of useful equipment. Sometimes the stories said the heroes hired people go travel with them and take care of chores. Was Al supposed to have hired some people to collect dead bodies for them?


    This "adventuring" business was turning out to be more complicated than anticipated.


    "Well," he said to his expectantly-watching companions, "All I''ve got for digging tools is a small camp shovel, so it''d take at least a few hours to dig a proper hole to bury these bandits in. Even though it''s wet right now I still don''t feel comfortable leaving a big fire burning in the middle of the local forest, even if that wouldn''t take as long to get going as digging a hole would. I also don''t think it''d be good for our reputation to leave the bodies rotting on the road, either. We''re already behind schedule and the longer we take here, the more time we''re going to spend walking in the dark after sunset before we arrive. Any ideas?"


    "I think perhaps Gruntle''s idea is the most practical," Bote said, to Al''s visible horror. Bote laughed and explained.


    "I do not mean that we should eat them."


    "Why not?" asked Gruntle.


    "Because in addition to Al''s entirely reasonable concerns, even all of us together could not eat all six of them, so we would still be left with the same problem. Also, I think the attempt would take longer than either of the other solutions put forth."


    "So, who do you expect to eat them?" Al asked, not sure if he wanted to know.


    "I expect we will have plenty of volunteers here in this healthy forest. I propose we simply move whatever we do not intend to confiscate a reasonable distance into the woods, and leave them as an offering to the bears and wolves and crows. That will at least minimize how much other travelers might be disturbed while freeing us to continue sooner."


    "Well, I can''t think of anything better," Al conceded. He looked to Wikwocket for consensus. She was looking at one of the dead bandits thoughtfully.


    "You have a better idea? You look like you''re thinking."


    "Well...no, not really. Just curious. What do people taste like?"


    "Kinda like pigs," answered Gruntle off-handedly.


    "Okay, I officially no longer want to continue this line of discussion, can we just get on with disposing of them and move along?"


    "No, wait, think about it!" Wikwocket insisted gleefully, "Can you imagine how funny it would be next time someone tried to rob us? Do you know what we did to the last bunch of bandits we ran into?"

 0022 - The Rest of the Road to Henhaven

    After prying the discussion away from the topic of cannibalism, Al persuaded the group to help him drag their assailants'' remains off to the side of the roadway. Luckily, only Al and Gruntle had been injured at all. In the interest of saving time, they each drank down one of the manor''s health-restoring potions to stop the bleeding. The thick, alchemically-processed drink had a good sweet-and-sour flavor, and a pleasant warmth spread from Al''s belly to the rest of his body in seconds. The cuts he''d sustained immediately stopped bleeding and mostly closed up, leaving them looking as though they''d healed naturally for several days. Gruntle''s more substantial wounds closed up as well, but were still clearly visible and scabbed over.


    Once this was done, they went about the messy process of confiscating any useful material possessions from the bandits. Al looked with disappointment at what they managed to gather.


    Six sets of cobbled-together and poorly-maintained leather outfits that might charitably be considered "armor". Six different small straight or curved swords, tolerably sharpened but with signs of rust and abuse. Eight small knives in similarly bad shape - each bandit had been carrying one, but one of them had an additional mismatched pair that seemed to be somewhat balanced for throwing. Five badly worn but still functioning small crossbows, and a total of fifteen crossbow bolts. Various coinpurses and pockets turned out to have held a total of thirty-three copper coins, twelve silver coins, and two gold coins, all with the Monarchy of Casusia''s mint-mark. A plain silver ring and a silver necklace-chain had also been in the leader''s coinpurse.


    There was also the clothing and boots, but the smell of them was enough to dissuade any thoughts of taking them off of the bandits - it had been unpleasant enough just searching them for pockets and hidden objects. They decided the "armor" was in the same state and wouldn''t be kept either. Cursing himself for not remembering to buy paper, he turned to the end of his wizardry-book and began a ledger starting backwards from the back page. He dutifully recorded everything they were keeping. He sighed.


    "Well, probably only a few hundred or so more encounters like this and we''ll have paid back Notamimic Manor," he announced sarcastically. "Well, maybe the weaponry can be sold for some coin. It''s not in great shape but it ought to be worth something."


    "I imagine they must have a camp or hideout somewhere. They likely have more there. Of course, there may also be more of them there, and we probably do not want to spend the time to look for it now," Bote reasoned.


    Al agreed.


    "Yes, we need to get back on the road, this interruption has taken up too much time already. Wikwocket, could you...no, wait."


    Al looked at Gruntle, and decided he needed to try trusting him eventually.


    "Gruntle, could you scout around and find us a place to dump these bodies in the woods where nobody''s going to find them too easily?"


    Gruntle nodded and gave a grunt, then loped quietly off into the trees. Al lost sight of him quickly. He and the others sat down upwind of the dead bandits'' bodies to rest while they waited.


    Gruntle emerged from the treeline further down the road a little while later, his muzzle stained with blood. Noticing this, Al stood quickly and took out his mace, looking and listening into the forest. Wikwocket and Bote similarly prepared themselves.


    "Did you run into more bandits in there?" Al asked urgently.


    "Nah," Gruntle answered.


    "You''ve got blood on your face!"


    "Rabbit. I''m hungry."


    Al relaxed, feeling annoyed.


    "Did you find somewhere to put these bodies?"


    "Hole under a big tree, not far that way." Gruntle pointed into the woods behind where he''d come out. "Think they''ll all fit in there."


    "Okay. Give me a little while to do some, uh, shaman stuff." Al said. He consulted his book of wizardry notes again and meditated over it while Bote tended to what remained of Gruntle''s injuries. Then, following a process he''d carefully documented in his notes, he gouged a circular arcane pattern in the snow as he chanted quietly. It took some time to write out all of the symbols and complete the invocation, but in the end the circular pattern seemed to lift itself out of the snow. It hovered in the air like a blurry round glass tabletop.


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    "I think this should hold about three of the bodies at a time, pile some on and lead me to what you found."


    Gruntle led them to a mostly-uprooted oak tree. It was a much larger, older tree than the others around it. It leaned to the side at a sharp angle as though it had been blown over by an intense storm. About three-quarters of the tree''s roots had pulled up, leaving a wide, gouged-out patch of earth beneath. The remaining roots appeared to have held and the tree still lived, its newest branches bending to grow straight upwards from the tilted trunk and the still-embedded roots well dug in. The space between the tree''s pulled-up roots and the hole that remained beneath had plenty of room for six human bodies. It took two trips, but they shuttled the dead bandits to it and shoved all of them into the space under the tree. Bote gave a brief prayer to Indicina, asking that the appropriate deities be informed of six souls that needed to be sent where they belonged.


    Finally, they returned to the road and began gathering things up to leave.


    Al didn''t enjoy the all-too-frequent discussion that followed of why they couldn''t just magic up some convenience to carry their things. He started trying to explain why what Wikwocket called the "magic invisible cart" spell would only last long enough to perform some chores and would naturally fade out and dump everything on the ground long before they reached Henhaven. After a few minutes, he gave up and just said that actually carrying things was good for everyone''s health and magic shouldn''t just be used for laziness.


    "Besides that, having to stop to re-establish the magical effect several times before we arrive would actually take longer than just walking and carrying everything, and I wouldn''t be able to keep it going the whole way to Henhaven even if I tried right now," he finished, as he tied two of the crossbows to the outside of his pack.


    The sun was getting low in the sky as they continued on their way. They still had a few hours of walking to do. Al muttered silently to himself as they marched tediously along.


    ''Magic invisible cart''. Nobody appreciates how complex this stuff is. Sure, it''s well-documented and simple for wizardry but the pattern holds a very specific amount of intent. Do they think I could just, what, shove more ''magic'' into it to make it last longer? I mean, the whole pattern would have to be altered. Hmm, I suppose if one just...


    The academic challenge kept Al''s mind occupied for quite a while, until he stumbled over a stone in the road and nearly fell. Night had properly fallen as he had pondered. Al could barely see the surface of the road and the rest of his group around him in the dim moonlight peeking between the clouds. The others continued to march along confidently.


    Al sighed. "I''m the only one who can''t see in this, aren''t I," he stated.


    "My ancestors have preferred the underground for our entire existence. We''re used to less brightly-lit spaces," said Bote.


    "There''s plenty of moonlight," added Wikwocket.


    Gruntle noticed everyone looking at him. He shrugged and kept walking.


    Al silently looked up, beseeching the heavens for mercy. He couldn''t see anyone up there, but he assumed that, like apparently everyone but him, they''d have no trouble seeing him pleading down there in the dark.


    "And before you ask," Al said, "no, I don''t have a way to magic my eyes. Stop for a moment and I can light a torch. I''ll do that with magic if you want."


    Gruntle stopped. The others stopped to see why.


    Gruntle turned to regard Al, who could only really see the faint amber glow of Gruntle''s eyes reflecting the dim moonlight above him. They stared at each other for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, Al saw Gruntle''s eyes widen.


    "Oh," Gruntle said, or at least that''s how Al interpreted the quiet guttural sound, "Strategy. Shaman holds bright light, draws all the attention. Powerful magic protects him. While all the enemy attention is on shaman, we ambush and kill the enemy."


    Gruntle lowered his head slightly in a sort of bow.


    Al took off his pack and fished a torch out of it, feeling he was unavoidably committed now. For the sake of theatrics, he added some flourish to his gestures as he abused a tiny bit of arcane power, commanding the torch to burst into flame.


    That might actually be a pretty good strategy if I actually had powerful magic to protect me. Al thought to himself. What have I gotten myself into?


    They set off again, Gruntle stalking eagerly ahead, just beyond the range of the torchlight. He seemed disappointed when nothing attacked them before they reached the poorly-lit village of Henhaven.

 0023 - What Preys on Henhaven?

    The road emerged from the forest abruptly, dumping the adventurers directly into a cluster of small rustic homes and chicken coops. The houses were all quiet and entirely unlit. It wasn''t until they''d gotten halfway to the other side of the village that they saw any signs of life. It was a large, squat building, presumably the village public-house judging by the roughly-painted sign depicting a chicken and the words "The Biggest Coop" visible in the light of the last of Al''s sputtering torch. The windows were covered with flaps of hide, and the lamps outside were unlit, but flickering light was visible under the crack of the door. Al made a futile attempt to blow out the torch to preserve what little use of it remained, then gave in and commanded it to put itself out with a bit of magic.


    "Sounds like a lot of the village is probably in there, I was beginning to worry there was nobody left," Al said, "we should be able to find out...what are you doing, Gruntle?"


    Gruntle had dropped everything he was carrying and was rummaging through his pack.


    "Haven''t been here before. Should do the thing," came the guttural reply. He triumphantly pulled a length of rope from his pack and offered one end to Al. Al eyed it unhappily.


    "Absolutely not. I think these poor villagers have had enough terror."


    "Oh, come on Al!" Wikwocket objected, "He''s here to help! We can''t just make him wait outside!"


    "Unsupervised," added Bote.


    "This is not a time to be playing jokes on people," Al insisted.


    "No, this will work!" said Wikwocket. "Look, I''ll take him in. If I''ve got him on the end of a rope so it looks like he''s under control, that should give us time to explain, right?"


    She didn''t give time for Al to object again. She leapt up and grabbed the end of the rope that Gruntle was holding out. He tucked the other end under his collar as Wikwocket stepped up to the door and knocked.


    "Hello! Don''t worry, we''re here to save you!" she shouted, then led the way inside.


    The inside of the public-house was crowded with worried-looking men and women around a collection of tables. Burning candles on each table and a small fire in the fireplace lit the room. Every face in the room turned to see Wikwocket come through the door.


    "Get inside quick, little lady," said the woman behind the counter who seemed to be the proprietor, "and close the door before..."


    Gruntle shuffled in on all fours behind Wikwocket at the end of the rope.


    "...it''s right behind you get inside! Douse the lights! Douse the lights!"


    Panicked screaming spread through the room. Within a few seconds, every single candle in the place was snuffed out and someone threw a bucket of water over the fireplace. Some sounds of scuffling and shifting furniture followed as the occupants dove under tables or tried to put chairs between themselves and the door. Then it was dark and quiet, except for a few people hyperventilating or whimpering.


    "Gentle...townsfolk...," came the deep growling voice from the dark. "Fear...not. We have come...to...protect the...innocent."


    "Who is that?" an urgent voice hissed from somewhere else in the dark. "Is it gone?"


    "Uh...I...am...but...no, wait... We are...humble...," Gruntle tried, uncertainly, then gave up with a frustrated growl.


    "You''re not doing it right. Don''t know what to say now," he finally grumbled.


    "They can''t see you in the dark," Wikwocket told Gruntle, sympathetically, "I''m sure they''d have been properly surprised otherwise."


    "Who are you two?" came the proprietor''s voice from the direction of the counter.


    "Four." Al''s silhouette corrected, barely visible in the faint moonlight outside the door. Al took a few steps into the room, then disappeared from view as he stumbled over a stool in the dark with a curse.


    "Why did you put out all the lights?" Al''s voice complained from floor as Bote stepped over him and then reached down to help him up.


    "The beast seems to fear the dark!" another villager''s voice explained. "It''s never come into the village at night before, but we knew it was only a matter of time before it decided there was enough moonlight. Putting out the lights scared it off."


    Al got back to his feet and felt around until he found a table to lean on.


    "Well, I don''t know if I should call this bad news or good news, but I don''t think the beast you''re worried about has come to your village tonight."


    "But I saw it!" insisted the proprietor''s voice. "It was right behind the little lady there!"


    "See?" Al said, "This is why I thought this was a bad idea. Wikwocket, before we bring the lights back up, would you like to explain to the people here exactly what''s going on?"


    "Gladly!" Wikwocket enthused. There was a sound of her jumping atop a nearby table.


    "Good people of Henhaven!" she announced, "We are a band of noble adventurers! We saw your plea for help in Silveroak, and we''ve come to end the rampage of the creature that threatens you!"


    Hopeful murmurs of excitement made their way around the room.


    "We come to you with skills, wizardry, the favor of the gods, and not one but two strong fighters to face this beast!" Wikwocket continued,"And what''s more....get ready, Al...!"


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    Al sighed and felt around on the table until he found a candle.


    Wikwocket finished with dramatic emphasis. "...the beast that hunts you won''t dare come to your village tonight because...we have a beast of our own!"


    Al commanded the candle to light. The crowd gasped as the dim light revealed Wikwocket standing on the table, dramatically gesturing to Gruntle crouched by the table next to her. She showed no concern at how close her hands were to his teeth.


    "We do?" asked Gruntle.


    Wikwocket stood up on her toes and whispered in Gruntle''s ear.


    "Oh," he said.


    Al handed the candle to a villager at the next table and motioned that they should start relighting the others. Then, he raised his hands.


    "I''m sure you''ve all got a lot to say but there''s something important we need to know right now."


    He turned to the woman behind the counter, watching him with a mix of hope and worry.


    "You thought Gruntle" - Al pointed in case it wasn''t obvious who he was referring to - "was the beast that is hunting your village. He''s not, but...is the one hunting you the same kind? Does it really look like Gruntle?"


    "I''m actually not sure," she answered apologetically. "Almost nobody has gotten a good look and survived to say. Horace?"


    An old man with skin like sun-baked leather stood up on the other side of the room. His left arm was a bandaged stump.


    "No," he said. "Ours is more like a wolf in shape and color. Bigger than yours, like the size of a horse. Longer teeth, fangs, sharper..." Horace''s voice became unsteady and he stared vacantly at the stump of his left arm. "Its front paws...toes too long, claws, grabbing...grabbing...biting..."


    The woman next to him put her hand on his shoulder to calm him. He shook his head.


    "Horace is how we found out it doesn''t like the dark," the proprietor explained.


    "I''m fine," Horace said after a moment. "Just not easy to shake off something like that. I was feeding the chickens one morning about a week ago. It came running out of the woods. Didn''t even seem to notice the chickens, it came right for me. It''s fast. I didn''t quite make it back to the house before it caught up to me. Ran like a wolf, but lunged at me with its front paws almost like a cat, like it was trying to grab me. Toes aren''t long enough to grab hard but it got hold of my shirt with its claws and got my hand in its teeth."


    Horace closed his eyes as if trying not to see the memory.


    "When it...took my hand, the rest of me made a run for the root cellar. Guess I tasted pretty good, it chewed for a few seconds before coming after me again. Gave me just enough time to get the door open and get down to the far side of the cellar in the dark. No idea what I would have done if it''d come after me, I wasn''t really thinking."


    Horace opened his eyes again. "It came in past the open cellar door and a few steps down towards me, but it stopped right where the sunlight stopped and sort of...complained. Whining and growling. Paced a little. It''s dark down in the cellar but I know it could see me anyway, it was looking me right in the eyes. I don''t know how to describe the sounds it made when it gave up and left. Like a dog that''s frustrated, angry, and afraid at the same time."


    Horace rubbed the stump of his arm in silence.


    "At least it didn''t eat the chickens." he finally said.


    "Now I''m hungry," Gruntle interjected. "Said there''d be better food here if I didn''t eat the..."


    "Yes! Yes of course!" Al hurriedly interrupted before Gruntle could finish his statement.


    "What does it eat?" the proprietor asked with some trepidation. A few of the patrons quietly tried to crouch back down under their tables.


    "He eats a lot of the same things we do. Of course, he likes meat. Also cheeses."


    "Eggs?" the proprietor asked hopefully.


    "I like eggs," Gruntle answered.


    "Well, kitchen shut down for the night but if you can really get rid of the beast, we''ll feed you all as much as you want. Let me go talk to the cook," she said, relieved.


    She came out from the behind the counter and went through a door at the other end of the room. An indistinct discussion was heard between the proprietor and a sleepy masculine voice, which rapidly became louder and more annoyed. The proprietor''s voice rose to match. Heavy footsteps approached the door, which was yanked open to reveal a plump, balding, red-faced man with a scruffy grey beard. He looked angrily out across the room and spotted Gruntle.


    His face went blank and the door slowly closed again. A quieter discussion and the sound of cookware being set up followed.


    As they waited, the villagers quietly began talking amongst themselves again. It was hard to make out individual voices but they sounded cautiously hopeful.


    One particular table seemed to be looking towards the adventurers more than the others. A woman in farmer''s coveralls stood up from there, shaking off the worried attempts by her neighbors to get her to sit back down. She hesitantly approached the adventurers'' table. She nodded politely to Al, Bote, and Wikwocket, then turned to speak to Gruntle.


    "What are you?" she asked nervously.


    Gruntle pulled his gaze away from the kitchen door to look at her. He squinted in confusion, and gave the question intense thought.


    "Junior warrior," he finally pronounced slowly.


    "He''s a gnoll," Al said.


    The woman''s eyes went wide.


    "Gnolls are real?!" she asked incredulously, staring. "He''s a gnoll!" she announced back to the table she came from.


    "That''s right!" Wikwocket jumped in, sensing a dramatic opportunity. "The terrifying manifestation of demonic fury! Merciless destroyer of foes!"


    Warming up to her audience, she gave an exciting account of their encounter with the bandits, and how Gruntle had personally slain three of them. She left out their discussion of whether or not to eat them afterwards.


    The listening villagers were so enthralled by the story that everyone continued to watch silently when she finished, until the first of them finally realized something.


    "Wait...you got rid of the bandits on the road to Silveroak?"


    Excited talking flashed around the room and quickly rose to cheers and applause. A number of the villagers overcame their reluctance and gathered around the adventurers to express their gratitude. It seemed the bandits had set up along the road months ago and had been taking money and small valuables from travelers, and a portion of whatever food they might be carrying, as a "toll". It made commerce at the lucrative market in Silveroak expensive for them, but not as expensive as hiring guards would have been. "We''d have been completely destitute if the tax collector hadn''t seemed to have forgotten about us before that started."


    Bote looked up at that. "That seems unusual. Has that happened before?"


    "What, the tax collector? No, he used to show up with a bodyguard every couple of months demanding money from anyone known to have any, and food from anyone who didn''t. About a year ago, he just stopped showing up."


    The kitchen door opened and the proprietor came back into the room with a tray holding a large bowl of scrambled eggs, four plates, and some spoons. The happy villagers nearest Gruntle backed away as he started to drool.


    "Thought you might all be hungry," said the proprietor, passing out plates and spoons to each of them. She looked around at the crowd that had gathered around the newcomers. "Make friends easy, do you?"


    "They got rid of the bandits!" one of the villagers explained, prompting another round of cheers and applause.


    "Really?!" The proprietor''s smile grew from polite-and-professional to genuine joy. "You want any more eggs, you just tell me. I''m Rose, by the way."


    She set the bowl down on the table next to Gruntle''s plate.


    Ignoring the plate, his spoon remaining gripped in one stubby-clawed fist on the table, Gruntle shoved his face into the bowl of eggs and began devouring.


    Rose stared nonplussed. Then she chuckled. "I''ll get some more going."

 0024 - The Beast is Found

    Two bowls were brought from the kitchen this time. While Gruntle''s face was in one, the others spooned the contents of the other onto their plates and began eating. As they nourished themselves, they got the assembled villagers to explain the situation in better detail.


    The first disappearance had been about a month ago. One of the villagers had gone out hunting and just never returned. A group that went out looking for them the next day had found a broken bow and scattered arrows around a bloodstained and torn up patch of underbrush. At the time, they had assumed the poor fellow had perhaps mistakenly gotten between a bear cub and its mother. Other hunters resolved to be more careful, but a few days later there was another disappearance. After that, the hunters never went out alone.


    It didn''t stop the disappearances, but there was a survivor. He described his hunting-partner being taken by surprise at a moment when the survivor happened to be looking the other way. The momentary glimpses he''d gotten as the attacker ran off were of some large beast, bigger than a bear, fast, strong, with dark-grey mangy fur. It outran his attempt to catch up as it dragged its victim away. The hunter had eventually discovered his missing partner''s remains, limbs and body savaged as though by a hungry carnivorous beast. The corpse''s ribcage had been torn apart and the innards spread across the ground. Its heart was missing. The hunting stopped for a while after this, for obvious reasons. That gave them more than a week without further disappearances, until the beast had attacked Horace.


    "When we found out the beast doesn''t like the dark, one of our more stubborn hunters decided to try her luck hunting after dusk. She''s gone out and come back safely for the last three nights. Obviously kind of hard to hunt in the dark but she managed to set up some traps and brought back some rabbits last night," said Rose, looking worried. "I hope she''s okay. She was back earlier the last few times. Haven''t seen her yet tonight."


    "If the beast doesn''t like to be out in the dark, it must be hiding somewhere," Al considered. "Where could it go that isn''t dark at night?"


    This turned out to be a real mystery. The village had become very conscientious about extinguishing any lights that weren''t in use and keeping lights away from the forest, so there shouldn''t be anywhere in the village itself that it could be hiding. The next nearest populations were Silveroak a day''s walk to the north and Turnipseed nearly as far south. The beast appeared to be quite fast but it seemed unlikely it would be spending a large portion of the daylight hours sprinting nonstop from either of those places to Henhaven to hunt villagers, and then sprinting back again before dark. Besides, if it had been hiding in Silveroak surely someone would have noticed people going missing. As for Turnipseed, about two weeks previously one of the Henhavenites had subjected themselves to the bandits'' "toll" to get to Silveroak to seek help, and they''d run into someone from Turnipseed there the same day, coincidentally putting up their own call for help with a different matter. They didn''t talk much - apparently people from Turnipseed aren''t well-liked for reasons that were obscure, but it seemed Turnipseed wasn''t being devoured by a beast either..


    "Is there anywhere out in the forest itself where someone might be?" Al speculated aloud.


    "Oh! Like a crazy old hermit consorting with supernatural forces from a cottage hidden deep in the woods!" offered Wikwocket.


    "I was thinking more like a logging camp, or a hunting camp. Hmmm...or a bandit camp? Now that I think about it, didn''t they seem awfully, I don''t know, casual about Gruntle being there? Do you think they''ve had dealings with some sort of beast before?"


    Bote considered, examining their memories of the encounter. Finally, they shook their head.


    "I don''t think so," they finally said. "To me, there seemed to be a hint of fear in all of their eyes, but none would admit it because that would make them seem weak to the others. Nearly all of them focused their attention on Gruntle as the biggest threat. I believe their leader was more intent on trying to seem in control of the most dangerous one present as quickly as possible. A bluff, rather than a familiar situation."


    "I suppose so," Al said, skeptically. "Still, it sounds like that''s the only lead we''ve come up with so far."


    He sighed. "I really don''t want to go back out there tonight."


    There was a clatter as Gruntle''s spoon was dropped and he stood to his full height, watching the door to the outside. His ears swiveled and he sniffed the air.


    Al reached for his mace.


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    "The beast? Are we in danger?" he asked.


    "Nah," Gruntle replied, calmly crouching back down and reaching for the bowl the others had spooned their eggs from. "Sounds like someone hurt bad. Smell a lot of blood. Probably die soon."


    He began idly licking the bowl.


    Even as Bote - followed quickly by Al and Wikwocket - headed for the door, there was a dull thud from outside, followed by a dragging sound. As Bote reached for the handle to open the door, something slapped weakly against the outside. A strained voice called out quietly.


    "...found it...help...help..."


    "Gertrude!?!" shouted Rose, leaping over the counter as Bote opened the door.


    Gertrude lay in front of the door on her stomach. It was a wonder that the huntress was still breathing, let alone still blindly trying to slap at the now-open door with her right hand. Her left arm lay flat against her left side. Bits of broken collarbone were visible sticking out of where a fist-sized chunk of flesh and muscle had been torn away. Long claw-marks ran down the left side of her back. Fresh blood oozed through, slowly forming scabs from each wound. Her head turned to the right, eyes open but unseeing through pinpoint pupils. Unaware of her surroundings now, she continued trying to speak between shallow, rapid breaths.


    "The old keep...found it...help..."


    Ignoring the gathering crowd, Bote knelt. They gently placed their right palm against the clammy skin of Gertrude''s temple.


    "Be at peace," Bote said with a calm smile. "We have arrived right when we are needed."


    They muttered a quiet prayer, and a warm glow spread from their hand to suffuse Gertrude''s entire body. For an instant, the gawking crowd was blinded. Gertrude gasped.


    In a blink, the wounds had stopped bleeding. A patch of pale new flesh had replaced the destroyed shoulder. Gertrude''s breathing steadied. Her eyes returned to normal and with an effort, she turned herself over onto her back, ignoring the squelching noise from the blood-soaked ground.


    "What happened? Who are you?"


    Everyone had to wait for the cheering to settle down before Bote could answer.


    "It seems the ineffable plans intend for you to live," Bote explained, still gently smiling. "You may call me Bote. I and my companions have come to help. That''s Al, that''s Wikwocket and...well, there is one other but I think perhaps you should rest and tell us what you were trying to say before you meet him."


    Gertrude sat up. "The old keep! It''s hiding out in the old keep up on the hill, south of the village!"


    "What old keep?" asked Rose.


    "You know, the one that Lord?...Baron?...uh... I can''t remember his name. The tax collector! His keep!"


    "Oh?" asked Rose. Some confused muttering passed among the rest of the villagers followed by a few sounds of recognition. "Oh!" Rose said, her eyes widening. "I''d completely forgotten that was there."


    "So had I," said Gertrude. "But I went to check on my snares tonight and found someone had taken everything I''d caught. I whacked my way through the underbrush with my hand-axe following the trail of disturbed ground and broken twigs left by whoever did it. The trail led right to the keep. There were lights inside and nobody answered when I pounded on the door, but it opened right up when I pushed on it. The beast was waiting there for me on the other side. It grabbed me and we fought, I don''t remember exactly what happened. I know it bit me and I managed to chop it a few times in the side with my axe. Somehow I pulled free and ran for the woods. I thought it''d come after me, but it didn''t."


    She looked nervously southward down the road. Nothing moved in the dim moonlight.


    "What sort of lights?" Al asked suddenly.


    Gertrude frowned. "What?"


    "At the keep, you said there was light inside. What was the light coming from? Were there lamps or torches or candles?"


    Gertrude gave him a look of perplexed annoyance. "My attention was on something more urgent. What does it matter?"


    "I think what Al is really asking," explained Bote, "is whether there might be anyone else in the keep with the beast."


    "Exactly! No matter how cunning the beast is, I wouldn''t think it''s running around replacing torches and lighting candles on its own. Even a lot of enchantments need to be renewed regularly. If there''s someone there, it might not be the beast we need to worry about most."


    This seemed to spark a memory for Gertrude. "I...think I did see someone, just for a moment. The beast reached out of the opening door and grabbed me to pull me inside. There was an open door at the other side of the foyer where we fought. I thought I saw someone run by in the hallway with a candelabra. I remember being angry that whoever it was didn''t seem to even acknowledge what was happening."


    She thought for a moment more. "I think there were torches. In sconces next to the door to the hallway. They had a red flame."


    Al yawned. "Sorry. It hasn''t been as bad for us as it has for you, but it''s still been a hard day. It''d be nice if we could go confront the beast before sunrise but we''re in no shape to do it. We''re going to need some rest and some time to prepare before we set out for this keep."


    "Well," said Rose, "this makes two valuable services you''ve done for us even before you face whatever is up there. As long as the Biggest Coop remains, you''ll never have to pay for food, drink, or a place to sleep here again."


    "Two?" asked Gertrude.


    "They got rid of the bandits on their way here!"


    "By themselves? Just those three?"


    "Four!" announced Wikwocket proudly. "Say, would you like to meet our beast?"

 0025 - Close Encounter of the Bestial Kind

    The rest of the night was spent in tolerable comfort sleeping in the common rental-room of the Biggest Coop. As they''d discussed with the other villagers who were still present before they bedded down, Rose awakened them at sunrise with a knock on the door. They quickly filled their bellies with the apparently endless scrambled eggs they were offered, then went out to meet up with the entire population of the village at the village''s well. The villagers and the party would stay together defensively through the daylight hours so that if the beast did come, it wouldn''t be able to separate one of them to victimize.


    "You sure you can''t shoot magical fire from your fingers at it or something?" Wikwocket had asked.


    "No, I can''t." Al sighed. But then, he thought. "Well, maybe I can. Give me a few hours."


    He fetched the bandits'' crossbows and the crossbow bolts they''d recovered, and found a convenient woodpile to use for target practice. He rummaged up a bit of twine and used it to tie carefully-sized bits of wood to the end of the bolts. After cursing at the first crossbow for falling apart when he wound it and picking up a second, he began to practice.


    It took a few shots to get used to the extra weight at the end of the crossbow bolts, but Al had practiced with a crossbow even before he joined the army, and then had gotten more practice after. Most of his shots hit what he was aiming at. Some of the assembled villagers cheered him on, and one or two asked to try it out. After an hour or so, all three of the other still-functional crossbows they''d confiscated from the bandits were in use by bored villagers. Those with some hunting experience did reasonably well for people who''d never used one before.


    "Now, I''m not formally any sort of magic expert, but to me, this kind of looks like the opposite of shooting magical fire from your fingers." pondered Wikwocket with simulated philosophical interest.


    "Not yet," Al countered,"but later when I replace the piece of wood with one of the glass containers of ultraphlogisticated oil, I will be."


    "But that''s cheating! That''s not magic!"


    "Oh, but it is!" Al said. "Look at it this way, if I wave my hands a special way and say magic words and my target bursts into flame, you would call that magic, right?"


    "Obviously!"


    "And what if I was good enough that I didn''t even need to say the magic words?"


    "That''s be even more magical!"


    "Exactly! But, what if I needed to use a wand instead of my fingers, would that still be magic?"


    "Yes, of course..." Wikwocket answered, wondering where this line of discussion was headed.


    "Would it matter what the wand was shaped like?"


    "No?"


    "Well then, here is my wand", said Al, hefting the crossbow, "and here is my magical gesture."


    He wound the crossbow back up, set a bolt in place, aimed, and pulled the trigger as Wikwocket objected.


    "But...anybody can do that, that''s not magic!"


    "I''m telling you, it is!" disputed Al, "It''s a very simple kind of magic that''s very easy to understand, but it''s still fundamentally the same as more difficult magic like throwing lightning or transmuting someone into a dire-squirrel. It''s all just a matter of knowing how you want reality to be changed, and knowing how and where to apply one''s will to make it want to happen. In this case, When I use a crossbow, I want reality to be changed just enough to transform my target into one with a hole poked in it, and I just need to understand how reality works and how my magical tool works to make it happen. Changing it slightly to make a glass container of alchemical fire break on the target just requires a little bit of adjustment. And that''s the lesson beginning students of wizardry are supposed to grasp when they made us practice with a crossbow for endless hours before they let us work with what you would call real magic."


    "If that was true, anybody would be able to do magic!"


    "I would say, rather, that everyone is doing magic, all the time," observed Bote, who had been watching and listening.


    "I mean real magic." complained Wikwocket. "If that''s all it is, why doesn''t everybody do real magic?"


    "Mostly it''s because once you get to the that kind of magic the details, complexity, and nuances of the parts of reality that you need to be able to understand and manipulate get very different from most people''s day-to-day experience. It takes a lot of study and practice, and the right kind of mind, to get to that point. Most people who are reasonably smart could still do it, but it might take them a long time in dedicated study which might be better spent learning more typical skills."


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    "How much time is a long time?" Wikwocket asked.


    "Well, I personally have some advantages. My ancestry has a lot of magically-talented people in it, so if there is such a thing as a natural talent for magic I probably have it. My parents are both magical practitioners so I''ve been exposed to magic-working habits all my life, and I had access to a good start for my education in wizardry and plenty of academic resources. It''s taken me about the last 8 years to get to where I am, which I feel like is just barely reaching the level of basic understanding I''ll need to build from on my own. Someone without those advantages might have to study and practice for over a decade before finally achieving any level of, uh, real magic at all, and decades more to advance enough to start teaching themselves, and that''s assuming they can even get access to the knowledge to get started."


    "Well, that''s not fair," Wikwocket pouted. "Here, let me try one of those crossbows."


    <hr>


    Gruntle was very disappointed that none of the new clan-members wanted to punch him. The more of his extended clan that he met, the stranger they seemed. If he was a creature with a greater sense of curiosity, this would give him plenty to think about. As it was, he was merely restless and bored. At a moment when everyone''s attention was on their own conversations or the crossbow practice the others were indulging in, he quietly stepped away to sniff around.


    The scent of chicken was everywhere. Virtually every dwelling had a chicken coop next to it. For a while, Gruntle amused himself by trying to sneak up on the chickens as he meandered around the village, and watching them all scramble frantically for their coops each time they finally noticed him.


    Towards the southern end of the village, Gruntle encountered a novelty - one of the chickens wanted to fight. As the hens ran for cover in the coop, a rooster charged to their defense. As it leapt at him, flapping its wings, slashing with its talons and clucking angrily, Gruntle hesitated. What, exactly, the chickens were to the clan wasn''t clear. He knew they were frequently eaten by the clan, but that didn''t necessarily mean anything - the clan he had originally been born into occasionally ate other clan-members. After all, why waste meat? On the other hand, it was far too small to seriously injure or challenge him. Was it like a cub?


    He reached to grab the belligerent bird, but its wild flapping made its movement hard to predict. It jabbed his hand with a spur as it dodged away. Gruntle grinned. What a fun game!


    By the time he finally managed to grab the rooster, Gruntle''s hand was bleeding from several shallow slashes and stabs. The chicken refused to give up, desperately pecking and kicking at Gruntle even as he held it by the neck. Gruntle let out a barking laugh of approval.


    A loud crash nearby interrupted the recreational violence. Gruntle dropped the rooster and loped quietly towards where the noise had come from. The rooster, seeing his hens had all made it to safety, decided he''d punished Gruntle enough and ran for the coop himself to join them.


    Gruntle reached the corner of the cabin he''d heard the noise from, when another crash was heard a short distance away. He peeked carefully around the corner.


    The door to the cabin had been smashed in. A little ways off, the door of a second cabin appeared to also be broken down. From inside that cabin, there were the sounds of objects being violently thrown about, and frustrated growling. Gruntle crouched down on all fours and crept quietly forward. As he passed the entry to the nearer cabin, he looked inside to see the place had been hastily ransacked - blankets torn from the bedding, table overturned. There was a faint sulfurous scent in the air that was alien and yet, almost familiar.


    Gruntle continued towards the other cabin, still hunched low. He froze when the beast emerged as he got to about halfway.


    Horace''s description of it being the size of a horse hadn''t been much of an exaggeration. It walked on four legs, its shoulders and hips at the same height that Al''s head would have been. It somewhat resembled a wolf in the same way a wolf resembles a lapdog. It had wide ears and a too-long snout unevenly filled with sharp teeth. Its forepaws were stretched, as though someone had started pulling them out to make hands out of them but had stopped halfway through the process. It was covered with patchy dark-grey fur, with tumorous lumps that flexed like muscle underneath. It appeared to be at least double Gruntle''s own bulk. It was large enough that it had to duck slightly and struggled to squeeze back out through the cabin''s doorway, snarling angrily as it did. It saw Gruntle as it shook itself free. It stared, perhaps shocked to see someone else inhuman there.


    Gruntle held still, considering paths for escape from the larger beast. His instincts drove a need to protect the survival of his clan, and since he was the only clan-member present, that meant himself. He grinned excitedly all the same - if he couldn''t escape the beast, at least there would be a lot of gratifying violence in the fight to survive. He would find out as soon as the beast charged at him.


    But it never did.


    Its disordered collection of muscle tensed to spring, but stopped. The beast stared at Gruntle''s slashed and bleeding right hand for a long moment, then slowly raised its gaze to look Gruntle in the eyes. Gruntle met its gaze and stared back.


    The muscles of the beast''s face writhed, and with an effort that seemed to cause it pain, it vocalized. The sound meant nothing to Gruntle, but the tone of the single utterance seemed like an attempt at speech. It resembled the sounds of a gnollish cub, still trying to learn to talk. When the beast repeated the sound, it seemed almost to be pleading. Without looking away, Gruntle cocked his head to the side questioningly.


    The beast finally looked away, towards the south along the road, then back to Gruntle''s wounded hand, and finally back to Gruntle''s face. Again, quietly, the beast made the same pained sound. Then it slowly backed away a step, turned, and trotted towards the south road. It looked back one last time as it passed the edge of the village, then broke into a run.

 0026 - We Leave at Dusk

    Somewhere in the distance to the south, Al heard a now-familiar barking laugh. He looked around in a slight panic.


    "Wait, wait...where''s Gruntle?"


    Neither the villagers nor Wikwocket or Bote seemed to know, judging by the questioning looks they all traded with each other.


    "It''s not like he blends in with everyone else, how does someone that big...? Never mind, no time."


    Al hastily assembled the villagers and got them to arrange themselves into a defensive circle around the well with instructions to make a lot of noise if anything happened. That taken care of, he, Bote, and Wikwocket set off in the direction they''d heard Gruntle''s barking from.


    They found a low-fenced chickenyard, empty of chickens but spattered with drops of blood. Agitated clucking came from the henhouse as they got near. A few more drops of blood made a trail that led around the front of a nearby cabin. There they found Gruntle standing, watching intently southward down the road, ignoring the blood still dripping from his hand. They ran to meet him.


    "Gruntle, what are you doing? What happened?" Al asked as they got near.


    "Scouting." Gruntle answered, still watching to the south. "You''re too slow. Gone now." He pointed to the prints left in the dirt, large and resembling - but not really matching - the tracks of a bear, wolf, or cougar.


    "The beast?"


    Gruntle grunted assent.


    "Were you locked in a desperate battle for survival?" an excited Wikwocket asked.


    "Nah. Just looked at me and left."


    "Then, what happened to your hand?" asked Al.


    Finally reminded of it, Gruntle held his hand up and looked at it. He grinned.


    "Chicken wanted to fight."


    <hr>


    Bote examined Gruntle''s hand and deemed the injuries superficial, so the group immediately headed back towards the village well, lest the beast decide to circle around and attack before they got there. Al called out to ask if everyone was all right even before they were in sight of the villagers, and was relieved to hear a scattering of affirmation from them.


    While Bote cleaned up Gruntle''s hand, they got Gruntle to describe the entire event. Once they''d reconstructed the situation in as much detail as they could, several questions arose.


    "Firstly, what do you think it was looking for?" Al considered.


    "Maybe some ancient cursed necklace of jewel-encrusted wolves'' teeth, stolen from an forgotten tomb and hidden under someone''s bed?" Wikwocket suggested with hopeful playfulness.


    "Where do you come up with this stuff?" Al asked her.


    She tapped her head. "It all comes flowing out from in here. Probably way more exciting than what it was really after but I''m kind of an optimist."


    "I suspect it was looking for the villagers," Bote offered. "It seems although it has an interest in other meats, it is particularly going after the people here."


    "That''d make sense. I''m glad we got everyone together away from the edge of the village. Now, you said it tried to speak to you?"


    "Think so. Sounded like trying to talk." Gruntle answered.


    "What did it say?"


    "Don''t know. Didn''t understand him."


    "Well, what did it sound like?"


    Gruntle imitated the sound the beast had made. Wikwocket was also able to mimic the sound Gruntle produced remarkably well, other than not having the size and depth of voice to get the pitch quite right. To Al, it did sound something like speech - a noise like a person angrily growling a word. Unfortunately, that word seemed to be something like "Uryeh" or "Ooeryah" and meant absolutely nothing to any of them.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Well, I don''t recognize what language that could be from, if it''s from any language at all," Al said.


    "Perhaps it''s the beast''s name? Or the name of its master? Or a place?" Bote considered.


    "Or the name of a lost sibling! Oh, I know, maybe it''s the name of its long lost love! A beautiful beast-princess, kidnapped by...by...," Wikwocket speculated enthusiastically.


    "...by chicken farmers?" Al suggested flatly, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe chicken farmers who are secretly dragons?" he asked Bote sarcastically.


    "Now you are simply being silly," Bote said.


    Al rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Yes, I am. Well, it doesn''t seem like we''re going to solve any of the mysteries right now. I''m guessing any answers that are out there are sitting up there at the keep. We should probably start getting ready."


    <hr>


    Al found a quiet spot to sit down with his wizardry notes to rehearse and prepare for the magic he thought he might need to use. Bote found a nearby spot for quiet meditation. Not having any particularly esoteric preparations to make, Wikwocket recruited Gruntle for a game of "tag".


    That the game was like "sparring", but for hunting instead of fighting, was easy enough to explain, though why the winner of each round suddenly had to flee from the loser seemed to confuse him at first. Wikwocket came up with the explanation that the "hunter" was actually pretending to steal something from the hunted, which Gruntle seemed to immediately understand. They spent the afternoon alternately pursuing and escaping each other in the area around the center of the village. A few too-slow villagers were knocked over along the way but nobody seriously injured. The two ended up just about evenly matched. Both of them were quite sneaky in their own ways. Wikwocket''s short legs kept her from matching Gruntle''s speed over open ground, but her size and agility gave her an advantage when dodging, or hiding when she managed to get out of sight for a moment.


    They finally wound down as the sun sank towards the horizon. They shared a mutually-respectful fist-bump and cool water from the well. Al and Bote seemed to have finished their more supernatural preparations and Al was now busy carefully tying two of the ampoules of ultraphlogisticated oil to crossbow bolts.


    "I am not certain what you have been doing is safe," Bote said to Gruntle and Wikwocket. "Be warned, that one''s unpredictable, wild nature may put you in danger of violent harm."


    "Relax, we''re all clan now! He won''t hurt me!" Wikwocket countered.


    "That was not addressed to you," Bote replied with an amused smile.


    <hr>


    Rose and Gertrude brought out bowls of chicken stew for them all as dusk approached.


    "Thank you again for what you''ve done for us already, and what you mean to do for us tonight," Rose said, hesitantly. Gertrude nudged her, and Rose continued. "Uh...how much are we going to owe you for doing all of this?" she finally asked.


    "Oh, well," Al stuttered, taken aback by the question and a little embarrassed at having forgotten to bring the subject up before. "I mean, the request did mention you didn''t have a lot to pay with so we weren''t really expecting too much, and anyway we''re just starting out so..."


    Al''s voice tapered off as Wikwocket held up her hand and gave him a disapproving look.


    "Wow, you really aren''t good at that, are you?" she asked with a grin. She put her right hand over her heart and struck a theatrically-dramatic pose.


    "We shall be repaid by the reputation we earn by our deeds! We shall be repaid with the smiles of every man, woman, child, and chicken in Henhaven! Indeed, it is we who must repay the kind hospitality of this fine village!" Wikwocket declared with appropriate drama. "You did mention food and a place to sleep any time we pass through, too, though," she added more conversationally.


    Al rolled his eyes but couldn''t help smiling a little. "The smile of every chicken? But, fine, yes, you''re better at the speeches than I am," he told Wikwocket. "She''s right though, we''re just starting out in this line of work and we''re going to need to build up our reputation before we start getting offered the kind of jobs where people will pay a lot for them. We''ll probably ask for some food and supplies once we''re done. Other than that, just put in a kind word for us with any travelers that happen to pass through."


    "Again, thank you," Rose repeated.


    Gertrude rubbed her miraculously-healed shoulder.


    "You didn''t let the beast finish me. Don''t let it finish any of you, either," she said.


    "We are careful to plan at times like this," Bote assured her. "Do not die is always a key step in the plans."

 0027 - Tonight, We Kill the Beast!

    The adventurers set out at sunset, with a promise to return as soon as the beast was dealt with. They left most of their gear in order to travel lightly, but Al and Bote both brought some supplies in their pack. They each carried half of the remaining health potions, and Al packed the least decrepit of the crossbows they''d gotten from the bandits and the two bolts with the "ultraphlogisticated oil" tied to them. Al also packed the empty potion bottles, and a few other sundries such as rope and writing supplies, and, of course, his book of wizardy notes. Bote packed similarly lightly but made sure to bring first-aid supplies.


    Once the villagers had been reminded of its existence, the directions to reach the keep were simple and easy to follow - a narrow road up a hill would split off of the main road less than an hour''s walk out of the village. That road would lead directly to the front of the keep.


    The villagers retreated to either their unlit homes or into the Biggest Coop to huddle together, drink, and perhaps even offer a prayer or two asking the town''s minor patron goddess to intercede on the adventurer''s behalf. Nobody was sure what Gallina, goddess of chickens, would be able or willing to do, but the hope was there. As the party left the town, their departure was acknowledged only by the sleepy clucking of the last henhouse on the road, and the braying of a lone donkey guarding the chicken-yard.


    The walk was uneventful aside from Al''s stumbles in the darkness under the overcast night sky - he''d opted not to light a torch or lantern to avoid potentially attracting the beast to the light. No doubt everyone but him would be able to see the beast if it did approach despite the darkness.


    The keep was much as Gertrude had described it. There was a set of wooden double-doors, probably oak, bound with iron bands. They were centered in the front wall of the building, and a reddish flickering light was barely visible shining through the very small gap between the doors, and from under the bottom of them. The keep itself was a small, blocky, two-story building, more like a short square tower than a large fortification or manor. Al thought perhaps it had originally been built as some sort of watchtower and converted into a residence later. Oddly, the only windows visible in the structure appeared to be a colorful stained-glass work to the right of the door, near the corner of the keep, as best Al could make out up close in what little light was available. No light was visible through them. Bote was kind enough to describe how they formed a storybook scene of a village, a small castle on a hill, and someone in a suit of plate armor next to a thin woman in an elegant dress since Al couldn''t see the details in the dark.


    Bote also mentioned that he could see crenellations along the edge of the roof, so there was probably a way up there from inside.


    "Or from outside, if I climb." Wikwocket offered.


    "I''m not sure your rope will even hold my weight, so probably not Bote''s and almost certainly not Gruntle''s, so you''d be going in alone."


    "So?"


    "So, you wouldn''t leave us here by ourselves to be ravaged by a horrible beast while you''re not here to protect us, would you?" Al pleaded melodramatically, then stroked his chin as if deep in thought. "Then again, if I remember the stories correctly, when there is a monster killing people the best thing to do is to split up and look for it separately, isn''t it?"


    "Hey, I''m the drama expert here, if you start doing it I''m going to have to take over the wizardry again."


    Wikwocket conceded the point, though, and slipped the grappling hook back up her sleeve. The four of them gathered at the doors. Al laid down on the ground to try to look through the gap at the bottom. He stared squinting for a while, then quietly stood back up and pressed his ear to the door. He shook his head.


    "I can''t see much of anything under the doors," he said quietly, "but it didn''t look like anything was moving around in there, and I can''t hear anything."


    "Let me check something." Wikwocket suggested. She extracted a thin, flat piece of metal from somewhere under her jacket. She knelt down and slowly slid it through the gap between the two doors at the bottom, then carefully moved it upward. She paused to look meaningfully back at the others when she got to the top of her reach, somewhere a little above where Al''s navel would be, until Al asked Gruntle to lift her up.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The metal shim slid smoothly all the way up to the top of the doors.


    "No bar, no wires," Wikwocket announced.


    "''Wires''?"


    "Trap-makers love using wires. They''re harder to spot before it''s too late."


    "So, no bars to hold it shut, and probably no traps. Gertrude said it opened right up for her. Do we just push it open and see if we get attacked?"


    Gruntle''s opinion was made obvious as he immediately got his shield and flail ready. The sliver of flickering red light through the gap between the doors drew a bright line down his face to reveal the jagged teeth of an eager grin. Wikwocket and Bote, seeing this, prepared themselves similarly.


    "That was just a rhetorical...," Al began, then sighed. "My own fault for even suggesting it. All right." He drew out his mace, stepped back, and readied himself.


    "Okay, Gruntle, gently open..."


    With a snarl Gruntle slammed bodily into the doors, swinging them forcibly inward as he charged into the foyer. There was one fewer beast than expected inside. Frustrated, Gruntle began smashing one of the fine but neglected padded chairs that was there, raising a cloud of dust.


    Al cringed at the amount of noise being made and examined the room.


    There were several of what had once been very fine padded chairs around the center of the room. They were all covered with dust, aside from the one that was being vigorously beaten into a heap of splintered wood and torn upholstery. A similarly once-fine wool rug covered nearly all of the floor. There was a path across the middle of it that seemed clear of dust, and the side nearest the front door was soaked with congealed blood. A chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling. Its candles were long ago burned out. A torch with a flickering reddish flame rested in a sconce on the left side of the door on the opposite side of the room, its light scattered around by the crystals in the chandelier. An empty sconce was on the other side.


    Al waited until Gruntle seemed content with the amount of harm he''d done to the chair for the crime of not being the beast he''d expected to fight, then Al motioned for the others to follow him into the room. From inside, he could see an additional door in the wall to the right, which he guessed led to whatever room had the stained-glass window. From inside, a pair of banners could be seen hanging down the walls on either side of the front doors. They were faded and visibly moldy, but both had a lighter patch in the middle as though some shape had once been painted on them. The overgrown fungus covering the banners now made them indistinct, but they might have once been the outline of an animal''s head in profile. The thick plank of wood that appeared to be intended for barring the doors rested against the wall, its own layer of dust a testament to how long it had been since it had been used.


    Al quietly went over the clues he could see inside.


    "Let''s see...the room hasn''t been used for anything in a long time, but there''s been plenty of recent traffic across the middle of the floor, so someone''s been going in and out through here. There''s the torch Gertrude mentioned, next to the door she said she saw someone run past. Judging by the dust on the floor, nobody''s been going to the stained-glass-window room through here. Anything else I''m missing?"


    Bote considered. "The doors to the outside were closed, and the door opposite them is also closed. Someone at least has presence of mind not to leave them open. Gertrude had said the inner door was open, hadn''t she? And the torch appears fresh to me."


    "Let me take a look," said Al, "Wait...Gruntle? You okay?"


    Gruntle had calmed down and hung his flail back on his belt, but he gave the destroyed chair a final sullen glare. "Yah."


    "I think you''ve probably got the best hearing, listen at the door and warn us if someone''s coming."


    With a grunt, the gnoll loped across the room and pressed his forehead against it so that his ears could swivel to rest against the door.


    Al looked over the torch. Up close, it was obviously magical in nature. It reminded him of the perpetual candles they had at Notamimic manor, but this was different. The "fuel" of the torch appeared to be a roll of paper wrapped around the head, with some obvious arcane markings written along it and continuing in a spiral of symbols carved into the wood of the haft. As with the perpetual candles, there was no actual combustion associated with the flames of the torch, which produced only light and no heat. A few of the symbols were familiar to Al. He remembered them being commonly used by wizards to represent vitality and spiritual connections, which seemed strange for a simulated torch. It was hard to tell, but Al didn''t think there was anything recognizably hostile in its design, so it might be safe to take for light if they needed it.


    The sconces, by contrast, were ordinary works of iron, worn and pitted with rust from neglect. Al consulted his expert.


    "What do you think, Wikwocket? Anything bad going to happen if we take the torch?"


    She clambered up Gruntle''s back so she could get a closer look. Al was relieved that Gruntle didn''t seem to mind.


    "Well!" Wikwocket finally said with a grin, "Maybe if you pull on it, it''ll open a secret door!"


    Gruntle reached over and grabbed the torch, yanking it down and ripping the sconce from the wall.


    "Didn''t work." he announced.


    "So, no, as you can see, unless there''s something magical that I don''t know anything about, it''s just a torch in a torch-holder. Well, it was." Wikwocket said, stifling a giggle.


    Al cringed at the sudden noise again. "Please tell me that didn''t bring someone running." he asked Gruntle, who pressed his ears to the door again. Gruntle shook his head.


    "Quiet in there," he said.


    "Okay, good," said Al, relaxing, "I will push the door open a little this time and take a look at the inside before we go in. Okay?"


    Then, he gently pressed against the door. Its weight alone seemed to have been holding it closed and it swung open a few inches without much effort. Al carefully looked through the gap, and saw an inhabitant of the keep for the first time.

 0028 - The Beasts Guards

    A neatly groomed man stood to the right down the hallway outside the door, wearing the sort of plain but well-made clothing expected of a household servant. The man didn''t appear to be armed. He was holding a candelabra with three lit candles in it as he leaned close to inspect an apparently decorative suit of armor holding a halberd. Al could tell they weren''t real suits of armor as the metal was thin, and he could see riveted leather straps holding the limbs to the chest and torso pieces, which were in turn dangling from the helmet by more straps. Presumably, the helmet was hung against the wall. There were no embellishments like spikes or helmet-crests, though the helmet itself had a faceplate roughly shaped into a wolflike snout. Another identical suit of armor was just visible in the candle light at the far end of the hallway. Al was wondering how the servant had gotten into the hallway without Gruntle hearing him when the man suddenly turned to look away, then turned back with a look of terror on his face as he ran down the hall in Al''s direction.


    It was not apparent what the frightened man was fleeing, as there was nothing visible down the hallway nor anything to hear. In fact, not even the running footsteps of the servant made any sound. Al pushed the door open to block the man''s path in hopes of questioning him, but he ran through the door as if it wasn''t there. Al stepped out into the hallway, carefully watching where the spectral figure had come from for any danger but seeing none, he risked a glance down the hallway in the other direction as the door swung the rest of the way open. Al got a glimpse of the other end of the hallway, one door to the left and one to the right at that end of the hall. Another hall led straight away from the door Al was leaning out of. Two more of the decorative armor displays were visible in the candlelight for just a moment in the direction of the fleeing figure before it disappeared through the leftmost door.


    "Who was that?" Wikwocket asked. "How did he do that?"


    "I think that''s the man Gertrude said she saw. She mentioned he didn''t even seem to notice what was happening in the foyer," Al suggested.


    Bote agreed. "Perhaps a poor victim of the beast, anchored to this world by his trauma? Or, of course, perhaps an illusion."


    "That might explain the lack of sound. Shhh!"


    Al suddenly motioned for quiet as a light appeared from he right end of the hallway again. Al leaned back out of the door for a cautious look. Wikwocket, not wanting to be left out, did the same.


    Looking back down the hallway to the right again, they saw the same servant moving as though closing the already-closed door on the opposite wall. He held the candelabra up to inspect the suit of armor at the far end of the hall, then pulled a piece of cloth from a pocket to wipe a seemingly-objectionable spot of dust from the top of the helmet. He put the cloth back in his pocket and moved closer, leaning in to inspect the armor Al had watched him inspect the first time. The same performance repeated, miming the panicked flight past the watchers and into a door at the far end. As the image of the servant ran by, Al stuck out his hand, then pulled it back quickly when the specter passed through it. It felt cold, and for a moment Al shivered involuntarily.


    "Are you hurt?" Bote asked, concerned.


    "No, I''m okay, it was just...uncomfortable. It was like touching fear. I don''t think that''s an illusion."


    "We should see if we can free this soul from his torment. I do not believe this was his soul''s intended place," Bote asserted. "Carefully, of course. I expect there is more danger here than the beast we are seeking."


    "Especially for those of us who won''t be able to see it before it''s too late," Al grumbled at the dark hallway. "Gruntle, could you let me have that torch, please?"


    Even though the haft of the torch was clean and dry, it felt a little unpleasantly greasy or slimy in Al''s left hand, but it provided light at least. Out in the hallway, the silent frightened ghost ran by again.


    "Well, mister blind wizard, I can bravely take my properly-working eyes out there to check for traps and alarms if it would make you feel better," teased Wikwocket.


    Al rubbed his forehead. "Yes, actually, that would make me feel better. Maybe start to the left, and we can find out where the ghost is running to."


    "Leave it to me!"


    Wikwocket drew her rapier, just in case, and carefully stepped into the hallway. She prodded the floor repeatedly as she went, until she had crossed to the opposite wall and then taken a few steps left to reach the corner where the hallway split.


    "Seems clear so far," she stage-whispered to the others waiting at the foyer door, "unless there''s something going on with those suits of armor. I''ll check."


    She prodded the floor again. When nothing happened, she took a step towards the nearest suit of armor. Then something happened.


    A hollow whispering voice came from somewhere inside the empty helmet and the assemblage of armor took a clattering marionette-like step towards her, bringing the halberd''s blade down and barely missing as Wikwocket leapt back and ran.


    "Something''s going on with those suits of armor!" she yelled as she fled back across the hall, grabbing for the handle on the open foyer door.


    The hollow whispering voices and clattering of armor was now audible in every direction up and down the hall. Hanging from the door''s handle, Wikwocket kicked off of the wall to get the door swinging, and let it carry her back into the foyer as it swung closed. She gasped and let go as another armored suit''s halberd was thrust through the gap at her at the last moment, preventing the door from closing all the way. Gruntle grabbed the door handle and pulled on it, pinning the halberd in place, and Bote hefted his hammer in both hands and brought it down, easily smashing through the halberd''s shaft. The suit whose halberd had been broken let go, shoved its gauntlet-fingers into the door''s narrow opening, and began trying to pry it open. Several other suits could be seen trying to maneuver around each other to get their own halberds through the gap.


    "That''s one disarmed!" shouted Al, "Gruntle, can you hold on?"


    Gruntle''s reply was a manic grin and barking laughter, as he let the door slip open just slightly to let another halberd try to thrust in at him, then yanked back on the door again to trap it in place. Bote swung his hammer against the shaft of that one as well, snapping it. Wikwocket took the opportunity to lunge in from the side and stab at the one whose fingers were in the door. Her rapier slid along the surface of the vambrace to stab into the joint where an elbow should have been. instead of striking flesh, the couter was knocked loose and fell to the ground. There was no elbow inside, only some leather straps holding the pieces together, and curling lines of crimson light which pulsated disturbingly like a heartbeat.


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    "No fair! There''s nobody in there to stab!" she complained.


    "How many are out there?" Al asked urgently.


    "I saw three from where I was, then the two to the right, so probably five?" Wikwocket answered, trying to line up another rapier-thrust through the narrow door opening.


    The whispering voices from the suits of armor outside grew louder. Another set of gauntlet-hands joined the first in pulling at the door, and a third halberd tried to thrust its way past the door at Gruntle.


    "I wish I could tell what they were saying!" Al griped, swinging his mace at the fingers of one of the gauntlet-hands pulling at the door. The strike connected, and the gauntlet fell in pieces to the floor.


    "Go around. Other door," said Gruntle, having to strain and put his weight behind his efforts to slam the door on the latest halberd, against the suit-and-a-half worth of hands now trying to pull it open. Bote broke that haft with his warhammer as well. The empty suit of armor holding it began trying to use it to help lever the door open.


    Out in the hallway, the clattering of some of their attackers could be heard retreating, and a door creaked open somewhere.


    "The room next door!" Al shouted already moving in the direction of the other foyer door, "Gruntle, can you handle these?"


    Al saw Gruntle''s pupils dilate wide, and his reply was a loud grunt as he shifted from pulling on the door to violently shoving it open. With a crash and a sound like a kitchen''s worth of metal cookware being dropped, the two suits pulling at the door were knocked back and fell to the ground, though they immediately began to rise again as if they were being lifted by their heads.


    Bote ran to join Al near the side door. Wikwocket hesitated, then decided Al and Bote needed her help more and joined them as well. They readied themselves as the door opened away from them. One halberd-wielding suit of armor began rushing into the room only to be met by a charging dwarf heading in the opposite direction. Bote''s warhammer swung at its hip, but the suit changed direction with unnatural lightness to avoid it. It was not so lucky with Wikwocket who followed immediately behind Bote and stabbed upward, cutting through the strap under a pauldron. The right arm clattered to the floor and lay still.


    Al rushed the one who had opened the door. Before it could get a grip on its halberd again, Al saw an opening and brought his mace cleanly down against the helmet. Being ornamental, it caved in. A swirl of pulsating light spurted from the eye-slits accompanied by a sound like someone whispering a scream. The light faded almost immediately and the suit of armor flopped limply to the floor.


    "Ha!" Wikwocket yelled at her own disarmed foe, "You can''t use a halberd with one hand, can you!?" In rebuke, an armored foot lashed out, kicking her in the ribs.


    "Bote! See if Gruntle needs help!" Al urged, trying to hit the helmet of Wikwocket''s attacker as it dodged and fended him off with its remaining arm.


    Wikwocket snarled and slashed viciously at the attachment point for the leg that had kicked her, cutting through the thin leather that connected it to the body. It fell away.


    "Not well made, are you?" she taunted it.


    Uncaring of the insult or the loss of its limbs, it reached to grab the back of Al''s head, pulling him into a vicious headbutt.


    Bote ran back to the hallway to find Gruntle happily trading violence with the other three suits of armor. The one in the middle had a smashed-in breastplate, and as Bote watched, Gruntle brought his flail down onto its shoulder with enough force to completely crumple the body. As the swirls of crimson light fled from it as it fell, Gruntle continued through and caught an incoming punch of the leftmost suit in his jaws, crushing the gauntlet and ripping the arm free. He paid no heed to the broken haft of the last one''s halberd clubbing him on the back of his head with a loud "BONK".


    Rather than get in the way of the melee, Bote offered a brief prayer to call out haft-wielding suit''s interference in the ineffable plans. In response, a flash of divine light shot down from the ceiling upon it, eliciting a whispering scream and a few wisps of smoke from its insides. The strap holding its right arm snapped.


    As for Al, he lost his temper completely at the unexpected sharp pain of the headbutt. With an incoherent roar of rage, he pulled away and swung wildly at the arm that had grabbed him. They were not well-aimed strikes, but after absorbing several dents the straps that held it gave way. Al struck the falling arm one last time, driving it firmly to the ground.While the suit was occupied by trying to fend Al off, Wikwocket saw her opportunity and cut the other leg free. The now helpless body-and-helmet dropped, bouncing noisily on the floor.


    Gruntle let the torn-off arm fall from his teeth as he brought his flail down on his current foe''s helmet, smashing it entirely down into the empty chestplate. The pulsing glow seemed to squirt from the collapsing armor''s joints and fade away as he lunged to the right and bit the last suit''s snoutlike faceplate, tearing it away from the helmet like metal foil. Two brighter points of light floated like eyes amid the glowing strands swirling in the otherwise empty helmet. They seemed to glare at Gruntle as his shield struck the armor''s arm, stopping another swing of the broken halberd-haft.


    Bote stepped back into the foyer so that he could see both conflicts. While Gruntle was enjoying his now rather unfair conflict with the last of their attackers, Al was angrily bashing away at a broken-off arm though their enemies were both lying in pieces on the floor.


    "Al, what are you doing?" Wikwocket asked him.


    Al shook his head.


    "That hurt," he grumbled angrily. "Felt good to hit it back a few times."

 0029 - Peace for the Dead

    Al glared at the battered limbless armored suit. Dim points of crimson light behind the eyeslots glared back. Glowing red smoke swirled out from the joints where the arms and legs had been, and the loud whispering voice echoed from within the helmet. Al couldn''t understand what it was saying, if it was speaking at all, but the tone was obviously angry.


    From out in the hallway, there was the sound of one final hefty impact and then, after a moment, the sound of pieces of metal bouncing some distance further down the hall. Then, there was only the sound of Gruntle''s eager panting, which slowed and ended with a long, slow, contented groan.


    "Well," Bote announced, "considering the situation, that went better than it might have. It appears none of us is seriously hurt. I do not hear anything else coming, and the only thing I see is..."


    He pointed, as the fleeing ghost with the candelabra ran past the door again.


    "I suppose so," Al agreed reluctantly, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead with the back of his hand. He squinted in aggravation at the incompletely-destroyed suit of armor, vaguely threatening whispers continued from the helmet in a way that''d have been impossible if it had needed to breathe.


    "And the same to you, you worthless junk," Al retorted, giving it a kick. "I wonder if it''s actually saying anything?"


    "It wants you to die or leave so it can go back to sleep," Gruntle said as he joined them.


    "You can understand it?"


    Gruntle grunted.


    "What language is it speaking?"


    "Don''t know."


    "You understand it, but you don''t know what language it''s speaking?"


    Grunt.


    "I see, well, ask it what it''s guarding."


    Gruntle looked down at the armor.


    "What are you guarding?"


    "In its own language, please."


    "Can''t. Don''t know it."


    "But you understand it?"


    Grunt.


    Al sighed. "My head hurts too much for this. I sort of want to keep it around to study it, but I''d be worried that it might end up being able to do something against us. Shall we just break it and move on?"


    Gruntle stomped on the helmet, crushing it and releasing whatever energies were inside.


    "They don''t like when you break them," he said, with a sharp-toothed malicious grin. "They don''t want to go back."


    "Back where?" Al asked.


    "Don''t know."


    "...right. What is this room, anyway?" Al lifted the magical torch higher to look around.


    They appeared to be in a small chapel. To the left, another door to the hallway was open. The ghost with the candles was making its rounds, inspecting the suits of armor that were no longer there. In the middle of the room were three rows of wooden pews facing a headless stone statue of a woman which stood in front of the stained-glass window to the right. Looking closer, Al saw the statue''s missing head, broken off and lying on its side on the floor. Coincidentally, it was facing their direction.


    "Fortuna," Bote told them. "Apparently someone was ungrateful for the attentions of the goddess." They looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. "I think it would be respectful if we at least put her head back atop her body."


    With Gruntle''s help, Al managed to lift the head off of the floor and back onto the statue, carefully balanced on the statue''s neck. The break was uneven but the head seemed like it would rest in place well enough as long as nobody disturbed it. Al placed his hands gently around the neck and performed a small magic trick, and when he took his hands away, there was hardly a seam visible where it had been broken.


    Bote gave the statue a respectful nod. Al sat heavily down onto a pew to rest. The rotten wood gave way immediately, dumping him the rest of the way down onto the floor. He resisted the urge to implore the ceiling-gods for mercy - he wasn''t actually a particularly religious person, but it seemed rude to even jokingly implore other deities while they were at least symbolically sitting right in front of one. He got back to his feet.


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    "Let''s get back to what we were doing."


    <hr>


    Wikwocket returned to the hallway. She paused where she had stopped last time, checking every direction to make sure nothing was coming, then carefully made her way down the hall. She stepped aside briefly to let the terrified ghost run by again. She watched it pass through the closed door to her left. There seemed to be some old dark-brown stains in the wood of the floor between that door and one across the hall from it. She turned to wave at the others to let them know it was safe.


    "It appears to be safe," Bote helpfully announced for the benefit of Al, who was squinting down the hallway and couldn''t see far enough in the torchlight.


    "Thanks. Okay, Bote, you lead the way since we might need spiritual defense, I''ll follow you. Gruntle, you follow and watch behind..."


    Al decided to rephrase.


    "I mean - anything that believes it can sneak up on us will be mercilessly slaughtered by Gruntle."


    They walked next to the wall so that the ghost could run past them again without getting too near anyone, and gathered at the door to the ghost''s destination. Wikwocket gave the door an examination for safety''s sake, then shrugged.


    "Just a regular door as far as I can tell, no sign of anything dangerous. I mean, aside from whatever''s got this guy so worried," she said, indicating the ghost once again rushing down the hall and through the closed door.


    Al pushed on the door and it swung open on squeaky hinges. As it did, a simple servant''s bedroom was revealed, until the door opened wide enough to also reveal what was left of the servant.


    The skeletal remains were draped in tatters of shredded clothing covered with dark-brown stains of long-dried blood. The skull was cracked, the spine broken, the ribs were in pieces. The bones of the left arm and hand still wrapped around a golden candelabra. The bones of the other arm and hand were shattered or missing entirely.


    The ghost ran into the room again. It turned and lunged as if trying to shove the door shut, but some unseen force flung it back. Silently screaming, it raised its left arm to defend itself from whatever was chasing it. Blood spurted as something tore flesh from the man''s arm and forced him down to the floor where the skeletal remains lay. As the ghost blurred and began to fade, bloody stripes as from ripping claws appeared down the man''s chest. The ghost vanished.


    Nobody moved for several seconds after the horrifying performance ended, until Gruntle walked into the room and reached down to pick up a piece of cracked and broken rib. He held it up to look at it, sniffed, and then seemed to sag sadly. He let the broken bone fall back to the floor.


    It took a moment for Al to find his voice again. "What''s wrong?" he asked Gruntle, gently.


    "Someone already ate the marrow."


    Bote noticed the candlelight approaching again. He stepped into the room and knelt by the servant''s skull, gently placing a hand on it. Looking into its eye-sockets, he began a quiet prayer.


    The ghost ran once more into the room and repeated the gruesome show. As the mangled ghost began to fade again, its terrified face appeared on the skull. Its expression relaxed and its eyes slowly closed, and then it was gone. Al, Bote, and Wikwocket watched but the ghost did not reappear in the hallway.


    A gurgle was heard from Gruntle''s abdomen.


    "Makes me hungry," he said.


    "Of course it does," sighed Al, though he was reminded unexpectedly of a stew he''d once been served that had been made from marrow-bones, cabbage, and spices. It had actually been very good.


    Al frowned. "Is this ''adventuring'' business supposed to mess with peoples'' heads?"


    "Oh, definitely!" Wikwocket answered, "Canonically! You''re not being properly heroic if you don''t change and grow along the way, it''s part of all the good stories!"


    Maybe it was normal then, but Al decided this wasn''t a good time for self-reflection. He turned his attention back to the ancient crime scene before them. Wikwocket regarded the servant''s remains with awe.


    "That was...brutal. Horrible."


    "Kind of makes you wish you could un-see something, doesn''t it?"


    "What? No! This kind of authenticity is priceless! You don''t get to experience this from old recitations of someone else''s stories! It can''t all be sweetness and joy, you know. And then, Bote giving the tortured spirit peace gives closure to his story."


    "I did nothing so important," argued Bote, "I am simply a hammer to tap the pieces of the of the ineffable plans back into their necessary places."


    "Oh, that''s good! That quote''s going in the retelling!"


    "There''s not going to be a retelling," Al interrupted, "if the beast pounces on us while we''re talking about it. The more we understand before we run into it the more likely we survive. Now, look, what do you see?"


    "Dead man," answered Gruntle.


    "Besides that?"


    "Dead man that someone already ate a long time before we could."


    Al sighed, but Bote held up a finger for attention.


    "That actually is a good observation," Bote suggested. "The villagers said the tax-collector who was supposed to have been lord of this place was still visiting them no more than a year ago. The state of these remains, and the general state of the place we have seen so far, suggests it has been abandoned for much longer than that."


    "That''s it! That''s what''s been bothering me. The whole place feels like it doesn''t even belong here. Like it was picked up from somewhere old and weird and dropped here recently."


    "It didn''t even exist in people''s memories until we got there," Wikwocket exclaimed in wonder. "Mysterious!"


    "I don''t know if it''s that extreme, but it''s not natural for the whole town to forget the place. But more importantly, what does it have to do with this," Al said, pointing to the remains of the servant, "and the beast that I think we can assume killed him."


    On closer inspection, the floorboards were visibly darkened around the body where they''d been soaked in blood. Darkened spatters stretched in several directions in testament to the violence of the event. A trail of darkened spots led from the remains to the door. A regular pattern of larger markings was embedded in it.


    "Hey, look at these! Al, hold that torch closer!" Wikwocket exclaimed, pointing.


    "What, are your eyes not working properly any more?" Al teased, leaning down to hold the light closer.


    "They''re fine, but more light helps it not all just look like ''floor'' in the dark." she said. "Look! Are those footprints?"


    They were shaped almost like the prints of bare human feet, but larger and misproportioned with the heel smaller and the ball of the foot and the toes wider. The prints followed the darkened spots to the doorway and across the hall, beneath the closed door on the other side. Wikwocket excitedly followed this clue, the others trailing behind her, though Al took a moment to pull what was left of the dead servant''s candles from the candelabra on the assumption that he might need emergency lighting later.


    Unable to contain her curiosity, Wikwocket absent-mindedly pushed the door open. The stench of decay immediately leaked into the hallway.

 0030 - Down in the Cellar

    Al''s torchlight revealed the room to have once been for bathing. A tub sat in the middle of the room, its bottom covered with a dark, foul-smelling, gelatinous congealed film. There was also a full-height mirror, which the trail of stains brought them to before continuing to the tub. Dried, flaking blood made streaks of smeared handprints on the mirror. Like the footprints they were following, the handprints looked almost human.


    "These aren''t the same as the prints we saw in the village, right?" Al asked. "The ones there looked more like some sort of wolf or bear, didn''t they?"


    "They did," confirmed Bote. "Perhaps what we see here is not related to the beast we are hunting?"


    "Or maybe the beast has grown and changed over time?" Al speculated.


    "Or maybe the beast we''re after is a descendant of a long line of beasts, degraded and malformed from generations of inbreeding, like royalty!" suggested Wikwocket. "I mean, not Casusian royalty, you know, but other places," she dutifully corrected herself with only a little sarcasm.


    "So, whatever killed the servant came in here and tried to wash the blood off in the bath?" Al looked as closely into the bathtub as he could without gagging. "Not much left now, but how is there any moisture left in there after the amount of time it took for the remains to be completely skeletonized?"


    "I think I see some lighter spots heading away from the bath back towards the door," Wikwocket said, kneeling to look closely at the floor.


    "Can you follow it back out? Because I''d like to leave and close the door again as soon as possible," Al urged. The smell was becoming intolerable. Bote had already retreated back to the hallway, and even Gruntle seemed to be trying not to breathe deeply. Wikwocket seemed to agree with the sentiment, leading them back out into the hallway and around the corner in the direction they hadn''t explored yet. Al closed the bathroom door behind them, then hurried to get away from the stench. He caught up to the others as they paused in front of a set of double-doors halfway down the hall. Like the front doors of the keep, they were iron-bound oak. These had a pattern of small holes in them, outlining a shape as if something decorative had once been nailed to the doors. The shape resembled the outline they''d seen on banners by the entrance.


    Before Al could suggest carefully pushing one of the doors to see if they could get a look inside, Gruntle turned to look further down the hall, where there was a smaller door at the end in the opposite wall. His ears twitched, and he sniffed the air.


    "What is it?" Al asked, quietly.


    "Food!" Gruntle almost whispered, stalking quietly down the hall. Wikwocket gave Al a shrug, and followed Gruntle just as quietly.


    "I suppose if they hear something, we wouldn''t want to leave it behind us anyway," Bote said softly. "At least they''re both trying not to make a lot of noise this time."


    "I guess so. Wikwocket''s small and light, so it''s perfectly reasonable that she should be able to move quietly. I''m still not used to seeing that from something as large as a gnoll, though. I guess it''s best to let the sneaky ones take a covert look before we stomp our own noisy way over there."


    Gruntle and Wikwocket seemed to share a short, nonverbal discussion over who should push the door open, which Wikwocket seemed to win. Crouched with her eyes at the crack to see through, she slowly opened it. Then, her face expressed mild disappointment and annoyance, while Gruntle grinned and suddenly shoved through into the room.


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    "Just big rats," Wikwocket griped. From inside the room there was some unexpectedly deep chittering and squeaking of alarm, along with the sound of a single impact of a heavy object against flesh and bone. Al and Bote jogged up to look at what was going on.


    The room appeared to be a kitchen. Cabinets around the room were all wide open and largely empty. Shards of pottery were scattered on the floor. A few scraps of dried meat were on the ground, one piece gripped in the teeth of what would have seemed an ordinary rat if it weren''t the size of a dog. Its skull was messily crushed against the floor.


    A few other giant rats were fleeing down an open trapdoor in the floor, through which some wooden stairs downwards could be seen. In the wall was a long-cold hearth with a small pile of dusty wood stacked next to it.


    Gruntle hung the flail back on his belt.


    "Cook it?" he asked, pointing to the broken-headed rat-creature.


    Al suppressed an expression of disgust. "No time for that." he answered. He regretted it immediately as Gruntle picked the creature up from the floor, its head oozing, and bit into the foreleg.


    Bote looked away and made his way across the kitchen to the stairs. "It''s not as if it was a person," they muttered quietly to Al, "This is simply the way of nature. Gruesome, messy nature."


    Al moved to follow Bote, though for the first few steps he couldn''t help staring in morbid fascination as Gruntle gnawed the foreleg loose and began noisily eating it, bones and all. Al turned away when Gruntle held the rest of the rat out, offering it to Wikwocket who seemed only slightly less horrified than Al was.


    "Please don''t eat the whole thing, we don''t have time for snacking. We''re just going to go on ahead and look downstairs. I''d appreciate it if you were both there to back us up if there''s something horrible down there."


    Trying to ignore the sound of bone-cracking and chewing behind him, Al knelt down and held the torch out down the stairs. They were steep, and went down about ten feet. The cellar walls and floor were rough stone. Al could see some barrels on their side along the wall to the distance that his torchlight reached. It sounded as though something was squeezing past the gaps between the barrels, and Al hoped the huge rats had some sort of burrow behind them that they were retreating to.


    "If you would prefer, I will go down first. This isn''t much different from home for me, aside from the sloppy masonry-work here," Bote offered.


    "Yes, I''ll be right behind you though."


    Bote descended, with Al immediately behind. The cellar was mostly empty, aside from the barrels stacked along the wall on the cold stone floor. Al''s sinuses burned from oak-scented alcoholic fumes hanging in the stale cellar air.


    "Well, we know where to come if we get thirsty, at least," Bote commented.


    "Or if we wanted to burn the whole place down. Spirits of ale get very flammable once they''re distilled far enough. Judging by the smell in here everything in those barrels has probably been distilled several times, so it''d probably catch fire easily if we poured any out."


    Wikwocket came down the stairs. Al turned to look and saw her chewing thoughtfully with a look of mild distaste on her face. She saw him looking at her in disbelief.


    "I had to at least try a little piece. It''s actually not as bad as I thought it would be. It might actually be pretty good if you cook it and season it properly. Whoa, smells like a party in here! Is that the good stuff?"


    "Depends who made it."


    Al leaned closer to examine the barrels. They were entirely devoid of any maker''s mark. He walked down the row of barrels until halfway down, he found a sheet of parchment nailed to the top of one. It bore the seal of the royal Casusian treasury and certified that the taxes for the contents of these barrels had been paid by... someone. The space where the name should have been was completely blank.


    The date on the certificate was just over a year ago.


    "This is very strange. Take a look at this," Al said.


    "No," Bote replied, staring intently further into the cellar, "I think you should look at this first."

 0031 - Portrait of the Former Residents

    Al stood and held the torch out. The other end of the cellar was partially walled off, forming a separate chamber. In the dim light at the edge of his vision, he could indistinctly see some objects littering the floor. He walked closer until he could see clearly, then stopped immediately.


    In the next chamber, an arcane circle was drawn on the floor in a dark reddish-brown color that suggested dried blood. The inside was marked with a pentagram, the corners of which had black partially-melted candles. Four of the candles had fleshy lumps next to them, which Al was horrified to realize were hearts.


    Inside the pentagram was a human skeleton wearing a fine purple gown with gold trim, with its arms, legs, and head arranged in conjunction with the points of the pentagram.


    "Do not touch any of that," Al warned the others, "and stay away from the edge of the circle. I haven''t had much time to study this sort of thing, and there''s no telling what horrible things might happen if we disturb any of it. Or what horrible things may have already happened, either."


    The three of them leaned as close as they dared in order to see better. There appeared to be some rips in the sleeve and the gown''s right side, stained with old blood. Several bones of the right hand were missing, and some of the ones that weren''t missing appeared to be broken.


    "I can''t tell what was going on here. I can''t tell if ...she?... was some sort of sacrifice to who-knows-what, or the object of whatever ritual was going on here, or just a part of the spell itself," Al observed. "Do either of you have any idea what this is?"


    "Shaman stuff," came Gruntle''s unexpected voice from behind Al, who reflexively spun around to find himself facing a bloody chunk of giant-rat haunch that Gruntle was holding out to him. "Shaman gets share of food if shaman wants."


    Wikwocket laughed. "Hey, I ate some, it''s really not that bad! Go ahead and try a piece!"


    Al decided he''d get the least hassle if he accepted the dare. He drew out his knife and cut a thumbnail-sized piece of flesh from the haunch.


    "Thank you, Gruntle," he said. Then, making stern, defiant eye-contact with Wikwocket, he put the bit of meat in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.


    He assumed not as bad as expected was the best he could hope for, and that''s what he got.


    "How about you, Bote?" he offered, passing the dare along.


    "The giant rat is actually quite flavorful and nourishing," Bote replied, "but I only eat them if they are properly cooked. I appreciate that it has been offered, however."


    The last of the rat disappeared into Gruntle''s jaws with squishy bone-cracking sounds and was quickly swallowed.


    "I assume you don''t know anything about this, do you?" Al asked Gruntle, pointing to the magic circle.


    Gruntle eyed it suspiciously.


    "Got magic shaman words and a name on it."


    Al was surprised. "What name?" he asked.


    "Don''t know who it is. Just know it''s a name. Someone important."


    "Like the voices from those suits of armor? You understand it but you can''t read it?"


    Grunt.


    "Is it the name of the dead woman here? Or someone else?"


    "Don''t know."


    "Hmmm."


    Al pondered fruitlessly, and gave a resigned sigh. "I guess we''re not going to figure out anything else here right now, unless maybe something''s hidden."


    "I do not believe there is anything else to find," Bote asserted, "Sloppy construction like this wouldn''t hide anything well. I see nothing to suggest secret tunnels or stones that are any looser than any of the others."


    "Do we just leave this here like it is? Maybe we should get rid of all this stuff," Wikwocket said, looking skeptically at the skeleton lying in the pentagram. "Too bad the dress is way too tall for me."


    "I don''t think that''d be a good idea anyway," said Al, "since I don''t know enough about these things to say whether or not it''s keeping something metaphysically locked up inside. If it is, breaking the circle would let it out, which would probably be very dangerous for us."


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    That seemed to settle the matter. After a little more discussion, they decided to return upstairs and continue their search. Wikwocket did try to persuade them to spend a few minutes uncorking one of the barrels and filling one of their empty potion-bottles with spirits of ale from it, but Al talked her out of it.


    They ascended the stairs out of the cellar and went through the kitchen, past the carelessly-discarded pile of giant-rat skin, the evidently-less-tasty organs, and a few bones that remained of Gruntle''s snack. Back in the hallway, they stood once again before the double-doors. Al quietly got Gruntle to listen for any activity on the other side, and Wikwocket subjected them to her usual safety examination. Both indicated things seemed safe, so Al pushed on one of the doors. It swung open with some effort.


    Inside was a large feast-hall. There was a massive dining table centered in the room, with eight large, sturdy chairs around it, a few of which were broken with their pieces scattered nearby. A few cracked plates were on the table in places that didn''t particularly line up with the chairs. They were piled with bones that appeared to have been thoroughly gnawed upon by something. Moldy spots grew on the small scraps of flesh that were still on the bones. Unlit candles stood in a row down the center of the table. Al noted there were several more torch-sconces around the room, a few of which were empty and the rest containing what was left of completely burned-out ordinary torches. In the far corner of the room, stone steps ran along the walls to the upper floor of the keep.


    Behind the seat at the head of the table was a fireplace, above which was what traditionally would have been the coat of arms associated with whoever was running the keep. The shield upon which the heraldry would be painted was blank and dull from lack of polishing. A pair of longswords were crossed behind the shield - Al noted that they appeared to be real swords rather than ornamental, though in need of polishing and sharpening.


    The most striking feature of the room, though, were the portraits. To the left of the fireplace was a near-life-sized portrait of a slightly chubby young noble wearing expensive-looking clothing, posed to look towards the viewers with a haughty expression. His arm hung possessively over the shoulders of a strikingly beautiful but bored-looking young woman wearing a cloth-of-gold gown. A strip of golden metal at the bottom of the frame read: "and Baroness Julia". The engraving was offset from the center with a substantial amount of blank space before it, and some after, as though the engraver had forgotten to fill in the rest of the names.


    On the right side of the fireplace, the other portrait showed an older man wearing clothing identical to the one in the left portrait - perhaps an ancestor, or a later portrait of the same man. The man scowled angrily in this one, his eyes averted. There was a golden metal strip in this frame as well, but it was smooth and blank.


    Both portraits were badly ripped as if by claws.


    "Whoever the nameless fellow is, the beast isn''t very happy with him, is it?" observed Bote.


    "Maybe it''s jealous of Baroness Julia there, it looks like her part of the portrait escaped the worst of the clawing," said Al.


    "Well, clearly Baroness Julia is the kidnapped beast-princess!" Wikwocket speculated cheerfully.


    Al rolled his eyes. "Or the dead woman down in the cellar. She doesn''t look especially beastly, does she?"


    "Probably transformed by an evil wizard. They do that sort of thing. She''ll be waiting for a kiss of her true love to free her from her curse and return her to her beauteous fanged and clawed self!"


    "Yeah, you see, there are several problems with that idea. First, I think being long dead goes way beyond a mere curse. Second, those stories generally call for the alleged true love to be pure of heart. That means their own hearts, not the ones they''ve ripped out of innocent victims to use in some sort of horrible magical ritual. That doesn''t seem like pure of heart behavior to me."


    Wikwocket gave Al a defiant look.


    "I''ll bet you one gold coin that Baroness Julia is what the beast is here for."


    Al returned Wikwocket''s look with a defiant glare of his own. "I''ll take that bet. There''s no guarantee we''ll be able to find out, but if we do, I''ll be happy to take your gold when you turn out to be wrong."


    The bet was formalized with a firm handshake.


    "Oh, I''m sure we''ll find out soon enough," Wikwocket said. "This place isn''t all that large, and from what I saw outside there''s only one more floor above this one. Unless the beast is on the roof or isn''t here tonight, we''ll probably run into it up there."


    "Do you expect it to explain to us what''s going on instead of, oh, I don''t know, trying to murder us and rip out our hearts?"


    "It might do both. Either way, I think it''ll tell us somehow."


    Al held the torch higher, and visually followed the steps in the corner of the room up to the opening in the ceiling that they led to. Then he looked across the ceiling itself, and then the floor. He took his pack off and set it on the table. He took one of the two crossbow bolts he''d tied a glass container of the ultraphlogisticated oil to and considered it thoughtfully.


    "Oh, are you going to wind up your wand of fire so you can bake the beast when we find it?" Wikwocket asked excitedly.


    Al gave the floor and ceiling another glance, then shook his head.


    "No, I''d better not. The walls may be stone, but the floor and ceiling and furniture are all old wood and cloth. I''m afraid if I broke open the alchemical fire in here the whole place would burn down around us. I''d be tempted to do it on purpose, but then we''d have to wait around for the fire to die down and spend days digging through the wreckage trying to find the beast''s remains to make sure it''s gone, and if it escapes or maybe isn''t even here, it may kill more innocent people before we can find it again. On top of that, this place legally belongs to whoever the monarchy has put in charge here, and we can''t afford to pay to have it rebuilt. I''m not sure what our penalty is for burning down a government-owned keep but I don''t want to find out by personal experience."


    "Aw, where''s your sense of adventure?"


    "Right now, it''s patiently listening to the advice of my sense of not-wanting-to-be-killed-and-eaten-or-burned. It''s also telling me that if I need a hand free to use my mace for wizardry or self-defense, and I need a hand to hold this torch so I can see, I need two more hands to hold this crossbow. So, it''s not really even practical for me to bring a crossbow into the situation right now."


    "But what if you ended up needing a sudden fire anyway, unexpectedly? Wouldn''t it be better to be prepared?"


    "You just want to see a huge explosion of flame, don''t you," Al accused Wikwocket.


    "Well...yes. Don''t you?"


    "Yes, actually, but not while I''m going to be what''s burning!"


    "At least keep one out where you can reach it, just in case. You could always throw it or something," Wikwocket pleaded.


    Al relented.


    "All, right. Just one. But, I swear if I get burned to death my charred, smouldering spirit will haunt you."


    "Oh, how dramatic! That one''s going in the retelling, too!"

 0032 - The Beasts Lair

    They all agreed that Wikwocket, being the lightest and smallest of them, should go quietly up the stairs first to get a look around. Gruntle would be close behind in case anything went wrong. Bote and Al would follow once the results of Wikwocket''s investigation were known - quietly if all seemed clear, or in as much of a hurry as possible if something bad was happening.


    Wikwocket ascended the steps and disappeared into the dark opening in the ceiling leading to the next floor. Gruntle stopped on the upper steps where he could poke his head up to see what was happening. After a few tense minutes, Wikwocket reappeared and came back down, leaving Gruntle to keep watch.


    "Okay, the room up above looks clear. Just a sitting-room, with a couple of chairs and a table that had some kind of game set up on it. The table''s been flipped over on its side and the game-pieces are all over the floor, so I think someone is a sore loser," Wikwocket reported quietly. "I see three doors up there, so I think there are only two or three rooms. From the room right next to the one upstairs, I can see light under its door, and I think I hear something breathing."


    From above, Gruntle turned to look down at them, ears swiveled in their direction. He tapped the end of his snout.


    "I think he''s saying he can smell it," Wikwocket interpreted. Gruntle nodded and turned back to watch the room above.


    "All right, so it sounds like the beast is up there, and it''s in a lit room with a closed door, so it probably wouldn''t notice if I came up with this torch," Al said, summarizing.


    "That''s about right," Wikwocket answered, "the glow under the door looks like it''s the same reddish color as your torch."


    "We can probably hope it doesn''t know we''re here yet, then. We should at least avoid making too much noise or talking once we get up there so it might not hear us coming and we can surprise it in its lair."


    "What we have heard and seen so far reveals that this beast is no mere animal," Bote pointed out. "Unless there is someone else here that we have not seen signs of, the beast has been mindful to close doors behind itself. It has even tried to speak to Gruntle. It is not impossible that it has noticed our presence and has prepared an ambush or trap for us. It may want us to barge in suddenly to catch us unaware."


    "Wikwocket, you said there were other doors, was there light behind any of those?" asked Al.


    "No, just the one."


    "Good, at least we can probably assume it''s staying in the room with the light, regardless of whether it intends to ambush us or not. We can concentrate on that doorway."


    "Well, then, as our experienced military expert," Wikwocket teased, "what''s our plan of attack?"


    "I''m thinking you and Gruntle head up into the room above, and Bote and I will follow. Once we''re all up there and can see where we are, you and Gruntle will get in position at the door as quietly as you can. You''ll investigate as much as you can outside the door before we do anything, and if you see something that we need to discuss first, you signal to us and we''ll come back down here as quietly as we can."


    Al paused there in case there were any objections. When there were none, he continued.


    "If everything looks as clearly safe as we can determine, and if it looks like the door will open, we shove the door open quickly and be ready to strike, but we don''t rush in. I think Bote''s got a good point there. I think we should see what the beast does and strike at the right moment. Agreed?"


    Wikwocket and Bote agreed. Gruntle looked down but hesitated to respond.


    "We need to act together to take the beast down, if we don''t coordinate we''ll be in a lot more danger. I know you are eager to fight it," Al said, getting a manic grin of agreement from Gruntle in return, "but do not attack it until it moves to attack us."


    Gruntle stared at Al, then relented with a grumble, nodding reluctantly. He turned back again to keep watch on the room upstairs. Wikwocket took out her rapier and carried it back up the stairs into the room above. Gruntle followed her up into the darkness.


    "And now we will see how our small roles in this part of the ineffable plans play out," Bote confidently asserted, and headed up the steps cautiously. Al held the torch up in his left hand and took out his mace with his right, in case he needed to defend himself with either magic or blunt force, and caught up to Bote as they reached the top of the steps.


    The room above was as Wikwocket had described it - a sitting-room ready for a bored occupant to play a game or read at the table, were the table not lying on its side and the game pieces scattered. Al noticed another set of stone steps along one wall led up another level, presumably to the roof of the keep. Wikwocket waved for their attention at the start of a hallway at the opposite end of the sitting-room. She pointed down the hallway and then scurried quietly into it, followed silently by Gruntle. Al and Bote walked across the room slowly to avoid making noise.


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    Looking down the hall, they saw Gruntle and Wikwocket in front of the only door on the near side. Gruntle listened intently to the door, ears twitching, as Wikwocket gingerly felt along the edges for anything suspicious. Not finding anything, she laid down to peek under the door. Finally, she motioned to Al and Bote to approach quietly.


    As he eased down the hall towards the door, Al began to hear the muffled sound of breathing coming from inside the room. It was slow and steady, but with a quiet periodic growling in it. Al hoped that was just the sound of the beast snoring. Wikwocket wore a look of mild confusion, and she gestured to indicate that Al should look under the door as well. He kneeled down as quietly as he could but he froze when his chainmail shirt made a faint noise. Al listened for a reaction before continuing - perhaps the breathing in the room was uneven for a moment and the growling slightly louder...but the sound continued steadily. Al lowered himself the rest of the way to the floor and closed one eye to peek underneath the door.


    It was difficult to make out details through the narrow field of view, but at the far end of the room Al thought he could see the legs of some large piece of furniture, with shredded cloth and scattered feathers on the floor around it. In the center of the room was what seemed to be a magical torch identical to the one Al carried, laying on its side on the floor, its reddish simulated flame thankfully not scorching the floorboards or igniting nearby scattered feathers.


    He could not see any sign of whatever was breathing so loudly.


    Al stood back up carefully, wincing as he imagined he could hear the growling in the exhalation of whatever was in the room getting louder. He shared a puzzled look with Wikwocket, pointing to his own torch, down at the bottom of the door, and shrugging. She shrugged back. Bote watched patiently for any decision. Gruntle grimaced impatiently, his teeth bared, and his still lightly-bandaged right hand scratched fitfully at his collar. He made urgent shoving motions towards the door, eager to rush in.


    No, not yet! Al shook his head forcefully, waving his hands. The breathing was getting heavier and the growling sounds were definitely getting louder from the other side of the door. Gruntle''s face made a snarl of silent frustration, but he went back to fidgeting with the collar. Al held up his hands for patience and looked to the others to make sure he had everyone''s attention.


    All right, how do I explain this without saying anything?


    Al pointed to Gruntle, then the spot where Gruntle stood, and then posed as though about to push on something. He pointed to Wikwocket, then a spot just to the left and behind Gruntle. He crouched low holding his mace as though he was ready to stab forward with it. He pointed to himself, then to the opposite wall across and to the right of the door. Then to Bote, and pointed along the wall next to the door about ten feet away. Then, finally, he inhaled deeply as quietly as he could, and tried to explain the plan through gestures alone.


    Gruntle, you stand there at the door and when I signal, shove it open, and you and Wikwocket will immediately back up. Make the beast come to us instead of charging in. As it tries to go through the doorway to attack, Gruntle, you can be as violent as you like with it, and Wikwocket can stab it while it''s busy with you. I''ll either move in and hit it over the head or I can use magic against it if I need to. Bote will be there where they can call for divine favor or miraculous healing if one of us gets badly hurt. We''ll start on my signal. Understood?


    Or at least that''s what he tried to convey. The others stared at him for a long moment. Then Gruntle mimed pushing on the door and cocked his head quizzically.


    I don''t think this is working. Al sighed quietly, but stopped himself - at the sound, a faint creak of floorboards suggested something large shifting position inside the room, and the sound of the breathing and growling could no longer be heard. Everyone froze, watching the door.


    When nothing happened after a few seconds, Al pointed back out towards the sitting room and at the corner with the stairs, and slowly began backing away in that direction. The others looked at each other, then Wikwocket and Bote began to back away as well.


    Gruntle looked back and forth from the others to the door and back again, then began to back away as well, with obvious reluctance. Al had gotten halfway across the sitting room when frustrated snarling began from behind the door they''d just left. The sound of a door being pulled suddenly open came down the hallway, and the snarling continued over the noise of clawed feet scratching the floor as they propelled something large in their direction.

 0033 - The Deal is Done

    The snarling continued - a complex sound with a cadence like speech but utterly unintelligible aside from the obvious tone of frustration and anger - accompanied by approaching sprinting footfalls. The beast shot into view from the hallway and turned to continue in Al''s direction, but stumbled to a stop as it saw Gruntle tensed to meet its charge.


    The beast looked to Gruntle''s bandaged, claw-tipped hand, then into his eyes. Its wolflike face contorted with effort.


    "Oo-yah...," was forced from the beast''s throat in a growl.


    Al jumped, startled, when Wikwocket reached out at that moment to urgently smack his hip with her fist. She pointed at the beast. Julia she silently mouthed, looking smug.


    "Not now!" Al hissed.


    Gruntle turned his head to look at Al, his inhuman face hard to read but to Al he seemed to be almost pleading to attack. Before Al could react, Gruntle quickly turned back to face the beast, who hesitantly advanced towards Gruntle.


    Gruntle did what he could to bolster his patience.


    "Dear...creature...," he said, concentrating intently on his speech and rubbing his collar with his right hand, "...it is...gratifying...to...see you...again."


    This only seemed to encourage the beast, who sped up. Its gait remained tentative, almost apologetic, rather than threatening. Gruntle refrained from immediate violence as the beast reached him, though his face held an intense fanged grimace and the stubby claws on his right hand unconsciously picked at the buckle on his collar.


    The beast stopped, its large head nearly even with Gruntle''s despite standing down on four legs. Al exchanged glances with Wikwocket and Bote. They all readied themselves for a deadly battle to start at any moment, but Al whispered, "Not yet..."


    Maybe this doesn''t have to end with lethal violence, he hoped.


    The beast''s left forepaw reached up slowly to rest on Gruntle''s shoulder, enabling the beast to lift itself up to rest its right forepaw on Gruntle''s other shoulder. Standing there, it looked down into Gruntle''s eyes.


    "...ngai...ooryah," it exhaled in distorted syllables with painful effort. "Ngaing." Then, it fell forward, wrapping its forelegs around Gruntle''s shoulders in a possessive embrace.


    The shallow depths of his patience completely drained, Gruntle sank his teeth into the beast''s thick neck with a snarl, tearing away a wide patch of mangy, lumpy flesh. The peaceful moment lost in rage, the beast roared and lunged down to chomp deeply into Gruntle''s shoulder in turn.


    "Help him!" Wikwocket shouted as she ran forward, darting out from behind Gruntle and leaping up to stab deeply between the beast''s ribs. Al heard Bote begin an invocation to Indicina.  Fearing it would be difficult to join the melee without getting in the way, he allowed himself to conjure the slivers of magical force again and send them shooting into the beast between Gruntle and Wikwocket.


    Al''s torch sputtered and dimmed alarmingly, as Gruntle roared eagerly back at the beast. He pulled away, grasping his flail from his belt and smoothly swinging it up and inwards to slam against the side of the beast''s head. The beast''s angry snarl burbled into a cough as blood from its internal injuries spattered from its mouth, but it lunged back in to chomp at Gruntle''s leg before he could move back out of reach. The beast''s fangs raked deep bleeding gouges across Gruntle''s lower thigh.


    Wikwocket spotted her opportunity, and she plunged her rapier between another pair of ribs into the beast''s chest, and the beast''s strength failed it. It staggered only a few steps back as it collapsed to the floor. Al''s torch-flame dwindled to barely candle-light, and wavered as though blown by the wind in time with each raspy, wet cough of the dying beast. The torchlight from the beast''s room dwindled away as well.


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    The beast made one last desperate but futile effort to stand but managed only a few feeble twitches. Al thought he saw despair in the beast''s eyes as the torchlight was extinguished with the beast''s last bubbling breath.


    There was an immediate sound like a voice shouting a whisper from where the beast fell. Al thought he could see a moment of a swirling red glow like they''d seen in the armor, then he was knocked aside as a large body ran past him in the dark. Gruntle snarled in rage and Al heard him run past, following the beast, who Al heard clumsily charging down the stairs.


    "Don''t let it get away!" shouted a determined Wikwocket, and Al heard her and Bote following behind Gruntle.


    "Wait! I can''t see!..." Al yelled, but the others were already on the way down the stairs. Al fumbled for one of the candles he''d taken from the dead servant''s candelabra and commanded it to light. He could hear the others moving away after the beast, headed out of the dining room below, as he descended the stairs as quickly as he could in the candlelight. Despite falling behind, as he exited the dining-room he had no trouble following the trails of freshly-dripping blood and he could hear the others through the kitchen as they chased the beast down to the cellar. Al felt a chill as he realized the beast...or whatever was left of it...was headed for the arcane circle they''d found. The loudly whispering voice echoed in the cellar as Al descended the steps to find the others gathered in front of the far chamber. Approaching closer, Al could see the beast. It stood inside the circle between the skull of the woman who was spread out there, and the black candle at the corresponding point on the pentagram. Blood dripped in feeble pulses from the beast''s mouth and the holes in its chest. It swayed as it stood, like a puppet on strings, and its eyes were dimly-glowing points of red. Its mouth didn''t move, but the voice whispered its unintelligible speech from the beast''s throat unimpeded by the bloody bubbles dripping onto the floor.


    "Shaman said stay away," Gruntle told it. He looked to Al for confirmation.


    "What does it want?" Al asked.


    "Wants us to finish killing it."


    "Absolutely not! Not like this!"


    The beast''s head swung loosely to look at Al. The whispers echoed through the cellar softly this time, almost conciliatory. He couldn''t understand the words, but they continued for long enough with a cadence and tone that suggested to Al that it was trying to explain something.


    "Like what?" Gruntle asked aloud.


    "What?" Al echoed.


    "Says it''ll give us something. Says if the beast dies there the deal it has to fulfill will be done and it can leave."


    The beast gave a quiet wet growl - the first organic sound it had made since it had fallen in the fight upstairs. The whispers followed the growl from the beast''s throat again.


    "Says the beast is recovering and we should hurry."


    Blood was no longer drooling from the beast''s mouth, and the holes in its chest barely dripped. Al felt the only thing he could do was to stall for time. Conveniently, he decided that he could do this by explaining why he was stalling for time.


    "We do agree that the beast needs to die," Al explained to his companions, "but...well, just look at this! This is obviously some sort of horrible sacrificial ritual! We''re not stupid, we know there''s no telling what participating in this would do to our souls or what kind of disaster it would make us responsible for!"


    The beast listened, and the whispering voice replied.


    "Wants to know what you want for payment to help kill it," Gruntle explained.


    "What have you got?" Wikwocket asked.


    "No!" Al interjected. "You of all people should know about what happens to people who make deals with...things like this! There are countless stories about this and they all agree it costs more than it''s worth!"


    "All right, all right, just asking. It''s more dramatic if I can say we were offered something really valuable that we turned down."


    Gruntle translated the insistent, impatient whisper. "Thinks at least one of us really wants something. Wants to know what it is."


    "Tell you what," Al said, hoping, "if you want to negotiate why don''t you step out of that circle and we''ll talk about it."


    The intent of the beast''s angry growl and the loud stream of agitated whispering was clear enough, but Gruntle translated anyway.


    "It''s mad that you won''t help and it''s threatening you," Gruntle said dispassionately, as the beast dug the claws of a forepaw into its own neck. "Says it''ll do it itself and you''ll regret not helping."


    Al watched helplessly, knowing of no way they could interfere besides killing the beast anyway. It tore shreds of flesh from its own neck, snarling until there wasn''t enough throat left to make the sound. Unmistakable whispering laughter continued as the beast slaughtered itself in front of them, unable to stand any longer and flopping limply to the floor in a spreading pool of blood. The whispering laughter faded as the beast''s muzzle pulled itself into a hideous grin.


    The chamber lit up with a sudden crimson glow as the candles at the points of the pentagram ignited in deep red flames. The whisper filled the room with a repeated chant.


    "One...meat?" Gruntle translated, confused.

 0034 - Demon, interrupted

    To the horror of the onlookers, the four hearts and the flesh of the beast began to stretch themselves with sickening squelching sounds towards the bones of the woman.


    Al looked frantically to the others, desperate for an idea. This was one of those rare problems where Al was forced to agree that magic would be an ideal solution, and he regretted he didn''t have any that was useful for this.


    "Can we touch it now?" Gruntle asked.


    "Don''t! Not safe to touch it!" Al shouted, truly wishing for the first time that he actually did know how to shoot magical fire from his fingers. Then, remembering Wikwocket''s plea, he pulled the crossbow bolt out from where he''d tucked it into his belt.


    "Told you!" Wikwocket shouted as Al threw it towards the unnatural spectacle of the viscous sacrificial flesh beginning to engulf the bones. The vial of ultraphlogisticated oil tied to the bolt struck the stone floor of the cellar just inside the circle, shattering to spray a searing flash of bright fire across everything inside. The chanting halted, and the whispering nearly deafened Al with its enraged ranting. A sudden gust of wind pulled past them from behind as the entire formation of circle, pentagram, candles, flesh, and the skeletal woman vanished, leaving only the dry bones of the beast visible in the light of the slowly dwindling alchemical fire.


    "It is probably good that we did not help with that." Bote remarked. He noticed the blood spreading across the floor around Gruntle''s feet as it oozed from the shredded flesh of his shoulder and leg. Bote went over to attend to the injuries.


    "What just happened?" asked Wikwocket.


    "I think we interrupted whatever it was trying to do...right?" Al replied, looking to Gruntle for confirmation.


    "It was saying shaman stuff. Then it was angry that the meat was burning. Said it''d have to finish ... at home? Said it would punish us if it found us again. Then more shaman stuff."


    "Great." Al said. Then he asked, confused, "One meat?"


    Gruntle simply grunted in reply, while Bote made a plea to Indicina to "correct" Gruntle''s injuries. A flash of divine light responded, leaving the wounds looking as though they''d been healing for some time. Surprised, Gruntle gave Bote a grunt of acknowledgement as well.


    Bote smiled. "I was not certain that would be allowed. Welcome to the ineffable plan, my monstrous friend."


    "Is it over? Did we win? We''ve defeated the Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven, right?" Wikwocket asked.


    "Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven? Really?"


    "It needs a dramatic name!"


    In the dim light of Al''s candle and the last flickers of the alchemical fire, the bones of the beast looked as though they''d been picked clean by ants and left for years in the sun. Gruntle walked past Al, leaving bloody pawprints in his path, and grabbed hold of one the the beast''s ribs. He broke the end loose and stuck it between his back teeth to break it open, but it crumbled into dry pieces when he did. He grumbled with disappointment.


    "I should have told you not to do that, shouldn''t I?" Al asked rhetorically. "Anyway, I think maybe...we did win? It''s hard to tell, I still don''t understand what''s going on here. We should go through the places we haven''t looked at yet to at least make sure we won''t be leaving anything dangerous behind us and hopefully find some clues about what was really happening. Then we can go back to the village and get some rest, and come back tomorrow for a more thorough look. We can bring the beast''s skull with us for proof that it''s dead. That''s the traditional thing to do, isn''t it?"


    "That seems fitting, as long as someone holds it up over their head in front of the villagers and announces Behold! The Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven is slain!, or something like that." said Wikwocket.


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    <hr>


    They carried the skull of the beast up with them and left it on the table in the feast-hall while they continued their investigation. Al convinced the others detour back to the servant''s room with him to pick up the candelabra. He replaced the candles he''d taken onto it and lit them, which greatly improved Al''s ability to see.


    They returned upstairs to the room the beast had come from. It turned out to be a once-fine bedroom. The bed was shredded and feathers from the mattress and pillows were strewn about the room. Some once-valuable torn clothing lay on the floor in front of an open wardrobe, which contained some additional sets of high-quality shirts and trousers, alongside a selection of elegant gowns in many colors. The other strange magical torch, now inert and dark, still lay in the middle of the floor.


    Wikwocket, naturally, gravitated towards the wooden chest against the wall, the lock built into it suggesting something worth protecting inside. She giggled as she took out a set of lockpicking tools. While Al, Bote, and Gruntle wandered the room examining (and, for one of them, sniffing) the bed and wardrobe, Wikwocket carefully probed the lock mechanism on the chest. They found little besides more very nice clothing which looked to be for someone just a bit smaller than Al, and an un-emptied old chamberpot under the bed, when Wikwocket''s shout startled them all.


    "TRAP!"


    Everyone froze, but it was a shout of joy rather than a cry of warning. "There''s an actual trap in the lock! Things like this are in so many stories but I''ve never actually seen one before! This is great! A real trapped lock! Oh, there''s got to be something good in here!"


    Al slowly exhaled and tried to relax. "Please don''t startle us like that. It''s been a very tense night. Is it a trap that''s going to go off and kill us all while you''re fiddling with it?"


    "Don''t know yet! But, look, there''s a little needle in there attached to some kind of mechanism inside. Maybe it stabs anyone messing with the lock, maybe it shoots out, maybe it shoots in and punctures a bladder of poison gas or acid or something...it could be all kinds of things! Isn''t it exciting?"


    <hr>


    It took some convincing, but Al and Bote were able to talk Wikwocket into waiting to dabble with the lock mechanism by promising they could bring the whole chest back with them when they left. Gruntle didn''t seem to have any opinion, as he yawned and seemed to be considering whether to take a rest on the destroyed bed.


    "Let''s keep moving, we''ve got a little more to investigate, and we might run into something else that we have to fight." Al said, offering some motivation. He got a grunt of acknowledgment and a calm, contented grin in return.


    Well, Al thought to himself, it looks like enough violence actually does settle him down a little. That''s good to know.


    The door across the hall from the bedroom led into a private study. A very comfortable-looking well-padded chair sat in front of the preserved pelt of an exotic feline beast which had been made into a rug. The taxidermist who''d made it had left the fanged head and claws attached to it. Al recognized it as a tiger, from illustrations in a bestiary in his family''s own library. Someone must have paid quite a lot for it, he thought, since tigers lived somewhere far away, and the preservation work was expertly done.


    Once he got over the novelty of the rug, he noticed the bookcases, and the writing-desk with the spilled ink on it and an open, overturned codex lying on the floor underneath it. Al beckoned the others into the room.


    "Doesn''t look like there''s anything alive in here, unless there are mice in the seat-cushions or something. Does our expert on subtlety have any opinions on what might be dangerous here?" Al asked.


    "Me?" Gruntle asked in return. Al wasn''t sure if he meant he was dangerous or if he was asking if he was the "expert on subtlety". Al suppressed a laugh at that thought.


    "I was asking our traps expert over there."


    "Well, books are expensive, so I wouldn''t expect someone to have anything that would explode or catch fire in here, unless they had some reason to want them all destroyed. Someone could have a fake book with something inside it. Or maybe..." Wikwocket answered, drawing her rapier as her voice tapered off. She charged across the room to stab the corner of the writing desk. "Or maybe the furniture isn''t furniture at all!" She looked disappointed when nothing happened. "But, apparently the desk really is. It could have been a mimic, though!" She moved over to poke the seat-cushion on the chair, then walked around the room prodding the bookshelves hopefully. She even stabbed the head of the tiger-skin rug, looking disappointed that none of the furniture resisted.


    "How about that book lying on the floor there?" Al prompted. Wikwocket walked over and jabbed it as well, to no reaction.


    "I meant, is that some sort of trick? A false book with some kind of mechanism in it meant to trick us into picking it up?"


    Wikwocket knelt down and spent a while examining it. There was a creak of wood straining as Gruntle slouched onto the chair while she did so. The codex was fitted between a pair of flat wooden boards, bound loosely through the pages with twine. There were no markings on the outside, but there were some small torn pieces of paper scattered on the floor nearby, stained with splashes of ink.


    "Just looks like a book to me." Wikwocket finally announced.


    Al breathed a sigh of relief. "I guess we''re being paranoid, we''ve been worrying about traps like in the stories all the way through here and you''ve only found one." He leaned down and picked the book up from the floor.


    Then, he screamed as the fangs of the tiger-skin rug bit deeply into his calf. The now-familiar whispering sounds came from the rug as the limbs tried to wrap themselves around him.

 0035 - First Quest - Complete!

    "Hey, I stabbed you!" Wikwocket complained to the demon-possessed tiger skin.


    The fight didn''t last long. Gruntle was quick to pull the rug off of Al and tear into it with his teeth while Bote invoked the searing divine light onto it. Al was so angry he went straight to arcane violence, invoking the inerrant slivers of magical force. As they struck the torn and smouldering skin it shuddered and the swirling red mist poured from the tiger''s mouth to evaporate away. The skin went limp. Gruntle gnawed on it a bit more just to make sure, while Bote got out the first-aid supplies and one of the bottles of Notamimic Manor''s healing potions for Al.


    "No miraculous healing for the wizard?" Al asked between clenched teeth - the bite to his calf was deep and painful.


    "I have reached the limit of my allotted Celestial Authority for such things for the day, I fear."


    "But it''s night," Al deadpanned. "Anyway, that makes no sense."


    "Of course it doesn''t. It''s ineffable."


    Al grumbled as he accepted the bottle of health-giving dairy-product from Bote and drank it down. The bleeding from his leg stopped and the pain subsided, though the bite didn''t disappear completely.


    The codex turned out to be a journal of sorts, though there was no obvious indication who it belonged to. Without any preamble, the first pages were dated four years ago, and were simply a dry ledger of taxes collected and expenses incurred. Flipping quickly through the pages, they continued in this manner until the pages dated less than two years ago began to include alchemical notes. Skipping ahead through later pages, Al found an entry dated just over a year prior that had the first instance of a personal entry. An alchemical experiment catastrophically failing. The author bitterly complained of a casualty: "My Julia."


    Al shut the book. "I''m taking this with me. This looks like it will answer a lot of questions about what happened here, but I''m sure you don''t want to stand around for hours while I read through it right now."


    "Some of these look like magic books!" Wikwocket enthused from in front of one of the bookcases. She reached up for one of them, then turned to watch the room warily as she took it out. When nothing assaulted her for doing it, she grinned and sat down on the floor to start thumbing through it.


    "And of course some are not, but the selection may be enlightening" Bote added, pointing to another, slightly dustier bookshelf. Al went to look. The bookshelf had an impressive collection of interesting references. Al spotted books on local history, biographies of a few notable Casusian nobles, economics, medical knowledge, plants and animals of the region, mineral resources, and basic alchemical practices. Bote took The Wealth of Casusia to thumb through while he waited for the others. Gruntle slouched back into the chair, whose legs finally broke under his weight.


    Al went to look at the other shelves. As Wikwocket had assumed, the entire set seemed to be dedicated to arcane matters, at least the ones with comprehensible titles. The lower shelves had a number of introductory texts on magical theory and the practice of wizardry. The higher shelves trended towards some disturbing specialties - blood, necromancy, and infernal influences. Above these, the titles were written in an indecipherable script that made Al feel uncomfortable to look at.


    "How do you make sense of any of this?" a perplexed Wikwocket asked, looking at pages of arcane diagrams in the common-language translation of De Re Praecontatio, a well-known Elven treatise on supernatural means of gaining knowledge.


    "Many years of practice." Al told her. She made a sour face and put the book back where she got it.


    Struck by a thought, Al selected one of the smaller books with the unknown writing on it, and took it to Gruntle.


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    "Can you read this?" he asked. Gruntle snorted awake and opened his eyes to look.


    "Nah." he said.


    Al closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them and tried again.


    "Gruntle, can you understand what this says?"


    Gruntle examined the writing on the cover.


    "Yeah." He finally said. His brow furrowed and muzzle wrinkled into a grimace with the mental effort as he tried to fit the meaning into words he could understand. "It''s...a book...about dangerous spirits...and...what they want from shaman."


    Curious, Al opened the book and flipped through a few pages. The text was as alien as ever, but there were some illustrations. They were stylized rather than realistic, but they seemed to depict a variety of obviously unnatural creatures. Some appeared to be wearing articles of clothing or carrying obvious tools or weaponry. Al stopped at a page depicting some sort of two-headed snake-bird thing holding a pitchfork-like object. He showed it to Gruntle.


    "It''s a name. Someone important. Says they like fresh meat." Gruntle gave a relaxed smile at the shared interest and, unbidden, reached out to turn the page. That one seemed to have a winged slug with a long barbed tongue. "Another name. Kind of important. Says they like blood from dead people." Gruntle turned the page again. The apparently-kind-of-important almost human-like figure with its facial features in completely the wrong places seemed to like injuries done to children. The corpulent sharp-toothed moose-thing with a gaping mouth on its belly on the next page reportedly liked excessive eating and drinking.


    Al was about to pull the book away, getting worried about Gruntle''s enthusiasm for the subject-matter, when Gruntle stopped to stare silently for a moment at the page he''d just turned to. A terrible creature built like a bear, but with too-long arms and sharp claws, an array of barbed spines sticking out of its back, and a mouth full of long, sharp teeth. In one...hand?...it held chains with a variety of skulls at the end of each.


    Gruntle gazed upon the page in wonder.


    "Grandma?" he said.


    <hr>


    Al closed the book and put it in his pack with the journal, not wanting to take the experiment any further. They still had one more room to check before they left, and although they hadn''t really been inside the keep for long, the late hour and the exhaustion of the experience made it seem like much longer. Bote put their book back where they''d gotten it.


    "Apparently, there are deposits of lead ore not far north of here." they said with a smirk, as if they hadn''t all just arrived recently from Silveroak, with its well-established lead mine.


    They gathered themselves in front of the last door. Wikwocket looked it over and declared it safe. Gruntle said it smelled a little like the apothecary back in Silveroak.


    Pushing the door open, they found a room with complex alchemical apparatus assembled along one wall, and a small pantry in the corner with glassware and supplies. The room itself had seen some abuse - the stone walls were chipped, scorched, and stained in several places, and there were signs that the floor had possibly caught fire at some point in the past, though it appeared someone got it under control before it was structurally damaged. There were a few small glass bottles of fluid on a table by the apparatus. Al recognized the name of a potent acid written on one''s label. A few others seemed to be stocks of precursor mixtures. Two of the bottles were filled with opaque red fluid that looked suspiciously like fresh blood, though the dust on everything indicated that nothing in this room was the least bit fresh. One of them was labeled "Julia". The other had a blank label.


    There was also a lantern for light, still mostly full of oil, much to Al''s relief as the old candles in the candelabra were down to nearly nothing. He lit the lantern and set the candelabra on the table, blowing the remaining candle stubs out.


    Al found himself yawning along with Gruntle, who looked bored.


    Al offered his opinion. "Some of this stuff is probably quite valuable but we don''t need to waste time digging through it all now. It looks like nobody''s used this room in a while and I don''t see anything that''s going to get any more dangerous before tomorrow. Does anyone mind if we go back to Henhaven and get some rest now? We can come back tomorrow in the daytime."


    "Don''t forget we''re bringing the treasure chest with us!" Wikwocket was quick to say.


    "You know the ''treasure'' is probably just more clothing or something, right?"


    "We''ll see, once I get it open!"


    In fact, the muffled but unmistakable sound of coins sliding against coins was heard when Gruntle lifted the chest, drawing a cackle of gleeful avarice from Wikwocket. The cackle rose to almost maniacal laughter when Gruntle complained that it was very heavy and would be hard to carry the whole way back. Al was talked into getting out his wizardry reference and conjuring up the "invisible cart" again for Gruntle to set the chest on. The beast''s skull, which was deceptively light now that there was nothing but dead, dry bone to it, was set atop the chest floating behind Al. With the lantern for light, the party exited the keep, closed the front door, and made their way back down to the road.


    The village seemed as eerily dark and quiet as it had when they left. The same donkey that had watched them leave was the only one to see them returning. Though it was quiet, there was a light under the door at the Biggest Coop. Al sagged with tired relief, but Wikwocket rushed to the front to knock on the door, raising some surprised conversation and a lone startled scream from somewhere inside.


    "We have returned!" she shouted, pushing open the door, "The Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven is slain!"


    The rest of the night was a blur for a tired Al. The villagers cheered loudly as they entered, and louder still when Wikwocket introduced the skull atop the chest as the remains of "the Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven". Al took the chest to the room where they''d be sleeping before the magic that held it up ran out, then returned to drink some small-ale and accept enough gratitude from the villagers to be polite, before excusing himself to get some sleep. He drifted out of consciousness to the sound of Wikwocket''s enthusiastic retelling of what they''d experienced.

 0036 - Mom

    The keep had a more unreal feeling for Al than before on this visit. The layout seemed both familiar and different at the same time. The steps down into the cellar went far deeper than he remembered. The cavern walls flickered in the blood-red glow of the torch. Whispering voices echoed, pleading, threatening, mocking, complaining.


    "Says it''s going to eat your face", Gruntle told him one was saying.


    "Says it has money for you." Gruntle said of another.


    "Says you should walk faster."


    "Says not to look up."


    "Says to tie your shoelaces."


    Al frowned, his boots didn''t have laces. He looked down at his bare feet, cold on the cobblestones of the road. Well, that''s embarrassing. Hopefully nobody will notice.


    He idly wondered why he left Bote, Wikwocket, and Gruntle back at the camp, but then thought no more about it as the feeling that he was getting near his destination grew intense. He began to run. The tree-lined dirt road through the forest sped by, and he hopped up the steps to the door that led to the sitting-room at home.


    He paused in a moment of confusion and doubt.


    "Ah, there''s my favorite son! Well, don''t just stand there like an idiot, come in and give your mother a hug," the voice of his mother demanded from inside.


    It was at that moment that lucidity hit. Al groaned softly.


    "Mom, you know it makes me uncomfortable when you do this," he complained as he opened the door.


    "Well, you haven''t written or visited since you left weeks ago, how else am I to find out how my hatchling is doing?" asked the shining red-and-gold dragon lounging on a house-sized pile of gold coins inside.


    "Moooooom!" Al complained again, and in that sudden way that only happens in dreams, there was just his actual human mother, sitting at the family''s parlor table with a cup of tea and laughing at him good-naturedly.


    "You should have seen the look on your imaginary face! What good is having a child if you can''t tease them once in a while?" She said, setting down the teacup and strolling over for the demanded hug. Al obliged - as intense as she could be at times, he was fond of his mother. His imaginary ribs creaked.


    They parted, and his mother bade him to sit at the table. "Sit, sit! Have some imaginary tea and tell me how you''re doing. I want to hear all the exciting details! Have you left any cities burning in the wake of your passage yet? Commanded the obedience of any demons? Slain any terrible monsters?" she asked him with a teasing smirk.


    Al smirked back. "Well, now that you ask, we have, in fact, done at least one of those things. We''ve slain the...ahem...Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven this very night!"


    His mother raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Demonic Flesh-beast. Of Henhaven."


    "That''s right. Well, Wikwocket is the one who decided to call it that. It was murdering villagers in the village of Henhaven, and the four of us tracked it down and killed it. We still don''t know exactly what was happening but my hunch is it was a man who made a foolish pact with something that corrupted him. Demons were involved, it was quite an experience. We''re planning to go back where we found it and investigate further in the morning, but we wanted to get some rest and let the villagers know they''re safe now, first."


    His mother leaned forward with interest. "Don''t tease your mother, Aloysius. Now, go back to the beginning and tell me the rest! When you left, there was only you, that enthusiastic gnomish woman, and that inscrutable dwarfish person. There are four of you now?"


    Al smiled eagerly, it was so rare that he had an opportunity to truly shock his mother.


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    "Oh, that''s right, you haven''t met Gruntle yet. He''s a very large, action-oriented, down-to-earth sort of person, I think you''d probably like him. Though, maybe not. Most people aren''t comfortable dealing with his kind."


    Al''s dream-self paused and slowly sipped at his imaginary cup of tea. He looked into the ripples on the steaming greenish-gold contents, admiring quietly. Then he sipped again as his mother began to glare at him.


    Al''s mother lightly slammed her fist onto the table. "What did I just say about teasing your mother?"


    "You tease me all the time!"


    "I''m your mother, it''s allowed. What is it about this person''s kind that you think I wouldn''t be comfortable with?"


    "Well, he''s half-demonic himself, for one thing."


    Al''s mother scoffed. "That''s the big secret? That isn''t so uncommon. I''ve met several people who appear to have the influence of some ancestral dalliance with the infernal. Most half-humans aren''t any less decent than full-blooded human folk."


    "I didn''t say his other half was human."


    "Pedantry does not impress me, young man! Elvish, dwarfish, gnomish, whatever. Humanish, it''s all the same to me."


    "He''s none of those things," Al said, eager to get to the punchline. "I suppose beast is more of an appropriate descriptor for his other half."


    His mother gave him a glare of impatience. Al met her gaze defiantly.


    "I mean, that''s what gnolls are, right?" He said, keeping eye contact as he sipped his tea once more.


    He was gratified at the startled look of confusion he got in return. It was replaced quickly with stern disapproval.


    "You''re getting better, I couldn''t tell if you were lying to me. However, the ability to deceive your mother is not something you should be proud of!"


    "I''m not lying, it''s true!"


    His mother''s disapproving look intensified. "This isn''t funny, young man. I may not be as academic as your father, but I''m far from ignorant. Gnolls aren''t people, dear, they are demonic, mindless..."


    "...murderously violent beasts, yes," Al finished for her, "I know, but there are some nuances. In a way, our whole party is gnolls now."


    He realized he''d pushed too far with that as his mother''s the wrath of the very gods face was turned on him, gouts of flame shooting from her dream-self''s nostrils as she shouted.


    "Aloysius Zenthraxis Arcanisen! If you''ve taken up a life of marauding your father and I will fetch you right back home and you''ll be banished to your room for...!"


    Al frantically waved his arms in apologetic surrender. "Mom! Mom! It''s not like that, let me explain!"


    Abandoning all coyness, he described for his mother how they arrived in Silveroak, the posting they''d gone to answer, how their first meeting with Gruntle had transpired, and their decision to bring him on. His mother''s disapproval turned to interest as he went through the events.


    "You were prepared to beat a gnoll to death?" his mother asked, impressed. She patted him on the head. "Well, you are my son, and your heart is in the right place. Do try to be more mindful in the future though, a gnoll would tear you apart and eat the pieces."


    "Don''t be so sure, I''ve learned a few things. They''ve even talked me into starting to learn how to use wizardry as a weapon. I''m probably going to have to do more of that."


    They dreamed of drinking tea as Al told his mother about their deadly battle with the bandits, their arrival in Henhaven, and their adventure in the mysterious keep where the beast had been hiding.


    "I see," she said with an approving smile. "you''ve been a very busy boy these last few days. I think I approve of your companions, you must promise me that you''ll bring them for a proper visit soon. I wonder what your father will think."


    "He''ll think I''m being lazy for not having learned to speak the gnollish language already, and would ask when I''m going to publish," Al said with a grin.


    "Yes, that does sound like Franklin. Speaking of whom, is there anything you''d like to tell him before you return to a proper sleep?"


    Al thought for a moment. "Yes, tell him that I think I may have come up with some improvements for the textbook floating disk spell and that I promise to write up my results when I try them. Oh, and let him know that I have a pre-print draft of Melissa Browne''s publication about the gnolls."


    "He''ll be pleased to know you haven''t lost your scholarly instincts. I''ll tell him."


    "Oh...one more thing..."


    Al fidgeted.


    "I think I need to educate myself about more infernal matters now. I know you and Father have always said that it''s too dangerous of a subject for me to investigate, but now I''m in charge of a half-demonic creature and I''ve already had some conflict with real ones. I think I can handle it, I''m not a child any more."


    "Yes, now you''re old and wise enough to be deceived by demons into believing that you are resistant to being deceived by demons," she warned him. "But, I''ll talk to your father about it."


    "Thanks, Mom."


    She set down her teacup and stood up, walking around the table to stand next to her son. She slapped him enthusiastically on the back, making his dream-self lurch forward and imagine spilling what was left of his tea.


    "Keep up the good work! We''re proud of you, dear. Be careful. Write to us soon, and come visit when you can."


    Al winced, embarrassed, as she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.


    <hr>


    Agatha Arcanisen smiled, opened her eyes, and sat up. Her husband was already awake next to her, well into reading one of the codices from this morning''s stack of research. He set his thumb on the page to mark where he left off so he could lean over to kiss her on the cheek, before going right back to his reading.


    "Good morning, darling," he said to her without looking up. "You look happy, did you speak to our son?"


    "Yes, he seems to be doing quite well and is having an exciting time. He''s a gnoll now."


    "Hmm," her husband said distractedly, as he turned to the next page. "Is he speaking their native language properly yet?"

 0037 - Contents

    The insistent call of a rooster tore the metaphorical blanket of sleep rudely from Al''s mind, much the same way that Wikwocket almost immediately tore his actual blanket from his body.


    "Oh, good! You''re awake! Get up! Get up! I''m going to open up the treasure!" she said with a completely unfair amount of early-morning enthusiasm.


    Al groaned and sat up. The golden light of the newly-risen sun shone through the open window of the room they''d slept in, and the scent of cooking eggs and meat was in the air.


    "You should be proud of her," Bote said in her defense, "she got up before the dawn to work on the lock, and has resisted opening the chest despite getting the poison-tipped needle disarmed and getting the lock opened at least an hour ago."


    "Food?" Gruntle asked from where he rested, curled atop a wide pile of blankets and pillows nearby.


    Al yawned. "Maybe we should eat first," he said. "After the strain we''ve all been through we should make sure we nourish our bodies."


    He put a hand over his heart the way he''d seen Wikwocket do for dramatic purposes before, though the effect was slightly marred by his bleary facial expression. "After all, of what value is treasure before the health and well-being of our priceless companions?"


    Gruntle gave a loose-muzzled smile over the fact that Al agreed about the food.


    Bote gave a nod of agreement. "Such wisdom is worth more than any amount of gold," they said.


    Wikwocket gave a frustrated noise that dropped down into an actual growl, though it was a bit high-pitched coming from a gnome. Al was reminded of those tiny dogs some of the self-indulgent nobility liked to keep. He snorted in laughter for a moment but suppressed it as he remembered that even tiny dogs have teeth.


    "Won''t starve if we look first," Gruntle grumbled.


    "Okay, fine, give me a moment, I just don''t like being rushed when I wake up."


    He yawned and stretched and Wikwocket fidgeted impatiently while everyone gathered around.


    "Watch your step!" she said cheerfully, pointing to a sharp steel needle lying on the floor next to the chest. "There''s something sticky on it that I''m sure is some sort of terrible poison. Okay, everyone ready? Behold!..."


    Wikwocket gestured dramatically with one hand while reaching to flip the lid of the chest open with the other. The lid barely moved, and Wikwocket lost her grip on it.


    "Whoa, that''s heavier than I expected. Let me try this again," she said, glaring angrily at the chest.


    "Behold," she grunted with effort, shoving the lid open with both hands. The lid barely made it up far enough to fall open, stopping with a heavy thud at the end.


    The inside of the chest was completely lined by a dull grey metal riveted to it. Al thought it was probably lead. Contained within were three leather bags, and an impressive thin-bladed sword. It resembled a rapier more than anything else, but the expertise and artistry of its crafting was exquisite. It was made from a slightly greenish steel, with a hand-guard made from wire arranged like a spider''s web. The blade itself had silvery lines engraved all along its length, continuing the spider-web motif. At the base of the blade, there was a stylized symbol of a spider.


    "It is clear that blade has significance beyond its purpose as a weapon," Bote commented.


    Slack-jawed and bug-eyed, Wikwocket made covetous grasping motions with her hands.


    "Wait!" Al warned her. "Hidden in something like this, there could be some sort of dangerous influence on it."


    "You mean it might be magic?" Wikwocket exclaimed. "I must have it!" She slowly reached out...


    Given the experiences of the previous night, Al was very concerned for the moment it took to realize she was play-acting.


    "You know, if some sort of spider-demon has possessed you, we''ll have no choice but to lock you in that box until we can figure out how to deal with it," Al said, and sighed. "Give me a few minutes to prepare and I''ll see if there is any magical influence involved."


    "I shall see about the nourishment while you do this," said Bote. "Gruntle, would you like to help with the food?"


    The gnoll grunted and stood, slightly drooling. The two of them left, and somewhere out in the main room someone gave a startled shout. A few others laughed and then things were quiet again, so Al went to his pack to dig out his arcane notes.


    "What about you, not hungry?" he asked Wikwocket, who had sat down on the floor next to the chest.


    "I am, but I want to see how you do this," she said.


    "Well, okay, but it''s not very exciting."


    He turned to the page with the magic-sensing procedure he''d worked out and began a quiet chant, drawing slow patterns in the air with his fingers. This went on for a while. The ritual wound down as Bote and Gruntle returned with spoons, and bowls heaped with eggs and sausage. Al blinked a few times and looked around the room. He went to the chest and looked inside.


    "You won''t believe what I see in there," he teased.


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    "What? Tell me!" Wikwocket urged.


    "Absolutely nothing. Just ordinary, un-magical objects. Sorry."


    "That''s just mean!"


    "On the bright side, that means probably nothing''s magically cursed in there, either, so it''s probably safe to touch."


    Wikwocket didn''t hesitate to pick up the spider-marked blade. The handle was long, but thin, and the blade was almost as long as Wikwocket was tall. Al expected her to have trouble with it, but she held it straight out as though it hardly weighed anything at all.


    "Whoa!" Wikwocket exclaimed, "How is this so light? Are you sure it''s not magic?"


    "I don''t see any magical influence on it at all. Maybe there''s some sort of metallurgical alchemy involved."


    Al let her swing the blade around and stab at the air while he went back to his pack and took out the two books they''d taken from the keep. There was no outright magical effect visible on either, but the journal had that faint shimmer that Al had come to associate with writings that were made use of during the active working of magic.


    Well, I know what I''m going to be reading this morning he thought to himself.


    "How about we plan on going up to visit the keep this afternoon. That will give us some time to get ready, and I can take a better look at this journal we found before we go, in case it has any useful clues for us."


    Bote nodded and Gruntle grunted agreement as they ate. Wikwocket shouted "Yes!" She was leaning into the chest. She looked up. "Oh, yeah, that would be fine," she answered. Then she leaned back down into the chest, reaching. "YES!!" she shouted even louder. "Gold!"


    <hr>


    Wikwocket counted out the coins from the three leather bags while Al ate with one hand and turned pages with the other.


    The beginning of the journal might have been interesting to an accountant, but the fastidiously-annotated ledger of income and expenses seemed unremarkable as far as Al could tell. Entries dated a bit more than two years previous started including pieces of alchemical equipment and supplies among the expenses. Taxes paid on the production of "strong drink" began to appear shortly thereafter, and sales of "spirits" occasionally supplemented the income. Pages of the journal at that point began to include basic diagrams of alchemical apparatus and what seemed to be recipes made up of alchemical symbols. Expenses labeled simply "Tutoring" began to appear alongside the purchase of books, and some of the income entries in the ledger began to be denoted entirely in alchemical symbols.


    Alchemy wasn''t a subject Al knew very much about, but the tradition of wizardry he''d learned from had borrowed some of its sigils from alchemical symbology. Al was able to recognize some of the recurring symbols as variations of "vital fluids", "vitality", "spirit", and "transmittance". Al remembered seeing some of them engraved on the odd magical torches at the keep.


    "That''s weird," Wikwocket exclaimed, sitting in the middle of three piles of coins. "One hundred and seventy-three. In each of these bags, there were exactly 173 gold coins. We could pay back Notamimic Manor right now!"


    "Don''t forget, they are owed a 15% share of everything else for the next two years, minus the last three days of course," Bote reminded her.


    "Yeah, but 15% of the rest is better than 50% of the rest!"


    "Wait...," Al said, flipping back through the journal, then forward to the end. "I don''t see any entries in the ledger for exactly 173 or 519 gold coins. I wonder what they''re for?"


    "They were divided up and hidden in the chest with the blade. The number clearly has a hidden importance," Bote offered. "The lining of lead is meant to interfere with magic, is it not?"


    "Hmm?" Al looked up from the journal. "Yes, there''s apparently some alchemical attribute of it that dampens magical senses in particular. I imagine they were trying to hide the sword, but why the money?"


    He found himself distracted from the conversation by the journal - he''d reached the entry again describing the alchemical accident. The symbols were difficult to follow but judging by the entries in the ledger, it had been a difficult and expensive attempt. Too much [alchemical symbols]. Fatal explosion. Do not repeat. was written below the procedural notes. Al noted that there followed a list of additional expenses which included what he guessed referred to a wound-healing preparation and preservative substances. He felt slightly sickened to realize that My Julia was listed as the final "expense". She is my Julia. Mine. We are one flesh. I will have her back. was written in the bottom margin of the page.


    The next entry was two weeks later. It included more alchemical supplies and one of the wizardry references they''d found in the keep''s library. My Julia. Mine. was scrawled in lower margin of the page, and the bottom of each of the next several pages of ledger entries before the first "narrative" entry by the author.


    The kind gentleman offered his services. I believed he wanted my political influence in return. I misunderstood the price, but I don''t regret agreeing to it. When I have my Julia back, we will make a new name for ourselves. The kind gentleman has helped me procure the correct research and his guidance has brought understanding.


    The ledger that followed included more books and alchemical supplies. Some of the lines were written in the odd, unsettling script that Gruntle understood. Subsequent pages began to include elements of actual wizardry. Al found the spell that was used to create the magical torches. Several more spell-formulae were included and Al resisted the urge to study them immediately. He forced himself to continue. The personal entries consistently praised the kind gentleman for his wisdom and assistance...and for an introduction to someone or something that the author referred to with a phrase or name in that presumably-infernal script.


    Al found a page with a familiar-looking diagram of a pentagram enclosed in an arcane circle and a stylized human figure arranged within.


    The following page had no date, and the writing was in larger, shaky letters, as though written by a clumsier hand.


    Remember


    Agreed to price. Any price to have my Julia. Mine.


    Did not know what [infernal symbols] would take from me.


    Do not care. Will give all that I am to have her back.


    Takes of me in the dark. Gives for sacrifice.


    Keeps its word.


    Only a few more now.


    Would not back out if I could.


    Flesh for flesh.


    Remember


    The page after this was worse. The large, sloppy letters barely fit on the page and were almost illegible.


    LITTLE LEFT ME


    STILL HERE


    TWO MORE


    SOON


    JULIA


    ONE FLESH


    The final page of markings was a few large meaningless strokes of ink, and a fist-sized ink splotch. The bottom of the page and the empty ones after were torn as if by claws, and creased from lying open on the floor where Al had found it.


    Al shuddered and closed the journal. Then he sighed, and reached for his coinpurse.


    Wikwocket caught the gold coin before it bounced off of her forehead.

 0038 - The Rightful Baron

    They all agreed Wikwocket could have the mysterious rapier since she was the one most capable of using it. Gruntle was the only other member of their group who had any experience with swords at all, and though the blade was quite long for Wikwocket, it would have been hardly a shiv for Gruntle if he''d even had any interest in it. She was reluctantly convinced to leave it in the lead-lined chest until they''d at least rigged up some sort of sheathe arrangement for it that wouldn''t drag on the ground behind her as she walked. In return, Al agreed not to hide somewhere with the journal to study the wizardry in it until after they''d made another visit to the keep. He put the journal and the book in the chest for safe-keeping as well.


    It was mid-day by the time Al had finished his arcane preparation for the day''s trip. Wikwocket and Bote had already gone out to socialize with the Biggest Coop''s staff and customers. Gruntle napped lightly with his belly full of food, but woke quickly when Al started loading a few supplies into his pack for the afternoon excursion. He followed Al out into the main room.


    There were only a few villagers there, but they seemed content. Rose was behind the bar, humming happily as she tidied things up. She gave Al a cheerful wave. Somewhere outside, Al could hear the indistinct sounds of some people greeting each other as they passed by, and in the distance was the faint sound of children playing.


    The skull of the beast had been hung on the wall behind the bar. In the relaxed atmosphere and the light of day, it seemed more like some sort of natural curiosity than something that so recently wanted to devour them or rip out their hearts for demon-sacrifice purposes.


    Wikwocket hopped down out of her seat. "Time to go look for more treasure?" she asked eagerly.


    "We''re not looters," Al reminded her, "but, yes, I''m ready to go back up and see if we can learn more."


    "This will be enlightening, I''m sure." Bote said, getting to their feet as well.


    Rose wished them well as they left, and promised supper when they returned.


    "Henhaven is kind of nice now that everyone''s not worried any more." Al mused as they followed the road towards the south end of the village.


    "I wouldn''t go that far," Bote chuckled, "the chickens still run for their coops as we pass, and some of the villagers still seem uncertain about Gruntle. Also, a few people have mentioned some worry about the taxes. But, yes, it is much more pleasant now."


    A man leading a pony loaded with bags of grain tried to pass by them, but the pony became increasingly nervous as he got nearer to the adventurers. The man eventually had to practically wrestle the pony into submission to go around them without having it completely panic. He gave them a look of mixed worry and annoyance as he moved away.


    "I guess it''s natural for normal animals to have an instinctual fear of predators." Al considered. "Good thing we''re used to walking."


    "Many animals can be trained to overcome their natural fears. No normal horse would tolerate a battle but they may be trained to be warhorses." Bote scratched their beard in contemplation. "I imagine such training takes time and expense, of course."


    "Well, we''re starting to have too much stuff to just carry around with us unless we get a cart or a pack-animal of some kind. That lead-lined chest is going to be tough to carry on foot and if we did we''d probably attract the kind of attention we don''t want." Al said. "Maybe the villagers have a cart they''d let us take. We could pull it behind us at least."


    "Gruntle could pull us! And I could just ride!" Wikwocket suggested. Gruntle grunted.


    Al considered this. "I''m sure we could...convince...Gruntle to drag us around, but treating him as a full-time packbeast just seems like a bad use of his potential."


    "I suppose we could take turns. Well, you could take turns. A delicate flower of innocence such as myself couldn''t possibly pull a big-enough cart to be useful."


    Al nearly threatened to come up with some wizardry to make her suitable to pull a cart, but stopped himself as he realized she''d probably like the idea and wouldn''t stop nagging him until he found some way to follow through.


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    <hr>


    The route to the keep was familiar from the night before - out past the last house with the donkey in the chickenyard, less than an hour of walking down the road, and up the hill. The addition of sunlight and cheerful waves from grateful villagers on their way out made the trip feel much nicer this time.


    Another thing that was different was the unexpected man standing patiently outside the front door of the keep as they arrived. He was a tall, slim, handsome man wearing a clean white jacket over a puffy dark-green shirt. The jacket was open to show the completely gratuitous ruffles of the shirt, complementing the regularly slit sleeves of the jacket with folds of the shirt-sleeves poking through to make his arms appear ruffled as well. White knee-high leather boots, tight-fitting white breeches with green trim matched with the rest of the clothing. A tall rounded felt hat worn slightly off-center with a ridiculous bouquet of thorny green roses and bird feathers tied to it completed the outfit, which Al assumed was the latest pointless fashion trend among the nobility. The man''s head was covered with perfectly oiled and curled short golden hair and was clean-shaven. On his face was the calm smirk of someone who is nearly always unimpressed by life but has just spotted something that might provide some welcome temporary amusement.


    The man leaned, relaxed, against the wall next to the front door of the keep, resting his hands on the silvery metal casting in the shape of a wolf''s head atop a tall cane. He gave a calm smile and polite nod as Al and his companions approached. Al saw him look each of them over one by one, raising an eyebrow at Gruntle.


    "Don''t worry, we''re friendly," Al called out to reassure the man.


    "I''m glad to hear that," the man replied affably, "I imagine things would be unpleasant for me if you weren''t. Welcome to Wulfcynn Keep. I am Baron Hearne Wulfcynn. May I have your names?"


    "I''m called Al," Al answered, feeling happy that this visit to the keep was off to a pleasant start. "That''s Bote, this is Gruntle, and...oh, you probably want to do your own introduction," he finally said to Wikwocket.


    "My name''s Wikwocket," said Wikwocket with shocking brevity. Al glanced to see her with a somewhat forced-looking friendly smile. Turning back to Baron Wulfcynn, Al saw a slight moment of annoyance or disappointment on his face, though it was replaced with friendliness again almost immediately. Perhaps he had been expecting a more formal response.


    "I expect I owe the four of you for the gifts. From what we found in my keep this morning, it appears someone has done me a great service. Was that you?" asked the Baron.


    "You will need to clarify the service that you are referring to in order for us to provide a truthful answer, but the four of us were here last night," Bote answered before Al could. "May I ask when you last visited Wulfcynn Keep?"


    Baron Wulfcynn turned his friendly smile to Bote. "I have been away from here during the last four years, busy with delicate matters at court, and have arrived only this morning. I do not know the name of the caretaker that was handling the matters of the keep before today. Whoever he was, he seems to have badly neglected the place and left quite a mess."


    Al relaxed. He''d been worried that the beast was going to turn out to be a relative.


    "We came last night tracking an unnatural beast who has been killing the people of Henhaven," Al summarized, "We don''t have the whole story but it seems the caretaker bargained with something he shouldn''t have and it corrupted him. What he had become was slain last night."


    "Ah, that would be the headless skeletal thing my servants found in the cellar, then. If you are responsible for ridding us of that monster, then it is to you that I owe a service. We cannot have some creature killing off the populace, after all, the dead are exempt from paying taxes. Ha ha."


    Yes, definitely nobility, thought Al.


    "That was us, yes. We came back hoping to learn more about what led up to this situation, we didn''t expect to find anyone here. The place seemed like it had been neglected for a long time."


    "I noticed. The servants have cleaned things up as best they could before they went to fetch the rest of my things. However, I can welcome you in to take another look around. First though, I would ask if you''ve taken anything from the keep already."


    "There were a few things," Al admitted, and then listed them off. "I took two books that I found in the study, and a lantern that we found in the alchemical laboratory. We took the skull of the beast, of course, and a chest, but that OW!"


    Wikwocket had accidentally stepped on Al''s foot.


    "The chest was locked, so we carried it out without opening it," she explained flatly.


    The baron counted on his fingers and nodded. "Then I will allow you to take one more thing from my keep, with the condition that whatever single thing you take must be carried out by one of you, and I ask that you not disassemble or destroy anything in the process of taking whatever it is you''ve chosen."


    Al found this odd, as it was the sort of strange reward that happened in storybooks. Curiosity overcame Al''s concerns about etiquette.


    "Any one object?" He asked.


    "That''s correct."


    "If you don''t mind me asking...I don''t want to seem ungrateful because I''m not, but those seem like strangely specific conditions. May I ask why?"


    "Someone such as myself, with substantial experience dealing with courtly matters, becomes cautious about the sort of wordplay trickery that''s possible. If I simply offered you any one object, you might be inclined, for example, to ask for ownership of the foyer of the keep on the assumption that this would grant you the right to enter the keep at any time. While I welcome the occasional guest if they''re interesting, you can understand that I wouldn''t want anyone coming and going as they please in my private keep. Specifying that you not disassemble anything prevents you from causing damage to the building or for example, taking the front door. It''s just the way things are done."


    "''Five hundred gold coins valued at five hundred gold coins''," Al muttered to himself. Then to the baron he said, "Thank you, for the reward and for the explanation. The life of a noble at court must be an interesting one."


    "It can be entertaining. Wulfcynn is a very old, noble lineage, a part of the Casusian court for many generations. Sadly in decline of late. I am in fact the last of the Wulfcynn family at this time. I shall have to find myself a baroness and produce some heirs. Are you of noble descent, my diminutive Wikwocket?" the baron teased.


    "No. Sorry," she replied, her face a stiff mask of politeness.


    The baron chuckled. "Pity," he said with a grin. "Now then, allow me to invite you inside to look around and collect your reward before my servants return with the rest of my own possessions. I had the servants clean the place this morning as best they could, but as you know things were not well-maintained, so I must apologize for any disarray that remains."


    He beckoned them to follow as he pushed the door to the keep open.

 0039 - The Barons Game

    The servants'' skills at cleaning impressed Al - the foyer looked much better than it had the night before. The blood-stained rug was gone, as was the smashed chair. The remaining chairs had been completely cleaned of dust and looked comfortable. Some sort of plaster had been used to cover the place where Gruntle had ripped one of the torch-sconces from the wall. Upon entering the room, Al noticed the banners had even been replaced. They were a dark forest green, with a white heraldic wolf''s head in profile on them. Candles had been set in the chandelier and lit, making the whole room bright and cheerful.


    "You see, here is an example. I wouldn''t like to have to replace the chandelier, but it is ''one object''. It''s quite heavy but I suspect the large, odd fellow you have with you might just be able to carry it. Fortunately for me, you would have to disassemble the fastenings that mount it to the ceiling, so it doesn''t qualify. Why are you looking at me like that?"


    Al looked from the baron to Gruntle, and back again.


    "It''s just...well, it''s not inaccurate, your lordship, but large, odd fellow isn''t a phrase I ever expected to hear someone use to describe a gnoll."


    "Ah, is that what a gnoll looks like? I can see why they''ve been such a problem to the northeast, if they''re all as formidable as he appears to be."


    "Most people find him to be scary. Aren''t you worried at all?"


    "The potential for simple violence is a lot less worrisome than some of the things I have been threatened with at various times at court. Besides, you did assure me you were friendly."


    "We could have been lying, though."


    "Were you?"


    "No, of course not!"


    "Then there''s no reason for me to be worried. Now then, I was just going out to inspect the grounds, which appear to have also been neglected in my long absence. I''ll leave you to look around and choose your reward. I''ll trust you to abide by the rules."


    He gave a formal bow and left the keep with a jaunty step.


    "Creepy bastard," muttered Wikwocket.


    "Have you met him before?" asked Al of her, "I could tell you didn''t like him."


    "No," she answered, "so let''s get this done and leave so I can go back to never meeting him."


    "He seemed quite friendly and agreeable to me. Is this about him teasing marriage?"


    "No. Well, also that, but if it was just that it''d just mean he has good taste. There''s just something fake about him, and I don''t like it."


    "Well, he is a noble, they all live in their own weird society away from normal people. Being sort of off among regular people is kind of expected. Baron Wulfcynn actually seems more relatable than most, from what little interaction I''ve had with them before. At least he''s...symmetrical. The nobility isn''t exactly a diverse breeding population."


    "Then all the inbreeding is on the inside for this one. You can all tell there''s something wrong with him, can''t you?" Wikwocket looked to the others.


    "He just seems sort of aristocratic to me, not a bad person at all," Al said.


    Bote considered. "He seems pleasant and trustworthy to me, though I cannot say exactly why."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    In disbelief, Wikwocket turned to Gruntle.


    "Smells nice," he said. "Like clan ally. Like...friend?"


    Wikwocket stared. "How do we even know he is who he says he is?" she finally protested.


    "I suppose we really don''t," Al admitted.


    "Perhaps he would take an oath to confirm," suggested Bote, "It would probably be good to do as a legal matter anyway, so as to confirm our taking of something from the keep has been properly allowed."


    Wikwocket snorted. "Whatever. Let''s get this over with and get out of here. Preferably with something more valuable than baron whoever-he-is expects."


    Al pushed open the door to the hallway and they began their inspection. Every sconce had a fresh torch burning for light.


    The baron''s servants were either very numerous or very efficient, as it appeared the entire place had been thoroughly cleaned. The broken pieces of armor no longer littered the floor of the hallway or chapel. In the chapel itself, the rotting benches had all been removed, and there was indication that someone had attempted some additional repair-work on the statue of Fortuna. In the servant''s quarters, the bones of the slain caretaker''s servant had been removed, and even the old bloodstains across the floor appeared to have been well-scrubbed and were hardly noticeable now. Giving that room more of an examination than they had the night before, Wikwocket found a locked coffer under the servant''s bed, behind a chamberpot. She smiled greedily hearing the jingling of coins inside.


    Then, she scowled. "Not valuable enough. He''s not even going to notice if we take some poor servant''s savings."


    She shoved it back under the bed.


    Across the hall, the bathroom now smelled faintly of soap rather than the decay of what had previously been in the tub. Wikwocket eyed the mirror.


    "Mirrors are expensive, aren''t they? And this one''s pretty big. Serve him right if we robbed him of being able to admire himself."


    "What would we do with a big, heavy, breakable mirror?" Al asked. "I get that you don''t like him, but I think you''re getting a little obsessed."


    The kitchen was a clean room with empty cabinets, and even the cellar had been dusted. The beast''s bones were nowhere to be found. Returning upstairs, they found that the doors to the feast-hall now had painted wooden wolf''s-head-in-profile placards nailed to them, matching the image on the banners they''d seen earlier. The feast-hall had also been cleaned and was lit and warmed by the burning logs in the fireplace. The ripped paintings were gone, but there was now a portrait of Baron Hearne Wulfcynn hanging to the right of the fireplace.


    In the room above, the table and chairs had been set upright again, and the game-pieces were neatly arranged on the table. The large bedroom where they''d found the beast was free of feathers. Al assumed they''d been stuffed back into the mattress, since it appeared to have been sewn back up and the blankets spread neatly across it. The clothes in the wardrobe were still there, but had been pushed to the side, as though to make room for new clothing.


    The alchemical lab had been dusted and soot scrubbed from the walls, though the stone was still chipped in several places. The bottles and apparatus on the table gleamed, as did the two now-inert magical torches which had been set there, and the collection of alchemical supplies in the pantry had been straightened out. Finally, they reached the study. The armchair that had broken under Gruntle''s weight had been removed, as had the exotic rug that had been damaged when it had attacked Al. Some effort had been made to remove the ink stains on the writing table and floor, and someone had straightened the books in the bookcases.


    Al turned to his companions.


    "I''m amazed at how clean this place has been made in just a few hours. It doesn''t seem like there''s anything else to find here, and if there was it''s been cleaned up. At least we get to take something with us. Did anybody see anything they particularly think we should choose?"


    "Nah," said Gruntle.


    "I would expect that the most valuable knowledge would be found in this room," Bote opined.


    "I was kind of hoping someone besides me would say that. If we choose one of the magical texts here, it''s probably the most likely place to learn anything more," said Al, "but it''s probably me that would get the most use out of it."


    Wikwocket gave the bookcase with the magical books a shrewd glare.


    "Books are expensive, aren''t they? Especially books of magic, right?"


    "Well, yes. They''re certainly valuable. I mean, look, down here on the bottom shelf, there''s Philosophical Principles of Wizardry for the Novice, even this would probably cost twenty pieces of gold or more."


    "Wait!" Wikwocket shouted as he reached for it. Al pulled his hand back and looked at her.


    "That bastard!" she muttered. "That scheming bastard!"


    "What?"


    "What is that?" Wikwocket asked, pointing to the bookcase.


    "It''s...a bookcase full of books?"


    "And if you were going to disassemble that bookcase full of books, what would you do?"


    "Well, I''d start by taking the books out...oh. This is some kind of silly game, isn''t it."


    "It might not be, but it gives me an idea. Gruntle, you''re very strong, right?"...

 0040 - The Game is Won

    It took some careful coordination, but the four of them managed to move the free-standing bookcase full of magic books out of the study, down the stairs, and to the foyer without any of the books falling out. They opened the front door to find Baron Wulfcynn waiting patiently for them. A skeptical eyebrow rose on his face as Gruntle wrapped his arms around the bookcase, clamped his jaws onto the top shelf, and hefted it, books and all. He shambled sideways through the front door carrying it.


    Al had been worried that the baron would be angry, but instead he clapped slowly, and then bowed. When he came back up, he was smiling.


    "Well played, very clever. One complete object, still assembled, carried from the keep by one of you. I feared you might take my mirror, instead."


    Wikwocket gave a quiet snort of annoyance.


    "The books were purchased by the caretaker and not myself, so though they legally belonged to me I suppose I should not miss them much. I encourage you to make good use of them, I expect the results will be exciting. Do try not to precipitate the downfall of the nation too soon, I will need time to position myself to benefit from the chaos. Ha ha," the baron continued.


    "Well, I''m glad you''re not upset, your lordship," said Al.


    "While I am not overly concerned with fairness, I would not have it said that I am a poor sport. Besides, you''ve done me a great service, and I wouldn''t want to be ungrateful. Yes, lady Wikwocket, you have something to ask?"


    "Al says you''re not ugly enough to be real nobility," she bluntly said.


    "I!...I never!...I didn''t say anything like that at all!" protested Al. The baron actually threw his head back in laughter, which went on just slightly longer than Al found comfortable.


    "Delightful, just delightful," the baron said when he finally stopped laughing, "I shall have to tell that one to Lord Cringely, and then I shall laugh again when he does not understand it and his lopsided face makes that confused look of his."


    "What she means is just that we''re not personally acquainted with members of the nobility, and we wouldn''t really have any way to know the true baron Hearne Wulfcynn from an imposter, and we wanted to make sure we weren''t being invited to rob the actual baron. Not that I don''t believe you but..." Al began.


    "But I don''t have the look. It''s true that the Wulfcynn family has been more concerned over the health of its bloodline than its purity. Perhaps this is why we have been in decline at court for so long. I can assure you that the name and title of Baron Hearne Wulfcynn is mine. How would you propose I satisfy you all of this?"


    "An oath before the divine was suggested," answered Bote.


    "An excuse to stand in the presence of Lady Fortuna again is welcomed. Join me in the chapel, and you shall have your oath."


    They followed the baron inside, Al pausing to suggest that Gruntle put the bookcase back down and leave it outside for now. The baron opened the door from the foyer to the chapel, giving the statue of Fortuna a small, respectful bow as he entered. Once everyone gathered to observe, he placed his right hand in that of the statue. He looked the stone head of the goddess in the eyes and recited:


    <blockquote>"In the sight of Fortuna,


    By my life and my fame,


    I swear Baron Hearne Wulfcynn


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.is my rightful name."</blockquote>


    It was an odd sing-song sort of oath in Al''s opinion, but somehow completely convincing. There were no ominous crashes of thunder, dimming of light, falling-in of the ceiling, or other such signs of divine displeasure, and no hint of dishonesty from the baron himself. Even Wikwocket seemed less skeptical. Bote nodded once after a moment.


    "Thank you for indulging us, Baron Hearne Wulfcynn," Bote said.


    "It is no trouble. I appreciate your intent. Now, then, if we''re all satisfied, I think there is one final matter to resolve before I send you on your way so I can get back to my business. I believe I owe you all a favor in return for the service you have done for me, and perhaps for the subsequent entertainment as well," the baron said, smiling. "Ask of me what you want, and if I can reasonably do what you ask, I shall."


    Al saw Wikwocket give the baron a suspicious look.


    "Give us...," Gruntle began to say, but Al interrupted him.


    "We have all the food we want in Henhaven," he told Gruntle.


    Gruntle settled down with a grumble. "Not here."


    For the second time, Al thought he saw a hint of annoyance from the baron before the patient smile returned. Al looked to the others. Bote shrugged, and Wikwocket just gave him a skeptical stare.


    "Well...the villagers in Henhaven have been a bit worried about the taxes, since the...caretaker hadn''t been collecting them. Is there anything you can do about that?"


    "Collecting the taxes is one of the duties of Baron Hearne Wulfcynn," the baron explained, "I cannot simply stop collecting them."


    "Perhaps you could sort of help them somehow, so the taxes aren''t such a hardship, maybe?"


    "You''ll have to be more specific. I cannot simply give them money, for example."


    "Okay, but you seem pretty shrewd, and I imagine you must know a lot of important people. Maybe you could offer the villagers advice, help them with their commerce and trade. You know, just, help them prosper. Then you''d be able to collect more taxes from them, and their living conditions would still improve."


    "How very selfless of you. Are you sure you wouldn''t rather have something for yourselves?"


    "To be honest, this would sort of be for us, too. The villagers of Henhaven have been as generous with us as their modest means allow, and they promised us a place to stay and free food whenever we''re passing through. If they''re more prosperous, I expect they''ll have nicer beds and more variety to eat next time. The goodwill in how they talk to others about us would be good for us, too."


    "Ah, there, enlightened self-interest is a very noble way of thinking. With the right lineage and upbringing, you might perhaps have made a fine member of the nobility yourself."


    "Maybe you should marry him," Wikwocket said, trying to taunt the baron, but this seemed to have no effect.


    "I could do that," he said matter-of-factly, looking to Al.


    "Uh...well, no, but..."


    "...but I think that would unnecessarily complicate the production of the desired heirs to the family name," the baron finished, smirking with amusement at Al''s discomfort.


    Wikwocket scowled slightly in disappointment. The baron paid no heed to this. Instead he rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Finally, he smiled broadly.


    "If this is the favor you ask of me, I shall honor it. You may leave the prosperity of the village of Henhaven in my capable hands."


    "Thank you, your lordship."


    "No, it is I who must thank you. Now then, is there any other business you have, or shall we adjourn this meeting so that we may go back to attending to our tasks?"


    "I think that''s all. We''ll let you get back to your duties, and we''ll head back to Henhaven and give everyone the good news. We''ll probably be staying there for a day or two before we head for Turnipseed for our next job. If you need us for anything we''ll be there."


    The baron''s face registered distaste. "Turnipseed? My condolences. Such a dreary place. I''m sure they will benefit from any excitement that colorful individuals such as yourselves may bring them. I do hope they appreciate you properly. Farewell, then. I expect I will hear more of you in the future."


    He bowed and made a flourishing gesture out towards the front door of the keep. Gruntle turned and walked outside obediently, to Al''s surprise. The baron held his pose as the others turned to leave as well, then he followed them to the front door. He gave one final, small bow and, without a word, shut the door of the keep, leaving Al and his companions alone outside.


    Wikwocket glared at the closed door. "Are all nobles that awful?"


    "I don''t really understand why you immediately hate him so much," answered Al, "I''ve only met a few of them and I don''t really know any of them, but from what I''ve seen and heard most of them are a lot less pleasant to be around."


    "In that case, let me know when you get around to that downfall of the nation stuff he was talking about. I want in on it."

 0041 - Dont Fight the Donkey

    Al dutifully considered spreading the load of books among the party and lugging the bookcase back the hard way, before deciding that imposing his own personal discipline on everyone else would be unreasonable. He conjured up the hard-working circle of magical force to carry the bookcase. He did at least make sure he marched harder than usual to get back. Bote stoically kept up with Al''s pace despite his shorter legs, seemingly unbothered, and Gruntle seemed not to even notice. Wikwocket cheated, cheerfully riding the "invisible cart". A lone figure atop the keep watched them leave.


    A lone figure also watched them return early that evening, though it was a four-hoofed one. The chickens ran for their coop before they got near the house on the outskirts of the village, but the donkey just stood there, bored and chewing grass. This time, Al noticed. Curious, he slowed his march and detoured towards the fenced chicken-yard. The donkey raised his head, taking note of Al''s arrival, then lowered it again to bite off another clump of grass.


    "We don''t scare you?" Al asked the donkey, getting no answer besides its complete indifference.


    Al beckoned to Gruntle, who stalked over to loom over the fence next to Al.


    "Hey, donkey!" Al called out. "How do you feel about gnolls?"


    The donkey raised its head again at the noise, and then just stood there watching them both and chewing on a mouthful of grass.


    "What do you think, Gruntle?" Al asked. Gruntle considered.


    "Lot of meat, but lean. Better if he was fatter. Maybe if you cook him right."


    Al rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I was just wondering if you thought he''d be afraid of you, and if he could pull a cart. He looks pretty strong, and he''s the first packbeast we''ve run into that isn''t terrified of us."


    "I thought you were our packbeast!" Wikwocket said, "You pull our magic invisible cart! You''re not thinking of hitching some poor donkey to the magic cart to pull it for you, are you?"


    "It doesn''t work that way!" Al complained, "I cast the spell, so it''s bound to me, that''s just how it works! You can''t just tie something else to it..." He tapered off, considering. "Well, anyway, the magic runs out after a while so there''s not much point."


    "I imagine this creature is kept here as a protector for the chickens. A large animal that''s unafraid of predators would certainly discourage foxes and such." Bote speculated, distracting Al from his academic pondering.


    "Yeah. I wonder if his owner would be willing to let us take him. That and maybe buying a cart, and our issues with carrying things as we travel overland would be solved," said Al.


    "We can ask around when we get back to the inn! Now get moving, my mighty fighting draft-wizard!" Wikwocket said, miming the cracking of a whip in Al''s direction. "I''m hungry!"


    Gruntle grunted agreement, gaze fixated on the donkey. The donkey stared back and snorted, pawing the ground. Gruntle instinctively recognized the challenge, and he growled. Baring his jagged teeth, he stepped over the fence.


    Al heard the growl. "No, wait! Gruntle, he''s...he''s part of the village! He''s like a part of the clan!" he improvised.


    Gruntle huffed angrily, turning to glare at Al. It took every bit of Al''s self-control to look him in the eyes. The bit of Melissa''s treatise that he''d read so far had touched on the subject of dominance, so he knew it was more dangerous for him to back down at this point. He tried to concentrate on looking determined but not angry...or frightened.


    Several tense seconds passed. Finally Gruntle huffed again and looked away, back towards the donkey. He grunted once, and closed his clawed hands into fists, as Al exhaled with relief with as much subtlety as he could.


    "Very...well...brave...creature," Gruntle slowly said through his clenched jagged teeth as he took another step towards the donkey, who casually turned around as if to walk away. "You...challenged. Do not...flee...now. You...may...have...first...strike. Hit me!" Gruntle finished. The donkey turned to look impassively back as Gruntle took up a pugilist''s stance behind it, fists raised.


    Al would have found the sight absurdly funny if he weren''t directly involved. His mind raced, trying to come up with some strategy for calming the situation, but Bote patted Al''s arm and shook their head, nodding back in the direction of the impending fight. The donkey stood there for a moment, then snorted. With a sudden small jump, both rear hooves shot out and caught Gruntle directly in the lower chest, knocking him backwards off of his feet. He landed heavily on his back with a yelp. The braying of the donkey sounded almost like mocking laughter, drowning out Wikwocket''s sympathetic cry of "Ouch!"


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Al leapt the low fence and sprinted to check on Gruntle, making sure to keep his distance from the donkey. He ignored the "Whee!" from Wikwocket as the "invisible cart" leapt the fence as well to follow Al. Fortunately, the donkey seemed to be bored again, chewing on another clump of grass and calmly turning to watch Al as he ran, Wikwocket floating along behind him with the bookcase.


    Gruntle lay on his back, grimacing as his breath wheezed in and out. He snarled once as he reached up to touch the lightly bleeding crescent-shaped wounds over his lower ribs. Al hoped there were no broken bones or internal injuries. He gave Gruntle a moment to recover from the shock.


    "Can you stand?" Al asked, not sure if he should offer help to the much larger gnoll.


    Gruntle''s answer was a strained groan as he sat up into a sitting-dog pose. He took a few more shallow breaths and slowly stood with another groan. "Will see you again," he growled at the donkey through his pained grimace. Al walked with him back to the fence, ready to provide support to the unsteady gnoll but hoping the whole way that he wouldn''t need to because he wasn''t certain he could actually handle Gruntle''s weight. Bote met them and stoically stood still as Gruntle used Bote''s shoulder for support as he gingerly stepped over the fence again.


    "Are you badly hurt?" Bote asked him. Gruntle shook his head, though he was guarding his ribs with one hand. "Allow me to examine you, please," Bote insisted. With a grunt, Gruntle gave in and sagged back down into a sitting pose. He yelped as Bote ran their hands over Gruntle''s ribs. Bote smiled gently, shaking their head.


    "Perhaps not truly broken, but certainly at least cracked," he diagnosed.


    "Strong legs," Gruntle said, glaring at the donkey.


    Al climbed over the fence himself and came over to look. "Will he ever walk again, doctor?" Wikwocket asked melodramatically as she floated along behind him.


    "Only divine intervention can save him now." Bote answered in kind, with a grin. Bote set their hands gently on the hoofprints in Gruntle''s skin and made a brief prayer. Divine light answered, momentarily highlighting Gruntle''s ribcage beneath his skin and revealing several breaks and cracks, which were erased as the light faded. Gruntle took a deep breath, then exhaled.


    "Rejoice, it seems the ineffable plans still have a use for you." Bote said.


    "Did you learn anything from this?" Al asked Gruntle.


    "Don''t always let them go first," Gruntle answered.


    Al sighed. "How about do not try to fight the donkey for no reason?"


    "Donkey started it."


    "That''s...," Al began, not sure whether to laugh or sigh, but he didn''t finish. He was interrupted by a voice that seemed to come from inside of his own skull. It was calm, professional...and familiar.


    "You will first re-read George Mender''s Do Not Consent. Then I recommend Wotznot P. Higgujiggie''s Otherworldly Beings and How to Make Them Pay. Be cautious," the voice advised.


    "I may have Do Not Consent here. I''ll read it again, and seek the other one out. Thanks, Father," Al replied aloud, to the bafflement of his companions.


    "I''m confused," Wikwocket laughed, "is your father Gruntle, or the donkey?"


    Al blinked. "No, no, that...Father just sent me some book recommendations. I''d mentioned I ought to start learning about demons now that I''ve started running into them. I think I actually saw Do Not Consent in the bookcase there."


    "You haven''t run into demons before yesterday, have you?"


    "Not in person, no."


    "Then when did you mention this to your father?"


    "I didn''t, I told my mother."


    "Aren''t they both at least a week''s travel on foot to the north of here?"


    "Yes, but it was in a dream...look, can we just say magic was involved and get back to the inn? I have a lot of reading to do."


    As if to spite him, the magic that held Wikwocket and the bookcase off the ground chose that moment to run out.

 0042 - Drunken Revelry

    Wikwocket spent a short time lying on the ground, insisting that she had died due to the terrible injuries suffered from the sudden three-foot fall (and that her giggling was just her last dying breath), but then she helped gather the scattered books up. Fortunately, it wasn''t a long walk the rest of the way through the village to the inn, so it wasn''t too difficult for Al, Bote, and Gruntle to carry the bookcase and books the rest of the way.


    Al was happy to see that the lamps outside The Biggest Coop were lit, in contrast to the darkness that had been there when they first arrived. Lively conversation could be heard through the door as they approached, and a scattering of friendly greetings met them as they entered. Raising an eyebrow at the bookcase they maneuvered in through the door, Rose asked if they were planning to move in permanently, getting a laugh from the other villagers inside.


    "No, no, just some research we brought back from the keep. We''ll tell you all about it once we get this set down inside," Al told her.


    Al wanted to start sorting through the books immediately, but he was hungry and there seemed to be the scent of more than chicken coming from the kitchen. He was also a bit worried that Wikwocket would convince the villagers that the baron was some sort of horrible villain if she was the only one telling the story of the day''s events. He reluctantly left the books behind and went out to join the others eating and drinking.


    The four adventurers sat themselves around an open table, and Rose came out from behind the bar to greet them.


    "You like venison? Gertrude bagged a huge buck today, and said we should offer it to you. She''s very happy that she can hunt safely again. I see one of you likes venison, at least," she finished, as Gruntle visibly drooled on the table. "I''ll get some plates for you."


    She came back from the kitchen balancing three plates and a large bowl, each heaped with pieces of venison cooked to a perfect medium-rare. While they ate, Rose went back behind the bar and then returned with a large clay jug and four small cups. A few of the villagers cheered, and one or two made sounds of disappointment but were hastily hushed by the others.


    "This counts as a special occasion, so I''ll offer you the last of our local specialty from last season. We call it ''grump''. We make it each fall with whatever fruit and berries we can gather and let it ferment through the winter," she explained as she set the small cups down in front of each of the adventurers. "It gets stronger the longer it goes. What we have left should be really good." She tipped some of the dark reddish-purple contents of the jug into each cup. It had a scent a bit like apples, a bit like wine, and a bit like vinegar. Al eyed it suspiciously, but Wikwocket grabbed her cup and gulped it down.


    "It''s good...," she managed to croak after coughing a few times, and held out the cup for more. Bote took a more measured drink, then held out their own cup as well.


    "Perhaps a bit more, but not too much. There is wisdom in temperance," Bote said.


    Gruntle lapped once at his cup, tasting.


    "Good," he said, and turned to point at the bar where rows of empty wooden ale mugs waited to be used. "Bigger."


    Rose laughed, and fetched a mug. She filled it with grump and handed it to Gruntle, who lapped slowly at it and licked his muzzle.


    Al looked at his own cup skeptically and took a cautious sip. "Grump" tasted much like it smelled - harsh, dry, slightly sweet, and fruity with some sourness. It wasn''t exactly bad, Al thought, but certainly rustic.


    Gruntle pointed back at the bar. "Another," he said.


    Rose opened her mouth to point out that Gruntle still had plenty in his current mug, that "grump" was a very potent drink, that she could just refill his current mug, but then said nothing. She looked at the skull of the beast now hanging behind the bar. She remembered Wikwocket''s exciting story of what had happened the night before, and decided she didn''t want to risk provoking the creature who willingly bit the beast of the keep. She nodded and fetched another mug, pouring most of the remaining drink from the jug into it. Gruntle gave her a grunt of satisfaction.


    Al took another cautious sip of his own drink, which seemed not quite so rough as the first sip had.


    "So, how do you feel about the local baron?" Wikwocket asked Rose.


    "Who?" Rose asked in return.


    "The baron of the keep? Smarmy, arrogant, greasy bastard? Says his name is Hearne Wulfcynn?"


    Rose gave it some thought. "That name does sound familiar," she said, tentatively.


    What is going on with people''s memories around here?, Al wondered, taking another sip of grump. It was actually pretty good.


    At that, Al reached over to pour the rest of his drink into Gruntle''s mug. At the rate the stuff tasted better the more he drank of it, he realized if he didn''t stop now he would end up not being able to understand or remember anything he tried to read later. The offering seemed to confuse Gruntle, but he accepted it with a relaxed grin and a grunt.


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    "Tall fellow, lean, looks...healthier than a lot of the nobility?" Al prompted. "He was wearing fancy green-and-white clothes that matched his heraldry when we met him. He was actually quite friendly, for nobility."


    "Oh...yeah...that sounds right. Yeah, that''s definitely baron Hearne Wulfcynn. I''m pretty sure, anyway. Feels like we haven''t seen him in a while. And he''s back now?"


    "Apparently," Al said, "he said he''s been away at court for several years and just got back this morning to replace whoever it was that was supposed to be maintaining the keep and collecting taxes in his absence."


    A few groans went around the room. "Aw, no, now we''ll get gouged for taxes again!" someone complained.


    "No, no! It''s not like that, I mean, yes, you will have to start paying taxes again but...I''m not being as reassuring as I''m trying to be, am I? Wikwocket? Do you want to explain?"


    "Gladly!" Wikwocket answered, climbing up onto the table to address the villagers. She began to describe their meeting with baron Hearne Wulfcynn in front of what they now knew as Wulfcynn Keep. From the start, Al had to jump in to defend the baron from Wikwocket''s portrayal of him as a sinister figure. This just encouraged her to exaggerate her opinion further in the retelling until the baron was practically a melodrama villain. The contrast between Al''s and Wikwocket''s impressions of the baron rapidly became funny and the villagers laughed as the two of them argued about the baron''s manners and possible intentions. Wikwocket got a round of applause for outwitting the baron and his tricky reward conditions.


    "After admitting we''d defeated him, the evil baron..."


    "He''s not ''evil''!"


    "...tried to ensnare us in some sort of sinister oath..."


    "He was just offering us a favor for helping him out!"


    The villagers of Henhaven at least seemed to appreciate Al''s request of the baron and his promise to honor it.


    "...and then, having escaped the sinister machinations of the scheming baron, we eagerly returned to the delightful hospitality of Henhaven and the fine food and drink at the Biggest Coop!" Wikwocket finished, to the cheers of her audience.


    "If you used magic to carry the books back from the keep, why didn''t you magic the books in like you did with the stuff last night?" one of the villagers asked when the applause died down.


    "Well," Al admitted, embarrassed, "the spell ran out when we stopped for a little while to...Oh! That reminds me, I wanted to ask who owns that first house you get to when you come into the village, the one on the east side of the road with the big chickenyard."


    "That''d be us," a middle-aged woman answered from a few tables away. The man next to her gave a polite wave.


    "Oh, good. You see, we''ve been trying to find a pack-animal to help us haul our stuff, but they all seem to be afraid of us. Your donkey wasn''t, though, so we were wondering if you''d be willing to let us take him with us when we move on. If it''s a problem, we could buy him from you."


    The couple shared a confused look with each other, then turned back to Al.


    "What donkey?" the woman asked.


    "The...one you have guarding your chickens? In the chicken-yard?"


    "You didn''t buy a donkey, did you dear?" the woman asked the man next to her.


    "I certainly don''t remember getting a donkey, no," he answered her.


    Al considered dropping the subject and just leading the donkey away later, but he didn''t feel right possibly stealing a donkey just because his owner might have forgotten about him somehow.


    "Well, you seem to have one now. Are you sure you don''t need him?"


    The couple both shook their heads, still looking confused.


    "Well, if it''s okay we''d like to take him with us."


    The couple both shrugged and nodded. "Don''t see why not," they answered hesitantly, still not sure what donkey Al was referring to.


    "Oh, Rose, we''d like to stay a few days before we leave, I really need to spend some time doing some research before we move on to the next job. Would that be all right?"


    "After what you folks have done for us, you can stay for a few months if you''d like," she answered.


    "But what''s this got to do with the book-carrying magic?" insisted the villager who had asked earlier.


    "Oh, right. When we got back we noticed that the donkey didn''t seem to be afraid of us, unlike every other horse, donkey, and mule we''ve run into lately. We stopped for a little while and Gruntle here thought it was challenging him to a fight....where''s Gruntle?" Al found he was pointing at the now-empty space at the table where Gruntle had been crouched. There was no sign of him in the room.


    HOW??? Al found himself wondering again. He trotted over to the room where they''d been sleeping, hoping Gruntle had sneaked back to pass out after drinking two entire mugs of grump, but the room was empty. A horrible thought occurred to him, and he ran for the door, shouting as he went outside.


    "GRUNTLE! Don''t kill the donkey!"


    <hr>


    Al ran through the moonlit village, while worrying thoughts of what sort of horrible violence a drunken gnoll might commit played out in his mind. The only loud noises were the shouts of Wikwocket some ways behind him, calling for him to wait for her, but he feared at any moment there might be screams. Or perhaps a drunken Gruntle would kill silently? Al ran faster.


    There was some relief as he reached the last house without encountering any sign of villagers being attacked, but what he found there made him feel some dread and disappointment. The donkey lay on his side unmoving, with Gruntle crouched next to him. "What have you done?!" Al cried out in exasperation.


    The donkey raised his head unsteadily and brayed at Al with its last dying strength...


    Wait..., Al thought. Something''s not right. He climbed over the fence and approached cautiously. The donkey''s head twisted to lower itself nose-first towards the ground. Gruntle raised a fist.


    Al was now close enough to see that Gruntle''s fist held a mug. Muffled wet noises from the donkey''s head turned out to be coming from the other mug, which rested on the ground with the donkey''s nose shoved into it.


    "Donkey won. Had to get the drinks," Gruntle said.

 0043 - Research and Recreation

    On the one hand, an entire ale-mug full of "grump" is actually strong enough to make even a gnoll feel sleepy. On the other, the collection of flesh-rending teeth visible in a gnollish yawn is kind of horrifying. Al collected the empty mugs from the passed-out donkey and drowsy monster, and Gruntle followed him back to the Biggest Coop.


    They left Bote and Wikwocket to socialize with the locals. Gruntle curled up to sleep, and Al finally sat down to look over the books they''d brought back.


    There was a good selection of introductory texts that had taken up most of the bottom shelves, several of which Al had read at one time or another in his studies. From what had been on the higher shelves Al found some potentially more useful materials. His eyes caught on a cover with a title in dwarven runic script, which said "Am die Auswelte Sachen und die W?nde Dazwischen". Dwarven culture tended more towards material crafts and their wizards tended to be alchemists and makers of tools. A dwarven text regarding something as esoteric as the interrelationship between the waking world and the strange realities where demons, angels, faeries, primordial beings of the raw elements and such exist was a rare and unexpected find. Al grabbed it quickly and set it aside to be the second book he would read. Being a dwarven work, he expected it would be very practical in its approach, which was exactly what he felt he needed. Besides, it would be good practice with the dwarven language for him.


    There were a total of seven codices and three scrolls of writing in the incomprehensible script that Al was increasingly certain originated in the Infernal realms. Whatever knowledge was hidden in there would probably be even more useful in understanding and defending against demons, but Al wondered if he''d have to find a demon who could be convinced to teach him to understand it. Al hoped not, considering what that path to knowledge could end up costing.


    As he thought he''d remembered, there actually was a copy of Do Not Consent that had been on the bottom shelf. This would actually be the third time Al had read it. Do Not Consent was one of the books his parents had insisted that he read when he first began studying the practice of wizardry, and then it had come up again in the formal curriculum years later. It was not a terribly long book compared to a lot of writings Al had read through in his studies, nor was it exceptionally arcane. Although a substantial portion of it discussed magically-binding oaths and studies of historically-known deals with otherworldly beings, it also touched on ordinary contract laws, bargaining and haggling, and even a bit of psychology. The lessons of the text could fundamentally be summarized as: "Words matter", "Understand what is being agreed to","Be aware of penalties for deviation from the agreement and the enforcement mechanisms for those penalties", and "When in doubt, shut up."


    The way this copy creaked open stiffly suggested its previous owner should have spent more time reading it.


    Al took off his boots and got out of his robe and chainmail shirt with a sense of relief, and settled down on what passed for a bed on the floor of this rustic place to read the short book from cover to cover. He paid dutiful attention to the text, so he barely noticed when Bote and then, rather later, Wikwocket came in to sleep as well. He finished Do Not Consent and quietly left the book next to the sleeping head of the occasionally-reckless Wikwocket in hopes that she might read it. Then he yawned and eagerly opened the dwarven text, which seemed to be everything he''d hoped and then some. Such was the lateness, though, that he only got a short way into it before he had to give up. He blew out his candle and drifted off to sleep, disturbed only by gentle, fatigue-induced hallucinations of whispering voices.


    <hr>


    Al awoke the next morning to the disappearing memories of strange dreams of patterns and colors, and the sounds of birdsong from outside. He felt stiff from sleeping on the minimal bedding but otherwise refreshed. He sat up and felt a pang of concern to notice that he was the only one in the room. Bote''s pack was still where they had left it, and it appeared most of the contents of Wikwocket''s pack had been left behind next to the lead-lined chest. Al groaned a little and got to his feet. He put on his boots and robe, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and resolved to find some water to wash in after he''d found out where everyone went. He retrieved a washing-cloth from his pack and tucked it in his belt before heading out of the room.


    "Good morning!" Rose greeted Al as he emerged. "Your dwarfish friend said we shouldn''t disturb you. Anything you need?"


    "Good morning," Al replied with a yawn, "Let''s see, finding out where everybody went, the privy, some water for washing, and maybe some food and water if that''s all right. More or less in that order."


    "The dwarfish person - Bote, was it? - said they were going to get a look around Henhaven. Your beast and the little lady said they were going hunting," Rose said, then chuckled. "She was lugging one of those crossbows you brought with you. It looks almost as big as she is."


    Rose ducked behind the bar and came back up with a wooden bucket.


    "You can get water from the well. I''ll have some food for you when you''re ready."


    Al thanked her and took the bucket. He went to the well to fill it, then headed back to the privy behind the Biggest Coop. He set the latch for privacy, removed his clothing, and used the privy for its intended purpose. Then, he got to work on getting cleaned up. It was time to use some magic to help him do chores.


    The clothing was easy to clean using a simple trick of magic. He wadded his stained robe up, made a magic gesture over them while reciting the appropriate magic words, and then un-wadded the robe, now clean. He repeated this trick with his stockings, pants, and shirt.


    Unfortunately, he couldn''t simply wad himself up and magic himself clean, but that was okay. Another simple trick transmuted the bucket of cold water into a bucket of warm water. Al dipped the washing-cloth into the bucket and began scrubbing himself one part at a time, starting with the places that smelled the worst. After each bit of scrubbing he wadded the cloth up, wrung the dirty water out of it into the toilet-hole with a vigorous splash, repeated the make-it-clean magic trick, and dipped the cloth back into the bucket of warm water. It didn''t take long to finish cleaning himself up. Not for the first time, he found himself annoyed that the collection of little magic tricks he knew didn''t include one to dry things, as he waved his arms and jumped up and down for a few minutes inside the privy to dry off. This made more noise and made the privy rock a little alarmingly but it thankfully held together. At least the exercise got the blood flowing, and Al unconsciously began making "Hup, hup, hup" sounds in time with each leap. Once he was reasonably dried-off and somewhat out of breath, he put his newly-cleaned clothes back on over his now-clean body, and dumped the remaining contents of the bucket down the hole where everything else was normally dumped with a loud, definitive SPLOOSH.


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    He opened the door to find a crowd villagers gathered around, watching the door and looking concerned.


    "Everything okay in there?" one of them asked.


    Al didn''t feel like explaining.


    "Much better now, thank you for asking," he answered, and started back into the inn.


    "If you''re feeling better now, I''ve got a wash-basin you can use!" Rose called out from the back of the crowd.


    <hr>


    Al took the plate of bread and chicken-meat and a mug of small-ale that Rose offered him back to the party''s room at the inn and settled down to eat, and to decide which of the growing list of obligations he''d start on first. He decided to try out the concept he''d had for improving what Wikwocket insisted on calling the "magic invisible cart". He''d effectively promised his father he''d be working on it for publication, and he didn''t want to risk the ongoing distractions making him forget any of the ideas involved. He got out his book of arcane notes and writing materials and set to work.


    It took several tries to get the pattern right, but in the end he felt he had gotten things to work the way he''d hoped. It was late in the afternoon when got his first successful conjuration of his improved design, and he triumphantly set his pack atop the shimmering disk to see how long it would stay there. He then turned to a fresh page of his book of notes to inscribe the final version of the procedure onto it. Happy to see the pack still floating atop the spell''s manifestation when he finished, he picked up the dwarven text he''d started the night before and resumed reading. The practical insight presented in Auswelte Sachen helped Al bring together some of the abstract knowledge he''d gotten in his previous studies, added to it, and provided a great deal of constructive enlightenment. The chapters he read through concerned the theory and practice of how one might weaken or strengthen the metaphysical barriers between the waking world and the others, in order to make contact with otherworldly beings...or protect oneself from them.


    Al went back to re-examine some of the diagrams but then marked his place and closed the book to let the fresh knowledge settle into his mind. He might just be able to make things difficult for demons, though he''d probably need to leverage some alchemical properties. Of course, there was no way he was going to find unicorn horn or hide around here, but perhaps some well-purified silver...


    A commotion out in the tavern distracted Al from his thoughts. Nobody was shouting but there was a sudden mix of loud talking with a few laughs, as well as one or two sounds of disgust. Al looked out the window. The sun low in the sky indicated early evening, and he realized how hungry and thirsty he was feeling. He got up and went out to see what the noise was. He smiled in satisfaction as his pack floated along behind him out the door.


    Drops of blood made a trail from the front door of the inn to Gruntle. The blood wasn''t his, though, it was dripping from the mauled neck of the deer he was carrying over his back. Judging by how little blood was still dripping from the dead deer, he''d probably been carrying it for a while. Wikwocket, following behind him with the crossbow over her shoulder, gave Al a wry smile as Gruntle strode to the kitchen door without paying any attention to a few of the patrons trying to complain or the others laughing at the spectacle. Gruntle shifted the carcass to free up a hand to open the kitchen door.


    "Cook it," he said to whoever was in there.


    "Why don''t you..." an angry voice began, but cut off suddenly. Al rushed to try to calm the situation. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw the red-faced cook standing next to a large stewpot holding a ladle. He stood there open-mouthed looking at Gruntle, with annoyance and fear fighting for territory on his face.


    "Is everything okay?" Al asked him, trying to convey some sympathy. The cook pulled his gaze away from the bestial thing that had invaded his kitchen and tightened his grip on the ladle as though he intended to use it as a club. He repressed an angry outburst, turning it into a strained groan.


    "Out back with the other one," he finally said, pointing towards the back wall of the kitchen with the ladle. "Please," he added through clenched teeth.


    Al nodded and gave the irritable man a friendly smile. "Come on, Gruntle, let''s hang your prize up so they can prepare it for cooking."


    With a perfunctory grunt, Gruntle followed Al and Wikwocket back out through the front door of the tavern, leaving another trail of blood-drops along the floor.


    "Grakthor wasn''t kidding," Wikwocket said to Al, "he''s definitely an effective hunter." She grinned mischievously as she noticed the invisible cart carrying Al''s pack behind him and jumped up to sit on it. She floated for only a fraction of a second before there was a crackling, snapping sound and she and the pack were dropped to the ground. Al sighed and went to pick the pack up.


    "Well, at least my estimate looks about right about how much the change in how long it lasts affects how much it can hold up," he said. "How was the hunting today?" he then asked as they resumed their walk around to the back of the building.


    "Well, we found a game trail to follow in the woods, and when Gruntle said he could smell deer, we found a place to hide and wait. When the deer went by close enough, I got it in the side with the crossbow. When it tried to run away, Gruntle chased it until it was too weak to keep away from him and then...RAWR!" she answered, finishing by baring her teeth and biting a very small imaginary deer to death in front of her.


    Reaching the yard behind the inn, they found Gertrude, butchering a large buck that was hanging from a tree by its hind legs.


    "Looks like I''ve got some competition for the hunting, eh?" she said, pride in her craft outweighing her wariness about Gruntle. "Looks like I win today, mine''s bigger! But, that one''s a good size too," she added hastily.


    Gruntle huffed.


    "Tomorrow," he growled.

 0044 - Visit the Chicken

    Gertrude offered to butcher Gruntle''s catch, and there was a seemingly endless supply of grilled venison that night. Bote returned from his wanderings around the village just as Al, Wikwocket, and Gruntle finished putting their things back in the room and were sitting down at a table to eat. He joined them with a contented smile and listened attentively as Al tried to explain to them what he''d learned in his research and experimentation that day. It generally wasn''t easy to convey the esoteric concepts of wizardry to people without the education for it, but Al had found that trying to explain things to other people helped him understand them better.


    He explained his modifications to the "floating disk" spell from what he had originally been taught. The arcane details weren''t very meaningful to anyone else, but was at least able to describe how he''d come up with a way to alter it so that he could trade off how much it could carry for how long it would last, or vice-versa.


    "It''s not as efficient as the standard published version, but I can dilute it in space in order to concentrate it in time, or dilute it in time to concentrate it in space. It''s really quite simple once you see how the pattern is arranged."


    "Right, simple, of course. Never mind that, though," Wikwocket inquired, "the important part that I''m hearing is that I can ride the magic invisible cart all day now as long as I don''t carry too much with me?"


    Al sighed. "Yes, potentially. There''s a limit to how much of that kind of magical intent I can impose on the world right now, though, so we shouldn''t waste it. And speaking of magical intent imposed on the world..."


    He tried to explain what he''d learned so far from reading Am die Auswelte Sachen und die W?nde Dazwischen. He was less successful this time. Wikwocket''s facial expression began to suggest that she thought he was making it all up as some sort of prank, and Gruntle began surreptitiously trying to reach his hand through his own shadow at one point when Al tried to explain how the Dreamlands were like "a shadow of the waking world".


    "I see that wizards have their own mysteries to contend with," Bote finally said when he finished. "But I believe I understood at least some of it. What you are saying is that by strengthening the worldly intent of a person, they would be protected from influence by otherworldly beings who have intruded into our existence, yes?"


    "That''s the important part that I''m thinking about, yes. I don''t think I can do it with just my own force of will right now, though, so I will need to use some kind of substance to help sort of hold the intent on whoever it''s protecting. I think I might be able to do it with one or more metals. Both silver and iron have reputations for affecting certain kinds of otherworldly beings, perhaps one of those, or a mixture?"


    Bote gave this some thought. "Or perhaps a substance carrying a blessing by a deity of our world?" he asked.


    "I hadn''t even considered that," Al mused. "Something like that would certainly be expected to carry the right kind of focus on our world''s rules. It might be especially good if it''s a blessing from a very worldly sort of deity. Is there something like a god of ''dirt''?"


    "For all that exists in this world, there are deities whose essence permeates it. There are several for ''dirt'', depending on what sort of context you are speaking in. I will ask for guidance before retiring to sleep tonight," Bote answered.


    Al returned to their room after dinner to read some more. He also took out the codex that Melissa had given him, to read after he''d gotten further into Auswelte Sachen. As long as he was going to be trying to manage a gnoll, he wanted to understand them as best he could, and it seemed Melissa was likely to be the most experienced scholar on the subject that he would find anywhere. She also seemed to be a competent artist, judging by the illustrations she''d made for the "comparative anatomy" section of the work, where the differences in body composition, bone structure, and internal organ arrangements between gnolls, the beasts from which they were originally derived, and human-"ish" bodies were documented. There were a lot of similarities between all three anatomies but the demonic influence had induced some obvious changes.


    Gruntle, Wikwocket, and finally Bote eventually came in one after the other and went to sleep, as Al stayed up late into the night switching back and forth between Melissa''s discussion of the spiritual nature of gnolls and Auswelte Sachen''s writings on how the Infernal realms impose themselves into the normal world. When he inadvertently fell asleep, he dreamed he was still reading.


    <hr>


    Al''s odd dreams of wandering through ever-changing landscapes evaporated away quickly as the morning sun woke him. Wikwocket and Gruntle had gone out without waking him. Al assumed they''d gone hunting again. He couldn''t complain. He had to admit that as plain as the village''s cooking was, the last few days had fed them better than anything they''d had since they had left his home in Bright Peaks to start this whole venture.


    Bote sat up with a contented yawn. "Before you sink back into the depths of your mysterious research, there is someone I should bring you to meet."


    "If I ask who it is, is the Bote to whom I am speaking one who would actually tell me?"


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    "By asking that question, you make it seem that you still do not understand the Bote-nature."


    "And, just like that, you''ve answered my question without actually answering my question."


    "So, you understand some of the Bote-nature," Bote replied with a grin.


    Al felt pretty sure that if he asked directly he''d probably get a direct answer, but that would be surrendering. They broke their fast on cold venison and set out through the village. Bote led Al meandering through the cottages and chicken coops. They eventually reached a cottage and coop that looked much like the others, though it seemed to be in better repair and had more land around it. Al started for the door of the cottage but Bote stopped him.


    "No, we will find her back here, outside," he said, indicating the chickenyard behind the cottage.


    Despite Bote''s assertion, Al didn''t see anybody in the chickenyard. There was also a surprising lack of chickens. Only a single white hen was there, pecking idly at the ground. She was admittedly an exemplary chicken. She was plump and clean, with not a single feather out of place, and she strutted proudly around the yard pecking at any insect or seed that dared reveal itself. No matter how impressive she was, though, Al was still baffled when Bote stopped at the gate to the chickenyard and bowed respectfully to her.


    "This is Al, who I told you about yesterday. May we enter your sanctum?" Bote said. As far as Al could tell, the hen ignored them and continued chickening around the yard, but Bote seemed to take this as an answer. He opened the gate and motioned for Al to enter. Al wasn''t sure what was happening, but bowed politely to the hen as well, and gave Bote a confused look.


    "She is pleased with the service we have done for Henhaven. There is a gift for you in her nest."


    "The chicken is pleased and has a gift for me?" Al asked incredulously.


    "That is what I said, yes. Come, this way. Her palace is there across the courtyard," Bote answered, pointing to the chicken coop about twenty paces away. He led Al to it and pointed to the opening. Al shook his head in disbelief and looked inside.


    If someone had asked Al to imagine a hen''s nest, his imagination would have looked exactly like what he saw inside. Just a simple pillow of grasses and hay with a shallow depression in the middle to keep a hen''s eggs safe and warm as she broods on them. Instead of eggs, though, this one had three small round glass bottles filled with what looked like water. Al immediately recognized them as having once held the health concoction they''d gotten from Notamimic Manor.


    "A gift of three bottles of...chicken-water?"


    "Exactly that!" Bote answered, looking very pleased.


    Al had only known Bote for perhaps two weeks - to the extent that a cryptic person like Bote could be said to be known - but this was the first time he suspected Bote might be an actual prankster and not just fond of incomprehensible riddles. Al decided to play along.


    "I accept this generous gift in the spirit that it has been offered," he said to the chicken with another polite bow. Bote gave him an approving nod as he reached into the coop and took out the three bottles. They were warm.


    As they left, Al gave a deeper bow to the chicken, with a quick glance at Bote to see what their reaction was, but Bote just looked content.


    They were almost back to the inn when Al finally gave in.


    "Okay, you win. I don''t get it. Why do we have a gift of bottles of chicken-water?"


    "You said it would be useful to you, so I filled some of our empty bottles from the well, and she brooded on them overnight."


    "When did I say I had a use for water that a chicken sat on?"


    "A chicken did not sit on this."


    Al rubbed his forehead. "You just said that the chicken brooded on it all night."


    "Yes. I see, I thought you understood. That is the chicken. An avatar of the goddess Gallina."


    Al stumbled, distracted.


    "I was standing in the presence of actual divinity? This is holy chicken-water?"


    "It is good that you were appropriately polite."


    "I never in my entire life thought I''d have a manifestation of an actual god near me, especially not an actual god taking notice of me in particular."


    "It''s not as though it is the first time," Bote replied, grinning. Al stopped in his tracks, but Bote just continued walking and didn''t elaborate.


    <hr>


    This time, Bote expressed an interest in seeing how Al worked, so he had an audience he could try to explain things to as he went along. This helped Al''s clarity of thought as he revisited his reading from the previous day and worked out the appropriate patterns and invocations for what he wanted to accomplish. He annotated the procedure in his book of notes and picked up one of the bottles of water that had been, apparently, specially blessed by the butt of the holy chicken. Despite sitting on the floor for a few hours, it was still warm. Al pulled the stopper from the bottle and tasted a small sip of the contents, which turned out to be indistinguishable from completely ordinary clean water, other than the unnatural but pleasant warmth that seemed to continue all the way down his throat. He splashed a bit more onto his hands and rubbed it on his face, and then ran through the few seconds of chants and gestures he''d devised. The warmth spread through his whole body.


    "I think it works," Al reported as he considered what he was experiencing. "It feels like it will slip away if I stop thinking about it, but it''s like I''m making myself more...solid? Real? I won''t know precisely what that accomplishes until I test it somehow, but I feel confident this gives me some degree of protection from otherworldly influences. Hmmm, I wonder if this would have any effect on Gruntle?"


    Moments later, small, quick footsteps ran up outside, and the door was pulled swiftly open to reveal an out-of-breath Wikwocket. She blurted out her urgent request as she gasped for air.


    "Follow me! Gruntle needs help! Al, bring the invisible cart!"

 0045 - Eats Bears and Leaves

    The urgency in Wikwocket''s voice had Al quickly picking up his pack and heading for the door before he even started asking questions. Bote followed.


    "What happened, is Gruntle hurt?" Al asked as the three of them jogged quickly outside.


    "He fought a bear, Al! Of course he''s hurt! This way! Hurry!"


    "How did he end up fighting a bear?!" Al panted as he ran faster.


    "I thought we were after deer again," Wikwocket tried to explain, gasping for breath after each sentence as she ran ahead to lead them down a game-trail into the forest west of the village. "Gruntle took some bread from the kitchen for bait. Deer like bread, right? Surprised the cook''s yelling didn''t wake you. We went into the woods and found a big tree. Gruntle tore the bread into a few big pieces, threw it on the ground, and got up in the tree. Bear showed up later and went for the bread, didn''t see us, Gruntle gave me his collar and just dropped down on it. Then just lots of teeth and claws and blood. Ran back for help when it was over."


    "How bad is he hurt?" Al gasped out.


    Wikwocket took a couple of deep breaths to keep running before answering. "Should be okay. Got clawed side of head and hip, bitten arm, limping a little."


    "Why do we need to carry him back then?" Al panted.


    "Not him. Bear. Never tasted bear. Want to eat it. Taking forever to drag it."


    Al slowed to a stop and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Wikwocket noticed and stopped as well, looking grateful to not have to run any more.


    "Why are we running?" Al finally said.


    "I just thought you were as excited as I was!" Wikwocket answered. "We''re going to eat a bear! Doesn''t that just sound amazingly heroic?"


    Bote caught up to them, somewhat less out of breath having followed at a more reasonable jog. "She''s right, you know. Joined a gnoll clan, freed the land of banditry, slew the demonic flesh-beast of Henhaven, outwitted the wily baron, and ate a bear. Yes, all of those appropriately have the adventurer-nature, in my opinion."


    "You see, Bote understands! You should try to be wise like them, Al!"


    After resting for a few minutes, they set out again at a more reasonable hiking pace. It took about twenty minutes to run into Gruntle. He had his long arms wrapped around the dead bear, digging his short claws into the hide for grip, and his teeth clamped onto the bear''s neck. He was stubbornly dragging it backwards towards Henhaven a few feet at a time. Aside from obviously favoring his right leg, he gave no hint that he even noticed the injuries Wikwocket had described. His ears twitched in their direction as they approached and he turned to face them.


    "Biggest meat," he growled, as best Al could tell. It was hard to understand since Gruntle didn''t seem to want to unclamp his jaws from the bear''s neck.


    "Yes, yes, it''s very impressive. We ran out here to see it and everything. Now let me carry it back for you so we''re not waiting all evening," Al said. When Gruntle hesitated, he added, "Or I can carry you and the bear. You can sit on top of the bear and ride back to the village like a conquering hero, or whatever."


    Al didn''t wait for a response. This would be a good chance to further test his experimental wizardry. He conjured up his improved version of the...magic invisible cart, adjusting the pattern to make it hold more weight. He judged they should be able to get back to the village before it ran out, if his estimation was correct. He gestured for Gruntle to put the bear atop it. The gnoll heaved the bear''s carcass up and slammed it down onto the shimmering disk.


    "Perfect, now you," Al said. Gruntle eyed the magical surface suspiciously. He slowly put a hand out and tapped the top of it, then pulled his hand back. He gave Al an inscrutable look, and then finally crouched and leapt up onto the dead bear, making an effort not to touch the disk itself.


    "Wait, me too!" Wikwocket shouted, and jumped to sit directly on the edge of the disk with her legs dangling over the edge. Al flinched at the unexpected additional weight, but relaxed when it held this time.


    "I''d offer to let you sit on it too, but I''m worried we''re getting near the limit of what it''ll hold right now," he told Bote.


    "It is just as well, I should keep my legs in practice for walking, as I suspect we will want to be on our way again soon."


    "Yeah," Al agreed as they started marching back to Henhaven, "as much as I''m enjoying a chance to rest and do some research, I think I''ve accomplished about as much as I can for the moment, and I don''t want to sit around too much longer and get lazy. The matter down in Turnipseed didn''t seem urgent but we probably shouldn''t put it off much longer anyway. We decided to come this way because it isn''t where most of the adventurers are headed, but that doesn''t mean there couldn''t be some competition around."


    "And, of course, if we do not leave soon, Wikwocket and Gruntle will ensure there are no deer, bears, rabbits, squirrels, or birds left to hunt anywhere, and they will end up fighting a pack of starving wolves," Bote added.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "How many wolves in a pack?" Gruntle inquired.


    "Too many!" Al answered insistently. "Please don''t go looking for wolves. In fact if nobody objects, I''d like to see if we can head for Turnipseed tomorrow."


    "If we can finish the necessary arrangements, of course. I agree, I feel our next task in the Ineffable Plans beckons us forward," said Bote.


    "What arrangements do you mean?" Al asked.


    "Eating a bear!" shouted Wikwocket triumphantly.


    "That as well. But as we have discussed before, we can no longer simply carry our growing collection of possessions. Therefore, we must gain possession of a cart, provisions for our new donkey, and of course, we must give the donkey a name."


    "What is this?" Gruntle interjected. Al turned back to see Gruntle pointing at the back of the bear he was sitting on.


    "That''s... that''s called a ''bear''."


    Gruntle huffed with annoyance and pointed more insistently.


    "This meat. Strong-leg meat part," he grumbled.


    "I think that''s the ''haunch'', right?"


    "Haunch." Gruntle repeated. He nodded, satisfied, and returned to watching the path ahead.


    "We''ll get someone to cook that part up for you."


    <hr>


    The dead bear floating into town with a similarly-large gnoll riding atop it and accompanied by a cheerleading gnome, attracted a great deal of surprise from the villagers of Henhaven as they returned. The mid-sized buck Gertrude carted in later was hardly half the size of Gruntle''s bear. She agreed to skin and butcher the bear, and was very grateful when they explained they just wanted to eat the meat so they let her keep the hide, bones, teeth, and anything else she wanted in exchange for the processing.


    The dark, lean, nearly purple meat cooked up nicely and tasted surprisingly sweet. The irritable cook was even only mildly annoyed when they asked him to prepare it. Apparently, he was curious because he''d never cooked bear before, and he appreciated having a reason to be eating some himself, to make sure it was cooking up properly.


    The villagers seemed to be simultaneously disappointed and relieved to hear that they were planning to leave the next day, despite several of them expressing skepticism that anybody would want to go to Turnipseed. The excitement Al and his party had brought to the village was probably more exhausting than entertaining for them by now, he assumed.


    It turned out that one of the village hunters that had fallen victim to the beast had nobody to inherit what little property he owned, so the villagers readily awarded the poor man''s cart to the group. It was little more than a narrow two-wheeled wooden platform with two poles sticking out of the front for someone to pull, but it had been sturdy enough to haul adult deer, so it looked like it would hold everything they''d collected so far. If they could get the donkey to pull the cart, travel would certainly be more comfortable.


    The bear was eaten and rustic ale was drunk in a celebratory mood. Even so, Al retired early to do a bit more research. Auswelte Sachen had a fascinating discussion of primordial spiritual essences of otherworldly origin, and Al was uncomfortably certain that the next few days would have far too many disturbances to get much more reading done. Auswelte Sachen''s chapters on the fundamental urges and desires of simple spirits across the Dreamlands kept Al fascinated until late into the night.


    The dreams that night went through darkness, light, strange wild colors, and oblivion. The formless spirits in each place wanted different things, but there was one thing in particular that all of them wanted.


    <hr>


    It was Bote''s quiet voice at prayer that Al followed back to wakefulness the next morning. He could never quite hear what Bote was saying, but the tone of voice always made Al think of gossip more than worship. He left Bote to their spiritual duties and quietly got out his wizardry notes to prepare for whatever they might run into on their travels further south to Turnipseed. Wikwocket and Gruntle both slept late after the gluttonous excess of the previous evening, but were both groggily stirring and mumbling about being hungry again by the time Al and Bote were done. They all gathered their things in preparation to leave, and went out to eat.


    This morning, the tavern was emptier than Al had seen it since they arrived. There was just Rose, yawning after having let the previous evening''s festivities run so late, and one older woman who Al realized he''d often seen sitting in the dimmest corner.


    "Morning," Rose greeted them sleepily. "Bear''s all gone but we''ve got eggs and venison if you''re hungry."


    "That sounds good," Al answered, to the general agreement of the others. "Looks pretty empty this morning."


    "Oh, this is how it usually is this time of day. Looks like everything''s getting back to normal, finally. Thanks again. I''ll go bring out your food."


    She went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with bowls of venison and scrambled eggs for everyone. Al gave in to his curiosity.


    "Who is that over there in the corner?" he quietly asked Rose as she offered him a spoon.


    "Oh, that''s our brooding figure! Not a real tavern if you don''t have one. Say hello, Susan!" she called out.


    "Hello!" Susan answered cheerfully from her dark corner.


    "Really? Shouldn''t you have a hat or something to keep your face hidden?" Al asked her.


    "Well, I have a cloak, but the hood''s scratchy and uncomfortable."


    <hr>


    Al left the empty bookshelf in the common room, just in case anybody in the village ever had a book to put in it. The others let him distribute the books among all of the packs, and since nobody was going to need to carry them now that they had a cart, he did it. At least inside the packs, the books would be protected from the elements. Villagers who could spare some grain all pitched in to provide some fodder for the donkey who would hopefully be pulling their cart for them. They even found somebody that had some broken leather harnessing tack that Al was able to fix with another handy magic trick. They said their farewells and until-we-meet-agains to Rose, Susan, and the cook, the latter of whom gave them a grudging nod in return. Then with everything piled onto the old cart and with Wikwocket sitting on the front, they pulled it south down the main road to the last house.


    The donkey seemed to recognize them. It walked over and stood by the fence, then bent down to bite off another clump of grass to chew on. It didn''t react when Al spoke to it.


    "Time to go, donkey, we''re going on a trip. Don''t worry, we''ll feed you well and take care of you," he told it as it idly chewed its mouthful of grass.


    "We cannot simply call him donkey, that would not be appropriate," Bote reminded Al.


    "Oh, right, you wanted to give him a name. Well, any ideas?"


    "Already said," Gruntle answered, surprising Al. "Haunch."


    Wikwocket began to laugh, which Al took to be agreement.


    "Haunch?" Al repeated skeptically. He turned back to look at the donkey, who had stopped chewing and was staring up at Gruntle, stalks of grass dangling from his mouth.


    "That is a very strong name," Bote said with a hint of amusement.


    Gruntle grunted. The donkey - Haunch - snorted back. He seemed well-domesticated, as he followed Al to the gate and let himself be put into the harness and hitched to the cart.


    "Onward, brave adventurers and faithful steed!" Wikwocket shouted from a dramatic pose atop the cart, and they were off. It was a cool day, but the sunny skies and calm air made it feel warm. The ruts in the dirt kept the cart firmly centered in the road as they hiked towards Turnipseed.


    It was as they approached the turnoff to Wulfcynn Keep that Haunch began to act nervous. He snorted sped up to a trot.


    "Hey, slow down!" Al said, jogging to the side to avoid being run over, then speeding up again to try to keep up.


    "Whoa, Haunch! Whoa!" yelled Wikwocket as she gripped the front of the cart to avoid falling off.


    Haunch brayed and broke into a panicked gallop as they passed the turnoff. Gruntle, Al, and Bote ran after them as fast as they could, but Haunch and the cart, along with Wikwocket''s receding cries of "Halt! Whoa! STOP!", shrank in the distance.


    Al almost ran into Gruntle when the gnoll stopped suddenly. Seeing Gruntle crouch and turn back, unlimbering his flail and shifting his shield down to a ready position, Al reached for his mace.


    "Stalking us," Gruntle growled, intently watching the brush along the road with a growing manic grin.

 0046 - The Road to Turnipseed

    Bote jogged to catch up. "The length of one''s legs has greater influence on one''s life than some appreciate," they said as they arrived. Having seen Al and Gruntle ready themselves for a fight, Bote did the same, hefting his hammer.


    "What are we fighting?" the dwarf asked, looking towards the brush along the side of the road that seemed to have his companions'' attention.


    "Gruntle says someone''s following us," Al answered. He squinted, trying unsuccessfully to see who or what might be out there.


    Gruntle''s ears twitched. "More than one," he grumbled.


    "What are they?"


    "Small," was all the answer Al got from Gruntle.


    "Well, whoever or whatever they are, don''t attack them unless they attack us."


    Gruntle huffed, then after a pause he reluctantly grunted assent.


    A high-pitched cackle erupted from the bushes just past them up the road. Al scowled and braced for a fight when he saw the small green-skinned person leap out and run in their direction, still cackling. The wild-eyed creature was clad in protective black leather that looked out of place on a goblin - it looked almost like a uniform in contrast to the cobbled-together mess Al expected goblins to wear. Its small curved sword looked well-polished and sharpened. Al also noticed it was still hanging at the goblin''s belt.


    "It''s not attacking, watch out for others!" Al called out to Gruntle and Bote as he backed away and glanced sideways towards the bushes where it had come from. Several more green-skinned, black-clad figures were quietly emerging there. The one that had run at them veered away from Al and past Gruntle, just out of reach, and dove into the bushes on the other side of the road.


    Al couldn''t understand what the goblins were yelling but it sounded insulting. Sling-bullets flew, and Al reflexively conjured a protective barrier in time to deflect one aimed at him. Bote was not quite so quick and caught a painful-looking shot off his bicep. Gruntle didn''t even move as a third heavy lump bounced off of his upper chest. Before any of them could retaliate, the goblins dove back out of sight into the bushes.


    Try that again. Go on. Try it again. I''ll kill you. Al thought to himself, keeping his attention on the bushes. Behind him, he heard the first of the goblins re-emerge and the sound of a sword leaving its sheathe at the same time. It ran wildly, waving its sword and changing direction frequently, once again cackling maliciously. Gruntle''s flail came down as the goblin dodged past him but the creature jumped aside in time to get out of the way without slowing down. Al ignored it, watching the bushes as the one that had just run between them dove into them. The moment Al had been waiting for arrived when the slingers emerged in unison from the bushes again to launch another volley at them. Not even noticing his own triumphant, vengeful grin, he summoned up the three arrows of magical force. It took some concentration, but he directed each of them to a different one of the attackers and each struck directly into the goblins'' chests. Angry cries of pain came from each of them, but they still each launched another sling-bullet at them. This time, Gruntle''s shield came up in time to block the one aimed at him, and Bote stepped out of the way, but Al was struck in the upper chest just below his left shoulder. Shouting to each other in whatever crazy language goblins spoke, they all then disappeared back into the bushes and could be heard moving away as Al started to step towards them.


    "You''d better run!" Al shouted at them as he lunged forward to chase after them. Seeing this, Gruntle gave an enthusiastic barking laugh and sprinted after them as well. He charged into the foliage at the forest''s edge where the goblins had disappeared. Al was right behind him with visions of disproportionate vengeance upon the goblins on his mind. He stopped when Bote''s voice somehow whispered in his ear.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "Which Al runs recklessly into a possible ambush?" the voice asked.


    Wait...what am I doing? This is crazy., Al thought to himself. He halted and shouted ahead. "Gruntle! Come back!"


    Then, he turned back to see Bote pointing in his direction and wearing a concerned expression.


    "There''s only and ever the Al to whom you are speaking, right? Whatever that means," Al told them.


    "Oh, there you are," Bote replied and appeared to relax a little. "We have only traveled together for a few weeks, but is it possible a new Al is among us since we set out?"


    "What, did you think I''d been replaced by an imposter or something?" Al asked. Deeper in the woods, the sound of Gruntle crashing through the vegetation could be heard. Then there was a sound like someone bouncing a stone off of a stump, followed immediately by a snarl of anger and scattered malicious giggling.


    "Gruntle! It''s a trap! Come back!" Al shouted in that direction. A blend of a whine and a growl came back to Al''s ears as the sound of cackling faded off into the distance. He returned to his discussion with Bote.


    "No, not an imposter," Bote answered Al''s previous question, "but perhaps some additional Al is developing."


    "Well, Wikwocket said this kind of experience does change people," Al said as Gruntle emerged from the trees with his face locked in a sullen snarl. He actually paused to bite deeply into the trunk of a birch tree as he passed. While the innocent tree was savaged, Al went to pick up the projectiles the goblins had slung at them. They were roughly egg-shaped lumps of lead, with markings on them that turned out to be engraved writing. Instead of whatever strange language the goblins used, they were marked sloppily in the common language. CATCH, one bore. Others were engraved with DUCK, EAT THIS, or OUCH. Al grumbled curses at the malicious little creatures as he rubbed at the painful spot where one had hit him. Nothing felt broken, but it was sure to bruise nastily.


    "Come on, we need to catch up and make sure she''s okay," Al continued after giving Gruntle a few seconds to take his frustrations out on the tree.


    They continued down the road at a jog. It didn''t take long before they spotted Wikwocket on foot, jogging towards them along the road. Some distance behind her, Haunch was still pulling the cart at a slow, reluctant pace. The donkey sped up and caught up to Wikwocket once he saw the others approaching.


    "I told you it was fine!" Wikwocket chided the donkey, who slowed down again to match her pace but otherwise paid no more attention than any other donkey would. "Any idea what might have scared him like that?"


    "Goblin ambush! Accursed little cowards harassed and threatened us, then ran off as soon as we threatened them back," Al explained, a flash of anger evident in his voice for a moment. "We were worried they might be chasing you, too. What?"


    That last word had been directed to Bote, who Al noticed seemed to be watching him closely.


    "I do not recall that there was such an angry Al the first time we were ambushed by goblins," Bote commented, looking into Al''s eyes. "Where does this new anger come from?"


    Al looked back in disbelief, since to him the answer was obvious and the question absurd.


    "They...they attacked us. Stalked us, toyed with us, threatened us, laughing the whole time. Isn''t it natural for me to feel like they''re a danger to my party that needs to be eliminated, or at least taught that they can''t get away with it?"


    Gruntle grunted in agreement, drawing an unconscious nod to him from Al as if to say see, Gruntle understands. Bote gave a nod of their own and grinned.


    "Yes, I suppose it is. I believe I understand the nature of this Al well enough now," Bote said with satisfaction.


    "Has anybody ever mentioned that you talk funny sometimes?" Wikwocket asked them.


    "Yes. Some of them were even me," Bote replied. Wikwocket laughed. Al tried to get the discussion back to the topic at hand.


    "So, you didn''t run into any problems, or notice anything trying to chase you?" he asked Wikwocket. She shook her head.


    "Aside from Haunch freaking out and running off for no apparent reason, no. He pulled me along for several minutes, I''m amazed I managed to keep everything from falling off of the cart. He finally slowed down and stopped, and just stood there looking back the way we came. I tried to get him to turn around and go back but he didn''t want to. When I finally gave up and started walking back by myself, he followed me, though. I was afraid he might try to run off, but he just stayed behind me. Maybe he didn''t want to be left alone."


    "At least they don''t seem to have chased you then. Gruntle, which way were they headed when you were following them in the woods?" Al asked. Gruntle pointed.


    "That''d take them not too far from passing by Wulfcynn Keep, wouldn''t it? Maybe we should go warn the baron that there are goblins prowling in the area."


    "I''m sure his majesty can take care of himself," Wikwocket suggested with clear dislike.


    "Majesty is normally reserved for the current monarch," Al pointed out.


    "His Supreme Baronitude then. Whatever he is, I say let him deal with it, I don''t want to go back there."


    "Wow, you really do hate him, don''t you."


    "He''s such a phony!" Wikwocket nearly yelled, which seemed to startle the donkey into braying. "And besides, I don''t think Haunch wants to pull the cart any closer that way, either."


    "It just doesn''t seem right not to at least say something. It''s not as though we have to go far, we only just passed the turn a little way back," argued Al.


    "We only know of one way into Wulfcynn Keep, aside from the single window. It is probably reasonably secure against casual harassment. Still, it would probably be polite to inform them," agreed Bote.


    "Well, you two can go tell him then, I''ll wait here and protect Haunch from danger," insisted Wikwocket, drawing her trusty rapier and striking a dramatic pose.


    "What if the goblins come back again?" Al objected, but relented when he saw Gruntle''s hopeful, malicious grin at his question. Gruntle snarled quietly as he reached up to rub a small, slightly-bleeding lump on the side of his head.


    "All right," Al sighed, "Gruntle, you can wait here with Wikwocket in case they come back. Bote and I can get up to the keep to check on them and then come back, this shouldn''t take long. Just...be careful. None of the stories have good things to say about splitting the party."

 0047 - The Root of the Quest

    As Al and Bote trekked back to the turn-off to the keep, the sight of extra-short Wikwocket and extra-tall Gruntle moving smoothly into positions to guard a donkey - and their cart of possessions, of course - struck Al as something that he should find absurd, but it had seemed perfectly natural. This thought just emphasized to Al how strange his life had gotten recently.


    Besides the sound of their footsteps, a light breeze and the chirping of birds in the trees were the only disturbances in the peaceful march up the hill to the keep. The doors into Wulfcynn Keep were closed, and the one stained-glass window in the wall where Fortuna''s chapel was seemed to be intact and unharmed.


    Rather than rudely barge in, Al pounded on the thick front doors as politely as he could, given the amount of force required to be audible.


    Al and Bote waited patiently for a minute or so before the sound of someone laboriously sliding the bar away from the inside of the doors was heard, and one side of the door was pulled open. Al was momentarily taken aback as a familiar-looking face greeted them.


    "Yes?" asked a short man dressed in the neat clothing of a noble''s household servant, who looked, aside from his height and cleaner clothing, remarkably like the bandit leader whose head Gruntle had crushed a few days ago. "Yes?" the man repeated with just a hint of impatience as Al stared.


    "We have seen a possible threat nearby and wanted to make sure the baron was properly warned," Bote said as Al collected his thoughts.


    "The baron is occupied and is not to be disturbed at this time. I can take a message for him," the bandit-faced servant responded primly.


    "Have...have we met before?" Al asked the man cautiously.


    "I don''t believe so. You are...?"


    "I''m Al, this is Bote. Sorry, you look...familiar. Do you have a brother?"


    "Many. The baron told us about you, he is grateful for your party''s service. What is the nature of the danger that you wanted to warn him about?"


    "Oh," Al replied, "well, we just fought off a goblin ambush and they ran off into the woods near here..."


    That''s as far as Al got before the servant''s laughter interrupted him. He seemed honestly amused.


    "The baron has nothing to fear from goblins," the chuckling man finally said.


    "Well, they are very tricky and unpredictable."


    "Thank you. Yes, we are very aware of the nature of goblins."


    The servant took a moment to calm his mirth, brushing wrinkles from his clothing, adjusting his gloves, and finally standing up straighter.


    "I shall inform the baron of your message, and I thank you for your concern on his behalf," he said with a small, polite bow. "If that is all, I shall return to my other duties."


    "I guess that''s all," Al answered a bit uncertainly. This interaction hadn''t gone anything like he''d expected.


    Without another word, the servant bowed once more, then pushed the door shut again. Al heard muffled grunting and sliding sounds from inside as the short man muscled the bar back into place behind the door.


    "Should I feel bad about us probably killing one of that man''s brothers?" Al asked Bote as they made their way back down the hill.


    "It would not be unusual to feel some discomfort. Suicide is an unpleasant subject, and suicide-by-gnoll is a rather dramatic method."


    <hr>


    Gruntle huffed in disappointment as Al and Bote returned with no sign of another goblin attack.


    "Were you too late? Was baron whatever-his-name-was murdered by goblins?" Wikwocket asked hopefully.


    "No! Well, I don''t think so anyway. One of his servants said he was busy but they didn''t seem at all worried about goblins. He did thank us for telling him, though."


    "Was his servant a little green-skinned guy? Maybe holding a bloody dagger or something?"


    "No. He was a bit short, but he actually looked a lot like the guy who was leading that group of bandits we fought on the way to Henhaven. I guess there are a bunch of brothers that look similar."


    Wikwocket huffed rather gnollishly in annoyance. Al shook his head.


    "Maybe you''ve been hanging around Gruntle too much. I guess we''re done here, shall we get moving again?"


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Grinning mischievously, Wikwocket grunted.


    <hr>


    The last of the forest gave way to grasslands as they continued south. After a few hours, Al could see a few thin columns of likely chimney smoke in the distance, suggesting the village wasn''t much further. Al began to feel uneasy, like this was a waste of time and they shouldn''t have bothered. He knew it would be irrational to give up and leave after coming this far to do a job, so he said nothing as they kept walking. He did find himself hoping someone else would mention they felt the same so they could talk him into leaving anyway as they met their first villager from Turnipseed.


    A roadside stand was just outside the village limits. It was constructed of roughly-cut, unworked logs and tree branches, mostly lashed together with fraying rope, but with a few bent, half-driven nails in places. There were boxes of turnips, parsnips, beets, and potatoes behind it, along with a barefooted, pot-bellied man wearing a dirty, half-fastened pants-and-bib coverall garment over a dirty shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with multiple holes worn in it. The man even had a stalk of grass in his mouth.


    On a flat stone leaning against the stand, the word "RUTS" was painted in barely-legible black letters.


    The man gave the approaching party a grin that could be called "toothy", but only because he didn''t have enough of them to call it "teethy".


    "Y''all cityfoke wan ruts? We got taters, nips, beets, ''n'' nips. Bes'' ruts ennawahr," the man drawled nigh-incomprehensibly.


    Al tried to parse what the man had said, dread rising in his guts.


    "Roots?" he guessed


    "Yeh, ruts. Better''n''y''all git ''na city. Yew feelin'' alraht?" the man asked, as Al was unable to completely suppress the look of horrified disbelief from showing on his face.


    Feeling it was too late to recover his composure and not wanting to spend any time trying, Al plowed ahead.


    "Maybe later, uh, we came about the notice on the board up in Silveroak? About the flowers that need to be taken to a tomb? We''re here to help."


    "Cityfoke cominta hep us? Ain''t ne''er seenat ''fore. Y''all gon'' wanna tawk ta shehrf DaisySue. Sheeza one noes bowt dat."


    "Sheriff DaisySue?"


    "S''whatahsayed. Teller BobbyWayne sentcha."


    "Where will we find Sheriff DaisySue?" Al asked quickly, at this point feeling an urgent need to finish the conversation and leave.


    "She''ll be inna charch. Bigges'' bild''n in tayohn. Caint missit."


    Still trying to figure out what the man had just said, Al thanked him and resumed walking quickly towards the village. He looked to his companions, and saw that they were equally in disbelief. Even Gruntle looked confused.


    "Talks funny," Gruntle grumbled.


    "Yeah. That wasn''t real, right? He was playing a character as a sales gimmick or something," Al insisted. "Nobody is that rural. Not even rural characters in satirical plays are that bad. That was just offensive."


    "It was...well, I can''t make myself call it good," Wikwocket agreed, her own face showing as much disbelief as Al''s,"but it was surprisingly convincing acting."


    Things didn''t get any better as they made their way into the village. Most of the buildings seemed to be dilapidated wooden shacks. The stench of neglected pigpens was everywhere. The few people they saw were all wearing the same sort of one-piece garment, most of them fastened with only one of the two suspenders. Straw hats and a lack of shoes was almost universal. Both the men and the women dressed the same, except most of the women wore dirty aprons as well. Everyone watched them with quiet suspicion as they passed by. The party went as quickly as they could towards the center of the village, where they could see a spire with a misshapen lump atop it, rising over the other structures, which they assumed would be the charch.


    They passed by the local inn on their way. Its construction was no better than the other buildings in town, though it was much larger. Sloppily-painted black letters on the unfinished wood announced that it was CletusWayne''s Place. Al shook his head, and looked to his companions for reassurance as they went by.


    "They''re...doing this on purpose, right? Is this some kind of extreme prank the city-folk thing, or some sort of cult?"


    "I have no knowledge of any cult whose practices include the offensive stereotyping of rural human society," Bote suggested, looking only a little less uncomfortable than Al and Wikwocket, "but it feels like that may not be far from the truth. This all does seem intentionally discomforting."


    "Don''t like it," Gruntle announced, unbidden. "When can we leave?"


    "As soon as we can get this job over with," Al grumbled, glad that someone else had finally said it.


    They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of the charch. It was in better shape than the other buildings they''d seen, but not by much. The irregular shape atop the spire was roughly oblong, and stylized eyes were painted all over it. The doors were still nicely finished, at least, though the paint was peeling from the wood of the walls.


    "Ah. Holus," Bote explained. "A god of cthonic agriculture."


    "Chtonic? Like in the ground? This is the potato god?"


    "And turnips, carrots, parsnips, yams, radishes, and so forth. Yes."


    There was a hitching post outside the the building. They tied Haunch loosely to it, then Al looked at the others.


    "Somebody should probably watch our stuff," he suggested.


    Bote stared off into the distance for a moment, then quietly said "The folk of Turnipseed will not steal in front of this holy place." Then, in a more normal voice, "I am not comfortable here either, but I don''t believe that we are in actual danger."


    Al found himself reluctant to even touch the doors, but Bote obliged by pushing one open to let them inside. Wooden floorboards creaked under the party''s feet as they entered. Most of the interior of the church of Holus was one large nave. There was no separate sanctuary at the far end, just a platform for a preacher to stand on. The benches were of plain wood, and the walls were decorated with worn-out antique shovels, hoes, water buckets, and other farming implements.


    "We was tol'' y''all was a-comin''!" a loud, rough, but still feminine voice called out in greeting from under the floor. Wooden stairs squeaked behind the preacher''s platform and a wide trapdoor in the floor was pushed open for a slim, wiry-muscled woman to come up from the cellar. She froze when she saw the gnoll.


    "Whut''n''thuworl'' is thayuht?"


    "Huh?" Gruntle answered, looking completely baffled at what was being said. Al wasn''t doing much better, but he figured it out.


    "Oh, he''s okay, he''s with us. He...helps us fight monsters."


    "Lahk fahtin'' fahr with fahr ah rekkin," she said a little skeptically, "Rekkin ''e ain''t gon'' do nuthin'' on this''ere holy place. Y''all done come ta take flars ta the ded''un?"


    "Uh, hello, yes," Al floundered, "uh...Bobby...Wayne sent us."


    "Aw, yeh, BobbyWayne gots good ruts."


    "Yes, very, uh, earthy," Al tried. He glanced down expecting Wikwocket to interrupt and remind him how bad he was at small-talk, but she seemed to be distracted with trying to look politely interested. It seemed to be taking a great deal of concentration.


    There was a moment of awkward silence.


    "So...uh...do you maybe have a map and some written instructions for what you need us to do?" Al hoped, but not too much - he thought it was probably likely their writing would be as hard to understand as their speech, but at least they''d be able to make the effort to figure it out somewhere else in that case.


    DaisySue just laughed. "We gots orl tradishin," she told them, "Lemme tell y''all a stor''boutit."


    Al''s heart sank as she stepped dramatically up on to the platform and spread her arms.


    "Back inna days o'' mah grammaws maw, thar''s a heeruh done pertected us..."

 0048 - Rustic Accomodations

    The story lasted a long time - the story itself wasn''t very long, but it took a long time to understand what DaisySue was trying to say with that ridiculously, improbably, insultingly exaggerated rural accent.


    The local folklore said that when the first settlers had arrived to set up little farms here in a patch of firm ground mostly surrounded by swamp many generations ago, there were already the ancient remains of a few old foundations from a previous population, and a short distance to the east, an equally ancient but still intact tomb. The settlement never seemed to be bothered by wild animals or other dangerous pests, which an early elder leader claimed was the spirit of whoever was buried in the tomb protecting the land.


    For many years, there had been an annual tradition of taking flowers to place on the tomb of the hero in thanks for their protection. Then, several generations ago, the worship of Holus was taken up in thanks for increasingly good yields of root crops, and the unnamed hero''s protection wasn''t needed any more.


    In recent years, Holus had increasingly hinted at dangers from outside of the community, and promised to protect them. The fields around the village were expanded and were bountiful, except where the tomb was, where the ground remained swampy and prevented any root-crops from growing. None of the villagers felt comfortable anywhere near the area. Just recently, DaisySue claimed, Holus spoke to her directly from a moldy yam, commanding that a particular collection of flowers should be gathered and that someone who was not of the village would need to deliver them to where the hero rested, and the problem would be resolved.


    It was starting to get dark outside by the time the story ended and the meaning of the story was finally understood. Sheriff DaisySue asserted that they should leave in the morning - the possibility of the party declining the job didn''t seem to occur to her - and that the village would provide food and lodging for the night. It was only the prospect of stumbling around in a swamp in the dark or ending up in a long and uncomfortably insistent negotiation if he tried to back out at this point that convinced Al to go along with it.


    "C''mon," she told the party, "we gon'' fix y''all up with bed ''n'' vittles at CletusWayne''s."


    Haunch was still bored and waiting with all of the party''s supplies on the cart as they left the "charch". Wikwocket untied him and they all headed for the inn. On the way, DaisySue asked Al what he thought of Turnipseed.


    "It''s very...noble," Al suggested with as much diplomacy as he could muster, as a rather lumpy-faced man squinted suspiciously at the passing party.


    "Well, bless your heart," DaisySue responded in a very friendly voice.


    Al winced, wondering how she''d made that sound like a terrible curse. "Sorry," he mumbled in apology.


    "S''allraht," DaisySue drawled back gently, this time with sincere sympathy, "y''all don''t b''long ''ere. Y''all ain''t s''posta be comf''table. Ah knows y''all wanna leave. Thankee fer doin'' it ennawhay. We even gon'' pay yeh when yeh go t''take the flars inna mornin'' so yeh don''t hafta come back. Jus'' a way thangs are."


    Unnecessarily loud laughter and a musical noise came from CletusWayne''s place. There was a rhythmic, variably-hollow twanging noise, and some hollow rhythmic bursts of whistling noise, a regular scratching sound, and stomping in time with the rest. DaisySue pushed the door open and the party got a look at the interior. A group of villagers was collected by one wall making the musical noise with clay jugs, a washboard, their feet, and a small metal contraption one of them held in his remaining teeth, which he was flicking to make the twanging sound. A group of men and women of the village was gathered along another wall, taking turns trying to spit into a pot some distance away. Yet another group was gathered at a table taking turns contorting their faces into grotesque expressions, much to the amusement of the other participants.


    "Hey, y''all! Cityfoke''re here. They gon'' do the flars fer us. Treatem raht, now!" she announced, to some scattered cheers, though most of the occupants paid no attention. Then Gruntle leaned over DaisySue''s head to look inside, and things went quiet.


    The silence was broken a few seconds later by a deep, raspy shout of "Whut''n''thuworl'' is thayuht?" from someone.


    "Helps th''cityfoke faht mawnsters," DaisySue explained. "Ah''ma takin''em ta go lah dayun a spell. Givem the gud vittles, y''hear?"


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    <hr>


    Their room was quite spacious, but mostly because it was a barn. Most of the stables were empty, though there was a cow in one. She became very agitated when the party entered. DaisySue was unnable to calm the cow down and ended up leading her away after the party settled down at the far end of the barn. At least it appeared there was fresh straw on the ground and there was plenty of space to bring the cart in, and a tolerably comfortable-looking stall for Haunch. There was even already a trough of water and a pile of hay in it.


    "This is some kind of cultist compound, isn''t it? This whole place is just offensively wrong!" Al complained quietly after DaisySue left.


    "Holus is a legitimate deity," Bote asserted, "but this does feel very similar to a cult. I do not feel we are unsafe here, and perhaps not even truly unwelcome, but we certainly do not belong. I cannot say why."


    "Like the village itself wants to keep everyone else away," Al mused.


    "Well if it''s keeping everybody away, I think it''s safe if I let her out of her box. We''ve hardly had any time together," Wikwocket announced, heading for the cart.


    "Who?" a puzzled Al asked.


    "My new sword! She''s been locked in that box for so long, she hardly ever gets out! I need to get to know her if I''m going to be stabbing people with her!"


    "Her?"


    "Well, obviously! I heard somewhere that it''s the lady spiders that are bigger and more dangerous, right?"


    Since they still had no keys for the box, Wikwocket had to spend some time with her lockpicks to get the box open, and would of course need to do it again to re-lock it later, but for now she opened the lid and pulled the spider-marked rapier out from under the three bags of coins. Despite being as long as Wikwocket was tall, she had no trouble holding it up to swing and stab thanks to the rapier''s unnatural lightness.


    Gnomes, as one might guess, are not paragons of brute strength. Even a relatively athletic gnome would struggle to beat even a sedentary human in a contest of muscular power. On the other hand, even that amount of strength compressed down into a very small gnomish body makes some very impressive acrobatics possible. For humanity, being able to leap more than six feet from a standing start isn''t especially impressive, but being able to leap a distance that is more than double your height is startling.


    Wikwocket tested the new rapier by running and leaping around the barn, stabbing various objects to make sure they weren''t disguised monsters. As she got used to the long blade, her fighting style adapted. The reach of her short arms and legs wasn''t much but her mobility made up for it, replacing thrusts and lunges with leaps and running charges. She even convinced Gruntle to spar with her for practice, and for a while the whole party was entertained enough to forget the discomfort of where they were as Wikwocket ran and jumped around the much larger gnoll.


    The fun ended suddenly when Gruntle''s ears twitched and he unexpectedly turned away, sniffing the air and ignoring the shallow stab into his hip that his unforeseen movement had put him in the way of before Wikwocket could pull back. Al aborted his defensive reach for his mace when he saw that Gruntle was drooling.


    "Y''all decent in ''ere?" a young man''s voice called out, and then the barn door was pulled open without waiting for an answer. The young man who came in pulling a small hand-cart actually had most of his teeth and hair, and his shirt was somewhat clean.


    "Ah done brung y''all vittles! We gots hocks, trottas, and chitlins!" He announced cheerfully as he came in. Then he stopped, silently worried, when he saw the looming Gruntle drooling through sharp teeth.


    When he was not attacked after several seconds, he finally found his voice.


    "Whut''n''thuworl'' is thayuht?"


    "What, Gruntle?" Wikwocket asked, pointing up at him with her Wikwocket-length rapier. "Don''t worry, he''s friendly, he just thinks the food smells good. Right, Gruntle?"


    The gnoll gave a grunt of agreement, still drooling. The scent of cooked meat was rising in the air and the others could smell it now, too. There was a stack of bowls on the cart, and a small wooden tub loaded with some sort of meats that couldn''t be immediately identified. Al thought he saw an animal''s cloven-hoofed foot sticking out of the top. There was also a big clay jug marked simply "XXXX" and another jug without any markings.


    "Ah''ll jus'' leverite ''ere if''n y''all don''t mahnd," their food-deliverer suggested. He stared at Wikwocket for a moment.


    "How''re y''all holdin'' that big ol'' thang lahk ''at?" he asked.


    "What? Oh, my new sword!" she answered, once she figured out what he''d said, "Just lots of practice!"


    "That thang''s almos'' bigger''n y''all, how do y''all even carrah it?"


    There was another pause to understand the question, but then Wikwocket shrugged and answered. "I don''t right now, I don''t have any sheathe for it, and even if I did, if I tried to hang her off of my belt she''d drag on the ground."


    The food-deliverer shook his head. "That ain''t raht," he said, "y''all don'' go nowhar afore I git back, BillyWayne gon'' fix yeh up raht quick." he drawled, and turned to leave at a jog.

 0049 - Advance Payment

    Al approached the food cart, with Gruntle following close behind. The food smelled good enough, much like pork. In fact, Al realized, it was pork, of a sort. Several lower-legs of pigs with the feet still attached were sticking up out of the bucket''s contents.


    "Okay, it doesn''t smell bad but it looks awful. It seems to be feet and...what is that, guts boiled in sulfurous vinegar?"


    Gruntle''s belly rumbled. Al sighed and took one of the bowls. Seeing no supplied serving utensils, he scooped the mystery-meat with the bowl to get as much of the feet as he could into it without being too obvious, and passed it up to Gruntle. The gnoll didn''t hesitate to start chomping on the contents. Bones and hoofs crunched. Gruntle gave a single grunt of approval.


    Al went to his pack and dug out the spoon he''d brought with him, and then came back to hesitantly scoop some of the non-foot-and-leg parts into a bowl, and stood aside to taste his bowl of guts while the others served themselves.


    The food wasn''t as bad as it looked or smelled. Al didn''t want to think about what part of the probably-pig that what he was eating came from, but it turned out to be tender, with a vinegar sourness and chopped onion and garlic in it, and the resulting flavor was at least not the worst thing he''d ever eaten. Bote and Wikwocket served themselves as well. Wikwocket even took one of the feet, pulling the meat from the bone with her teeth.


    "It''s a little messy, but not bad," she declared. She gave the bones to Gruntle when she was done.


    Al opened the jug with the XXXX on it and immediately regretted holding it so close to his face as he did so. The harsh alcoholic fumes made his eyes water. Once the fumes dissipated enough for him to see properly again, he took a small sip. It reminded him a little of the "grump" they''d been served in Henhaven, but even more potent, and without any sweetness or pleasant flavors. Also unlike grump, a second sip didn''t taste any better. He put the jug down. Wikwocket insisted on trying it, and after coughing for several seconds gave a thumbs-up and suggested they bring it with them.


    The unmarked jug contained water, thankfully, though it tasted a bit like dirt.


    As they were finishing up their meal, the barn door was knocked on again and opened by DaisySue, pulling another small hand-cart with several full bags of uneven sizes, woven crudely from some sort of plant fiber. From one of the smaller ones, a variety of bound-together flowers stuck out.


    "Gotchy''all''s ree-ward ''n'' the flars. Bleshya fer doin'' this," she told the adventurers. "None o'' us been there fer a long tahm, but y''all jus'' need ta fahnd the heerah''s restin'' place ''n'' give the flars to ''em. "


    "You''re not worried we''re going to just take the reward and run off?" Al wondered aloud.


    "Nah, y''ain''t gonna," DaisySue said with firm conviction.


    "The notice said the tomb might be dangerous, what if we leave with the reward and get killed?"


    "Then whoever''s sent after y''all kin take it fer themselves. But ah got faith y''all kin do it. Jus'' take th'' east road outta tayon ''n'' it''ll take ya raht past th'' tomb. Heerah''s restin'' place somewhar insahd."


    "East road, okay. We''ll set out in the morning," Al said, a little worried that it was getting easier to understand the villagers'' extreme accent.


    "Hey, y''all still up?" the young man from earlier asked from the open doorway, knocking. "Oh, howdy Shehrf DaisySue. I done brung somethin'' fer the little lady." He held up...somethin''. Two narrow weathered grey planks of wood that looked like they had been scavenged from somewhere, with a band of slightly rusted iron down one side and across the bottom, held on by nails driven through and bent on the other side. One of the nails stuck out halfway, bent at a crazy angle for no apparent reason. Plain strips of leather belt were attached near the top and middle.


    "What is it?" Wikwocket asked with equal measures of curiosity and skepticism.


    "''sfer yer sword, ma''am," he answered, entering the barn and approaching. "Kin ah see it?" He pointed where the spider-marked rapier rested against a post while Wikwocket was eating.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Well...I suppose so. But be nice to her, I don''t even know her name yet," Wikwocket answered, picking the sword up and bringing it to him. She handed it over gently.


    "Hardly weighs ennathang at all!" he marveled, waving it experimentally.


    "It ain''t a toy, BillyWayne," Sheriff DaisySue chastised him, "''n'' it ain''t yers neither."


    "Sorry, ma''am," BillyWayne said. Then, he stabbed the point of the rapier into the gap between the boards on the side that wasn''t bound in rusty iron, down near the bottom, and then levered the rest of the blade in between the two boards. It snapped into place in a groove that had been carved down the middle of the two planks before they''d been bound together. Then he levered it back out just as he''d put it in, and yanked the tip loose. After levering the sword back in again once more, he smiled.


    "Y''all wan'' trah?" he asked Wikwocket, extending the upper belt. Wikwocket let him attach the thing to her, the upper belt going over her left shoulder and under her right, and the lower belt loosely around her waist. Both belts were fastened with crudely-made buckles that appeared to be concocted from nails and scrap metal cleverly bent together. The ridiculous wooden sheathe hung at a slight diagonal across Wikwocket''s back, with the hilt of the rapier just behind and to the right of her head. Tentatively, she reached up and grasped the hilt, yanking to the right to lever the blade back out. Pulling the tip free was a bit awkward but pushing up and to her right got the rapier out. It took a few tries to get the aim right, but she was eventually able to reverse the process to get the tip back in and snap the blade back into place between the boards.


    "Y''all prob''ly gon'' need ta work it a few tahms but y''all''ll git it," BillyWayne said with a satisfied smile.


    "It''ll take some getting used to, but I think this will work," Wikwocket mused, politely not adding for now. "And now I can take her with me adventuring! Thanks, BillyWayne!"


    "''taint nuthin'', ma''am. When y''all git the dead''un to git outta the way, I''m-a gonna plant sweettaters there, so I''m glad ta hep."


    "Alraht, BillyWayne, le''s let the cityfoke sleep now," Sheriff DaisySue said, shooing him back out.


    "Well, thanks again for this, BillyWayne!" Wikwocket said as she waved goodbye, indicating the contraption on her back where her new rapier rested, "She seems comfortable back there!"


    BillyWayne waved back, and left. DaisySue paused before closing the barn door behind them.


    "Y''all''re welcome ta come back when y''all are done, but ah knows y''all don''t wanna. Turnipseed ain''t a place fer ever''body, but ah gotta offer ''cuz y''all are doin'' us a favor. Y''all ain''t ne''er gonna be one o'' us, but y''all''re good folk, fer cityfolk."


    Then, she also gave them a wave and a cheerful "Now don''t dah onnus, y''hear?" as she shut the door.


    "I still don''t feel comfortable about being here, but at least they''re hospitable," Al commented, moving to inspect the rewards that had been left. The bag that the flowers were sticking out of was full of actual dirt - soil, Al charitably corrected himself - and Al guessed they were whole plants and not just cut flowers. At least that might keep them from wilting before they were delivered to the dead hero''s resting-place. The sound of jangling coins in another bag distracted Wikwocket from her practice with the new sword-sheathe.


    "I know that sound, and I like it!" she said, rushing over to look. Al let her take the bag to count out the contents while he checked the others. The largest bag was lumpy and to Al''s disappointment - though not surprise - it contained a selection of potatoes, turnips, yams, and radishes.


    The smallest bag clanked and sloshed when Al picked it up. Inside were four metal flasks. They were thin, rectangular things, about the same size and thickness as Al''s hand and fingers, with a wooden stopper secured to the flask by a bit of small metallic chain so that it wouldn''t get lost. Unexpectedly given the condition of everything else in the village, they were well-polished though each bore several small dents and other signs of having been heavily used. Al pulled the stopper from one and immediately put it back when the fumes of whatever XXXX was stung his eyes.


    "At least we''ll be prepared if we need to dissolve some glue. Or our livers," Al quipped. "Looks like there''s one for each of us."


    He passed the flasks around to the others. Wikwocket took hers without even looking up from her coin-counting. She pulled the stopper out and took a sip, then put the stopper back in as she coughed. Bote took one as well and did likewise, though instead of coughing they seemed to consider the flavor carefully.


    "It is quite harsh, and strong even by the standards of my own people. I would not drink heavily of it, but I am thankful to have this gift," they declared.


    Having watched the others, Gruntle accepted his flask and opened it. To Al''s surprise, his muzzle wrinkled into a snarl and he stoppered the flask again without tasting.


    "Too much," Gruntle grumbled, and dropped the flask into his pack.


    Al helped Wikwocket finish sort out the copper, silver, and gold coins that had been mixed in the bag, then helped count.


    "579 copper, 243 silver, and 44 gold coins!" Wikwocket announced when the counting was done.


    "That''s more than I expected from what the town looks like," Al admitted, "that would at least buy us some nice lodging for a while."


    "This does not seem like a place that has a great use for money," Bote suggested,"perhaps they barter for what they need, and save money only for transactions with outsiders that require it."


    Al yawned. It had been another long and wearying day.


    "I guess that makes sense. They seem like people that mostly want to keep to themselves. I''m going to get some sleep, I recommend we all do. The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we can wake up and leave these people to their isolation again."


    Al got his bedroll and laid it out on the floor off to the side, near Haunch''s stall. He was considering which book to take out to read, but the fatigue of the day caught up to him and he decided not to bother. He took off his boots, robe, and chain shirt, then tucked himself into the bedroll and drifted off quickly into strange dreams of being comfortably buried.

 0050 - Morning in Turnipseed

    The next morning, Gruntle was obviously hungry. He leaned in, his bestial face just inches from Al''s, and his deep, growling voice said: "We gon'' git vittles raht quick."


    Then the crowing of a rooster woke Al up and ended the nightmare. He was sure he''d heard a y''all at the end of the rooster''s announcement of the sunrise as he returned to consciousness and took note of the feel and scent of the place. It was warm, protected, maybe even cozy. The air had strong scents of earth and hay and sweat, as well as mulch, sulfur, and wet dog... Al''s eyes snapped open and he sat up into the chilly morning air, immediately awake. Like shoots of turnip greens emerging from warm soil Al thought, then shook his head to clear it. That''s it. I''ve officially been in this place too long already.


    The "pillow" he thought he had been leaning on had been Gruntle curled up directly against Al''s side. Bote was on the other side of Al, and Wikwocket was in her bedroll atop Gruntle. Directly above, Haunch''s eyes stared down at Al, the donkey''s head leaning over the door of the stall. Haunch brayed, stirring the others to wakefulness.


    "Why are we all jammed together here?" Al asked as he sleepily stood up and stumbled out of the pile.


    "I am not certain," Bote answered, sitting up and looking puzzled. "I do not recall moving during the night."


    Wikwocket gave a yelp of complaint as Gruntle stood up and stretched, precipitating her to the floor. She reluctantly stretched as well and slowly extricated herself from her bedroll.


    "How did I get up there?" she wondered aloud. "If I''d known it was that comfortable I''d have tried it before now."


    As the group packed up and prepared themselves to leave, there was a knock at the door.


    "Y''all still here?" Sheriff DaisySue asked, as she pushed the door open. She seemed pleased to see them. "Thought y''all mighta done left early. Ah''ll bring y''all vittles afore y''all go. DebbieSue done made biscuits ''n'' BettySue gots gravy." Then she left, without waiting for an answer.


    "That sounds better than the feet and guts we got last night," Al admitted as he put the bag of loose coins from the reward cart into the lead-lined box, and then hefted the sack of root vegetables onto their cart.


    Sheriff DaisySue returned as Al finished most of his tasks and got out his wizardry references to prepare for the quest to the tomb. She had a coarse sack over her right shoulder, and carried a bucket of steaming grey sludge in her left hand. She nervously took a step back when Gruntle sniffed the air and then sprinted towards her, drooling, but the gnoll gave her no attention and simply crouched down to smell the bucket.


    "Hungruh l''il feller ain''tcha," she told him, still unsure what to think about Gruntle. She looked to Al for guidance. For some reason, so did Gruntle.


    "Gluttony is one of his favorite things," Al explained, "Whatever''s in that bucket must smell good. Hey, Gruntle, let the rest of us try it first. You can have the rest of it afterwards though."


    "Tha''s BettySue''s worl''famous sawsidjgravy, an'' ah gots DebbieSue''s biskits fer y''all. It''ll put meat on yer bones ''n'' hair on yer chests."


    Al assumed that was just a figure of speech. He snorted at the mental image of Gruntle sprouting a ridiculous amount of fluff on his chest as he dug his spoon back out of his pack and fetched one of the bowls from the previous night''s meal. The biscuits turned out to be more sophisticated than Al had expected. Instead of the lumps of baked dough he had been anticipating, they seemed to have been cut into clean round pucks, and the dough was layered such that the top and bottom could be easily pulled apart. The bucket of thick gravy didn''t look like much but it had a substantial proportion of sausage chunks in it.


    "Careful y''all don''t drank too much o'' the shan, now," DaisySue warned them, "It''ll cure whut ail''s y''all but if''n y''all drank too much y''all won''t be able ta walk straight."


    "Shan?" Al asked, "The stuff in the XXXX jug?"


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    "''sraht! Y''all are blessed ta git some. That thar''s a holy sacrament! Arthshan''s a secret ''lixer divahnly ''nsparred. Cain''t git it nowhar else."


    "It''s called earthshine?" Al interpreted.


    "Yup. Made o'' ruts. Secret recipe."


    "Ah, yes. Of course it is. Well, thank you for it," Al said, diplomatically, and sat down on the ground to eat.


    Al would have liked more salt and the biscuits were a bit dry, but all together it was a pleasant meal. Gruntle took the bucket once Bote and Wikwocket had served themselves as well. A few minutes later it was was dropped, empty and licked clean. DaisySue watched approvingly as they ate.


    "Y''all ain''t havin'' second thoughts, now, are ya?" she asked the party jovially.


    "No," Bote answered firmly, "I must see this through."


    Al gave them a look, surprised at the emphatic response. Bote pointed to the bag with the flowers.


    "This is a message. This falls well within my duties in the service of Indicina. I shall see this message delivered."


    "I guess if we were having any doubts, that would settle it," Al said, rising to his feet, "it''s probably time to get started. I''ve got a bit more preparation to make before we set out, could someone let Haunch out and get him hooked up?"


    As Al picked up his wizardry notes again, he was surprised to see that it was Gruntle who went to open the door to Haunch''s stall. The donkey actually followed the gnoll to the front of the cart. Gruntle stared in confusion at the array of straps until Wikwocket went over to help get Haunch properly harnessed. DaisySue expressed her thanks once more, and then left with the handcarts the villagers had brought in. Al sat back down to go over his notes.


    The practice of wizardry is fundamentally about learning to direct one''s intent into concepts that mortal minds aren''t naturally capable of holding. The hardest part of learning to work magic for a wizard is to successfully get that first, simple, just slightly impossible concept to fit into one''s mind in order to work one''s first act of what Wikwocket would call real magic. The mnemonic tricks of "magic words", specialized gestures, magical symbols, and writing are all there to help the wizard recall the elements of these "impossible" concepts to mind as needed.


    With practice, the number and complexity of these concepts that a wizard can keep in their minds at a time increases, as does the amount of intent they can put into them before mental exhaustion makes it too hard to concentrate on them, but there is still always a limit. Al needed to decide which of the magics that he could successfully work would be the ones he''d rehearse so he''d be able to use them.


    We''re going to a tomb, Al considered, so we''ll need to worry about environmental hazards like the structure collapsing or flooding. We''ll probably want to be prepared to deal with any dangerous swamp-creatures that might have moved in. I hope none of the dead are restless in there. Might need to be prepared for that, too...


    He settled his meditations on both spells that Melissa had taught him, and a selection of more utilitarian magic that seemed like it would be useful for exploring an old tomb and protecting from things that might be inside. It took less time to make the mental preparations than it did to decide which ones to rehearse, and Al was ready to go within a quarter-hour. The party opened the barn door and headed out, making their way through the village towards the rising sun. Villagers sitting in rickety chairs in front of their huts mostly watched them suspiciously as they went, though a few waved at them encouragingly.


    They could feel when they left the boundary of the village. The persistent discomfort mostly vanished as they passed a wooden roadsign just outside the village. It was a simple post set in the ground, with planks nailed to it. One had TURNIPSEED painted on it in black block letters and pointed back the way they came. Signs indicating TOMB,HELL''S BATHTUB, and SOUTHWALL pointed further down the muddy road. The road dipped downward as they continued on, into a thick ground-hugging fog just as they found another sign indicating TOMB directly to their right, along a badly-overgrown path that they''d probably not have noticed if the sign hadn''t pointed it out. The path went into increasingly marshy territory, and the fog thickened further. The scents of stagnant mud, rotting vegetation, and sulfur grew strong, and the air felt warmer at first before the dampness made it feel cold again.


    Voices reached them, amplified by the thick fog, along with a hint of wood smoke. None of them could understand what the voices were saying, but the language sounded familiar. Haunch snorted nervously and resisted going any further.


    Al scowled as Gruntle sniffed the air and confirmed Al''s assumption with a malicious grin.


    "Goblins."

 0051 - Goblins in the Way

    Al stopped as soon as he heard the voices, and the others stopped behind him. The fog was too thick to see where they were coming from. It was difficult to even tell how far away they were, and the noise from croaking frogs and buzzing insects made other sounds difficult to focus on. The faint, unpleasant speech seemed to be coming from multiple individuals, perhaps bickering with each other, but it wasn''t clear how many. Al motioned for his companions to get closer and they crouched down in front of the cart.


    "Our turn to ambush them," Al whispered. "How many are there hiding in the fog?"


    "Not sure, but we can find out!" Wikwocket whispered back, "I''ll sneak closer and take a look."


    "All right, but be careful. If something goes wrong, come back here if you can."


    Wikwocket gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and reached up to check that her new sword was in position to be drawn quickly. Then she quietly slunk away, fading off into the fog in the direction of the voices. Completely unbidden, Gruntle followed after letting her get some distance ahead. Al let him go - he''d proven he was quite sneaky, and Al felt better having some backup nearby in case Wikwocket was spotted. Besides that, Gruntle''s enthusiasm for a fight would immediately and noisily alert them if something went wrong. Al carefully drew out his mace and listened nervously. Minutes ticked by. A loud chattering noise that reminded Al of the giant rats they''d seen in Wulfcynn Keep cut through the voices of the goblins, whose tone immediately became cautious and alert. Al braced himself reluctantly to charge ahead, but there was no further escalation of activity. After a while, the voices returned to their previous conversational tone.


    Wikwocket emerged silently from the fog, followed closely by Gruntle.


    "That was close," Wikwocket murmured quietly as they got near, "looks like they have a couple of pet rats, I think one of them smelled or heard us. There are four or five goblins camped out over there in the fog, in front of a big old stone building, but I don''t think they realize we were watching them."


    "What are they doing?" Al whispered.


    "Looks like three of them are just sitting around a campfire. They''ve got some tents set up in front of what looks like a big door into the building, one or two of them seem to have someone in them. I assume the building is the tomb we need to get into."


    "So, we must wait for them to leave, convince them to leave, or otherwise get rid of them," Bote quietly mused, watching for Al''s reaction.


    Al found himself hesitating. The possibility of avoiding a fight hadn''t even occurred to him. He wasn''t sure what to think about the fact that he''d been almost looking forward to brutalizing those little green...


    He gave Bote a puzzled look. "It''s normal to want to just get rid of them...isn''t it? It doesn''t feel like we can trust them to just go away on their own. Every time we''ve met goblins, they''ve attacked us," Al said quietly.


    "How many times?" Bote asked.


    "...two? That''s not much, is it," Al considered. "I still feel like they''re up to no good."


    "Enemy clan," Gruntle growled in agreement.


    Bote nodded, "I do not have reason to believe that your opinion is wrong, though I find it interesting how firmly this Al holds onto it."


    Al thought for a moment. "All right. Maybe we don''t have to jump straight to attacking them, unless this group tries to attack us, too."


    Gruntle growled quietly.


    "If I''m right, we''ll end up having to fight them anyway," Al tried to reassure him, "but Bote''s right, I probably should think about alternatives to just charging in. I don''t really know why I feel like this about goblins. Bote, remind me to ask you to give my soul a look once we''re done with this job."


    "I will remember to deliver this message from yourself," Bote assured him.


    "So, what is the plan?" Wikwocket asked, and they all huddled together to consider. Al still couldn''t shake the assumption that a fight was going to take place, but they settled on a plan that would give the goblins a chance to convince them otherwise.


    Wikwocket gently tugged her new sword from its makeshift wooden holder on her back and stalked quietly down the road into the dense fog, back towards the encamped goblins. Gruntle readied his flail and shield and silently followed, just close enough to see where she was. Bote and Al readied their own weapons and followed as inobviously as they could, trying to keep the dark shape in the mist that was Gruntle in sight.


    Somewhere further into the fog than Al could see, the sound of Wikwocket''s voice rang out, and Al saw the looming dark shape of Gruntle drop to crouch low to the ground.


    "Hi there! You guys want to be friends?" Wikwocket''s voice asked. Her answer was a cacophony of agitated goblins voices, the hissing-grunting noise of angry rats, and the sounds of blades being drawn from sheathes. Wikwocket''s quick footsteps came running back as she called out.


    "I don''t think they want to be friends!"


    Al and Bote moved forward as the sound of many more running feet started up right behind her, and the small shape of Wikwocket came into view and dodged behind Gruntle. As they got close enough to see more clearly, three maliciously-grinning goblins came into view, expecting a lone gnome to be an easy victim. Their expressions changed as the crouching lump uncoiled into a lunging gnoll, whose flail whipped forward and sent one of them flying with a meaty CRUNCH. A panicked dive saved a second goblin from Gruntle''s snapping jaws, but the third found itself running into the point of Wikwocket''s well-aimed spider-marked blade as she sprinted out from behind Gruntle to intercept.


    Stolen story; please report.


    At the same time, more running footsteps approached from either side. Al swung at the goblin who emerged at the mist on his side, but only succeeded in putting a nick into the edge of the curved blade the goblin parried his mace with. Al heard the heavy thump and and the fall of a body as Bote''s hammer struck the other. Then, it was Al''s turn to parry as his vicious green foe lunged forward to stab, then jumped back and sprinted back out of sight into the fog.


    The goblin who had avoided being bitten by Gruntle rolled deftly and lunged upwards, cutting a bleeding slash along Gruntle''s hip too quickly to dodge. That one dodged back into the fog like the other. Al could hear their running footsteps ahead of them. They didn''t seem to be retreating far.


    Wikwocket heard Gruntle''s enthusiastic barking laughter start up, and waited for him to move. She followed as he charged into the mist after the goblin that struck him. Up ahead, goblin voices shouted urgently over the sound of agitated giant rats. Gnoll and gnome emerged from the fog at a campfire. Two goblins were there, seemingly arguing as they worked frantically to cut free a pair of giant rats from where they were tethered. The ropes were cut through as Gruntle lashed out, smashing one of the goblins to the ground with his flail, then changed direction to bite down into the other goblin''s shoulder. Green-skinned flesh tore away as the stricken goblin pulled away and fled. Wikwocket stabbed forward as Gruntle moved aside, skewering one of the rats in the head, the blade biting deep into its skull.It spasmed and dropped dead. Gruntle ran off into the fog after the fleeing goblin, while the remaining giant rat experienced a fortuitous attack of instincts and wisely fled in the opposite direction as Al and Bote arrived to help.


    Al, Bote, and Wikwocket evaluated the goblins'' encampment and listened to the sounds of Gruntle chasing the last goblin from out in the fog. It didn''t seem like he needed help. Silent pauses were punctuated by sounds of frantic motion, a desperate goblin''s pleading voice, and running footsteps as Gruntle repeatedly found it only to have it flee again, bleeding, through the opaque fog.


    It appeared the goblins hadn''t been there for too long. There wasn''t much ash in the campfire, and Al guessed it had been burning for no more than a day. There were only a few gnawed bones around it as well, and it was unthinkable that goblins would actually clean up their camp, so if they''d been there longer it''d be much filthier, he assumed. There was a pair of tents made from cowhides crudely sewn together, propped up with broken tree branches.


    From somewhere out in the mists came the sound of sniffing, then moments later a shriek, a snarl, and a wet THUD which ended the shriek. Gruntle soon came back into view dragging the badly abused body of the goblin, which he dropped next to the campfire as Bote moved to take a look at Gruntle''s injury.


    "It does not appear too serious, but we should perhaps take some time to treat it properly. This is not a very clean place, and I doubt that even gnolls are immune to wound infections," Bote advised. Gruntle gave a grunt of agreement and crouched down to let Bote clean and bandage the slash.


    Wound infections were not an uncommon cause of death in what Gruntle remembered of his original clan. He hadn''t seen even one death from that cause in his new clan, whose medicine rituals were potent and effective. It had taken Gruntle a while after being brought into this new clan before he could get used to the idea of spending effort, time, and valuable resources to help someone else who had gotten themselves wounded, but after substantial guidance from his adoptive party, he had come to consider other clan-members to be a treasure belonging to the clan itself. It had always been up to individual gnolls to defend whatever personal trophies they had from being taken by stronger clan-members, but an outsider stealing or extorting from the clan would unite the whole clan against them. Thinking of abstractions like illness and death as something that stole clan-members from the clan strained the limits of Gruntle''s creativity, but it got the point across well enough, and he understood that it gave his new clan an advantage over how his original clan functioned.


    While Gruntle was being treated, Wikwocket emerged from one of the goblins'' crude tents, looking disgusted. "If a stagnant swamp had feet, this is what they would smell like," she said as she dragged another poorly-tanned cowskin out of the tent. It had been folded over with the cow''s fur inside and sewn together at the bottom to make a rough sort of bedroll. "There are two of these in each tent. Maybe one of them was always awake on lookout? Also, I found this bag of dried mushrooms." She held out a leather bag the size of Al''s head.


    "They weren''t out here just collecting mushrooms, right? They had to be here for something else," Al suggested. He looked down at the dead ones. They were wearing the sort of inexpertly-assembled protective leather and hide clothing that he expected of goblins, and they were carrying mismatched short blades. Otherwise they were barefoot and carried no other useful objects as far as Al could tell. Wikwocket had patted them down for hidden coins or other valuables and found nothing.


    "There''s a big crumbling stone building a little further ahead. I saw goblin footprints heading to and from a big stone set of doors in the front of it. Maybe they were planning to loot the place, I assume that''s the tomb we''re looking for," Wikwocket speculated.


    "Let''s see if we can get in, there might be more goblins running around out here and I''d rather be done before they find out we''re here," Al proposed. The others agreed, and they made their way through the fog to the structure Wikwocket had mentioned.

 0052 - Willingly Entombed

    It wasn''t possible to see the whole building in the fog, but it looked to be made from carved granite, severely weathered by time. A set of stone double-doors were marked in a way that suggested the straight lines and sharp angles that Al had come to associate with Elven writing, but they had been worn away too much to read, even if Al had understood the Elvish language to begin with. Wondering why the goblins hadn''t been able to get inside, he pushed on one of the doors and was surprised to feel it budge slightly inward with a slight crunching of dirt beneath ancient rollers.


    "Want to give this a safety check, while I see if there are any magical influences on the door?" Al asked Wikwocket. She looked up from admiring her new sword with a grin. "That seems like a good idea," she agreed, then she looked back at the blade. "Don''t you agree, BiteySue?"


    "BiteySue?" Al asked, incredulous, "Are you serious?"


    "Hey, let me have my fun. BiteySue is a great name for her!"


    "Yes, BiteySue is a perfect name, don''t make fun of me or I''ll bite you, too!" Wikwocket voiced in a higher pitch on the blade''s behalf, bobbing the tip up and down with each syllable. Then, she twirled it around behind her and after only a couple of tries got the tip down between the boards of its wooden sheath and levered it back into its resting-place.


    <hr>


    Wikwocket gave the stone doors a close look while Al got out his wizardry notes and carefully went through the meditation to adjust his senses to perceive magical activity. There was no visible mechanism for locking or unlocking the doors, and Wikwocket''s investigation of the gaps between and under the doors revealed no bar in place. There was some sort of rolling mechanism built into the bottom of the doors, but they seemed to only be there to support them and make it possible to push them open - or perhaps pull them closed if one could get a grip on what was left of the embedded handles carved into the weathered doors.


    "I expect the stone was quarried from quite some distance away," Bote added to the observations,"This is granite, and this does not seem like the terrain where one would be able to quarry it. Judging by the weathering, I would guess the doors were set in place perhaps seven or eight centuries ago. Construction is mortarless and seems to be made in the wastefully slow Elvish style where the stones are fitted together by careful selection of shapes and then polished until they fit tightly. The surface of the stones to the right of the door may be slightly more worn than the ones to the left, so the right side of this structure may have been built first and then the rest added from there. There is some sign of separation and cracking that suggests the foundation may be uneven, or perhaps this area was beyond the swamps when it was built and the encroaching water has allowed some settling or displacement of the soil below. I do not read Elvish but what is left of the carvings on the door were almost certainly writing in the Elvish style. However, this is only a guess based on what anyone from dwarvish culture should be able to tell at a glance. You would need to ask a professional mason if you wanted any detailed analysis."


    Al blinked as he finished his meditations. "Yeah, it''s a shame nobody here knows anything about stonework," he said, though he was unsure if the sarcasm would get through. He moved closer to the stone doors and carefully ran his eyes over what was visible in the fog.


    "I don''t see any active magic out here. There''s a faint radiance that I think might be divine, which makes sense if this is a consecrated burial place. Right?"


    "This seems likely," Bote agreed.


    "And I can''t find any traps or even a lock. Maybe we should just go in?" Wikwocket suggested.


    "We should probably...," Al started, but Gruntle interrupted by lunging into the right-side door and shoving forward. The door swung slowly inward with the grinding sound of the rollers underneath against the stone floor. Al flinched back, but no obvious danger revealed itself. Gruntle stepped inside once the door was open far enough.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The chamber inside would have been large enough for a small house, had the rubble not been in the way. It was square, and Al estimated the sides more than ten paces long. The walls had traces of pigment here and there, which suggested that at one time there had been some sort of artwork there, but time had destroyed whatever it had been. Hallways wide enough for two columns of human-sized people to easily parade down them led away through the middle of the walls on either side and opposite the door they''d just opened. The hallway to the right was closed off by a grating of steel, and in Al''s current magically-sensitive vision he could see a shimmering force clinging to the bars, clearly intended to prevent opening or damaging the barrier. Looking up, Al could see that there had once been a stone ceiling in place, but much of it had broken with time and fallen into the room they were looking into. Through the holes in what little was left of the ceiling, daylight filtered down through a few cracks and holes that had appeared in the domed stone roof above. The floor and walls were all damp in the humid air and the place somehow smelled even more of swamp than the outside did.


    Al conferred with his companions. "That hallway is barred by magic as well as the metal there, so if we end up needing to go that way we''ll need to find some way to get it to open. Otherwise, I don''t see anything special in this chamber." He paused to think for a moment. "You know, if there were goblins outside wanting to get in here, there might be more of them running around out there. This chamber seems to have plenty of room if we move some of this rubble, maybe we should drag everything in here while we explore, so if any more of them show up they don''t see the dead ones, and they don''t try to steal...our stuff!"


    Al shouted the last of that, embarrassed to have forgotten about it. He went sprinting out the door and back through the goblin camp, followed closely by Gruntle who was unsure what was happening, but not wanting to miss out on any violence that might be about to happen. Wikwocket and Bote looked to each other, then Wikwocket shrugged and they followed at a more casual pace.


    Al was gratified and a little surprised to see that Haunch had stayed right where they left him. The donkey brayed in surprise and backed away as Al came charging out of the fog with Gruntle right behind. Al gave the cart a quick look but nothing seemed to be missing or damaged.


    "What was that all about?" Wikwocket asked as she and Bote caught up.


    "I just realized I let myself get distracted and forgot about everything here, I was afraid Haunch might have wandered off or our stuff might be stolen by more goblins," Al answered, sighing with relief. "Anyway, as I was saying, maybe we should bring everything into the tomb before we go exploring. We can push the doors shut again, and hopefully if there are any more goblins out there they won''t even realize we''re inside."


    "Good thinking! But, I don''t have to touch the goblins do I? They''re kind of gross," Wikwocket complained.


    They led Haunch back to the goblins'' campsite, and Al decided to use a magic trick to snuff out the campfire rather than spend the time to put it out by hand - who knew when other goblins might come along to check on things? Gruntle dragged the bodies of the goblins and the giant rat into the tomb atop the cowhides the goblins had been using as tents, and shoved them all into a far corner of the first chamber. Then they all disassembled the campfire and scattered what was left of it around in hopes that nobody would notice it in the fog.


    At last, they led Haunch into the tomb with the cart, and pushed the doors shut again. They moved as much of the rubble as they could against the doors to keep them from being easily pushed open.


    "The only problem with this is we''re going to have to move that out of the way again if we need to leave," Al said, "so let''s be very careful not to disturb anything that we''re going to need to run away from. Gruntle, do you see or hear anything moving around in here besides us?"


    Gruntle''s ears swiveled as he looked around, sniffing at the air. He loped over to look down each hallway in turn.


    "Nothing," Gruntle reported finally. "Smells like swamp that way," he said, pointing to the left hallway. Then he pointed to the right, past the grating. "Smells sour that way. Don''t hear anything. Don''t see anything moving."


    "Sour?"


    Gruntle grunted.


    "What about that hallway ahead?"


    "Closed doors that way."


    "What do you think, Bote? Would they lay the hero to rest in the obvious room straight ahead?"


    Bote considered. "I cannot say for certain. I am not so familiar with Elvish burial customs. I would guess that, being a hero, either the remains are on display in a central place, or they are at rest in the most protected place, perhaps beyond the steel barrier."


    "Well, since I can''t tell exactly what would happen if we tried to force the barrier out of the way somehow, straight ahead is probably the best place to start. Let me get a torch, there''s no telling how dark it might get further in."

 0053 - Looking for the Dead

    <blockquote>


    </blockquote>


    Al went to the cart and opened his pack to retrieve a torch, while Bote followed and donned their own pack.


    "It might be dangerous further in. You don''t mind if we leave you here, do you?" Al asked the donkey. If the bland look he got in response meant anything at all, it was probably You''re talking to a donkey, what''s wrong with you?


    "Right," Al answered the imagined question, and after checking on the bundle of flowers they were meant to deliver, he decided to take his whole pack as well. After shouldering the pack, he commanded the torch to light with a bit of magic. The additional light didn''t accomplish much immediately, aside from highlighting the rubble on the floor and piled against the door. As an afterthought he also fetched a bowl from the supplies on the cart and poured some of the grain they''d brought as donkey-feed into it, and left it on the floor in front of Haunch.


    "Okay, do we have everything we need?" Al asked the others.


    "You know, this place is damp and made of stone, I''ll bet you could safely throw fire around in here," Wikwocket suggested. Al hesitated, but had to concur that it might be useful. He took the remaining crossbow bolt with the ampoule of ultraphlogisticated oil tied to it and tucked it in his belt. Wikwocket nodded approvingly and levered the spider-marked blade...BiteySue...from its resting place, and stepped cautiously ahead to the hallway.


    "Everybody knows ancient tombs are filled with devious traps and vengeful dead people walking around. We should be careful," Wikwocket warned, watching the walls, floor, and ceiling as she crept cautiously ahead. She prodded each smooth stone in the floor before she stepped on them. "If we step on the wrong one, a hidden mechanism might shoot poisoned spears at us, or summon angry ghosts, or drop the ceiling on our heads! Hey, Al, come closer with that torch so I can see better!"


    "Why would they have a trap that ruins their ceiling the first time someone sets it off? They''d have to rebuild it each time, right?" Al questioned, though he looked back at the rubble in the first chamber, and wondered.


    The hallway they were moving slowly into also had traces of pigment here and there along the walls. As they got further, more of it seemed to be intact, and the few pieces remaining began to suggest a mural of a parade or procession, presumably of elves judging by the shape of the ears on the fragmentary pieces of heads that were still discernible in the remains of the artwork. Within a few paces, the torchlight showed a smaller pair of stone doors blocking the hallway. They, too, had fragments of a mural on them, which suggested each door had an elven figure painted on. As with the rest, much of it was missing, but the outstretched hand of the rightmost towards the middle of the doors, and the positioning of what was left of the other figure that suggested it had been painted in a similar gesture, seeming to be beckoning the viewer to open the doors and go inside.


    "Ah, HA!" Wikwocket accused with a grin. "No doubt this is a clever trap! Oh, please go right in and awaken the spectral swamp-dragon inside to devour your souls and curse your shoes! they''re saying. Well, we''re not going to fall for it!"


    She was very disappointed when several minutes of careful checking turned up no obvious danger.


    "Well, whatever devious trick is involved, it''s beyond the door itself, so somebody should push the doors open and see what happens," she said, then jumped aside as an impatient Gruntle pushed. They opened more easily than the larger front doors had. There was more hallway on the other side, and the remnants of the processional mural continued forward along the walls. Up ahead, there were signs of the hallway opening into another chamber, and a shaft of dim light slanted down from above to reveal more rubble on the floor there. Wikwocket moved ahead slowly past Gruntle, still suspiciously watching the floor and walls and becoming increasingly annoyed that no hidden catastrophe was to be found.


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    The chamber they found themselves in was also strewn with stone rubble, and an irregular patch across the ceiling appeared to have fallen in. A crack in the stone roof over what was left of the chamber above them allowed a shaft of daylight to reach in. The center of the chamber had a round stone well with its wall rising just a few feet above the floor level. There was no mechanism to lower or raise a bucket, or any bucket at all, for that matter. Stone steps led upward along the right and left walls, rising towards openings in what was left of the ceiling and into whatever remained of the upper chamber. The stairs appeared to have once wrapped all the way around to form an archway over another door at the opposite end of the chamber, but that part had crumbled in with the ceiling. The degraded mural on the doors seemed to be the same as the ones on the doors they''d just come through, as best they could tell from the parts that were left.


    The whole room had a terrible reek of musty, swampy, ammonia-tainted air. Gruntle stalked to the edge of the well and leaned over, sniffing. Curious what he could smell, Al joined him at the well''s edge. He leaned over and looked down. The water was only about twenty feet or so below. The sides of the well seemed to be overgrown with something black, lumpy, and organic. He didn''t get much of a look because he sniffed the air at that point. He reeled back, immediately regretting what he''d done - the stench was like nothing he''d ever encountered before, though it reminded him of stagnant sewage. Eyes watering and trying not to gag, he wondered how Gruntle could stand it, especially since Al knew by now that Gruntle''s sense of smell was sharper than human.


    "Smells bad," Gruntle announced, his voice resonating in the well. He kept his head bent down to look into the well despite this, and Al thought he heard something inside the well shuffle around. He carefully approached again and took a deep breath before leaning over and holding his torch downwards into the well. Countless beady eyes reflected the torchlight back from the mass of bats covering the sides of the well from about five feet below the top and nearly down to the water. A few of the small creatures flapped nervously at the activity.


    "If we make too much noise, we''ll probably disturb them," Al said, stepping back away from the well to take a breath. Taking this as a suggestion, Gruntle leaned further down into the well and let out a long, loud whooping call that reverberated down into the well and back out into the chamber. Then he stepped back, holding his hands over his ears and barking with laughter as a squealing cloud of agitated bats came up and out of the well in a swirling tornado of flapping wings. Al and Bote retreated back to the hallway to get away from the leathery tempest, and Wikwocket crouched laughing and covering her head. Gruntle let them swarm around him as they fled, and he lunged out to chomp down on a bat that passed too closely. The cloud of bats spread out, most of them disappearing up through the hole in the ceiling, but a few settling themselves high up on the walls near the corners of the chamber. The light dimmed as some of the creatures made their way all the way up to the crack in the roof and fled the structure entirely. Gruntle chewed and swallowed contentedly as the excitement died down. Al hesitantly stepped back into the chamber once the air was clear of bats.


    Wikwocket stood back up and looked at a bat that had settled fitfully into a nearby corner near the ceiling. "They''re kind of adorable, like little dragon-mice!"


    "Yes, well, I was going to suggest we not disturb them," Al griped.


    "You should have said so then!" Wikwocket giggled.


    Al rubbed his forehead. "Yes, of course. Look, I don''t want to rush recklessly through here or anything, but I don''t think we should dawdle around stirring up trouble either. Shall we just push through the doors and see if the dead hero we''re looking for is in there?"


    Wikwocket''s eyes followed the worn steps up to the broken ceiling. "What''s up there?"


    "Go ahead and take a look, but be careful," Al told her. She grinned and quietly stalked up the rightmost steps. Gruntle followed. As Wikwocket popped her head up past the ceiling, she froze. "Ah, HA!" she yelled triumphantly and scrambled back down past a confused Gruntle, who stuck his head up to try to see what she had noticed. Wikwocket picked up a few small pieces of stone rubble from the floor and started back up the steps.

 0054 - The Temple and its Dangers

    "It looks like a mold-eaten wooden box in the corner, but why would that just be sitting there? It''s obviously..." she said, shifting BiteySue to her left hand and lifting a piece of rubble in her right. "...a mimic!" she announced, throwing the bit of stone across the gap of broken ceiling at something at Al''s end of the room above. It struck something with a dull thud, and some agitated flapping started up from above. A puff of pale greenish dust rolled out of the hole in the ceiling opposite where Wikwocket stood on the stairs.


    "...Or maybe not, get away from there, over here, quick!" Wikwocket shouted, not bothering to go back down the steps but instead jumping down to the floor directly. Gruntle did the same, following her lead. Al and Bote decided to take her advice and find out what it was about afterwards. Wikwocket was already straining to push the doors to the next chamber open while the two of them dodged rubble across the room. Gruntle had helped her get it open and she''d stepped into the next chamber by the time they arrived.


    "Okay, so it was just a mold-eaten wooden box. I think the whole box was made of mold, the whole thing collapsed into a cloud of spores when I hit it with the rock. No idea if it''s dangerous but I doubt it''d be good to breathe any of it," Wikwocket explained. Al looked back to see a light cloud of dust wafting down from the hole in the ceiling. A bat flapped erratically out of the upper chamber, struggling to remain aloft, and finally flopped to the floor, twitching. After a few moments, the twitching stopped.


    "Definitely not good to breathe, no," Al agreed, moving through the doors to join Wikwocket and Gruntle and leave the settling cloud of fungal danger behind, with Bote following quickly. "I hope that stuff settles out of the air, we''re probably going to have to come back this way later," Al worried, watching the cloud of spores settle downward.


    The floor beyond the door was a flat stone space perhaps ten paces square, forming the start of a 10-foot-deep artificial valley down the middle of what was obviously a much larger chamber above them. Beyond where they stood, the floor continued up a stone ramp most of the way across the chamber to the level of the floor of the upper chamber. The backs of four massive stone statues stood on either side of the valley, two on each side, facing away from the ramp. The area above was, to Al''s surprise, very well illuminated by what appeared to be large flickering fires somewhere beyond the statues. At the end of the ramp was a large stone altar, with perfectly preserved elvish script along the top edge and carvings depicting pairs of presumably Elvish figures on either side of a smaller recumbent figure in the middle. Its condition was a remarkable contrast to everything else they''d seen so far, still looking so new. Just a couple of paces behind this altar, the wall was similarly well-preserved, with a mural depicting a pair of toga-clad elves in front of shelves of scrolls. One seemed to be sitting at a small table writing on a new scroll, while the other was either taking a scroll from a shelf or putting it back. The figures'' poses were somewhat stylized but the rendering was otherwise very lifelike.


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    Gruntle sniffed the air.


    "What is it?" Al asked him.


    "No smoke," Gruntle replied, suspicious. He and Wikwocket exchanged glances, and Wikwocket started up the long ramp quietly with Gruntle following about twenty paces behind. As she got near the top of the ramp, she threw another piece of stone at the altar and shifted her rapier to defend herself when it revealed itself to be a mimic and attacked...and was disappointed once again when that didn''t happen. In fact, the stone she threw seemed to have literally no effect on the altar. It passed through as though the altar wasn''t even there, disappearing with a sound a moment later of it bouncing a few times against a hard surface. She huffed with annoyance, and crept the rest of the way up the ramp to look around. She turned to check the end of the chamber they''d just come up from for anything that might be lurking in wait for victims, then turned her attention to the altar when she didn''t see anything matching that description, either.


    "Come on up, it looks safe enough. Watch your step though," she announced, leaning forward to prod at the stone altar with the spider-marked blade. It went right through the surface without meeting any resistance. She prodded the floor in front of her gently, and discovered that the space just in front of the altar was also illusory. "Don''t get near the altar, you''ll probably fall. I wonder if there''s anything down there? Maybe this is where they keep the restless dead waiting to devour the souls of the living who trespass!"


    Gruntle crouched and approached the altar carefully, walking his hands along the floor and stopping when he felt the real floor end. He sniffed at the disguised opening.


    Al and Bote followed up the ramp as well. Al saw that the lighting was coming from four large braziers, each against the far walls opposite the four statues. The air was cool and damp, and as Gruntle had mentioned, there was no hint of smoke. Al concluded that the flames were products of magic rather than combustion.


    Bote looked to the statues. They were all clearly elven judging by their angular facial features, long ears, togas, and smoothly polished accessories, and better preserved than the rest of the tomb that they''d seen so far. They stood at double life-sized, at least by mortal standards. There were two feminine figures and two masculine ones, to the extent that Bote could guess of elven physiques. Avoiding the area near the altar, Bote walked around to point out the individuals the statues represented.


    "Though I am not familiar with Elvish customs, I do know this represents Cultro, god of tools and construction, this is Praelectia, goddess of the writing and literacy, this is Mercator, god of money and commerce, and this is Respublica, goddess of civic order and government," they explained.


    While the others paid attention to Bote''s impromptu religious lesson, Gruntle stared at the base of the illusionary altar. His ears twitched and he growled softly as he shifted his shield off of his shoulder and down to his hand, quietly lifting the flail from his belt with the other hand. Alerted, Al lifted his mace and looked around for whatever had gotten Gruntle agitated.


    "What is it?" Al asked quietly.


    "Something...," Gruntle began to say, before he was interrupted by the snakelike skull as big as his chest that lunged silently out of the illusory stone of the altar at him, its flesh gone but fangs undulled by time.

 0055 - Loot the Bodies

    Gruntle shoved his shield forward to interpose, and the dead snake''s sharp teeth sank into the wood instead of the flesh of Gruntle''s torso. The rest of the skeletal snake pulled itself up out of the illusory altar and began coiling itself around the gnoll.


    The bones of the dead snake were dulled by long age, and there were signs of previous damage. The skull was chipped and punctured in a few places, and some of the ribs had been broken off. The remainder seemed to be held together by a dim, pulsating violet glow in place of the ligaments that had long since rotted away. Points of violet light floated freely within the empty eye-sockets of the snake''s skull, and shifted position to point towards Gruntle as though they were pupils of a living eye. The scrape of the undead thing''s ribs against the floor as it moved was the only sound it made.


    Breaking into his usual barking laughter and his eyes turning black as his pupils dilated fully, Gruntle brought his flail down onto the snake''s back, and several more ribs broke loose from the spine. Pieces flew and cracks appeared in the backbones, and the violet glow leaked through holes. Wikwocket dodged behind the gnoll and came out lunging. BiteySue pierced between its fangs and directly through the snake-skull''s palate, up into its braincase. Wikwocket was dismayed to find that this didn''t seem to bother the long-dead thing. Al didn''t fare much better, trying to maneuver around the coiling bones to swing at the thing''s skull but not being able to land a solid hit. Bote called upon Indicina to bring the undead creature''s flouting of the natural order to their attention, and a ray of divine light answered from the ceiling to shine down onto the snake''s skull. It released Gruntle''s shield and pulled away quickly, jaws wide. A few wisps of smoke rose from it. Then, with a swift convulsion, it constricted its coils tightly around Gruntle and squeezed a defiant snarl from the gnoll, who lunged down within the coils to bite down hard on the most accessible bit of spine. There was a CRUNCH and a flare of the violet glow as bones cracked and crumbled under the pressure.


    The skeletal snake''s ribs clicked against each other as it squeezed Gruntle harder, evoking another snarl and strained barking laughter. Gruntle seemed almost to be enjoying the struggle to the death as he shifted his jaws a bit further along the spine and CRUNCHed it in his teeth again. The violet glow further down the spine sputtered and dimmed as ancient vertebrae crumbled under the assault. Wikwocket tried to aim a careful stab between the backbones near the head, but the it was moving too much to get a good shot. Fortunately, Al managed to time a swing just right, and connected with the spine right behind the skull with a swing of his mace. The flickering violet glow flared out and then disappeared.


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    With a triumphant whoop and a mighty push, Gruntle broke free from the coiled bones, scattering pieces across the chamber. He bit into the collapsing spine which crumbled like chalk in his teeth now that no animating magic held it together. Spitting out the tasteless pieces Gruntle spun and looked for other targets for his violence, but found none. He swung his flail through the illusory altar in annoyance as he calmed himself, his eyes returning to normal.


    Al approached the altar slowly, sweeping disassembled bones of the long dead snake away with one foot. Some of the pieces disappeared as they skittered near the altar, with a quiet clattering sound that suggested they were falling into a large hidden hole. Al tapped gently along the floor with the torch in his left hand and then down into the illusion-covered hole once he found its edge. He waved the torch and braced to jump back at any sign of activity, but no further threats appeared.


    ¡°Gruntle, do you hear anything down there?¡± Al asked him, pointing to the base of the altar. Gruntle turned from where Bote was checking him for injuries and leaned to listen carefully and sniff at the air. He huffed.


    ¡°Nah. Smells like old dead things. No noises.¡±


    Al risked crawling forward until he felt the edge of the hole, then slowly stuck his head down into the illusory floor and altar. From beneath the illusion, the light from the braziers shone through to dimly illuminate the pit beneath. It was only perhaps three to four paces deep, but regularly spaced metal spikes as log as Al''s forearm stuck upright from the pit floor and angled upwards from the walls. A pair of mildewed human-ish skeletons lay in pieces amid the spikes. They were too large to be gnomish, but too small to be dwarfish. They seemed to have been carrying packs, though the long ages had rotted them down to barely recognizeable pieces, and at a glance the contents had long since been turned to sludge, mold, and then finally unidentifiable lumps of black mud over the damp years. One glint of bright metal beside one of the skeletons reflected the flickering glow of the braziers from above, standing out in contrast to the patina on the spikes and a few lumps of obvious rust that were all that remained of some other metallic objects.


    ¡°I''m guessing that''s a couple of long-dead adventurers I''m seeing down here,¡± Al called out. ¡°It doesn''t look like there''s much of their stuff left but there might be one or two things on them that we could put to good use, if anybody wants to go poke around in their remains.¡±


    ¡°That sounds morbid - I''ll do it!¡± Wikwocket volunteered cheerfully. She set BiteySue back in her resting-place on her back, then cautiously approached to find the edge of the pit in the illusion. She took her new grappling-hook out from her left sleeve and uncoiled her bright blue yarn ¡°rope¡± to climb down, setting the hook into the lip of illusion-covered stone around the hole. Al poked his head back under the illusion to watch, in case he needed to intervene. He watched Wikwocket rappel down and carefully make her way through the forest of corroded spikes. She drew BiteySue and stabbed gently at the boney remains and picked through the decayed equipment with the tip of her sword. She improvised a cheerful singsong chant as she investigated.


    ¡°These poor saps are rotting, I''m going to loot their bodies, I''m taking all their magic and gold because I''m just that naughty¡­Oh! What''s that?¡±


    She spotted a shining silvery glint from a small blade lying on the floor next to what was left of one of the dead halflings'' right hand. Just to be safe, she prodded it as well.


    ¡°Try not to touch that with your hands yet. Either that dagger was put here a lot more recently than the bodies, or there''s something unnatural about it. I''d expect normal metal to be pretty corroded down here,¡± Al warned her.


    ¡°Unnatural? Like¡­magic?¡± She mimed covetous grasping motions at it with her hands. She thought for a moment, then went to grab then end of her improvised rope, uncoiling it out to the middle of the pit where the dagger was. She carefully slipped the doubled-up yarn underneath the small blade without touching it, and tied it loosely.


    ¡°There you go - haul it up and use your magic wizard powers to tell me if my new dagger is magic!¡±


    ¡°Why is it automatically yours?¡± Al asked as he pulled it up with the yarn.


    ¡°It should be obvious, right?¡± she gleefully retorted, and turned to start picking apart the remains of the dead halfings'' other possessions with the tip of her sword.


    ¡°It''s¡­,¡± Al began to argue, but then considered. Even assuming the thing wasn''t cursed, it would be absurdly small in Gruntle''s hands. Bote didn''t strike Al as the stabby sort, and Al himself preferred the solid heft of his mace in an actual fight - knives were for more utilitarian purposes in his mind. ¡°Well, as long as nobody else minds. Hurry up and finish your undignified looting, we can take a short break for me to see what I can find out.¡±


    There turned out to be very little that was salvageable amid the mildewed scraps of rotted materials. A few lumps of colorful crumbling material may have once been copper and silver coins. Deep in one pile of pack remains Wikwocket did find a metal ring, with a collection of metal and bone tools hanging from it. They were coated with some sort of grease that seemed to have preserved them. ¡°Well, at least they were taking care of their tools. Always nice to have a spare set!¡± Wikwocket declared, Disappointed in how little there was to find, but eager to know more about what little they''d recovered, she climbed back up out of the pit.


    Bote declared Gruntle in good health. Despite having no flesh, the necromantic magic animating the dead snake had reinforced its bones and given it the strength to squeeze its victims to death the same way one would presume the live one had. Gruntle''s ribs seemed to be intact, but there would probably be bruising along the lines where the rib-bones had pressed so hard against Gruntle''s body.


    Al got out his wizardry notes and followed along the meditation process to sensitize himself to magical influences. He tried to ignore the others gathered around waiting as he did so. After a while, the familiar shift in Al''s vision happened. He blinked and looked around, and he could see the magic.

 0056 - Magic Dagger and Other Treasures

    "Ah, yes, now I can see the illusion covering the pit. It''s got a bit of a glow that suggests it''s divinely maintained, so the religious authorities who built the tomb must have put it there on purpose. That''s funny, the mural on the wall behind it is part of the same illusion, the only part that''s real is the stone wall itself and the part with the carving of the scroll one of the figures is holding. No wonder it was so well-preserved. Okay, let''s take a look at what you found down there."


    The set of tools for picking locks, disarming traps, and similar delicate work weren''t magical, just well-preserved by whatever they had been coated with. The dagger, on the other hand, had an obviously unnatural solidity in Al''s magically-sensitive view.


    "Well," Al announced, "as far as I can tell without investigating it in more detail for a while, it looks like it''s just a simple dagger. But...it is magical."


    Wikwocket squealed with delight and grabbed the dagger before Al could warn her away from it. Oh, well, he thought, it didn''t look like there were any hints of anything malevolent. I''d be able to see at least something if there was, wouldn''t I?


    "So, what does it do?" she asked, twirling the dagger in her left hand, slashing and stabbing at an imaginary foe in front of her. "Do I say the magic word and it transmutes people I stab into cheese? Does it give me the power to command hedgehogs? Does it talk! No, I do not talk, I am just a dagger, but I probably do some other amazing magical things though!" she finished, speaking in a squeaky voice for the dagger. Al put his hand over his face, partly in exasperation, and partly to hide his attempt not to laugh.


    "It''s a dagger. It stabs things," Al told her.


    "It''s magic, though, what else can it do?"


    "I''m pretty sure it can cut things, too."


    "But any dagger can do those!"


    "Right, but this one has magic to enhance it."


    Wikwocket gave Al a skeptical look. "If it just does what every other dagger does, what makes it magic?"


    "You know how most scholars these days say magic is ambient Chaos crystallizing around seeds of intent into reality?"


    "I don''t speak Elvish," Wikwocket answered.


    "It exists a little beyond normal reality. The magic makes the manifestation of the dagger more real."


    Wikwocket raised her hand. "Professor, my mind is full, may I go take a nap?"


    Al sighed and tried again.


    "It''s supernaturally extra daggery."


    Wikwocket looked thoughtful. "Almost got it, I think," she said.


    Al rubbed his forehead in exasperation.


    "I suspect you could probably stab a ghost with it."


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    "Why didn''t you start with that? That''s great!" Wikwocket exclaimed happily. "Do you think we might get attacked by a ghost in here?"


    "I don''t mean it''s just for stabbing ghosts, I just mean the magic makes it better at stabbing and cutting things than any ordinary dagger should be able to. It ought to be able to stab some things that an ordinary dagger wouldn''t be able to stab, and even things that normal daggers can stab are probably stabbed more effectively than an normal dagger would."


    "Now you''re making it complicated again. Let''s just go with it stabs ghosts and I''ll figure it out from there."


    She tossed the dagger into the air, watching it tumble end over end, and caught it smoothly as it came back down. "Now, what was that you said about a secret wall?"


    "What? Oh, right. That mural on the wall behind the altar is also an illusion. It''s just a plain stone wall, except right there where the illusion shows what I assume is an elven priest or librarian or something taking a scroll off of a shelf. Or, maybe putting it back...anyway, the shape of that scroll is really carved there in the actual stone wall."


    "Ah, HA!" Wikwocket shouted. "That will be the secret trigger that awakens the angry ghost of the hero to rise and take vengeance on the living, and then I can stab him and save us all!"


    Al shook his head. "I doubt that," he said. He stood up slowly, holding onto his focus on the swirling ambient magic of the place. He worried as he saw Wikwocket run around the illusionary altar to the wall. "Please try not to anger any ghosts," he pleaded.


    "I''ll try," Wikwocket answered as she knelt down to feel around the bottom of the wall, "but you know how ghosts are."


    "I don''t think the one we found in Wulfcynn Keep entitles me to say that I know how ghosts are, no."


    Al watched nervously as Wikwocket traced the bottom of the wall behind the illusion, then up as far as she could reach at either end of the illusionary mural.


    "Yup! See, this wall moves! Get ready, I''m going to let the ghost out!"


    "What? No! Wait!" Al objected, but Wikwocket reached up with the tip of BiteySue to poke at the wall where the carved scroll protruded, and it slid inward effortlessly. There was a quiet clicking sound, and the whole section of wall began to sink into the floor.


    There was no angry ghost behind the wall.


    Al was begrudgingly impressed to see that not only was the illusionary mural expertly bound to the section of wall such that it slid downward along with the real wall, it also accurately depicted the placement of the shelves of scrolls and the small writing desk that was on the other side. A burst of cool and unexpectedly dry air blew out of the opening.


    "Oh, come on!" Wikwocket complained, stepping into the tiny library. When she was not accosted by angry dead people, she tried stabbing gently at the scrolls on the shelf with her rapier, but if any of them were mimics, they were either dead or very tolerant of pain.


    "I see you have found the treasure of this place," said Bote, admiring the small collection of scrolls on the shelving. Al approached carefully to look everything over. All of the scrolls were of fine paper, perfectly preserved, all labeled on the outside in Elvish script. On one shelf, a few smaller scrolls glowed with a divine radiance in Al''s magically-focused sight.


    "No idea what any of these writings are," he reported, "but at least these here have live divine magic in them."


    "That may be fortuitous for us. Those will likely be <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none" title="''Cleric Scrolls''=LAME.


    ''Manifest Benedictions''=AWESOME.">Manifest Benedictions," Bote said.


    "That''s divine blessings bound to written words, right?" Al asked. "Is that something we should be touching?"


    "You are correct, they are manifestations of divine Authority that an appropriate reader may call upon once. As I have mentioned, I am not especially familiar with Elven religious tradition, but we have been permitted to find this place, and it does not appear anyone else has had use for any of it in a very long time, by the standards of anyone who is not an elf. Perhaps our role is to preserve these works before the decline of this structure results in their loss. I recommend that we return to this chamber and take them with us when we are finished, unless we are given a sign that we should not."


    "Could I do anything with the magic god words?" Wikwocket asked hopefully.


    "You do not seem like one who is called to divine service, so probably not."


    Wikwocket huffed. "Boring. I guess what we''re looking for isn''t in this part of the building and there are no ghosts that need stabbing. If there''s nothing else to see here, let''s go look somewhere else!"


    They collected themselves and set back out the way they came in, after delaying a few minutes for Wikwocket to try - unsuccessfully - to convince Al to conjure up the "magic invisible cart" to carry one of the chamber''s magical ever-burning braziers with them.


    "We''re not looters," he reminded her, "We came to deliver something, we shouldn''t try to just walk away with anything that isn''t nailed down. Besides that, I don''t want to annoy any of the Elven gods that might take notice, and I don''t want to be lugging a giant magical fire with me everywhere I go, attracting unwanted attention."


    "What about my new dagger?"


    "That clearly belonged to the trespasser who died in that pit, not to the tomb, so that should be safe."


    "Rationality is no fun," Wikwocket finally conceded.


    "No, I suppose it really isn''t," Al reluctantly admitted.

 0057 - Violent Salad

    There were a few dead bats on the floor of the room with the well, but the dusty haze of mold spores had settled out of the air. Still, the party held its breath and tried not to stir up the dust as they quickly made their way across the room and back to the entryway.


    As they returned, they found Haunch acting nervous and watching the door to the outside. One of the doors shifted slightly inwards, bumping up against the rubble they''d piled against it to hold it shut. Al motioned for quiet and approached the doors as stealthily as he could. The other door shuddered for a moment, also blocked by the rubble. Al leaned closer and pressed an ear to the line where the two doors met. All was quiet but then, muffled by the nearly-perfectly-fitting crack between the thick stone doors, Al heard a faint chorus of high-pitched strained groans of effort, and felt both doors press briefly inward against his head. After a few seconds, the doors relaxed and a barely discernible sound like voices reached Al from the outside. He turned to describe what he''d just experienced and was startled to find Gruntle standing next to him, leaning over to press his own ears to the door.


    "Goblins?" Wikwocket whispered down at his hip level, startling him again. Gruntle gave a quiet grunt of confirmation, his lips pulled back into an enthusiastic grin, and his hand rubbing idly at his collar.


    "Doesn''t look like they can get the doors open," Al quietly observed, "but they might try to find another way in. Hopefully there isn''t one, but we should hurry."


    Gruntle listened intently at the door, then huffed in annoyance.


    "Moving away," he complained.


    "Looks like there''s only one other way open unless we can find a way to move the barrier out of the way," Al said, pointing into the dark hallway that Gruntle had earlier said smelled swampy. "Let me get a spare torch." He fished an extra torch out from his pack, and pocketed one of the remaining bottles of Notamimic Manor''s healing potions just in case. After refilling Haunch''s feed-bowl with more grain to try to keep in calm and happy, the party set off down the hallway.


    It was only about ten paces in before they found steep stone steps heading downward, angling to make a sharp right turn, and then leading further down to the source of the swampy odor. The steps led down into a flooded corridor. The water was stagnant and murky, but clear enough to see the fine mud that had settled on at least the first few steps. Surprisingly for such a dark space underground, there were plants growing along the ceiling - two pale clusters of ferns dangled down. One seemed to be draped over a rusting steel plate in one wall partway along.


    Al held his torch higher.


    "How long is this hallway, anyway?" he asked, standing on the last step before the water and peering intently into the darkness.


    "I believe I can see the end, perhaps a hundred and fifty paces through the water," Bote said as he looked.


    "Yeah, I think there''s a door," Wikwocket agreed, also staring down the hallway, absurdly pretending to shade her eyes from an imaginary sun with one hand.


    "How deep is this water?" Al asked skeptically, holding the torch close to the surface. It stunk of rotted vegetation and sulfur. With nothing to disturb it, much of the turbidity seemed to have long since settled out and there was no sign of anything living in it, but there was enough cloudiness to keep Al from seeing the bottom. Gruntle simply went down the steps into the water, uncaring. Fine mud stirred from the bottom which didn''t make it any easier to see through, but after a few steps down and in he seemed to reach the floor, with the water up to his lower ribs.


    "Hey, wait for me!" Wikwocket called out. She re-seated BiteySue in its sheathe and stuck her shiny new dagger between her teeth. Then she went back up two steps slowly, and then ran back down to make a running leap from the last dry un-submerged step. Gruntle held still patiently as she landed near the top of Gruntle''s chest and climbed up to stand on his shoulders behind his head.


    "What are you doing? What about the rest of us?" Al said.


    "Muh MO mfeff...," Wikwocket began, then paused to take the dagger out of her mouth. "You don''t expect a delicate maiden such as myself to get her dainty feet wet, do you? And none of you brought a cloak big enough to gallantly cover this puddle with for me to walk on! What choice do I have?"


    "Well, just for that, maybe you two can take a look around a little before I get my dainty feet wet, and Bote risks drowning himself going out there. Is that rusty metal there in the wall some kind of door?"


    "It is true that I and my fellows are not the most buoyant of people, but that does not mean I am incapable of swimming," Bote offered. "Still, I find myself agreeing with Al."


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    "Fine. I shall permit you poor peasants to admire me as I am bravely paraded before you. Onward, faithful steed!" she answered in her best imperious noble voice. Gruntle turned and began sloshing his way through the foul-smelling water. As he approached the rusted metal, the fern on the ceiling fell and landed on Wikwocket''s head.


    "Hey!" she yelled, reaching up to grab it to pull it off as the fronds of the fern curled around her head. "OW! HEY! Let go!"


    Trying not to panic, Wikwocket carefully slid her new dagger up next to her face and tried to slash the ravenous plant away from her as its fronds began to turn a dark red where they touched her. The dagger easily sliced through stems, loosening the plant''s grip somewhat but not dissuading it. That was left up to Gruntle, who quickly reached up and dug stubby claws into the flailing lump of fern-fronds, then yanked to tear it away. The torn fronds remaining dropped off of Wikwocket''s face to land in the water, leaving patches of tiny pinprick wounds on her face and head. Wikwocket was very angry.


    "You...you...violent salad!" she yelled, quickly scanning the ceiling for others. "Over there by the wall! There''s another one!" She pointed at it threateningly with her dagger. Gruntle reached into the water and his hand came back up with his flail. He sloshed forward through the stagnant water towards the other plant and swung. The flail smashed through the reaching fronds, crushed the plant, and struck hard against the rusting steel behind it. The corroded metal crumbled and gave way, the water rushing into the revealed opening and washing a startled Gruntle and Wikwocket through with it. Their startled shouts faded away into the darkness and Al rushed down the steps into the rapidly-draining water after them. Bote followed. The water was only up to Al''s knees by the time he got down to the muddy floor, and was down to just a few puddles by the time he reached the opening that the water had dragged his companions through. Wikwocket''s shouts echoed in the deep cubical room beyond, perhaps ten to fifteen paces along each side, steep steps dropped from the opening down to the floor of the room. Wikwocket was treading the slowly swirling water in the room. Gruntle had gotten back onto the stairs and climbed up far enough to get out of the water and was trying to shake himself off.


    Wikwocket stabbed her dagger angrily into the water. Al hurried down the steps to help, but she seemed more vindictive than endangered.


    "Are you all right?" asked Al.


    "No! I''m all wet now and my face hurts!"


    "Why are you stabbing the water?"


    "It''s obviously in league with the plants, dragging us down here! It deserves to be punished!"


    She splashed her way towards the stairs, but then stopped a few feet away, and stood up partway out of the water. From her movement, Al could tell she was stomping her feet, and a dull metallic sound reverberated through the water.


    "There''s something down here," she announced, now more curious than angry. She began to follow the edges of it with her feet to find out how big it was. "Seems to be a big metal box of some kind."


    "Is it big enough for an adult elf to be lying in?" Al wondered aloud.


    "Well, maybe if you kind of folded him up."


    "That is probably not the resting place of the hero we seek, then" Bote suggested. "Though I am not an expert, I am given to believe that elves would not seek such a respectable depth for the resting place of their honored dead. Perhaps instead you have found something that is meant to be forgotten and undisturbed."


    "You know, if my face didn''t hurt right now, that would just make me want to see what''s in it more."


    "On the subject of your face, I think we should treat those injuries before the unclean water you are swimming in causes them to become infected. While the scarring should you survive would probably be impressive, I would not expect that is something you, personally, would desire," said Bote, bringing Wikwocket back to practical reality. She quickly splashed back into the water - making an effort to keep her head out of it - and swam to the steps. They climbed back up to the no-longer-flooded hallway so that Bote could perform their medical duties. Al held the torch close so Bote could examine Wikwocket''s head and the patches of lightly bleeding pinprick wounds.


    "We will need to clean these wounds thoroughly to prevent any miasma from entering your body from these unclean waters," Bote diagnosed. "I fear you will not like this process, but I promise you will prefer it to having your head covered with festering wounds."


    Bote set his pack down and opened it, taking out a clean cloth, and a metal flask they''d been given in Turnipseed. Bote removed the stopper and sniffed gently at the fumes. "Yes, this should be quite effective," they said, eyes watering, and splashed a generous amount of the earthshine onto the cloth. "Now, please do not struggle, be brave."


    Wikwocket seemed just slightly offended by this. "Hey, I''m not a child, I''m a full grown adult and I OW! OW! QUIT IT! OW! THAT HURTS!"

 0058 - Someone is Dying at the End of This Installment

    Wikwocket sounded more angry than suffering, so Al didn''t worry about her. Gruntle followed him as he continued down the now-drained hallway. At the end, he found the door that Bote and Wikwocket had said they could see. Only a few small patches of pigment remained to suggest the artwork on the door had once been colorful, but at least there was still a carving. It depicted a life-sized elven woman in a toga, with simple rectangular amulet around her neck, a shield of the old elven style on one arm, and the other hand holding aloft a scroll. Gruntle sniffed curiously at it, but if he noticed anything interesting he didn''t say so. Behind them, Wikwocket''s exclamations of pain finally wound down. Al looked back to see Bote handing her one of their remaining bottles of healing potion.


    ¡°The earthshine should be sufficiently potent to dissolve any miasma that might have entered the wounds. You should drink this now to heal them so as not to risk further infection once the earthshine''s potency has faded.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least it tastes pretty good,¡± Wikwocket admitted after she''d opened the bottle and downed the health-giving dairy product. ¡°And, hey, my face doesn''t hurt any more! But now I smell like a horrible drunk who''s been cavorting in a swamp.¡±


    ¡°While I would not recommend it, you could probably safely rinse yourself off in the water downstairs now. Then you would smell like a sober person who has been cavorting in a swamp, instead.¡±


    She stuck out her tongue at Bote as they re-packed their supplies and donned their pack again. The two of them joined Al and Gruntle at the door.


    ¡°Well, that''s a brave protector character if I ever saw one,¡± Wikwocket said as she looked over the carving. ¡°Is this the hero we''re looking for?¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Al replied, ¡°this place seems dangerous. After the dead snake-thing and the blood-sucking plants, hopefully we''re done having to fight things. The door has no handle, so we just need to figure out how to open it and find out.¡±


    Wikwocket gave him a disappointed look. ¡°Really?¡±


    She brought BiteySue out and gently poked at the portion of the carving depicting a scroll. It slid smoothly in with a quiet click, and the door swung slightly inward.


    ¡°Come on, Al, it''s an obvious theme here.¡±


    ¡°This is literally only the second place we''ve seen this in here.¡±


    ¡°And both places have opened doors! That makes it a theme!¡±


    Gruntle sniffed at the gap in the partly-opened door.


    ¡°What do you smell?¡± Al asked him quietly.


    ¡°Dirt.¡± Gruntle unhelpfully answered. ¡°Digging. New.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Good!¡± Wikwocket cheered. ¡°The restless dead have dug themselves out from their resting places and are coming to take their revenge on us for disturbing their rest¡­and then I can stab them!¡±


    ¡°I don''t think you''re supposed to enjoy being in mortal peril so much.¡±


    ¡°But that makes the most exciting stories!¡±


    Al listened carefully, but heard none of the moaning or shuffling that he''d expected. ¡°Think it''s safe to open?¡±


    Wikwocket examined the door carefully, but found nothing concerning. She pushed and the door swung slowly inward, and Al was encouraged by the obvious stone sarcophagus on a dais in the middle of the room. The lid was carved with the likeness of the same elven woman that had been on the door, this time lying on her back, eyes closed and arms crossed on her chest. The floor, walls, and ceiling appeared to be all well-fitted stone, but Gruntle had been right, there was a smell of damp earth and mud that was strong enough for even Al to notice. A brief, faint sound like slithering seemed to be coming from somewhere on the other side of the sarcophagus.


    ¡°Cur in hoc temerato loco somnos perturbes?¡± an authoritative feminine voice called out, and the spectral figure of the elvish woman depicted on the sarcophagus sat up through the lid, stood, and rose up until she seemed to be standing atop the stone.


    Al put his hand out to stop the wildly grinning Wikwocket who had taken a step forward, her new dagger held out in her left hand.


    ¡°Uh, hello,¡± Al nervously told the ghostly woman, ¡°are you the hero buried here? We''ve come from the village of Turnipseed with flowers.¡±


    ¡°Thou speakest the new language,¡± the ghost said. ¡°Thou bringest the floral tribute for Darius? Long hath it been since the spirit of this land''s protector hath been so honored. Why cometh thou now, after so much time, my slumber to disturb in this desecrated place?¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, sorry. The villagers just asked us to bring flowers to the hero''s resting place. Should I give them to you?¡±


    ¡°Who thou seekest is Darius, my mate. I am Aemilia. The spirit of Darius protecteth the land, and the spirit of Aemilia protecteth Darius. Why shouldst thou be granted passage to Darius? Art thou worthy of such?¡±


    ¡°I hope so, the villagers seemed to think so. Look, we just want to deliver the flowers like we agreed to, we''re not graverobbers or anything.¡±


    The spectral woman regarded them sternly for a long moment. Then, there was another slithery sound.


    ¡°An thou destroyeth that which desecrates this resting place, shall the way to Darius be opened unto you,¡± she pronounced. It was only the ghost''s eyes looking down at the floor near the head of her resting place that warned Al of the creature''s strike.


    <hr>


    The creature was the size of a horse, shaped like the unholy spawn of an earwig and praying mantis, with long, serrated grasping mandibles that dripped with some foul fluid. It was impossible that such a large thing had simply been crouching down out of sight behind the sarcophagus, but there was no time to think about that. Al managed to conjure a protective spell just in time to keep the creature from catching him, and he took a hasty step backwards. The monstrous insect attempted to give chase, but ran directly into the swinging flail of a charging gnoll. Gruntle''s eyes were black as he barked eager laughter. The chitinous shell of the creature''s head cracked under the blow but didn''t break.


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    Bote began a call for divine attention towards their attacker''s interference with the ineffable plans as Wikwocket sprinted out from behind Gruntle, BiteySue in her right hand and her new dagger in her left. The creature reared back away from the longer blade, but Wikwocket jabbed in with the dagger as it lunged back in, stabbing a hole into the side of the creature''s head. Ichor splattered from the wound as she drew back.


    Al heard more slithering sounds coming from around the sarcophagus as Al began to conjure up some magical violence. Three much smaller of the creatures showed themselves, one crawling along the base, the other two clambering onto the lid, much to the evident disgust of the watching specter. They were tiny compared to the massive bug that was currently threatening Gruntle, but the warped offspring of earwig and praying mantis the size of a housecat was still horrifying. As Al called forth the darting bolts of magical force, he redirected them to the three smaller newcomers and hoped the others could handle the big one. The three larvae twitched and writhed but kept coming. The one on the floor scuttled out and sank its mandibles into Al''s left ankle before he could move away, the sharp, searing pain seeming not to be diminished by Al''s boots at all. The thing only reluctantly fell away even after Al smashed it with a swing of his mace, yelling with pain and anger.


    The other two leapt at Gruntle at the same time that the larger one lunged. Gruntle''s shield swept the leaping larvae aside but the dripping mandibles of the bigger one took advantage of the opening and clamped around Gruntle''s torso, slicing painfully deep and bringing a note of desperate rage to Gruntle''s barking battle-laughter. Overwhelming the pain with the urge for brutality, the gnoll hunched forward and bit down into the head of creature that held him in its mandibles. Gruntle''s teeth sank through the carapace as if it was the rind of a melon and ichor spurted, but the thing bit down harder even as it writhed in distress. Were Gruntle''s teeth always that big? some part of Al wondered as tried to think of some way to free Gruntle.


    Too late!


    The creature''s sharp mandibles spasmed and drove deeper into Gruntle''s sides, slashing through dissolving skin and muscle and into vital organs, sending blood pouring down Gruntle''s body to pool on the floor. Wikwocket had been forced to turn her attention to holding off the other two larval things. She was able to skewer one of them but was just able to hold the other off when Gruntle''s piercing, howling yelp of agony rang out. His back arched and his legs gave out, his weight dragging the persistent monstrosity down to the floor with him. His pupils constricted, turning his eyes from black back to their usual amber before his closing eyelids covered them. His teeth chattered and his arms twitched fitfully in a last effort to keep fighting, and then he was still.


    It was surprising to Al how easily the magical violence responded this time, and the bolts of vitality-disrupting energies stabbed through the creature''s face. It dropped Gruntle''s body the rest of the way to the floor and rolled over onto its back, its legs curling inward and twitching feebly as it died next to the motionless, mangled body of its victim.

 0059 - Where Do Gnolls Go When They Die?

    The den felt temporarily safe, but it wasn''t Gruntle''s den. The den''s owner towered over him. She was at least twice his bulk, her teeth hard and unblemished, and her very presence a supernatural force like the most dangerous of any shaman. She wore nothing but a face-trophy very much like the one Aunt Melissa had. There was no defying her. Gruntle rolled onto his side, submitting to this incomparably dominant gnoll.


    The gnollish language is a simple thing made from complex bestial noises. They were especially menacing coming from her as she spoke to him.


    "Your clan is outside."


    Gruntle turned his head to look out through the den''s entrance. There was an endless wasteland of rocks and dead trees. Varied creatures of sharp teeth and long claws stalked through it, hunting each other, and fighting to see which would eat and prolong their existence, and which would die and be eaten. Some of them were gnolls.


    It felt wrong. He could not bear to meet her eyes, but Gruntle managed a small defiant huff.


    "My clan still fights. I fight. Where is my clan?"


    She huffed back at him, like a puff of volcanic gasses threatening imminent eruption. She kicked him, triggering a sharp pain in his side and sending him rolling a few feet towards the den''s entrance.


    "Your clan is out there."


    "No. Give my clan back."


    The den was getting brighter.


    Gruntle looked away but was unable to move, as she crouched and leaned in. Her jaws brushed against Gruntle''s throat.


    "My clan. Where?" Gruntle repeated in quiet defiance, and waited for the feeling of teeth on his throat.


    It was too bright to see now. She huffed again, her hot breath smelling of fresh blood and torn flesh.


    "Go away." she commanded, and then there was nothing but the blinding light.


    <hr>


    Her last foe forgotten as Wikwocket ran to Gruntle''s body, Bote obliged by calling for divine judgement against the bug still gnawing at the ineffable plans, and the searing light that answered crisped the last of the threat. Al limped on his bleeding foot to join Wikwocket next to Gruntle''s mangled remains as quickly as he could manage.


    "Thou hast done well...," the ghost of Aemilia began to say, but Al cut her off without thinking.


    "Not now!"


    A glimmer of hope cut through Al''s angry despair as a single raspy gasp for air proved that some small bit of life had not yet finished draining out of Gruntle through the deep, ragged wounds in his sides, and he still fought desperately for life. Al reached into his robe''s inside pockets and dug frantically for one of the remaining healing potions as Bote arrived to request a miracle.


    "Its kind hath been a bloody plague on the lands. Would it not be better that it perish?" the elvish specter dispassionately suggested as she watched.


    "No!" Al answered angrily without looking back. "Gruntle''s not an it. He''s ours."


    Divinity responded favorably to Bote''s plea to preserve Gruntle''s part in the ineffable plans, and divine light flashed through the gnoll''s body. Pale hairless skin stretched across the broad slashes in his torso and he gasped again. His eyes opened and he rolled onto his side, scanning the room fearfully and ignoring the gnome who knelt down and wrapped her arms around his neck.


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    He growled a gnollish question, then as awareness of his surroundings returned, he repeated in a language his clanmates would understand.


    "Where is she?" he snarled.


    "Who?" Al asked him, but the memory was gone now.


    "Don''t know."


    He pressed a hand to the closed wound on his right side as he sat up with the gnome still dangling from his neck. Al insistently held a bottle of the healing potion in front of Gruntle''s face.


    "Thou carest for a simple violent beast?" Aemilia''s ghost asked.


    "He''s our simple violent beast. He protects us, we protect him," Al replied, not bothering to look at her. He watched Gruntle pry the stopper out of the bottle and drink. Then he sat down heavily as the burning pain in his ankle flared up. The leather of his boot had been partly eaten away where the larval thing''s mandibles had closed on it and cut through, and blood seeped from the ragged gash in his skin. Reluctantly, he got out of his pack and reached in for another of the healing potions. He didn''t like how quickly they were going through them, but the time and amount of likely additional pain required for more conventional treatment seemed too much. The yogurt-like healing drink spread warmth through his body and made the pain of the injury subside and the flesh knitted itself back together.


    "Thy blood is hot, but thy heart, good," Aemilia decided aloud. "Thy task is nigh unto complete."


    "What do you mean, nigh unto?" Al exclaimed and stood back up carefully. "Are there more of them?"


    Alarmed, Al took his mace back up and moved to look behind the sarcophagus, where he found the source of the fresh-mud smell - a hole had been burrowed up through the floor, breaking the stone apart and scattering mud.


    Bote joined Al and peered down into the dark hole.


    "That is certainly not a pleasant sight," Bote said of whatever their dwarven eyes could see within.


    Behind them, Wikwocket''s voice - muffled by Gruntle''s neck - said "You wait here, we''ll take care of it this time," and Al heard her drop to the floor and walk up behind them. Al stepped cautiously forward and held the torch closer. The glimpse of the pulsating wet, silky mass of bubbles was disgusting. Each bubble contained a tiny version of the creatures they''d just fought. Al looked thoughtfully at his fingers.


    "If you''re about to tell me again that I should know how to shoot magical fire from my fingers," Al said, turning to address Wikwocket, "You win. I agree. Were you crying?"


    Wikwocket was grinning widely, but there were obvious tear-tracks making damp lines down her face.


    "Why were you not? This was a perfect opportunity for it!" she asked Al in return.


    Al had to admit that under the circumstances, it was a valid question.


    "Too angry," he answered.


    Wikwocket clapped her hands together and gave a vigorous nod of approval. "Oh! Perfect! It''s not often you get a chance to have such an emotional experience! The death of their beloved companion inspires lamentation and vengeance!"


    "Beloved might be taking it a bit too far," Al objected, turning away to look back down into the burrow at the egg sac. He reached for the crossbow bolt he''d tucked in his belt, with the ampoule of ultraphlogisticated oil tied to it.


    "You''re glad he''s not dead, right?" Wikwocket persisted.


    "Yes."


    "That''s close enough."


    Al untied the alchemical oil from the crossbow bolt, and threw it at the base of the egg sac. It splatted into the mud, denying him the dramatically-timed explosion of fire he had wanted. He sighed and began heaving broken pieces of stone floor at it until one finally broke the glass open and the fire engulfed the mass of unhatched monsters. The unpleasant smoke smelled a bit like burning hair.


    "That is sufficient," Aemilia announced as the living people in the room moved to get away from the smoke. "Mayest thou show to me that which for Darius thou hast brought?"


    It took Al a moment to interpret the archaic speech, but Bote took off their pack and reached in to retrieve the bundle of flowers, holding them up for the ghost to inspect. Aemilia''s stern expression relaxed into a soft, sad smile.


    "The way now is opened unto you. Thou art likely the last who shall visit this place," the ghost said quietly, "and may I soon be re-united with Darius. Before the end, one gift I would bestow upon you. Lift the lid from my place of rest."


    Wikwocket watched as Gruntle, Bote, and Al grabbed three of the four corners of the sarcophagus lid and lifted it up enough to remove it. Aemilia''s desiccated remains lay peacefully inside, in the same pose depicted on the lid.


    "The amulet around my neck I give unto thee. Its purpose is the protection of the protector, and of no more use here will it be."


    Al respectfully unclasped the amulet''s chain and lifted it from the sarcophagus.


    "Why do you think we''ll be the last ones to visit here?" Al asked the spirit.


    "The flowers say so. Our own long duty shall be complete, and we will rest together. Go. Deliver thy message to my Darius."


    The ghost of Aemilia stepped down out of the air into the sarcophagus, and faded from view as she lay down in her corpse. Al got Bote and Gruntle to help replace the lid.


    "It sounds like we''re nearly done. Let''s check on Haunch and take a break to rest for a few minutes before we press on. If there''s anything terrible at the end, we should probably be as prepared as possible."

 0060 - Inanimate Friends

    Haunch was calmly waiting for them, though Al imagined he was giving them an impatient look over the empty bowl that had held the feed they had left. The steel grating was still in place in the other corridor, but no longer shimmered with a protective magical force. Al sat down on the cart with his wizardry notes to meditate while Bote gave Gruntle a more careful medical examination and cleaned up the partially-healed wounds. The fur around the slashes that the mandibles of the creature had made had dissolved away, and though it had healed-over, the mottled black-and-pink flesh underneath would probably retain scars. Wikwocket offered Haunch some water, and some more grain.


    Al worked on settling his mind back into a state of clarity. Mentally handling the impossible concepts needed to work magic strains the mind and it becomes both harder to handle those kinds of thoughts and to keep a clear idea of what normal reality is like at the same time, especially once you start dealing with more than the simple magic tricks that novices start with. Al''s practice had made him better at bigger magics but he''d hit his limit, especially having worked so much magic in such a short time during a very stressful situation. He hoped he wouldn''t be called upon to do much more of it today. He felt pretty sure he could handle just a little more with some careful meditation, but it was going to take a solid night of restful unconsciousness for his mind to fully recover.


    Once he''d gotten his mind in as much order as he felt he was going to, he worked through the slower, ritualized process for perceiving magical forces once again as a warm-up. After a while, the familiar hints of glowing auras became visible, and Al closed his notebook to look around.


    The metal grating blocking the last passageway was distinctly ordinary, definitely no longer held by any magical forces. Wikwocket had tucked her new dagger in her belt, and it still had that unnaturally real appearance, making it stand out. Al lifted the amulet that Aemilia had given them. It was a miniature steel shield, in the same curved-rectangle shape that Aemilia had been depicted as holding on the door to her tomb. In his magically-sensitive state, Al could clearly see the glow of a simple spirit within it, radiating a calm, protective aura.


    "Well," he announced to his companions, who by this time had finished whatever tasks they''d intended to do and seemed to be getting bored, "there definitely is some sort of protective enchantment on this amulet that should be helpful for whoever decides to make friends with it."


    "More magic? I want to make friends with it!" Wikwocket almost shouted, leaping to her feet. Al held the amulet away from her and held out his other hand to fend her off.


    "Actually," he suggested, "I was thinking maybe we should give this to Gruntle. He''s the one who seems to get into the most danger protecting us, and I feel like he kind of earned it."


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    Wikwocket looked disappointed, but seemed to agree. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose..."


    "Don''t want it," Gruntle interrupted, to Al''s surprise.


    "Why not?"


    "Gets in the way."


    "But, look, it''s very small, and it''s magic that would protect you."


    "Don''t want it."


    Al didn''t think this would be a productive argument to continue. "What do you think, Bote? Give it to Wikwocket then?"


    "I would concur with that. She is often rushing into avoidable danger alongside our gnollish friend, so some additional protection for her would probably not be unreasonable."


    Al held the amulet out for Wikwocket''s dramatically-grasping hands. "Hi! I''m Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer! What''s your name?" she asked it cheerfully. "Oh, I don''t have a name yet, but Wikwocket is a great name and I am pleased to be your amulet!" Wikwocket spoke squeakily for it at the end.


    Al could tell by the slight smirk that she was waiting for him to ask, so he did.


    "What are you doing?"


    "You said I had to make friends with it!"


    He sighed. "Yes, sort of, the amulet has a spirit of its own, so you''ll need to establish a sort of spiritual bond with it for it to be able to help you."


    "It has a spirit? Like it''s a person?"


    "No, nothing that complex, it''ll be a very simple spirit, more like a bug than a person."


    Wikwocket looked horrified and slowly held the amulet away from her. "Hey, Gruntle, are you sure you don''t want this?"


    "Nah."


    "It''s not literally a bug, I just mean it''s not something with a real mind or anything, just a bit of magic that can sense things, and decide what to do about it," Al tried to explain.


    "So, what''s its of?" Wikwocket asked.


    "What?"


    "You know, its of! In all the stories, things that are magic usually have an of. Like, wand of lightning or cheese-grater of demon-summoning or whatever."


    "No, that''s just...huh. You know, I''ve never thought about it before. I guess it''s probably of...protection? Something like that, I can tell it''s meant to protect whoever is wearing it. It probably has a sense of whether its wearer is endangered or unlucky and has some subtle magical ability to affect probability or some way to subconsciously communicate with the mind of..."


    Wikwocket was giving him her disapproving look.


    "It''s like a good luck charm, but it''s only lucky if it knows you and likes you."


    "See, that wasn''t so hard to explain after all, was it?" she teased, and put the amulet around her neck. Then, she wrapped the fine gold chain around her neck a few times until the amulet was hanging in front of her chest instead of below her navel. She stroked it gently, as if it was a small friendly pet. "Al thinks I''m crazy if I talk to you, so don''t tell him," she whispered to it, though she whispered loudly enough to make sure Al could hear her.


    Al couldn''t help laughing. "Actually, for you it''s probably not a bad idea. After all, if you''re crazy, it''s only fair that you let the spirit of the amulet know."


    "Don''t listen to him, I''m not the crazy one, he is," she told the amulet, petting it again, "Aren''t you glad you''re protecting a nice lady like me and not some crazy wizard?"


    Al smiled, shook his head, and left her to her playfully-simulated madness. "How is he?" he asked Bote, pointing towards Gruntle with a thumb. The gnoll had wandered over to the cart stiffly and was rummaging in his pack.


    "He was as good as dead," Bote replied bluntly, "I do not know the internal workings of the gnollish body, but I am certain the mandibles of the creature tore through some very important parts and opened a great flow of blood loss. The creature also seemed to be producing a digestive fluid which dissolved a portion of flesh and organs. If he had not fought so hard to live, and if we had not arrived so quickly with supernatural aid, he would not be here. The attention of the divine upon him was certain to have been helpful, but he still deserves much credit for hanging on long enough for a miracle. It would have been very easy to abandon a body so painful to inhabit at that time."


    Al gave the gnoll a sympathetic look. Gruntle extracted a ball of dried mutton and tail-fat from his pack and crouched to eat it, when he noticed Al looking at him. Al was relieved when the staring contest that ensued was conceded quickly, and Gruntle looked away to reach back into his pack for another ball of mutton and fat, which he offered to Al.


    "Got plenty. Shaman gets some if shaman wants."


    Al accepted the offered snack and took a bite. There were some berries and herbs mixed in, and a bit of salt, and Al found it better than he''d expected.


    "Thanks, Gruntle," he said, and got a grunt of acknowledgement in return.


    "What do you think?" he asked Bote, "Once we go past the gate there, do you think we have much further to go?"


    "I reiterate that I am not an expert in elvish cultural customs, but what I have observed of the construction thus far suggests a fondness for symmetry. I can only guess, but I would expect that the arrangement down that corridor to what we presume is the resting-place of Darius is probably similar to the arrangement that took us to Aemilia''s."


    "That''s a relief at least, as long as there aren''t any freakish bugs down that way, too."

 0061 - Angry Mud

    Al took out a fresh torch, then he and Bote shouldered their packs again and made ready to move on. "Almost done," Al reassured Haunch. He got no more reaction from the donkey than usual but Al felt it ought to be done anyway.


    There was a faint sound like metal hitting stone from somewhere in the direction of their destination.


    Gruntle looked up towards the grating, then stood and loped quietly over to it, listening. The others followed. Al heard another distant CLANK of metal.


    "What do you think that is?"


    "Metal falling. Chewing," Gruntle answered.


    "A lot of chewing?"


    "Nah."


    "Big chewing?"


    Gruntle listened for a few moments longer. A distant clattering like several small metallic objects hitting a solid floor rang out.


    "Nah," he finally said.


    Reassured that there probably wasn''t a horde of ravenous monsters or some large devourer waiting for them, he motioned for Wikwocket to give the grating a check. It didn''t take long, there was just a simple metal latch and hinges for mechanisms, and no sign of anything further to deter visitors. Wikwocket lifted the latch, and the grating swung inward smoothly. Wikwocket and Gruntle shared a glance at each other, and Wikwocket set off quietly down the hallway. Gruntle followed.


    Just as it had on the other side, the hallway led to steps that turned left and headed further downwards. Wikwocket and Gruntle stopped to watch further down the hallway, then Wikwocket gestured for them to approach. She held her fingers to her lips to suggest they approach quietly. Al and Bote tried to be quiet. From the corner, they could see that this hallway mirrored the one on the other side. In the space where the other hallway had a rusting steel door, there was just an open doorway and a dusting of rust on the floor. At least this one wasn''t flooded, nor did there seem to be blood-sucking plants dangling from the ceiling, though there was a pile of some sort of mud or sludge up against the far wall where Al assumed they should find the entryway to the dead hero they had come for. From here, Al could also catch the slight scent that Gruntle had earlier described as sour. It was like vinegar and freshly-cut onions.


    Al could finally hear the chewing sound that Gruntle mentioned. It sounded a bit like something gnawing on sand or gravel - quick hard crunching sounds, coming from the open doorway. Some more clanging echoed into the hallway, and Wikwocket and Gruntle went sneaking along the wall to investigate. Wikwocket carefully looked in from beside the door. She stared as Gruntle leaned over her and did the same. There was another sound like several small metal objects being rubbed together, and then more chewing. Wikwocket gave Al a puzzled look and motioned him over, so Al made his way over cautiously and leaned in, holding the torch up for visibility.


    Unlike the one on the other side, this one wasn''t sunken down, and wasn''t flooded, but it was in the same place along the hallway and about the same size. This room appeared to have been an armory or repository for heirlooms, but there was little left besides the wooden racks and cabinets. In front of one opened cabinet was a pile of metal spoons, corroding away at the touch of what Al was not at all happy to see was another very large bug.


    At least this one was not quite so large, being only about the size of a large dog, and was obviously not the same species as the ones that had invaded Aemilia''s tomb. It seemed entirely unbothered by the flickering torchlight as its fuzzy antennae caressed the metal cutlery and destroyed it. Once the pile had corroded to coarse powder, the creature lowered its head and began to chew on it.


    "It eats metal?" Al wondered quietly. The floor of the room was covered with rust-colored dust. Wooden spear-hafts were scattered around, and leather straps lay on the floor around a set of armor racks. Whatever the creature was, it remained more interested in its meal of corroded spoons than the organic spectators watching it from the hall, though it moved a little to face the party as it ate.


    "It doesn''t look like it eats non-metallic things. I vote that we leave it alone and get on with the job," Al suggested. He motioned to Bote that they were moving on, and the dwarf jogged to catch up as the others cautiously made their way further down the hall. The smell of vinegar and onions was growing stronger.


    "Where are those fumes coming from? Is there something fermenting in that pile of mud down there at the end of the hall?" he wondered.


    "I don''t know," Wikwocket answered, "but whatever it is smells like it might taste pretty good with some fish and potatoes!"


    "I do not see signs of cracks or leaking in the stonework, so I wonder where it...," Bote began, but was interrupted by a quiet scuttling sound. They all turned to face the sound and discovered the bug following Bote. The creature didn''t seem hostile, instead stopping an arm''s length away. The fuzzy antennae reached slowly out and caressed Bote''s chest.


    It took a moment to realize that the breastplate was rusting and flaking apart under the touch. Bote''s arms flailed to ward the creature away.


    "I do not wear this as fodder!" they shouted as they backed away. Gruntle took up his flail and swung at the bug, who dodged away and scuttled quickly back to the room it had come from, and the flail smacked the stone floor hard enough that Al could feel the vibration through the soles of his boots. The yellowish mud piled in the far corner of the hall must have been shaken by it, too, since it slumped down from where it was piled up and began flowing up the hallway towards them at a casual walking pace. The vinegar-and-onion smell increased further.


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    "What is that stuff?" Al wondered aloud as he nervously watched it flow. If it didn''t stop, he didn''t want to stand there and wait for it to get on his boots. This strange new phenomenon distracted Gruntle from chasing the metal-devouring bug, and he stalked up closer to the approaching sludge.


    He leaned in to sniff at it.


    "Smells sour," he said, muzzle wrinkled in discomfort.


    That was when the mud punched him in the face.


    A fat jet of the sludge pulled itself together and shot quickly out, catching Gruntle by surprise and hitting the side of his face with surprising force. He was rocked back with the strength of the blow, then yelped as the skin where he was struck began to sting. The crude limb that had struck him was quickly pulled back and re-absorbed into the slowly but inevitably approaching gelatinous mass.


    "Gruntle, get away from it!" Al shouted, noticing how the fur on the side of his face was dissolving. He was relieved that Gruntle actually took his advice. The gnoll made one angry swing at the mass with his flail, which splattered onto it. It seemed to have a surface that was a sort of skin or pellicle, and a more fluid substance from inside it leaked where the flail''s strike had disrupted the integrity of the stuff''s skin, and the sludge actually seemed to flow away from where it had been struck. Then, the gnoll backed quickly away, blocking another shooting wad of the stuff with his shield. The group began to back away from the oncoming flow of sludge together, and Al was horrified to discover that the flow changed to be heading towards exactly wherever they happened to move. Fortunately it didn''t seem to be very fast, but they wouldn''t be able to run away from it indefinitely. With one last push of mental effort, Al managed one last burst of magical violence. The slivers of magical force punctured the skin of the mass and caused more of the thin liquid inside to leak in spurts, before the skin reformed itself.


    "That''s it," Al announced, still backing up and shaking his head to try to clear it, "that''s about all the harder magic I can manage for a while."


    Wikwocket had carefully watched. "Don''t worry, I''ll save us this time!" she promised, and gave the deadly puddle a dramatic salute with BiteySue as if beginning a duel. Then, she sprinted towards it, stabbed, and swiftly leapt back before the pseudo-limb of sludge could reach her as it shot out. More of the interior fluid leaked through the pierced skin of the stuff. It was getting visibly shallower by this point.


    The malevolent mud was obviously potentially deadly, but fortunately remained slow-moving and showed no sign of any kind of intellect or cunning beyond its uncanny sense of where they were as it flowed towards them. By retreating carefully and letting Wikwocket put on a dramatic show of martial acrobatics, the dangerous substance diminished through its repeatedly-punctured surface until the integrity of the pellicle failed and the remainder of the inside fluid spread across the floor and stopped chasing them. They''d had to retreat nearly all the way back to the grating to where Haunch was still waiting for them by that point, and it had oozed up the steps after them.


    The vinegar-and-onion fumes had become uncomfortable by this point, but seemed not to be doing explicit harm. Al asked Gruntle to drag one of the slain goblins over and shove it into the remaining fluid on the floor to make sure nothing dramatic would happen. When it seemed the interior fluid of the sludge wasn''t going to dramatically dissolve the goblin, they carefully stepped through what little still remained and returned up the hallway.


    Wikwocket checked carefully as they went, but found no further dangers before they reached the end of the hall. The wall here had no discernible pigment or carving remaining, and appeared to have been severely weathered away - perhaps the acidic sludge had dissolved away the surface of the wall, Al speculated. Luckily, the same damage to the wall had eaten away at the seam where a door had been hidden there, making its location obvious. Wikwocket found the subtle mechanism that unlatched it, and the door swung inwards. To Al''s dismay and Wikwocket''s hesitant excitement, the angry dead came forth through the opened door to confront them.

 0062 - One Last Tribute

    ¡°Hunc locum statim discede!¡± the four spectral soldiers demanded in unison, drawing their ghostly swords with professional coordination together and standing in the way of the opened door. They were all elven warriors, wearing armor in the old elvish style. They held their weapons ready, not immediately threatening but making clear that they could become threatening at the slightest provocation. Al wasn''t sure if the immaterial blades could actually do harm to solid living people, but he didn''t think it would be a good idea to find out. He carefully hung his mace back under his robes and held up his open hand, intending to show that he wasn''t there to fight. He lowered the torch in his other hand to block Wikwocket''s way, as she had drawn her dagger again.


    ¡°Good thinking,¡± she admitted, ¡°I''m not sure I could stab all four of them before they got us.¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± Al slowly told the stern ghostly soldiers, ¡°I''m sorry but I don''t speak Elvish. Uh¡­we''ve brought flowers for the hero here. Darius?¡±


    ¡°Nihil negotii habes cum Dario! Hunc locum statim discede!¡± insisted the specter immediately in front of the doorway


    ¡°Look, we just have this offering of flowers from the local villagers,¡± Al tried, though he assumed they understood him no better than he understood them. ¡°Bote, hold still a moment, let me get out the flowers.¡±


    Al retrieved the flowers from Bote''s pack. They seemed to be surviving well enough. Al held them up for the spectral elves to see.


    ¡°Linguam nostram non intelligunt,¡± an authoritative voice called out from beyond the doorway. ¡°Loquar ad eos, introire permittite.¡±


    Whatever that meant, the ghostly guards responded immediately, stepping back away from the doorway and arranging themselves two-by-two on either side of it.


    ¡°Thou shalt attend me here, in my place of rest. Enter,¡± the voice then called out to them.


    ¡°No stabbing!¡± Al whispered to Wikwocket, and tried to smile in a friendly manner towards the ghosts standing at attention beside the door. He stood up straight, and marched to the doorway the way he''d been taught in the army, hoping this would be seen as respectful. The guards didn''t move, but maintained a stern gaze keeping watch on the hallway. Al stopped at the doorway and turned as smartly as he could manage, to look back at his companions, who followed. The ghostly guard that Gruntle paused to sniff curiously at may have shown a slight hint of disgust, but remained at attention. Very professional, Al estimated. Then he pushed the door the rest of the way open and entered.


    The room was a mirror image of the arrangement they''d seen in Aemilia''s tomb, minus the hole burrowed through the floor. The figure carved on the lid of the sarcophagus was muscular by elvish standards, with a long sword at his hip, a breastplate, and holding a helmet with a tall crest. The translucent figure standing tall atop the sarcophagus lid and watching the party of adventurers enter was obviously the same, though he was actually wearing the helmet. Gruntle''s entrance caused a disbelieving blink from the spirit of Darius, but he otherwise waited with an attitude of imperious command until all four were standing in front of him. Not sure what proper protocol was here, Al saluted.


    ¡°Thou bringst with you a beast of pillage and destruction, yet thou seemst not like unto robbers or defilers of graves. What business hast thou with Darius?¡±


    Al saluted again, a bit awkwardly. ¡°Uh, yes, sir, the villagers of Turnipseed said they had been neglecting to offer flowers, and they asked us to to bring some to you. We''re certainly not graverobbers. Sir.¡±


    ¡°I see one of you,¡± he said, looking down at Wikwocket, ¡°now beareth the token of Aemilia that once rested upon her fair neck.¡±


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    Wikwocket grinned and proudly held the amulet up at the end of its chain to show it off. ¡°We''re friends now!¡± She said.


    ¡°Uh, uh, I promise we didn''t steal it. Uh, sir,¡± Al hastily interjected.


    ¡°The spirit of Aemilia remaineth and is calm. She hath given it unto you. An she hath judged thou worthy, so too must I.¡± The ghostly hero turned his head to look over the assembled adventurers, lingering with evident skepticism on the gnoll. ¡°Who art thou who stand before Darius, and who hath conjured this murderous beast?¡±


    ¡°Oh, we didn''t conjure him. We call him Gruntle. I''m Al, and this is¡­,¡± he paused, indicating Wikwocket and waiting for her to introduce herself.


    ¡°Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, adventurer, thrillseeker, entertainer, and friend of the amulet!¡± she announced.


    ¡°And I am Bote Wissengr?ber, devotee of the mysteries of Indicina,¡± Bote announced, with the formal eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture. This got a smile from the spirit of Darius.


    ¡°Gladdened am I that the cult of Indicina survives amongst the new peoples. In my time, won were battles by movement of sword and arrow, but wars, by movement of knowledge and supplies. The couriers of Indicina were indispensible.¡±


    ¡°That is ever our duty,¡± Bote replied, ¡°hence our presence here today. We have come to see that a message is delivered to you.¡±


    Al held the flowers up for the ghost to inspect. The spirit of Darius knelt down on the lid of the sarcophagus to inspect them, then slowly removed his helmet. It vanished as he dropped it.


    ¡°Long hath I been bound to this land, for thousands of seasons its protector. I never expected that someday my duty may be complete. Yet, now, I am of it relieved, by this one last tribute.¡±


    Al looked at the bundle of flowers. ¡°The villagers said they used to bring flowers here regularly. Why do these mean you''re done?¡±


    ¡°Hath the language of flowers been lost to time? Look here, these flowers¡­,¡± Darius began, and continued into a brief lecture on the supposed meanings conveyed by the different flowers and their proportions in the bundle. ¡°¡­which signify gratitude, and these signify separation, and when combined with¡­¡±


    Al paid attention as best he could, but there seemed to be a lot of fluffy nuance involved which perhaps only elves had the patience to learn. He thought he understood it well enough though.


    ¡°So,¡± he asked at the end to confirm, ¡°this bundle of flowers says, fundamentally, thank you for your service, we''ve found a replacement for you, you''re free to go?¡±


    ¡°Much subtlety dost that lack, but sufficiently accurate. And now, Aemilia and I shall depart this world to be at peace.¡±


    The spirit seemed to slump with relief. One of the stones in the floor cracked.


    ¡°So much effort hath it been of late, to remain here against the pull of the swamps and the push of the local people''s new protector. The earth and waters shall this place reclaim to be forgotten.¡±


    He inspected Al for a long moment, and seemed to come to a decision.


    ¡°Aemilia hath deemed thou worthy to keep a token of the duties we shared, so too should Darius. I gift to you the sword Purgatio, whose purpose to destroy corruption and malice does not end with our duties. I ask that you open my resting place, and take the sword with you, that its purpose not be lost here.¡±


    Al wasn''t sure if they should, but orders were orders. With the help of the others, he got the lid lifted. The remains of Darius inside were dry and skeletal, but otherwise intact. The bronze breastplate was still polished to a reflective shine, and the hilt of a sword gleamed brightly in a fine silver scabbard. Al respectfully undid the buckle on the belt and slid the scabbard from it. Then he replaced the belt, and got the others to help replace the lid on the sarcophagus. The ghost of Darius smiled softly.


    ¡°And now the last of our duties is fulfilled,¡± he said, and in a commanding voice called out, ¡°Milites, missa est!¡±


    ¡°There is one other matter we would ask of you before you depart,¡± Bote said, ¡°We found the small library in the temple. May we take the writings with us?¡±


    ¡°It is of no interest to myself, but I believe that pleased the priests would be that the knowledge not be devoured by the swamp. But, thou must hurry. As we leave this place, no longer will our strength preserve it here, and this resting place for our unneeded mortal remains shall begin to collapse imminently. Farewell, couriers.¡±


    ¡°Rest well,¡± Bote told him gently, and turned to leave.


    ¡°Bye!¡± Wikwocket said, waving cheerfully.


    Gruntle just grunted.


    ¡°Yes, thanks for the sword and everything,¡± Al finally said. Then he remembered what had been nagging at his mind as the spirit of Darius began to lower itself to lay back down in the sarcophagus with its mortal remains.


    ¡°Wait! Why did you ask us who conjured Gruntle? Is that where they come from? Someone magics them here?¡± he blurted out quickly before the spirit could disappear. Darius'' ghost was already fading from view, but he paused.


    ¡°The beasts from nowhere came, and if not killed, back to nowhere went. Once, we discovered a cult of the corrupt who were somehow associated with them. When they were rooted out and slain, the beasts appeared no more. Our scholars surmised that they had been calling them forth by some supernatural means. That is all I know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well, that''s more than I knew, thanks. Say, do you have any pointers on how to use a sword, you see I don''t actually have any practice with them¡­¡±


    Darius was gone, however, and did not answer. Al sighed.


    ¡°Well, thanks all the same.¡±


    One of the stones in the wall cracked, spilling a few stone chips to the floor.


    ¡°Let''s hurry up and get out of here, I don''t like the sound of imminently.¡±

 0063 - Onward to Cleanliness

    The ghostly elven soldiers were gone as well as they ran back up the hallway to the entrance. Wikwocket and Gruntle were convinced to don their own packs, and the whole group went quickly back to the temple library to stuff their packs with scrolls. There were a few sounds of stone cracking from somewhere as they worked, but there were thankfully no collapses. Haunch the donkey brayed nervously at them as they piled their packs on the cart and began working to move the rubble out of the way of the doors so they could get them pulled open. A few more sounds of breaking stone were heard coming from somewhere further into the tomb, but they safely got the doors pulled open and led Haunch back outside with the cart after a brief look to make sure there were no lurking goblins visible. There were not, though there were small shoe-prints leading to and then away from the door. The midday sun had somewhat diminished the fog, and much of the crumbling tomb building was visible now.


    "How about we take a break to watch it collapse. I don''t know about you but I could use some time to try to relax and meditate on some things. That''ll give me a chance to check this sword for magical influences, and then we should also figure out who''s going to carry it."


    "Why don''t you carry it? Swords are very heroic! Especially when they already have a name! What does Purgatio mean, anyway?" Wikwocket suggested.


    "No idea. I really don''t have any experience with swords. That''s not something they teach wizards, and the army just gave me a mace."


    "Well, I already have BiteySue, so I don''t need a gigantic sword like that one."


    "How about you, Bote? I''m sure you''re strong enough to make use of it."


    "I also have no experience with the sword. I am content with the traditional arms of my culture."


    Al gave Gruntle a look. He was certainly strong enough, and the sword should be large enough to be useful for him.


    "Gruntle, did Grakthor teach you how to use a sword?"


    "Grunt."


    "Well, then, how about you give it a try?"


    Al held the sheathe of the sword and lifted the hilt up for Gruntle, who reached to draw it. The sword was only out an inch or so when the gnoll let go of it quickly and rubbed his hand on the fur of his chest as if to wipe away something unpleasant.


    "Don''t want it," Gruntle announced. "Feels bad."


    "Guess it''s time for you to learn to be a sword hero, Al!" Wikwocket insisted.


    Al had to admit to himself that the idea had some appeal. Wizards don''t normally invest the time to learn the subtle arts of proper swordplay. But, then again, being such a popular form of weaponry, it did seem like a skill that would be practical to develop. He drew Purgatio from its sheathe and looked it over.


    Purgatio was as long as Al''s legs were. Its blade narrowed slightly to about half its length, then widened slightly again, the whole thing was smooth aside, naturally, from the edges and tip of the sword. The hilt had a gently-curving crossguard and the pommel smoothly blended into the handgrip, which was wrapped in a silvery wire to make it easier to hold onto. There was no embellishment, no embedded jewels, no sigils or imagery engraved, just a long, dangerous piece of sharp, smooth, mirror-bright metal. Al remembered hearing of folklore that said elves didn''t sharpen their swords, they just polished them with silk for a few years until they got it down to an edge. Al assumed this was probably a joke, or at least an exaggeration, but it described Purgatio''s appearance perfectly.


    It wasn''t that Al had never held a sword before, but he certainly had no real practice fighting with one. He''d seen people training with them before, though, so he tried a few swings. Although he didn''t feel like he knew what he was doing, it didn''t feel like it would be all that difficult to learn. Maybe he had a natural talent for swordplay that he''d never been aware of before. He spent a few minutes slashing and thrusting, and tested the difference between swinging it one-handed or two-handed. Then, he sat down on the cart and took his wizardry notes back out again, and once more went through the meditative ritual of sensitizing himself to magical influences.


    He could no longer see the faint hint of divine influence around the tomb, though he wasn''t sure if this had anything to do with the souls of Aemilia and Darius leaving the mortal world, or just because the adventurers had moved further away from it to avoid being hit by any falling stones as it imminently collapsed. Purgatio seemed to stand out in Al''s vision more than anything else, in that unnaturally real way that Wikwocket''s new dagger did, perhaps even more so. It also glowed with a bright silvery-white radiance of divine influence. Well, that might explain why Gruntle didn''t like touching it, Al considered. Should be handy for keeping demons away, if I can learn to use it properly.


    "When you have finished admiring your new gift, there is a message for you," Bote called out to Al.


    "What? From who?"


    "From yourself."


    Al turned his gaze to the enigmatic dwarf. "Is this another weird riddle? Because I''m somewhat mentally worn down after our exciting day so far."


    Bote shook their head. "No riddle. You explicitly asked me to remind you that you were concerned for the state of your soul and wished that I would examine you."


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    There was a momentary sound of bubbling from somewhere along the left side of the tomb, and the sound of a few stones falling into wet mud. The party watched in anticipation, but nothing further happened. Al returned his attention to Bote.


    "Well, I guess now is probably just as good as any other time. Is there anything I should do?"


    "No," Bote answered, walking nearer to stand next to the cart by Al, "though it may help if you relax and allow your thoughts to wander as they will."


    Bote made a short prayer to Indicina for insight, blinked, smiled knowingly, then leaned forward to look directly into Al''s eyes for a long moment. When Bote didn''t say anything for a while, Al began to worry. Bote finally turned to give Gruntle a long look as well, and then Wikwocket.


    "I do not believe anyone here is under any sort of control or substantial influence of demons," Bote finally announced confidently, to Al''s relief. Al relaxed and shooed away a fly that buzzed by his face, and turned once more to look at the tomb which still stubbornly stood. Bote walked past him to give Haunch a reassuring pat on his neck.


    "Do not worry, you are safe with us," they told the donkey gently, then waved away another fly that was buzzing past.


    "Why is this taking so long?" Al asked in annoyance, as he swatted at yet another fly. "This doesn''t seem very imminently to me."


    "And where are all these flies coming from?" Wikwocket added, shooing away a few of her own.


    "How long is the life of an elf?" Bote asked.


    "They can live for thousands of years sometimes, can''t they? Oh... Yeah. I guess for an elf, imminent might mean sometime this year. And now I don''t want to wait anymore because these flies are beginning to get really annoying. Everybody okay with just getting away from here now?"


    "Yes!" Wikwocket said, heading for the cart.


    "I do not believe there is any reason to delay," agreed Bote.


    Gruntle grunted, momentarily startling away a small portion of the flies crawling on him. They were particularly thick around his legs and hips, still caked with fine swamp-mud, giant-bug ichor, and his own drying blood.


    "Gruntle, you''re filthy!" Al exclaimed.


    "Hides scent. Good for hunting," Gruntle insisted.


    "What are you hunting, flies?"


    "Nah."


    So much for sarcasm.


    "Well, maybe that''ll help if you scout back up the way we came and see if there are any more of those accursed goblins waiting for us to come back."


    That got some enthusiasm from the gnoll, who lurched quietly forward in a cloud of agitated flies to stalk back up the overgrown trail. A smell like a slaughterhouse buried to fester in a swamp rolled over Al as Gruntle passed.


    "We''ll catch up to you," Al said, frantically waving away the annoying swarm of insects. A few of them lingered to bother the three human-ish members of the party, so clearly none of them were particularly clean after this experience, either.


    "All right then, any ideas where to go next, and more importantly, what we should do about the...uh...uncleanliness of some of us?"


    He looked over Wikwocket and Bote, then looked down at himself.


    "...all of us, but some more than others," he corrected. Although he and Bote were less obviously dirty than Wikwocket, who herself was much less dirty than Gruntle, none of them were really in a state that was suitable for being around civilized people.


    "We could return, temporarily, to Turnipseed and ask for some assistance in cleaning up," Bote suggested with some hesitance.


    "I don''t know," Al considered, "I still think there''s something wrong with that place, and from what we saw I''m not sure bathing is something they even do. I can''t help feeling like us returning and asking for help to get clean would end up with half the village dancing naked around us and dousing us with earthshine, and possibly lighting us on fire at the end to purify us."


    "Oh, that''s good! You''re getting better at this, Al!" Wikwocket nodded, approving of his speculation.


    "I doubt anything so drastic would occur, and I am certain the people of Turnipseed appreciate the work we''ve done for them today, but I find I feel a similar reluctance. Perhaps we are being subtly encouraged to move along and leave the village to itself."


    "Didn''t we see a sign for some kind of bath on the way in?" Wikwocket remembered.


    "Hell''s Bathtub? I heard someone say something about that place once during a dinner party. It''s some sort of expensive luxury spa, way out past the southernmost cities. Now that you mention it, though, that would put it potentially somewhere around here. It sounded like the sort of place that nobles and wealthy merchants go to for their health, or just to hobnob with other wealthy people in comfort away from riffraff."


    "Oh, hey, we''re riffraff! We could annoy the nobility just by being there!" Wikwocket enthused. "That settles it, we''ll go there and get cleaned up in luxurious comfort!"


    "There are at least two problems with that. For one thing, it''ll probably be expensive. For another...," Al pointed up the overgrown road. Gruntle was no longer in sight, but the intention was obvious. "It''s one thing to visit somewhere that Gruntle is already known, or small isolated villages, but I''m a bit concerned about what''s going to happen if we try to bring a live gnoll into a more civilized sort of place."


    Wikwocket was positively giddy about this. "Yes! Uppity nobles might literally explode with outrage, splattering indignity messily all over everything! Come on, let''s get going!" She leapt up onto the front of the cart. "Onward, heroic equine! To cleanliness and shenanigans!"


    "There''s another problem," Al added as he walked ahead to lead Haunch. "I get the impression that Gruntle likes that he stinks right now. We might be able to force him to clean up, but I don''t feel like that''s a good idea. Any suggestions on how we might convince him to do it willingly?"


    "Luxury would include food and drink, one would presume?" Bote offered, as the group began moving up the road.


    It was clear to Al that Wikwocket would not be dissuaded now. "Oh, yes! And lying around being lazy and pampered in warm water! Eating and drinking and being lazy are some of his favorite things! I''m sure spoiled nobles and rich people have exotic wine and peeled grapes and weird meat delivered to their baths all the time. Problem solved!" she explained.


    "We could probably find a way around the village and make it over to the road that goes back to Henhaven without going through Turnipseed," Al tried suggesting.


    "Nope! They''re nice folks but there''s only one noble we might meet there, and I don''t want to because he''s fake and smug and no fun. Forget it! We''re going to soak in Hell''s Bathtub!"


    As they approached the intersection where they''d left the road to approach the tomb that morning, the buzzing cloud of flies gave away where Gruntle was examining the ground among the bushes on the other side.


    "See anything?" Al called out.


    "Small shoes, same as by the doors. Not long ago, going that way," Gruntle said, pointing further directly away from the tomb through the foliage.


    "That''s kind of the same direction as Henhaven and Wulfcynn Keep. If those are goblins, they might be headed to wherever the ones from yesterday were going. Maybe we should follow...," Al argued. Wikwocket huffed at him.


    "Okay, okay. Let''s go, Gruntle, we''re heading for the baths."


    "Why?"


    "Wikwocket can explain," Al said, maliciously delegating.


    "Gladly!"


    Gruntle''s ears twitched, and he looked back towards the village. Al heard a faint voice shouting from far away.


    "...y''all done it!...plantin'' sweet-taters!"


    A figure, tiny in the distance, walked behind an ox, plowing the formerly swampy ground.


    "That was fast," Al remarked.


    "Long-awaited, I expect," Bote suggested.


    "I''m glad we''ve done a good deed that we could get paid for. Now let''s get going before they invite us to a dinner of lips and tails or something."


    They waved to the happy farmer and turned down the road away from Turnipseed and marched off.


    Wikwocket exploded with rage several minutes later with a passion that made Al wonder if Bote had missed some demonic possession.


    "Curse it!!! Curse it all! Curse it and drag it all to the rankest, foulest, filthiest pit of pandaemonium and leave it there! AAAARRRRGH!"


    "What? What''s wrong?!"


    Wikwocket drew her new dagger and waved it angrily at Al.


    "I didn''t get to stab even one ghost!"

 0064 - Heading Out Through the Swamp

    The road northwards very quickly degraded to barely discernible path through the swamp where the ground was slightly smashed down and a little less overgrown with weeds the further they continued. Before long, the annoying flies began to be joined by even more annoying mosquitoes.


    ¡°This is making it very difficult to think,¡± Al complained, swatting vigorously as they rushed through a wetter area, hoping the bloodsucking insects would diminish when they reached less damp terrain.


    ¡°What are you trying to think about? All I can think about right now is trying to keep my blood from being sucked,¡± Wikwocket answered, performing her own dance of swatting.


    ¡°Fire,¡± Al answered her.


    ¡°I think this place is too wet to burn,¡± Wikwocket said. ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°Maybe these accursed mosquitoes aren''t, though. You keep nagging me about magic fire, and after today I''ve decided to agree with you.¡±


    ¡°It''s about time!¡±


    ¡°It shouldn''t be too difficult for me to figure out, I''ve mastered a couple of tricks that involve conjuring fire from things that are meant to be on fire, and conjuring sparks from nothing. It''s a bit of a conceptual climb to combine those to just conjure substantial amount of fire out of nothing, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh. You want to borrow my rope?¡±


    Al looked back at Wikwocket riding on the cart, and squinted suspiciously at her.


    ¡°Ha!¡± she said, ¡°For a moment there, you thought I didn''t know what a metaphor is, didn''t you?¡±


    ¡°No, I just didn''t expect to hear a joke like that from you. Usually it''s old men who tell jokes like that.¡±


    ¡°It''s not my fault if most men need a lifetime of experience to catch up to my wit!¡±


    Al shook his head, and returned to his thought-experiments. Then, out of sheer annoyance, he began trying to conjure showers of fiery sparks in the direction of the various flies and mosquitoes that kept buzzing around him. It didn''t seem to do much good, but it did occasionally drive them off for a few moments.


    Gruntle - or at least the cloud of flies and stench with a gnoll inside that was presumably him - cautiously moved away, out of shower-of-sparks range. Al appreciated the reduction in the offensiveness that resulted, even if it was very small. He began to wonder if there might be any way to at least improve Gruntle''s condition without trying to force the issue of an actual bath. They''d traveled for more than an hour when a possible approach presented itself. The pathetic excuse for a ¡°road¡± that they were traveling along made its way up to a slight rise, which paralleled a wide sluggish, muddy stream, with abundant cat-tails growing up out of it. On the other side of the stream was an area of tall grasses.


    ¡°I don''t actually know how long its going to take us to get where we''re going. We might have to find somewhere to camp for the night. I wonder if there is anything we can eat hiding in the grasses over there,¡± Al suggested, and was gratified when Gruntle immediately stepped down off of the road and into the stream to wade across. Flies took wing to avoid drowning, and the water rose to the level of Gruntle''s chest by mid-stream. It was hard to tell immediately, but it looked like the water might have at least rinsed away some amount of the filth. The gnoll slipped into the grasses, crouched down, and moved quietly out of sight.


    Gruntle re-emerged several minutes later with a disturbingly stiff deer-carcass over his shoulder, and waded back across the stream. He bit into the deer''s neck to hang on to it while he used both hands to climb the few feet back up out of the stream and onto the road. Then, he dumped the unfortunate cervid onto the cart. It was frozen in a sleeping pose, legs underneath and neck twisted to the side to rest its head against its body, and hardly bent or flexed at all as it was dropped. The skin was pale, and the shape of the ribs, spine, shoulders, and hips were easily visible. Al moved closer to examine it with morbid fascination.


    ¡°What did you do to it? The poor thing looks practically mummified!¡±


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    ¡°Found it like that. Dry. Still smells like meat.¡±


    Closer examination revealed numerous tiny injuries - very small puncture wounds and places that looked like bites made by three tiny teeth. There were also the deep, rough puncture marks in its neck where Gruntle had bit down on it to hold it. No blood dripped from them.


    Al swatted more vigorously at the mosquitoes.


    ¡°Did these accursed vampire-bugs drain all of the blood from the poor thing?¡± he wondered.


    ¡°They''re going to do that to us if we don''t hurry up!¡± Wikwocket insisted, slapping another mosquito on her neck. Haunch gave a groan of discomfort and sped up, tail swishing frantically and shaking his head.


    ¡°Every place has its purpose, and there is a certain existential beauty in that,¡± Bote said, their own efforts to deter blood-sucking insects spoiling their usual cheerfully-stoic attitude. ¡°I think perhaps I would also prefer to consider the beauty of a place dedicated to exsanguination in a more abstract and less immediate context, however.¡±


    ¡°Yeah! How much further do we have to go? I think I''ve had enough of this particular experience for a while,¡± said Wikwocket.


    ¡°I''m afraid I''m not sure. I know Hell''s Bathtub is supposed to be just beyond the southernmost city, which I assume is Southwall. The signs pointing this way indicated both Southwall and Hell''s Bathtub, and there weren''t signs for anything else. Usually there''s something within a day''s walk along a road from one place to another, even if it''s just a small inn or something. We might not reach a populated place before dark though, this road looks pretty bad. I say we keep going as quickly as we can until we find someplace that looks decent and dry enough to set up a camp, and then try to stop until sunrise. Otherwise, we might end up stumbling through this horrible terrain in the dark.¡±


    Al would have been pleasantly surprised by the lack of snide comments about his poor night-vision if he hadn''t been distracted by his ongoing efforts to protect his precious vital fluids from insects. Even Gruntle, who usually seemed to hardly notice these sorts of discomforts, was occasionally swatting at particularly annoying bites. At least the dunk in the swampy stream seemed to have removed most of the obvious filth. The thick coating of mud, blood, and insect-monster ichor had drastically diminished, leaving only a few inches-long glistening vertical streaks hanging down.


    Al recoiled in horror as one of these streaks contracted and writhed in response to one of Gruntle''s mosquito-killing slaps.


    ¡°Gruntle! You''ve got leeches!¡±


    The gnoll looked down at the slimy wormlike attachments on his body. He poked one curiously with a short claw and watched fascinated when it retracted itself into more of a fat slug shape.


    ¡°They should be removed carefully,¡± Bote warned, ¡°if distressed, the leech may leave corruption in the bite.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we had a little bit of survival training in the army. You can''t just grab them and¡­,¡± Al started, but then to his horror Gruntle grabbed the leech he''d prodded, and pulled. It stretched to nearly a foot long before popping loose, leaving a small, bleeding, three-toothed mark. Then he threw it into his mouth and bit down on it, chewing a few times before swallowing. Al was left speechless with disgust, which only intensified when the gnoll did it again with another leech. The third time, Al snapped out of his shock when Gruntle yanked another off and tossed it into his mouth, then let out a distressed yelp. Gruntle made a few awkward and apparently unsuccessful chewing motions then opened his mouth to paw uncertainly at the inside. Al rushed to see what was wrong, and saw that the leech had reattached itself to Gruntle''s tongue.


    ¡°Gruntle, calm down, we''ll help,¡± Al demanded, ¡°Bote, what do I do?¡±


    ¡°Use your fingernail to separate the mouth from the skin, then you can pull it away,¡± Bote calmly advised. Al reached into the gaping gnoll''s jaws and did as described, and the leech was easily detached. Al threw it as far as he could from them.


    It would not be until much later that day that Al would fully realize that he''d just put his face right in front of - and his hands into - a gnoll''s jaws, but for now there were other concerns.


    ¡°Just hold still, Gruntle, we''ll get the rest of them off of you,¡± insisted Al. Bote joined him in the process, and Wikwocket even helped remove one of them, ¡°just for the experience¡± as she put it. Al groaned when, as they worked through the leech-removal, he found a speck like a half-detached scab stuck to the skin under the fur of Gruntle''s lower back, and realized it was actually a tick.


    ¡°Great. Ticks. We''re going to want to check ourselves over when we find a place to stop for the night. If Gruntle''s got them, we''ve probably got them too. Is there anything in this swamp that is not out to suck our blood? If we find an Inn on the way I don''t think we should stop, because it''s probably run by a vampire.¡±

 0065 - The...Tavern

    A few hours of miserable trudging later, the pathetic excuse for a road began to rise slowly into a small hilly area, and the mud and weeds began to yield to shrubbery and pine trees. The plague of mosquitoes abated somewhat as they went on, but didn''t go away entirely. Dusk was approaching when they reached what was left of an old tavern. It looked like it had been a very welcoming place, perhaps a decade ago. Now, the two-story structure''s second floor had partially fallen in, leaving a gaping hole in the roof. The wooden walls were covered with vines, mostly hiding the expensive-looking glass-paned windows. The front door was closed, but clearly warped by the long, damp years. All that was left of the mostly-rotten wooden sign that had fallen down from where it had hung was a piece of a plank with the barely-readable word "The" and another piece with the similarly worn word "Tavern". The rest had been devoured by dampness and time.


    A nearby single-story building with a wide sagging wooden door seemed to be stables. It looked like it might be in slightly better condition than what remained of The...Tavern. It was also covered in vines and the stable door appeared to have been hanging so long that the hinges were bent, but at least the roof seemed to be in one piece. The only other structure to be found there was a covered well, overgrown with moss. At least the rope coiled over a rusty hook beneath the well''s cover and the wooden bucket tied to the end appeared to be intact, possibly treated with some waterproofing process.


    "Do we just burn it all down with the vampire inside?" Al half-heartedly joked, almost too exhausted to swat at another mosquito that was buzzing him.


    "We might find it too damp to burn properly," Bote suggested. "I am not a carpenter, but I suspect the building may hold itself up well enough for us to go inside and look if we want, so long as we do not do substantial violence to the structure. I have seen mineshafts with worse timbers."


    "If there are fewer bloodsucking things inside than there are outside, I''m all for taking a look," Wikwocket suggested.


    Al looked over their transportation. Haunch drooped with exhaustion, and Al''s eyes lingered for a moment on the stiff, drained deer carcass Gruntle had dumped on top of the cart.


    "Should we have someone stay out here to kill anything that might try to suck the vital fluids from our donkey?" he asked.


    Even the normally-stoic Gruntle sagged from fatigue, but the potential to possibly kill something seemed to inspire some interest. He grunted once, and took a few tired steps to crouch down by Haunch. This gave Al some relief, since if there was a risk of anyone "doing violence" to the crumbling tavern and knocking it down on top of them, he assumed it''d have been the gnoll.


    "We''ll call out if we run into any danger," Al assured Gruntle, "but this place looks pretty empty. I hope it is, but maybe we can find something useful in there. At this point, I assume we''re going to be spending the night either in there or in the former stables."


    Feeling a little silly but not wanting to be rude - or unpleasantly surprised - if anyone still lurked in the ruins of the tavern, Al used his mace to knock on the warped wooden door. It pulled loose from the upper hinge when struck, then fell inward, breaking away from the lower hinge as well. The door fell into the main room of the abandoned tavern with a dull thud.


    In the dim light of the setting sun, they could see that the tavern appeared to have been abandoned in an orderly fashion. Just inside to the right was the bar, with empty shelves and barrel-racks behind it. Round tables made from scavenged broken wagon-wheels or old barrels were scattered evenly in the main room, with a variety of chairs and stools around them still patiently waiting for someone to someday come back to sit down. A long-disused fireplace was built into one wall, and a door next to it appeared to read BATHS in fading letters. Wooden stairs leading up along the far wall were cluttered with debris from collapsed roofing somewhere above the second floor along with a worrying assortment of bones and dried corpses of birds, mice, and other small animals.


    A few simple, unadorned chandeliers still hung from the ceiling with half-burned candles still in them. Not wanting to waste time to look for a ladder, Al commanded the candles to light themselves with a magic trick. They obeyed, though they sputtered and smoked a bit perhaps due to the age of the wax. The additional light only made the place look emptier, aside from a normal littering of spiderwebs and husks of long-dead insects. Wikwocket quickly made her way around behind the bar, but soon called out with obvious disappointment.


    "Aw...it''s all gone. No cashbox, no leftover bottles, nothing! Well, unless you count this one half-broken beer stein. Oh, no, wait, here''s a trapdoor!"


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    Rusty hinges creaked from behind the bar. "It''s a cellar! There''s one barrel left!" Wikwocket announced. Al moved closer to look over the bar as the sound of her small footsteps echoed, descending wooden stairs down into the dark. Then, the pop of a large cork being pulled from a barrel rang out. With the cork removed, a faint bluish-green glow illuminated the opening in the top of the barrel from inside. The light was just enough for Al to make out the shape of Wikwocket recoiling away from the barrel.


    "Whoo! That stings! It''s just vinegar!" she said. "Strong vinegar. Why is there one single barrel of glowing vinegar in the cellar here?"


    "I don''t know why it''d be glowing, but maybe it was some kind of wine that went bad before they packed up and left, so they didn''t bother taking it with them," Al called down to her, "Might be worth something to an alchemist if we take it with us. I think maybe we should leave it there for now, though. We should probably check the rest of the place first."


    The glow went away as Wikwocket popped the cork back into the lid of the barrel and returned up the stairs.


    A door at the other end of the bar led to a kitchen area, also cleaned out except for a heavy iron cauldron still hanging on rusty chains over another fireplace. Al thought it odd that there were three separate small rooms attached to the kitchen. One looked like it had been a pantry of sorts, though there was nothing left on any of the shelves and there were no barrels of supplies. Another seemed to have been a storeroom for cooking utensils with racks, hooks, and drawers for whatever knives, forks, skewers, pots, pans, or other cooking devices might have once been there. The third room was also empty except for some shelving and a small writing desk, but the spacing of the shelves made Al think of a specialized library or study. One noteworthy thing had been left behind - a faded piece of parchment on the desk. Time and humidity had ruined much of it, but the still-legible remains of the neat, simple letters on it suggested that it had been a recipe for a meat stew. Wikwocket diligently went around stabbing everything to confirm - to her disappointment but Al''s relief - that nothing they found was secretly a disguised monster.


    The BATHS led to a short perpendicular hallway with four small rooms, each containing a wooden washtub and some pegs, presumably for hanging clothes up on. They each had small trapdoor-like sections in the middle of the floor which could be easily lifted out, and they all seemed to open into the same deep unpleasant-smelling trench below. Half-burnt candles waited here in candle-holders just inside of each bath-room next to the doors, just as they did in the chandeliers. One room''s washtub had rotted and fallen apart, but the others were whole, not that anyone was likely to try bathing here no matter how much they needed it.


    That left only the upstairs to investigate. Al put a hesitant foot down on the first step, which squished and fell apart when he tried to put his weight on it. Wikwocket quickly stabbed BiteySue into the step fearing or hoping that the unnatural motion meant that it had been made of disguised monster flesh rather than rotten wood, and yet again felt disappointed.


    "There''s no way we can get up and down those steps," Al reported,"It doesn''t look like the weather getting in through the hole in the roof has been kind to them."


    "You gigantic monsters might not be able to, but I can! I''ll go check it out for you," Wikwocket boasted, and carefully, lightly, she started up the stairs. Some of the steps were so rotted from being below the leaking roof that they squished under even Wikwocket''s light feet, but none of them broke entirely. She made it about halfway up when the light rustling sound came down from above. Wikwocket leapt and spun to land two steps higher as the light bundle of bright green ferns touched down on the step she''d been on. More soft sounds of something light falling through the air above her made her change her mind about going upstairs.


    "Nope!" she yelled, drawing her dagger to defend herself as she dodged and weaved away from the newly-falling ferns and past the one on the steps below her. Twisting away and slashing at the reaching fronds with her dagger, she was able to get back down to the ground level with all of her blood still inside of her skin. She panted and glared angrily at the cluster of ferns now waiting on the steps. They had reached for her when she ran - the lowest one had even dragged itself one step down as if to chase after her. Now, they''d stopped and sat in place, fronds gently waving as if in a breeze. Gruntle leaned in from outside to make sure everyone was unhurt - or, Al reconsidered, probably just to make sure he wasn''t missing out on any violence - then huffed and went back out to guard Haunch again.


    "Well, aren''t you coming after me?" Wikwocket demanded of the ferns after a while, but they didn''t appear to hear her. One after another, they very slowly pulled themselves towards the nearest wall, and began to drag themselves up it. They inched towards what remained of the light of the setting sun coming through the broken roof upstairs.


    "I know, I know," Al answered Wikwocket''s accusing glare, "Fire. I''m working on it. Maybe we should go check the stable building before the sunlight''s completely gone, then we can figure out what we''re going to do for the night."

 0066 - Bloodsucking Parasites, Hunger, and Fatigue

    The three of them went back outside to rejoin the gnoll and donkey. Al took one of his remaining torches from his pack in case they needed more light to see inside, and they led Haunch to the stable building. Al practiced his fire-starting magic with the trick to make his torch light itself, and asked Gruntle to pull the stable door open. It creaked and shuddered on its bent, rusty hinges, but swung open. No immediate danger menaced them. Cautiously holding the torch inside to provide light while Al looked across the ceiling revealed no lurking blood-sucking ferns. Al led the way in carefully. The straw that had been on the floor had long ago rotted away, leaving a crazy crosshatching pattern of black lines in the dirt. The building did at least appear to be solid with no sign of leaking through the roof or failing of the supports or walls. Walking further in, they could all see that everything of any usefulness had been taken away when the place was abandoned, and all of the stalls were empty...or so it seemed, until they reached a point far enough in to see the furthest one. Haunch began to bray in fear and struggled to walk backwards while still attached to the cart. Bote came over to grab the donkey''s harness and led Haunch outside, talking quietly to him to try to calm him.


    The last stall held the body of a horse, Al realized when he got closer, in an even more extremely emaciated and desiccated state than the deer on their cart. The leathery grey skin was missing much of its hair and showed the bone underneath clearly. Not only many tiny insect-bites decorated the remains, but also numerous shallow, rough, round gouges, each about the size of a coin.


    Gruntle stepped up and leaned down to sniff. Before Al could stop him, the gnoll bit into the underside of the long-dead horse''s neck, and with some struggle managed to bite free a small tough strip of what had once been meat and skin. He chewed it without any sign of enjoying it, and swallowed.


    "Too old to eat," he decided, despite having just eaten it. "No good."


    I guess we''re not sleeping in here now, if our donkey was uncomfortable about the dead horse with all of its blood sucked out, ripping out its throat isn''t going to help.


    There didn''t seem to be much else to investigate. They found a small hayloft but no hay, miscellaneous wooden pegs that no longer had anything hanging from them, and not much else.


    "But of course here the roof is intact and the door actually closes," Al lamented melodramatically to the ceiling before they all vacated it and pushed the door shut again.


    After a short discussion, the party decided to spend the night in the ruined tavern. The cart wouldn''t fit through the door, but Haunch could. They repurposed the rooms with the baths into places to sleep, clearing out the remains of the one broken tub so they could install Haunch into that room. They moved the contents of the cart inside and propped the front door across the doorway to at least partially block it.


    The evening meal ended up being less disgusting than Al had expected. The four of them managed to salvage a substantial amount of stiff grey flesh from the dead deer, throwing it into the cauldron still hanging in the kitchen with enough water from the well outside to cover the meat chunks. Some of the potato and onion from the bag they''d been paid with in Turnipseed went into the pot. Al objected to the addition of some of the glowing vinegar, but Bote assured him that faith would protect them from any poisonous effects.


    They took turns watching the stewpot while potential tick infestations were addressed. Bote was put in charge of that given their experience doing healer work.


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    "No peeking, perverts!" Wikwocket teased before heading into the bath-room that Bote set up as an impromptu clinic. "I''m only getting naked for legitimate medical reasons!"


    After all of the examinations were done, they tallied up how many ticks they''d found. There had been two ticks on Wikwocket''s head and one behind her right knee. Wikwocket said she found only one on Bote, in their beard under the right side of their jaw. Al had two - one in a forearm and another attached to his calf inside the damaged boot, and Bote found four on Haunch''s legs and face.


    Gruntle had eleven. "They were everywhere," a slightly traumatized Bote announced, when it was all done.


    All of the ticks were dropped into the half-broken beer stein that Wikwocket had noticed behind the bar earlier, and killed by the small amount of earthshine poured in from Bote''s silver flask. Al went digging through the supplies they''d picked up at Gerhardt''s apothecary to find a clay crock of ointment, while Bote went to the kitchen to say a prayer for the purification of their unfortunate-deer stew.


    "It''s supposed to be for fleas," Al explained as he took the lid off of the crock, "but maybe it''ll keep ticks and mosquitoes away was well. I''ll try just about anything at this point."


    "Why did you buy flea ointment?" Wikwocket asked him. Al silently answered with a cocked eyebrow and an obvious meaningful glance towards Gruntle.


    "Oh, right," Wikwocket nodded, "with all that fur, it''d be a problem if you got too close to him and gave him fleas."


    <hr>


    Under the circumstances, their late dinner was tolerably good. The stew lacked salt and even after simmering for more than an hour the meat still resisted chewing, but it was edible. The water from the well outside proved itself clean enough to drink, though it smelled faintly of sulfur and tasted like wet moss. At least they had plenty of actual tables to sit at while they ate. Furthermore, the alchemical fumes from the ointment made them all smell somewhat like pungent minty sheep, but it successfully covered up any off-odors that the stew might have had. Gruntle stopped occasionally to sniff himself, remarking that the ointment was doing a good job of hiding his scent, too.


    Bellies full of at-least-not-poisonous food, Al propped the warped door back up against the opening so that it would at least keep anything large from getting in without being noticed.


    "It might be a good idea for someone to be awake and watching things out here until we leave. I don''t know how much more mental focus I can maintain right now but there are some things I want to do some research on, so I think I can watch for a few hours before I sleep. I can wake someone else up to take over then. We don''t have to leave in a hurry in the morning..."


    "Yes we do! The longer we wait around here, the more likely someone gets their blood sucked!" Wikwocket objected.


    "I mean, we can wait long enough for everyone to get some rest before we head out again."


    Bote volunteered to take over for Al, and they decided that Gruntle would take over for Bote. Wikwocket would take the last watch.


    "We have three of the bath-rooms to work with, so I suppose we will need to have whoever''s coming off of watch take the room from whoever is next," Al considered.


    "There is actually room for each of us to have a dedicated space," Bote pointed out,"provided one of us would share space with Haunch. This may help comfort our nervous cart-puller, too. I will do this, unless someone else is willing."


    Gruntle grunted and stood, then trudged to the bath-room where Haunch waited. He left the door open, so the sound of him flopping to the floor and groaning with relief at finally being able to rest reverberated clearly through the main room of the incompletely-named tavern. It made Al feel even more tired by contrast, but he concentrated on the matters upon which he wanted to consult the small collection of magic references they were carrying. While Bote and Wikwocket headed off to their chosen rooms and closed their doors, Al retrieved Auswelte Sachen as well as Philosophical Principles of Wizardry for the Novice, and set them on one of the tables to read. As an afterthought, he went back and fetched De Re Praecontatio as well. He began his watch flipping between books to consider what he could find about the contacting and manifesting of spirits into the waking world, and the nature of the possible bonds such a summoned spirit could have with the summoner. When the esoteric concepts finally got too hard to focus on, he switched back to the simpler question of how one might magically manifest raw fire instead. He roused Bote to take over after a few hours and retired. He closed the door, opened the small trapdoor over the obvious drain-hole in the floor and used it for what the smell made clear was one of its purposes. Then he replaced the trapdoor, and settled down into his bedroll. He fell asleep too quickly to be worried about his last muddled conscious thoughts, which were about whether there might be some magical means by which a summoned spirit could suck someone''s blood from somewhere beyond the waking world.

 0067 - Restless Bloodless Night and Day

    Al awoke groggily to the sound of Bote muttering a repeated maledictive prayer to call down divine retribution for attempting to foil the Ineffable Plans. Al forced himself to stagger to the door and open it to check on things. Al had forgotten to extinguish the candles in the hanging candelabras, and several of the blood-hungry ferns were now dangling from the ceiling next to one of them. A column of divine light pulsed down through the ceiling at each completion of the several-second-long prayer, causing the ferns to flail slowly but desperately as they smouldered before they died off one by one and fell the the floor.


    "They appear to have sensed the light and perhaps the warmth of the candles, and they each pulled themselves across the ceiling to there as I watched. I thought it best to deal with them safely before they became a problem," Bote explained, as a sleepy gnoll looked out from the room he shared with the donkey. Gruntle half-heartedly huffed in annoyance and went back inside, prompting a few sounds of hooves moving around to make way.


    Al gave Bote a nod of thanks and went back to lie down and go back to sleep. As he drifted back out of consciousness, he heard the small trapdoor covering the drain hole being lifted in the next room. The room''s occupants moved around, and there was a long sound of liquid pouring down into the trench below. Al was pretty sure the second stream-of-liquid sound that started back up a few moments later was just a fatigue-induced hallucination. Al''s eyes closed, and he dreamed of flames trying to whisper secrets to him.


    A loud SLAM! of a heavy object smashing into the floor outside startled Al awake again far too soon. Groaning with effort, Al shoved himself back up to his feet as the SLAM! repeated once more. He opened his door again to see Gruntle swinging his flail down onto a two-foot-long pink snake. Two more of them were crushed to the floor. In the flickering light of the nearly burnt out candles Al could see a few more of them fleeing back through the gap behind the propped-up front door. As Gruntle turned to look for any more that needed smashing, Al noticed one with its mouth stuck to the back of Gruntle''s right thigh. The head and several inches down the body had darkened to a deeper red.


    "Gruntle, you''ve got one more there!" Al warned. The gnoll looked down, confused that he''d not noticed being bitten. He grabbed the snake by the end of the tail and before it could try to escape, he yanked it loose and whipped its head against the floor until it stopped moving. Gruntle''s own blood oozed from the rough, round, coin-sized wound where he''d pulled the snake loose.


    Bote had roused themself from sleep at the noise, too, and shuffled over to tend to the wound while Al''s curiosity made him take a closer look at the snakes before trying to return to sleep. They were thin and not especially large. Their scales were a soft pink, except near the head of the one that had latched onto Gruntle and fed on some of his blood. Their mouth-parts were unusual. Al had read about lampreys in a book of sea-creatures at one time, and these snakes reminded him of them. Their mouths opened all the way to be able to sink all of their teeth into a flat patch of flesh and hang on. Bote pressed a clean cloth to Gruntle''s injury and tied it in place to bandage it.


    "Looks like everyone''s all right," Wikwocket said, leaning against the doorframe to the room she''d taken. She yawned. "Looks like dawn''s almost here, guess I might as well take over." She came out and leaned against the wall while the others tried to get back to sleep some more. Al was too tired to feel bothered by Gruntle idly eating the snake that had bitten him as they all returned to their rooms. Al dropped into dreams of flying through a dark, hot void inhabited by fear, hate, and hunger.


    Al wasn''t sure how much time had passed before the clomping of donkey-hooves moving across the floor out to the main room of the tavern woke him again. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the irritating buzzing of a mosquito flitting around the room prevented it. He didn''t know how long Gerhardt''s flea-ointment would continue to repel other insects so the sooner they got moving the less likely it would wear off before they reached their destination. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the plain ceiling of the room for a moment.


    "At least we were out of the weather," he admitted, "but it would have been nice to actually rest."


    Then he sat up with more effort than should have been required, and slowly gathered his things together. Al worried a little that he''d find Wikwocket''s bloodless corpse sitting outside since he hadn''t been awakened again during her watch, but he opened the door to find her getting Gruntle to help carry the lead-lined chest back outside to put on the cart.


    "Ready to leave so soon?" Al asked.


    "Yes," Wikwocket replied, "this whole area is creepy and exhausting. Another night like that one and I''ll be too tired to keep anything from sucking all my blood."


    "Perhaps unnecessarily dramatic, but I agree with the sentiment," Bote said, shuffling out of their own room with their pack.


    "Did you figure out how to shoot magical fire from your fingers yet, so we can burn down this swamp?" Wikwocket asked Al.


    Al yawned.


    "I think I''ve just about got the concepts figured out, but I''m not going to be able to try anything until I''ve had some real rest and a chance to make some notes. The next thing I want to figure out after that is to conjure up a demon."


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    Even Wikwocket seemed to be a little scandalized by this. "That...seems like a very big leap in ambition, especially when you wouldn''t even let me haggle with the last one we met," she reminded him.


    "Not a free-willed one," Al tried to explain as he carried his own pack out to put on the cart. "I need one to study safely, and I think it might be able to help me with understanding some things. A lot of magic-workers end up conjuring a spirit that''s bonded to the magic-worker''s own. It''d be a barely-formed thing, shaped like a natural animal here in the waking world to give it a shape that it can manifest into. Like Codex, Melissa''s magpie. That''s not a natural bird, that''s a spirit in the shape of a bird. It seems like they''re safe and obedient because they''re sort of too simple to have truly independent thoughts. I really need to find a copy of that book I promised Father I''d read before I tried to do anything like that though. I hope it''s not too obscure to find a copy."


    "Do you think it would shock the nobility to have you running around with a demon slave?" Wikwocket asked, an edge of enthusiasm creeping into her voice.


    "Slave isn''t exactly right, it''s...well, never mind, I''m not sure I can explain it well. But, actually, probably not. Well, I take it back, they might be offended that someone like me who is clearly not noble, could have a supernatural servant."


    "That''s good enough for me! If I can help you get that book, I will!"


    <hr>


    At Wikwocket''s insistence, Al and Gruntle hauled the small barrel of glowing vinegar out of the cellar and loaded it up onto the cart as well. Al wasn''t sure what use it would be, but if nothing else, he supposed it might be something they could sell to an alchemist. He still wasn''t sure it wasn''t poisonous. It hadn''t done them any harm when put into the stew, but Bote had said a prayer for the purification of the food before they ate it.


    The morning air was pleasantly cool, though still humid. Once everything was loaded up, Al took some of the broken pieces of the sign and used them to wedge the loose front door into place so it at least wouldn''t easily fall in again now that it was off of its hinges. He didn''t expect to ever be here again, especially if he had any choice in the matter, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Then, the group continued their trudging further up the overgrown road.


    Aside from the smell of it lingering on them - especially Gruntle - beneath the odor of the flea ointment, they seemed to be leaving the swamp behind them. They still caught glimpses of lingering dense fog behind them and to the east through the pine trees. As they continued, they began to occasionally see flat stones here and there, buried in the road.


    "It has been some time," Bote opined after they''d passed a few of them, "but I believe at one time this would have been a stone-paved road. The stonework is not up to proper dwarven standards, of course, so I imagine this is old humanish work. Perhaps a few decades since it was last maintained in any way. Much longer than that and I think none of the stones would still be visible at the surface, due to being covered by soil and such. Or at least, this is my opinion as someone with no formal experience of stonework."


    After a few hours of marching, the stones became frequent enough to be a bit of an impediment. Their long neglect and occasional plant growth at their edges resulted in many of them tilting up instead of lying flat, and this made the cart lurch and bump. Al was relieved that shortly after this they encountered the first roadsign they''d seen in a while. The wooden pole was overgrown with moss and lichen, but the deeply gouged letters in the sign''s weathered wood still clearly indicated they were headed towards HELL''S BATHTUB. A smaller sign pointed to the east, where a few more stones seemed to suggest a smaller road heading off in that direction. The smaller sign was completely moss-covered. Al scraped the moss away to see if there was anything still legible there, but was only able to make out LAV. The rest was no longer discernible. Looking further east, Al thought he could see a rising plume of steam, or perhaps white smoke. A faint sulfurous scent hung in the air.


    "At least we''re going in the right direction," he said, and they continued on their way, having no interest in dragging their tired selves through gratuitous exploration at the time.


    Gruntle was still a target for flies, attracted by his slaughterhouse mopped with swamp-water odor, but the remains of the flea-ointment seemed to be doing a fair job of keeping them from staying on him when they landed. There were far fewer mosquitoes now, and Al was pleased to hear the sound of birds for the first time since they''d begun following this road.


    They soon discovered what made the bird-calls. A bright red hummingbird seemed curious about the interlopers in its territory. It flitted between them all, pausing to hover and examine them, and it chirped out a cheerful call. A few more calls answered it, and soon they had several of the brightly-colored birds entertaining them. Even Gruntle seemed amused, as he kept trying to catch them in his teeth. Wikwocket giggled as one of them landed on her shoulder.


    "Hey, look! I''m like one of those magical princesses in the storybooks!" she laughed, reaching up to gently rub the bird''s head as it nuzzled her neck with its beak. Al laughed, too, until he noticed something.


    "Is that bird biting you?" he asked.


    Wikwocket reached up to touch her neck, startling the bird into flitting away. "I don''t feel anything," she said, but when she looked at her fingers, there was a smear of blood on them.


    The birds looked very fragile, but they were small and quick and the whole party was still worn out from the night of poor sleep, so their attempts to do violence to the bloodthirsty birds did little more than frighten them. After chasing away the one that was lapping at the blood slowly leaking from a small bite one had made in the donkey''s shoulder, the party managed drive the rest off with a minute or so of persistent but unsuccessful attempts to kill the birds.


    "I am done with this place!" Wikwocket shouted, as she pressed the clean piece of cloth that Bote handed her to the side of her neck. Fortunately the injuries turned out to be superficial, and they were soon on their way once again.


    The road headed up a gentle rise and the pine forest began to thin out. In the distance, Al could see plumes of steam and a few thin streamers of smoke that suggested fireplaces. Al was relieved when the elaborate iron gate in the fence across the road came into view, with numerous small buildings beyond that made clear they had arrived.

 0068 - They Came from the Bloodless Swamp

    The gate, fence, guard-shack, and the equipment of the guard slumped lazily against the side of the shack were the first well-maintained things Al had seen in days. The gate and fence were black-painted iron, and above the gate was an elaborate sign made from intricately arranged wire, with gold-plated letters reading Hell''s Bathtub attached. The shack was neatly-made whitewashed wood. The guard''s breastplate and half-helmet were well-polished steel.


    The guard himself, on the other hand, leaned sloppily against the shack, eyes closed and head hanging to the side. For a moment Al feared they''d found another bloodless corpse, but then the guard shifted a little to try to get more comfortable. The guard opened his eyes as the sound of donkey hooves and the rattling of the cart on the remains of the stones of the road got his attention.


    "Hello, there, you have no idea how glad we are to see you!" Al called out as cheerfully as he could as he waved. To Al''s surprise, the guard''s eyes popped wide open and in a panicked frenzy he reached into the guard shack to grab a spear, which he promptly dropped and scrambled to pick back up in his haste.


    "Vampires! Werewolves! I need backup! Vampires and werewolves!" he shrieked as he desperately fumbled with a key ring to unlock the gate. Bewildered, Al signaled the rest of the group to slow down as the guard finally found the right key, got the gate unlocked, slipped through it, dropped his spear, picked it back up, shoved the gate shut again, and locked it with shaky hands. Then, he sprinted away from the gate towards the nearest building, shouting hoarsely for help to defend against the vampires and werewolves. Al looked back down the miserable excuse for a road that they''d been traveling on, but saw nobody behind them.


    "Does he mean us?" he wondered aloud.


    "It might be kind of funny if I chase him down and bite him," Wikwocket joked. Reflexively, Al''s arm reached out to signal Gruntle to stop before the gnoll took the idea seriously.


    Al looked up at the disappointed bestial thing that was his colleague.


    "Ah. Right," Al realized, "he thinks you''re a werewolf."


    "What''s a werewolf?" Gruntle asked.


    "Well, they''re dangerous, violent, bestial people...," Al began, and tapered off for a moment, still looking at the gnoll. "...and...they are influenced by a sort of violent spirit, sort of like demonic possession..."


    He stared at the gnoll for a moment longer, trying to think of something that would describe the difference.


    "...oh, yes, they started as humanish people but because of their curse they are forced to change shape into more bestial forms, and back to humanish again."


    "Why?"


    "I...don''t really know. the influence just forces them to change."


    Gruntle huffed. "Should just be what you are," he grumbled.


    Al was about to ask Bote if he''d been trying to teach philosophy to Gruntle when the panicked guard reappeared from inside the building he''d disappeared into. He was followed by a muscular woman in another set of similar armor. She was putting on a white-crested helmet with a casualness that seemed to agitate the first guard, judging by what Al could hear of his pleading to go get more guards to deal with the army of vampires. The new guard with the fancy helmet did stop suddenly to stare in their direction for a moment when she noticed Gruntle, but then she glanced at Al, shook her head, and shoved the first guard forward.


    "You idiot," the second guard said to the first, pointing at Al, "Look at the robes. He''s a wizard."


    Al was surprised to see that this calmed the first guard down a little.


    "But...they did come from the Bloodless Swamp! Nobody comes from the Bloodless Swamp! The only thing that way is Turnipseed! Nobody goes to Turnipseed!"


    The guards had reached the gate now, and under the urging of the second, the first shakily unlocked the gate again, still protesting.


    "The whole reason I volunteer for this watch is because nobody ever comes this way! Nobody wants to go to Turnipseed!" he complained.


    "Honestly, we didn''t want to go back to Turnipseed either, that''s how we ended up on this road," Al tried to explain. "We had no idea the trip was going to turn out to be so unpleasant. I almost regret not going back through Turnipseed the way we came instead. Now that we''re finally here, we''re very tired and as you can probably tell we very much need baths. Can we please come in?"


    The first guard pointed accusingly, panic rising in his voice again. "See?! Vampires can''t come in unless you invite them!" The second guard smacked the back of the first guard''s helmet with her fist.


    "They''re standing right out in the sunlight, and there''s no moon out right now so that''s not a werewolf, either. That''s a gnoll."


    This didn''t help calm the man at all, and the second guard pummeled the back of the first guard''s helmet a few more times until he stopped yelling about how dangerous gnolls were.


    "Look...you are a wizard, right?" the second guard asked Al.


    "That is one thing that I am, yes," Al answered. The second guard gave an emphatic hand-gesture in Al''s direction as if to indicate that this explained everything.


    The first guard relented a little. "Okay but...why a gnoll?"


    "Why a bear?" the second guard asked back, cryptically. She turned to address the party.


    "Please excuse the unprofessional behavior of Larry here. It is true that we never see people arriving from that direction, or leaving that way either, at least not in the years I''ve been here. We respect the privacy and dignity of our guests, however, so I''m not going to ask about your trip nor comment about your chosen appearances or hygiene needs. Have you got reservations?"


    "Nope, we''re quite confident!" Wikwocket answered.


    "If you''ve got no reservations," the white-plumed guard told them, either missing the joke or ignoring it, "then you''ll have to go to the waiting room and hope we can fit you in. There''s also a binding oath before we can allow you in, for the safety and comfort of our guests. If you haven''t left your associate in a condition that allows speech," she continued, pointing at Gruntle, "the important part of the oath is written. Don''t just stand there, Larry, go get the oathbook."


    "What do you mean, left in a condition that allows speech?" Al asked as Larry the guard ran off to do as he''d been asked.


    "It''s like, bears can''t talk, so if someone is magically transformed into a bear they won''t be able to talk either. Gnolls can''t talk, can they?"


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    "Actually, they can, it''s just that probably none of the others know how to speak a civilized language like Gruntle here does. Right, Gruntle?"


    Gruntle''s grunt for agreement didn''t really help settle the matter.


    Larry returned with a thick tome, bound in fine deerskin with golden letters that spelled out:


    <blockquote>


    Oathbook


    Hell''s Bathtub


    Balnea Infernala


    </blockquote>


    "Here''s how this works," the white-plumed guard explained, "I''m going to read the rules of behavior that everyone is bound to follow while within the boundaries of Hell''s Bathtub. If you do not understand any of them you must ask for explanation, because at the end you''ll write your given names into the oathbook, and we''ll call on the goddess of Hell''s Bathtub to witness while you agree to be bound by the rules, so if you don''t understand them, you''re not going to enjoy your visit at all."


    The white-plumed guard unrolled a creased and worn roll of parchment and began to read. The rules seemed to be thankfully reasonable. The monarchy''s regular laws against theft, fraud, and violence were still in effect and would be obeyed, other guests were to be interacted with politely or avoided, and their privacy was to be respected. Violence in sincere and legitimate self-defense was permitted but it was emphasized that it shouldn''t be necessary unless someone ever managed to sneak in without taking the oath themselves. Mutually-consenting violence would take place under strictly-defined rules in a formal dueling-hall if necessary. There were also some rules regarding the conduct of haggling with shopkeepers in Hell''s Bathtub, appropriate behavior in the baths themselves, and the treatment of staff at the facility. The final rule was the consent of the oath-takers for the goddess Balnea Infernala to know their hearts - Gruntle had initially bared his teeth and covered his chest until Al, with Wikwocket''s help, managed to explain the metaphor to him. Then, they each wrote their names in the book, and Al was surprised when Gruntle clumsily took up the pen and slowly wrote his given name in sloppy letters. "Aunt Melissa made me learn," Gruntle explained, to the shock of the guards who hadn''t expected him to actually speak. The name of the goddess was invoked, and visible puffs of steam rose from the page of the book where their names were written.


    The plumed guard sent Larry back to his post to watch for more vampires and werewolves and then she led the party on an abbreviated tour of Hell''s Bathtub, which turned out to be more like a small oddly-wealthy village than a single hospitality business. The main road was lined with a substantial variety of small shops and a few religious sites, stretching straight across the commercial settlement all the way from the southern gate where Al and his group had arrived, up to the northern one. Their straight path was interrupted only where it split in the center of the settlement to divert around the massive two-story building containing the major hotspring that Hell''s Bathtub was built for. There were additional dormitories for workers, guard stations, and a few neighborhoods where a variety of local people had their own small, cramped residences. Minor nobles, wealthy merchants, and richly-dressed clergy ambled contentedly everywhere. They mostly ignored the adventurers, though Al did see quite a few surprised glances that bounced between Gruntle and himself. In accordance with the oath, nobody made a fuss about their presence. One rotund man dressed in fine white silk highlighted with golden thread seemed pleasantly surprised to see Wikwocket.


    "Well met!" he said to her, bowing and tipping his fashionable conical hat with the spray of silver wires splaying out from the top. His eyes lingered for a moment on the hilt of her spider-marked blade, sticking out from the absurdly rustic wooden sheathe across her back, then he gave Al and the rest of them a suspicious glare and went on his way.


    "Who was that?" he asked Wikwocket after they''d left the man behind.


    "I don''t know, looks like some kind of merchant to me. If he thinks I''m going to sell BiteySue to him, he''s going to be disappointed."


    The group was eventually led all the way up to a large barn-like building near the northern gate, and brought inside. The front was all wide stalls for horses, or potentially something substantially larger given how spacious they were. Most of them were empty, and Haunch was given one that was big enough to leave the cart with him. The rest of the party was led further to the back of the building where there was one large open space, sparse and undecorated aside from scattered chairs, cushions, and rugs to lounge on. It would have seemed very cozy if it weren''t for the large brown bear.


    "Don''t worry, she''s a regular client here, she just never bothers to make reservations," the white-plumed guard assured them. "If you''ll wait here, someone will check in with you in a little while to discuss your needs and how long you may be waiting," she said, and then left to return to her guard duties.


    The bear was as startled to see them as they were to see her. She stood quickly up on her hind legs and bared her teeth as she noticed Gruntle. She was nearly as tall as he was, but heavier. She calmed down as she looked from the gnoll to Al, and sat back down to watch them. Al noticed that there was a necklace around her neck, made of a collection of bones, rocks, and oddly-shaped twigs along with one small leather pouch. It was all strung together with a coarse twine of woven grass. She pointed at Gruntle with a forepaw and gave Al a quizzical head-tilt and a questioning "*Rrrrrrrr?*"


    "Yes, he''s a gnoll," Al told her, wondering what she might be. He could think of two possibilities.


    "You''re not one of the, uh, fair folk are you?" he asked the bear. She shook her head in a humanish gesture of clear denial.


    "Of course, the fair folk are delightful," Al continued cautiously, looking around in case one of the might be hiding nearby, but saw nothing suspicious. At least the bear''s explicit denial could be trusted. Al had always heard that the fae wouldn''t or perhaps couldn''t tell outright lies. "I''m guessing then that you''re from one of the druidic traditions?"


    The bear nodded. She pawed at her necklace gently, then shied away and gave Al a questioning look as Gruntle ambled over to sniff at her.


    "He does things like that, you should be safe as long as you don''t provoke a fight. I wouldn''t call him civilized but he''s a lot less hostile than typical gnolls," Al told her.


    "Do the food vendors come by here?" Wikwocket interrupted to ask, "We haven''t had proper food in days!"


    The bear pushed the nosy gnoll away as politely but firmly as she could, and pawed at the leather pouch on her necklace, looking expectantly at Al.


    "You want me to open that?" he asked, and was answered with a nod. He approached and opened the pouch, finding nothing inside but a large handful of purple berries. By leaning to one side, the bear was able to hold out a forepaw turned up to plainly indicate she wanted to be given the berries. Al helpfully dumped some out of the pouch, and the bear held her paw out towards Wikwocket, who took one and chewed on it.


    "Oh!" she said, "That''s good! What are they?"


    The bear answered with conversational-sounding grunts and growls, which nobody else could understand anyway - not even Gruntle. She held out her paw to offer berries to Al, Gruntle, and Bote as well. Even Gruntle seemed to enjoy the small snack despite its total meatlessness. The bear sniffed with curiosity at the gnoll for a moment before relaxing back into a seated position. With some gestures she managed to get Al to take the remaining berries and put them back in her pouch. He did so, finding it interesting that after just the one berry he''d eaten, he no longer felt hungry. Gruntle had settled down into a crouch as well, looking content for the moment or perhaps just sleepy. Al yawned as this reminded him just how tired he was after the last two days.


    "No idea how long we might be waiting here," Al suggested, sitting down against a wall and trying to get comfortable on one of the rugs. "Might was well take a nap for a while, maybe when they finally get around to us we can..."


    "Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, Aloysius Arcanisen, Bote Wissengr?ber, Gruntle?" a man with a loud, clear voice of a herald and a neat staff uniform called out, interrupting Al''s statement.


    "That''s us!" Wikwocket answered back.


    "Another guest has vouched for you and made arrangements. If you''ll follow me we can discuss your needs."


    The bear''s grumbling and growling was clearly an objection of some sort.


    "You know you can simply request a reservation in advance instead of wandering out of the woods without notice," the unperturbed staff-member answered back, then returned his attention to Wikwocket.


    "Also, the gentleman who vouched for you requested that I return your dropped property to you."


    He held out a small leather coinpurse for her.


    "Ah, thank you, I was wondering where that was," she said as she accepted it, though Al thought she seemed a little skeptical.


    They all gathered their things and followed the man back out, leaving the unhappy bear behind.

 0069 - Fan Service

    Haunch was moved to a nicer, well-attended stable, and a porter was arranged to bring their possessions. Al had to give in and ask about gratuities as he hadn''t spent much time in places luxurious enough for such practices to be common. Based on the short conversation, he ended up offering a silver coin to the stablehand who would be taking care of their donkey, and another for the porter. The man who had come to fetch them introduced himself as Stephen and explained that he would be managing their experience during their stay, which turned out to mean he was a something like a combination of concierge and cashier.


    As expected from its reputation, the rooms were a bit pricey but not out of reach, and with little discussion they agreed to a shared private room for sleeping. Then they got to the need for baths and associated services.


    "As you can probably tell, the...," he began, and for some reason Baron Wulfcynn''s description came to mind, "large, odd fellow here with us needs to be thoroughly washed, and we promised him he''d be served food and drink while he was bathed."


    Stephen was unconcerned. "This is not especially unusual for us, we have a number of clients who enjoy being serviced in various ways while transformed into an exotic body. We have a few staff-members who are especially enthusiastic about that sort of service. Your large, odd fellow will be well cared-for. And for the rest of you?"


    Bote requested a private bath with one attendant who was familiar with dwarven bathing practices. Al recalled that in dwarven culture, they preferred to have at least two people when bathing, so that the portions of one''s own body that one can''t reach or see can be checked for potential health problems and ensured to be properly cleaned. Al requested a small, simple private bath, with no attendants - he wanted to meditate a bit on some arcane matters. He did request to be as near as feasible to wherever Gruntle would be getting bathed, just in case he needed to intervene for some reason. Wikwocket opted for the mixed public bath.


    Prices were agreed upon, and Stephen showed them to their room, which was nice enough to have a real lock built into the door. Each of them were given a key to it. Inside were four large cots with well-padded matresses and pillows, and abundant blankets. It wasn''t a large room, but it was cozy rather than cramped. The porter arrived to deliver their possessions as Stephen explained where the privies were and how to find the baths they''d chosen.


    "The attendants for your gnoll-shaped companion should be ready for him in a quarter-hour, as will Bote''s attendant" Stephen informed them, "if you require anything else or have any questions, mention me to any staff-member and I will see to it."


    As soon as Stephen had left and closed the door, Wikwocket opened the coinpurse she''d been handed, and fished out a few slightly-rusting iron coins, and a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the paper, and read what was on it.


    "Apparently, someone named Cyrus Borge has accepted our request for a meeting," she explained, "The note says he''ll meet us two hours after sunrise in private caldarium room number three tomorrow."


    "About what?" Al asked.


    "I have no idea, maybe he''s mistaken us for someone else. There''s no way I''m not going to go, though, this could be exciting! What are these iron coins for, do you think?" She held them out for inspection. They were worn down from age and natural corrosion, but they seemed to have a multi-pointed symmetrical pattern on them, perhaps originally a snowflake, or an insect.


    "It''s not something I''ve studied much, but I think iron is supposed to be repellent or harmful to the fae, maybe they''re included to prevent one of the...um...fair folk from...uh...performing a delightful and entertaining trick by removing the note," Al speculated a little nervously. It was bad enough that he''d been spending the last several days worrying about how to potentially deal with demons, now he was worrying about which superstitions regarding the fae might be based in truth as well.


    Wikwocket shrugged and put everything back in the coinpurse. "Hey, why does everyone keep looking at you and acting like you''ve got something to do with Gruntle being Gruntle?" she asked Al, "I expected a lot more screaming wherever he showed up here."


    "I believe they think he''s an ordinary person, and that I''ve used my amazing wizardly powers to transmute him into a gnoll temporarily, as if I have anywhere near enough experience to even understand how that would work. I''m guessing some of the nobility are into that sort of thing and like to have hired wizards transform them into something else when they come here."


    "It would potentially also be a useful trick for maintaining anonymity or pseudonymity while meeting with others here," Bote pointed out.


    "Wouldn''t that just draw more attention to them?" Al asked.


    "Possibly, but it might also draw attention away from who they are in reality, by having a more dramatic alternate identity to appear as."


    "So," Wikwocket asked, "does that mean there is magic you could use to turn me into a huge dangerous monster?"


    "Such magic exists, yes, but I would point out that you''re already dangerous," Al countered with a grin.


    <hr>


    Al counted out some loose coins from their growing stash, for everyone to use for gratuities and small purchases. He dropped a gold coin and some silver and copper into Gruntle''s hand. He wasn''t sure he was up to explaining the nuances of tipping to a gnoll, so he just explained that a little of the money should be given to each person who does things for him. Then, it was time to grab a towel from the stack that had been left in the room for them, and take Gruntle to his appointment. As Al had asked, Stephen had arranged to get them into baths next to each other. Al''s was small and private, while Gruntle''s was larger, to make room for the gathered bath-attendants with their soap, brushes, and cleaning cloths, as well as trays of assorted meats, cheeses, and bottles of unremarkable wine. A bold, buxom, middle-aged woman in a thin toga appeared to be the supervisor or manager of the attendants. Her eyes opened wide in surprise as Al arrived to hand Gruntle off to them.


    "Well, you''re a new one," the woman told the gnoll, scrutinizing him with shameless intensity. "I''ve never worked on someone like you before." She turned to Al. "Very realistic, I''m impressed. Is he...complete?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows.


    "Um....yes?" he answered hesitantly, "He''s all gnoll, if that''s what you mean."


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    "How exotic!" She leaned in and gently rested her hand on Gruntle''s sternum. "What sort of service do you want from us today?" she asked the gnoll, looking up into his inhuman face.


    "He just needs to be cleaned up," Al interjected.


    "Hungry," Gruntle added, looking down with some confusion at the woman who was now leaning against him.


    "Oh, I''ll bet you have quite an appetite," she crooned. "You know, for just one gold coin, I could make this special for you."


    To Al''s awkward horror, Gruntle opened the fist that held the coins Al had given him, and he picked out the gold coin and handed it to the woman, who smiled and dropped the coin somewhere down into the front of her plain robes. Then, she gently but firmly led Gruntle towards the pool of hot water in the middle of the room, where the other attendants were waiting with their bathing supplies.


    "Okay, well, I''ll come back to check up on how things are going later I''ll be right next door if you need anything but hopefully you won''t," Al blurted out, quickly turning away as he saw the staff-manager reaching for the buckle on the one minimal bit of clothing that Gruntle put up with wearing.


    Al''s discomfort only increased as he took a few steps towards the door of his own bath as Wikwocket was passing by, on her way to the mixed public bath. She was...Al''s mind refused to accept the word naked because that implied vulnerability, while Wikwocket wore her own skin with the same kind of confidence a trained knight might have in a full suit of armor.


    "Why...why don''t you have clothes on?" he stammered.


    "Are you messing with me? You don''t wear your clothes in the bath, do you? Or is that a weird thing that wizards do? Anyway, Stephen said they''d wash them for me so I don''t currently have them to wear, even if I was some sort of strange person that wore clothes in the bath."


    "No, no, it''s just...I...Uh, never mind. I''m just going to go and get cleaned up in here, so..."


    "You sure you don''t want to come with me? I''m about to put on a performance for everyone else in the bath. You could be part of the act!"


    "No! No, I mean, I kind of need to think about...stuff. Fire. You know." Al could feel his cheeks reddening. Wikwocket was an athletic adult woman, but her being a three foot tall gnome just made this encounter feel very uncomfortable.


    "Well, okay, I guess I can do your parts, too. Have fun in your boring lonely bath, I''m going to go give people some excitement!" she teased, and waved as she continued merrily on her way.


    Seeing Bote further down the hall removing their half-ruined breastplate with the assistance of a dark-haired dwarf before opening the door into their bath, Al gave a polite wave to the two dwarves before hurrying into his own bath.


    The steam rising from the long tub set into the floor smelled only faintly of natural sulfur. Light-grey crystallized minerals encrusted the edges of the tub. The pattern of ripples in the clean, clear water''s surface showed a steady flow from one end of the tub to the other, presumably piped from the volcanically-heated water''s source and then draining away to wherever they got rid of it. Wooden pegs had been set into the walls for the hanging of clothing, and there was a wooden stool to sit on when not in the tub. A bucket with a bit of soap and several towels was neatly placed next to the stool. With an appreciative groan of relief at finally getting to relax, Al disrobed - and dis-shirted and dis-trousered and so forth - and went through his practiced routine of cleaning his clothes with a magic trick. He hung them on the pegs when he was done. He filled the bucket from the hot tub of water, gave himself a decent scrubbing with the soap, and rinsed himself off. Finally, he slowly lowered himself into the tub, wincing at the moment of discomfort before acclimating to the temperature of the water and lying back to float peacefully.


    He was still very tired, but he meditated as best he could on the mysteries of conjuring fire. He let his head lie back into the water until his ears were submerged.


    Somewhere off in the distance beyond his walls, he heard Wikwocket''s loud voice carried through the water. "Are you ready for excitement?" her water-muffled voice asked, to an answering chorus of assent from numerous voices. "All right, I''m doing it then!" Wikwocket promised.


    Al tried not to imagine what sort of very distracting things might be happening over there.


    Then Wikwocket''s voice came through again as she began her performance.


    <blockquote>


    "Our story begins in the town of Bright Peaks


    with its wizardly scholars and students indentured


    where I happened to meet up with others who seek


    to be our own stories of greatest adventure!"


    </blockquote>


    Oh. Right. Storytelling. Of course. he thought. He listened for a while as best he could - the water carried the sound further than it would have gotten through the walls, but muffled it at the same time. He wondered how long Wikwocket might have been composing this poetic epic of their not-especially-epic deeds so far. At least the parts he could understand seemed to be making them sound impressive. The sounds of her audience cheering, clapping, and providing good-natured heckling reached him through the water as well, so at least they were enjoying it.


    Al sat up to get his ears out of the water so he could concentrate. Now, if the manifestation of the bolts of magical violence could be made to take on attributes similar to a torch or lantern that''s meant to be on fire...


    He did not at all enjoy the surge of panic when the chorus of feminine screaming erupted from the other side of the wall, where he''d left Gruntle. Al was immediately out of the tub and lunging for the door. Then, he rushed back to grab a towel to wrap around himself before hurrying out, consumed by worry over what sort of terrible thing the gnoll might have done - and how he was going to explain to Notamimic Manor what the goddess of Hell''s Bathtub might have done to him for oathbreaking.


    He saw the woman that Gruntle had given a gold coin to marching angrily away down the hall, barely dressed and dripping wet. "...Oblivious!..." he heard her muttering as she left. From here in the hall, without the wall in the way, the screaming sounded less like terror and more like hilarity. He cautiously pushed open the door, to find Gruntle lounging lazily in a steaming tub of water, looking confused as he lapped at a tankard of some sort of wine. The bath attendants who seemed to be helpless with laughter were gathered around him. Soap-suds drifted in the tub-water, and at least the gnoll looked cleaner now.


    "Uh...is everything okay in here?" Al asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Gruntle''s complaint about his scent no longer being so well hidden was drowned out by the loud amusement.


    "Yes, fine..." one of the attendants managed to wheeze, as they all tried to restore their professional demeanors.


    Al gave a concerned look down the hall, where the woman he assumed was the manager had gone around a corner and out of sight. "He didn''t do anything...uh...inappropriate did he?"


    "No!" someone managed to blurt out before the attendants lost all composure and were laughing too hard to speak. Al gave Gruntle a look of confusion, which the gnoll returned with one of his own, not understanding what was so funny, either. Al watched, getting uncomfortably cold and embarrassed standing in the hallway wearing nothing but a damp towel, until one of the bath attendants managed to calm herself enough to speak.


    "Hey, stop it!" she told her colleagues in a somewhat strangled voice as she tried not to laugh, "We''re supposed to be professionals!"


    "Madame Marge is popular for her special services," the smirking attendant told Al, "and she kind of likes the exotic clients, so when your transmuted friend paid her, she took him into the bath and started with the touching and caressing, you know?"


    She must have noticed Al''s increasingly scandalized expression since she had to stifle another laugh. "No, no, see, he didn''t do anything. Like, he didn''t even seem to notice what she was doing! He just sat there, grumbling about us washing off the stink that he said was hiding his scent."


    She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory.


    "After a while Madame Marge got so annoyed she gave up subtlety and she just reached down and grabbed and..."


    She paused to suppress another outbreak of laughter.


    "...and he just looks down at her and he...and he says...he says, when do you make the special food?"


    Having reached the limit of his tolerance for awkward situations, Al mumbled his gratefulness that nothing bad was happening and excused himself to return to his own bath as the laughter howled out behind him. He closed the door, dropped the damp towel, and settled back into the hot water with a long, aggrieved sigh.


    He looked up at the ceiling.


    "This had better not haunt my dreams," he told it.

 0070 - Pretty Smelly

    Al''s exhaustion made it difficult to meditate on complex arcane matters without falling asleep, but as the sounds of uncontrollable mirth settled down from the other side of the walls he was able to at least relax.


    It''s just a matter of convincing an area of space or an existing manifestation that it is supposed to be on fire...


    Between brief periods of dozing off as he rested his head on the side of the tub, and moments of sleepy consideration of magical matters, Al felt he might at least be getting closer to understanding. He just needed a proper rest and maybe some more paper to write out diagrams and notes on, and he might be able to start experimenting.


    His half-conscious state of relaxation was interrupted a little later by a polite knock on the door, and Stephen''s voice informing Al that both his time and Gruntle''s in the bath would be up soon, since they would need them to leave so that they could make the baths ready for the next clients. He thanked the man, and heard him move over to the bath next door to inform Gruntle.


    The heat of the water had begun to make Al sweat anyway by this time, so he dragged himself out of the tub and dried himself off. He put his magically-cleaned clothing back over his naturally-cleaned body and went next door to meet up with Gruntle.


    The door to the gnoll''s bath opened, and an entire field of wildflowers rampaged out into the hallway and brutally smashed a flowery fist right into Al''s face...or at least, that''s what it smelled like.


    Gruntle was the cleanest Al had ever seen him. Even the leather flaps that he wore like a loincloth were cleaned, and the leather collar gleamed with the polishing it had received. He looked a bit absurd with his fur combed or brushed into neat patterns which would no doubt look wild again within the hour, but he no longer stank of swamp and rot and blood. Instead, he smelled as though someone had dunked him in a barrel of perfume.


    The last couple of weeks with Gruntle had given Al time to become somewhat familiar with the meaning of gnollish facial and body language, and he thought Gruntle seemed pleased, perhaps even smug. In one hand, the gnoll held a glass bottle about the size of Al''s fist, just short of three-quarters full of a pink liquid. He held it out proudly for Al to see. The dwarven runes etched into the bottle spelled out Bl¨¹tenblattgeruch.


    "Smells good. Pretty. Hides scent. Good for hunting," Gruntle insisted.


    "Pretty?" Al repeated back, completely bamboozled to hear that word coming from a gnoll in any context.


    Gruntle grunted in response. Al wasn''t sure Gruntle really knew what the word meant, but whatever he thought it meant, pretty clearly described the overwhelming floral miasma appropriately for him. Al looked past Gruntle into the room where he''d been bathed. The bath attendants looked tired, including the manager - Madame Marge - who had returned at some point. The floor around the tub was littered with completely emptied food-trays and a large bottle that once had wine in it.


    "He kept complaining about his scent," the professionally-calm Madame Marge explained, "so once he was cleaned we offered him a selection of colognes and perfumes. He chose...frugally, but he seems to like it very much."


    "Yes, I can tell," Al agreed, trying not to cough. The smell wasn''t inherently bad, but it was far too strong. Al inferred from the level of liquid in the bottle that Gruntle hadn''t been very cautious about the amount that he''d dumped on himself.


    The door to the bath Bote had gone into opened, and they emerged with their dark-bearded bath attendant. Bote''s breastplate now gleamed without a hint of corrosion, though there was still some etching and small holes in it. The two dwarves wrapped their forearms together and clasped hands for a moment - Al recognized this as the dwarven equivalent of a hug. He couldn''t tell whether it was a friendly acquaintance hug or something more intimate, but he decided it wasn''t any of his business anyway. The two dwarves unclasped their arms, butted heads gently, and parted ways. Bote headed towards Al and Gruntle as the attendant left. Their reddish hair was clean and tied back, their beard neatly combed, and even their clothing and armor was bright.


    "This is a much cleaner Bote than the Bote who arrived," Bote remarked cheerfully, if tiredly. "Greta was able to halt the corrosion of my breastplate where the creature from the tomb touched it. It will still require repair or replacement to fully serve its purpose again, but at least it will not get worse."


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    As Bote approached, Al was a little comforted to see that he wasn''t the only one who wasn''t ready to encounter an over-perfumed gnoll. Bote''s nose wrinkled as they blinked.


    "Is it our inhuman friend who has so fully embraced the flower-nature?" they asked. Al just nodded and pointed to the bottle the gnoll held. Bote squinted at it.


    "That is an industrial product," they said, "it is meant to be diluted before use."


    Further discussion was interrupted by loud applause and cheering from down the hall where the public baths were. The door burst open, and people of widely-varying size, shape, ancestry, and state of undress began to pour out into the hallway. They casually wandered off in all directions to wherever their next destination was. Al and Bote moved up against the wall next to the door of Gruntle''s bath while portions of the crowd headed past them. Some of the passers-by seemed to recognize Gruntle, Al, and Bote, offering a small cheer, wave, or congratulatory fist-bump as they proceeded past, though Al was sure he''d never met any of them before. Al thought he might have heard Baron Wulfcynn''s name mentioned but any other details of what was said were drowned out by the rest of the crowd''s conversations, and coughing as Gruntle''s perfume hit them.


    Eventually the public-bath doorway disgorged Wikwocket with a few other people who seemed to be expressing thanks for her performance. She spotted Gruntle, Al, and Bote waiting for the crowds to pass and pointed them out to the people around her, earning the three adventurers a variety of gestures of approval. Then Wikwocket said farewell to her new fans and followed the thinning mob of freshly-bathed people in Al''s direction. She had a human-scale towel wrapped loosely around herself like an elven toga, and her wet brown hair hung down, combed straight. She looked as tired as Al felt, but happy.


    "A few verses are a little rough, but they seemed to like it!" she enthused, "By the way, it seemed like there were some other people in there besides me who understand Baron What''s-his-name''s phoniness. There were also a few people that didn''t seem to like hearing the truth about him either, but other than that my story of our adventures so far seems to be popular!"


    "We''ve only done two real quests so far, and we''ve only been at this for a couple of weeks, really," Al insisted.


    "Yes, we''re like adventuring geniuses! Just imagine how popular our stories are going to be in the future, when we''ve done even more!"


    She coughed. "Hey, what smells like an evil florist in here?"


    <hr>


    They made their way back to their room without incident, besides a few startled reactions from people who hadn''t expected a gnoll to be the avatar of whatever deity is in charge of the smell of flowers. On the way, Al asked a passing member of the staff about finding Stephen and was assured he''d meet them at their room as soon as he could.


    The room was dark. The absence of windows in the walls due to being one of the more inner rooms in the building had probably been a factor in the room being less expensive than some of the others that had been available. Fresh candles were in candle-holders on nightstands next to each of the four cots, and Al decided to take the opportunity to practice fire-conjuring again with his candle-lighting magic trick. He tried to pay more conscious attention to the concepts he pushed through his mind as he commanded each candle in turn to light itself, feeling like he was close to understanding what he needed. Then he dug his draft copy of Melissa''s On Gnolls out of his pack to try to read for a while, until Stephen came to knock on the door as Al worked his way through Melissa''s discussion of gnollish clan structure and social dynamics.


    Wickwocket answered the polite knock on the door, still wearing her towel-toga. Stephen was there with a small, neatly-folded bundle of Wikwocket''s cleaned and dried clothing, which he offered to her.


    "Is everything to your liking so far?" Stephen asked the adventurers as he subtly sniffed the air while Wikwocket unfolded her clothes and admired how bright and new they seemed.


    "Yes, thank you, this is the cleanest and most relaxed I''ve felt in quite a while," Al answered him from the cot that he had relaxed onto, "Uh, our large, odd fellow seems to have been over-enthusiastic about the scent he got from the attendants but that''s not your fault."


    "Well, we are happy to know he enjoys it, but please refrain from getting it on the floors, walls, or furniture, or we may be required to charge a cleaning fee to make the room ready for the next clients. Is there anything else we at Hell''s Bathtub can provide for you?"


    Al had originally considered asking about food, but he still wasn''t feeling especially hungry and even Gruntle seemed to not have an urge to eat.


    "No, I think...no, wait. We have a meeting tomorrow morning, right?" he asked Wikwocket.


    "Yes, two hours after dawn, in caldarium room number three," she reminded him, "a secret and mysterious meeting which will no doubt alter our fates forever!"


    "Uh, right. Anyway," he said, returning his attention to Stephen, "could you tell us how to get there?"


    Stephen explained how to navigate the building to find the caldaria and determine which one was number three, and he also promised to arrange for someone to knock on their door to ensure they were awake early enough to get there on time. Then he left them to rest. They were all yawning and their eyes drooping after their very tiring journey. This time, Al hardly noticed when Gruntle squeezed himself underneath Al''s cot to sleep, just as he had back in Silveroak. Al blew out the candle on his nightstand, and then Al himself was out almost as quickly as the candle was.


    Al''s sleep was disturbed for a while by the parade of gnolls clad in nothing but hats made of flower-petals - which were on fire for no coherent reason - who all offered him plates of special food. If he''d remembered what was on the plates when he awoke, he''d have been very embarrassed.

 0071 - Payment or Service?

    The fire had not only heat and pressure, but also a texture as Al pulled it into existence from some far-off otherworldly place. At Al''s command it reached out widely before him, then curled itself back up among his fingers, then stretched upwards to perch on the crossbow bolts hovering weightlessly in the air over his head. Al felt his mind stretch like a new piece of clothing conforming to a large wearer. The flames came together in front of his face, radiating heat and light at an intensity just past the edge of comfort.


    Something in the flames wanted Al''s attention. The flames dimmed to a dull blood-red and flickered. Craving was there behind the flames, somewhere. A sense of fear, anger, and hunger communicated itself through the flames without words, around an instinctual need for...


    Al had almost understood, when the interrupting roar reverberated through the void Al stood in. The flame went out as Al''s concentration broke.


    And then, as Al woke from his dream, the roar repeated only to quickly resolve itself down to Wikwocket''s snoring.


    He wasn''t sure what time of day it was, but he felt well-rested and the concepts he''d been trying to juggle in a state of exhaustion were now clear. Not wanting to waste the inspiration, he commanded the candle on his nightstand to ignite itself and retrieved his notes and writing supplies from his pack. He was still eagerly scribbling diagrams and arcane symbols when someone knocked on the door to announce that it was one hour past sunrise. Al grumbled at the interruption, but he finished sketching out the diagram he was working on and then closed his book of notes. He re-stoppered his bottles of ink and cleaned his pen before putting the writing supplies away carefully.


    Wikwocket groaned sleepily. "Whose idea was it to put morning so early in the day?" she complained as she sat up, still wearing the towel-toga from the evening before.


    "The elves may likely be to blame for that since it is said they were the first to use language," Bote suggested, already awake and wrapped in two large towels, "They have had millenia to redefine morning and have not done so."


    "I hope this is productive, I think I''ve just about gotten my mind around making fire. Once we get to somewhere I can experiment safely I should be able to finish, then I can get back to what I really need to do. I just need to find a copy of that book," said Al. He took off his shirt, wrapped a towel around himself, then removed his trousers. He wadded them up to magic them clean and unfolded them again, leaving them on the bed.


    A fuzzy floral-scented hyena-like head stuck out from under Al''s cot. Seeing everyone was preparing to go somewhere, Gruntle crawled out, stood, and stretched dramatically. The smell of flowers on him had diminished overnight down to merely too much from its original choking fumes level, so that at least that had improved.


    "Should we bring anything besides the towels?" Al wondered aloud. Wikwocket''s answer was to grab the belts that held BiteySue''s sheathe on her back and buckle them over her improvised toga.


    "Is it really okay to be armed for this?"


    "Lots of people are walking around here armed. Last night, when I got to the part of the story where we found my still unnamed dagger, some of the audience pulled out daggers of their own to show off. I''m not even sure where some of them were hidden," Wikwocket marveled, sticking her own still-unnamed magical dagger under one of the belts.


    "The oath in the name of Balnea Infernala will prevent legitimate customers from harming each other, so there is no real suspicion in being armed," Bote suggested, "Should the unlikely event of a malicious person somehow getting in without swearing the oath, there is a small incentive to be prepared to defend oneself."


    Al thought about this, and decided to go through the awkward exercise of buckling the belt for his mace-wand that he wore under his robes. He put it around himself modestly beneath the towel and hung the mace there. Feeling a little foolish but not feeling comfortable leaving Purgatio behind under the circumstances he took the outer belt he wore around his robes and buckled it over the towel with Purgatio''s sheathe on it.


    A centuries-old ghost gave it to me, I should probably keep an eye on it, he thought.


    Gruntle watched them strap weaponry to themselves and decided to join in, hanging his wooden flail from his belt and picking up his well-abused wooden shield to slide his arm through the straps to let it rest at his left shoulder.


    Bote just watched. Once everyone else was geared up, they all gave the dwarf a questioning look.


    "I have my duty and divine Authority. What more could I possibly need?" Bote said with a shrug.


    "Not even going to bring your hammer to fit in with the rest of us freaks who are going to go sit in a sauna with a tools of violence strapped to ourselves?" Al asked, feeling out of place wearing only a towel, two belts, and two different tools of violence.


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    "She can wait here for me, the Bote that attends this meeting should not require her help."


    <hr>


    Gruntle refused to wear a towel, but he carried one in his left fist. The gnoll continued to draw the curious and occasionally disapproving gazes of a few people passing by in the hallways, but nobody disturbed them as they followed the directions Stephen had given them to the caldaria. Caldarium number three was marked with the Elven III on the door, but was otherwise indistinguishable from the others.


    "Let me do the talking!" Wikwocket insisted, stepping to the front and knocking on the door.


    "Enter, and be welcome," a baritone voice that they''d heard once before answered. Wikwocket pushed the door open. Once the steam from the room cleared out enough to see, the rotund man they''d met once before was revealed. Clad only in a damp towel on his lap rather than his white-and-gold silks, the man who had seemed to recognize Wikwocket the day before sat there on one of the benches along the walls. He gave Wikwocket a welcoming nod and the others a skeptical squint, which lingered on Gruntle, then moved to Bote. The dwarf gave their customary eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture of their religious affiliation. Their rotund host gave a nod of recognition and seemed to relax a little. Aside from the towel and a substantial amount of sweat, the man wore only a silver chain around his neck with a sheathed dagger dangling from it.


    Its grip was wrapped in silver wire in a spider-web pattern, and the silver pommel was cast to resemble a spider.


    Wikwocket nodded back at the man, who waited silently until Al closed the door behind them. "Please, sit," the man requested, gesturing to the benches. Gruntle crouched down where he stood, while Al and Bote selected spots on the benches along the side walls. Wikwocket jumped up to sit right next to the mysterious man, who gave her a questioning look and nodded his head at the others.


    "It''s okay, they can be trusted," she assured him.


    "On your word then," the man said, getting down to business. "Payment or service?"


    "Payment is simpler, I think," Wikwocket answered.


    "I wonder if I could persuade you to offer service instead? We do, in fact, have a matter relevant to our cause that you and your...colleagues look like you might be well-suited for, given your equipment and your presentation as adventurers that you''ve made the effort to show me this morning."


    "Oh, well, if the cause needs us of course we''ll consider it. It''ll depend on the nature of the service but we''re certainly willing."


    The man gave another skeptical look to the others. "How much do they know?"


    "Only as much as they need to," Wikwocket answered.


    "Wait, know about what?" Al asked, getting another glare from the rotund man, but Wikwocket just gave a dismissive wave.


    "About that much, yes." she said confidently."Don''t mind him, you can smack him if he bothers you."


    Al stopped himself from retorting. Wikwocket was obviously up to something, and whatever it was he didn''t want to interfere.


    "That shouldn''t be necessary," the man said, before returning his attention to Wikwocket. "And what it is that you seek?"


    "My scholar can explain that one," she answered, pointing to Al who still had no idea what was going on.


    "Well, there''s a book," Al began. Their mysterious host visibly tensed, but Wikwocket gave Al a subtle nod of encouragement, and he continued. "I need to find a copy of Wotznot P. Higguejiggie''s Otherworldly Beings and How to Make them Pay."


    The rotund man relaxed. "Are you asking for access to the former library?" he asked.


    "Yes, that will serve nicely I think," Wikwocket agreed.


    "The binding oath involved is not a part of our cause, but I think you''ll find it reasonable, along with the, shall we say, entry fee. Of course, you''ll need to be prepared for the dangers but I imagine you''re already aware of those, given that it was once a library. Yes, this can be arranged, I imagine that must by why you are headed to Southwall."


    "You''re well-informed!" Wikwocket complimented the man, "so, what''s the service that you wanted from us?"


    "I''m informed that you traveled through the Bloodless Swamp to get here. Perhaps you noticed the ancient Lavatio somewhat southeast of here."


    Al remembered the worn sign with LAV still barely detectable on it, and nodded. Wikwocket nodded as well.


    "It just so happens that Hell''s Bathtub has recently had its eye on expanding to take it over and restore it. They are offering rewards for exploring the site and removing or at least cataloguing any dangers there. Separately, our cause has information that there is something unnatural there, which we want contained for study. Since you are currently operating as adventurers, we would like you to accept the task of exploring the Lavatio from Hell''s Bathtub, as cover while you go in and find the subject and contain it in a condition that is as intact as possible," the man explained.


    "What kind...?" Al began to ask, but Wikwocket interrupted.


    "Yes, this seems like something we should handle. I''m sure there''s some urgency and who knows when another of our cause who is prepared to handle it might come along."


    "Good. We''ll meet this evening to exchange the details. I''ll arrange a private room for dinner at dusk at the Secret Spring tavern."


    Gruntle, who had begun to pant heavily from the heat of the sauna, looked up hopefully at the mention of dinner.


    "We''ll be there," Wikwocket assured him. "If there''s nothing else in the meantime, we should probably go for now. Some of us aren''t quite used to the heat of a sauna, and we do have some other things to attend to."


    The man nodded, and relaxed back against the wall. Al opened the door and a grateful Gruntle stepped out into the much cooler hallway outside. Al and Bote followed.


    "Why a gnoll?" the mysterious man asked Wikwocket before she left.


    "Oh, well, our scholar has been studying them, and wanted one to observe," Wikwocket answered.


    "We may be lucky to have such an aspirant under the circumstances," the man said, apparently pleased. Then he frowned.


    "Why does he stink of cheap perfume?" the man asked.


    "So that he doesn''t stink of what he did when he arrived!" Wikwocket answered, then gave the man a cheerful wave and left, closing the door behind her.


    As the group, sweating or panting from the sauna, headed back to their room, Al took the opportunity to seek answers from Wikwocket.


    "What was all that about? Who is that, and what''s this cause that he kept talking about?"


    "I have no idea! Isn''t this exciting?!" Wikwocket answered with a manic grin.

 0072 - Hells Bathtubs Marketplace

    "What do you mean you have no idea, you were acting like you were in on whatever all this is about!" Al objected.


    "It''s not so hard, there are lots of stories about mysterious conspiracies! If you know how the dialogue usually goes you can just play along!"


    "What about you?" Al asked, turning to Bote, "when you gave him that signal of your religious calling, he relaxed. Do you know anything about this?"


    "Not at all, as of now. However, there are clearly secretive plans in progress here, so the presence of one such as myself in the service of the god of plans, plots, secrets, and conspiracies is natural. I have faith that we are meant to be here, even if we were not aware of it."


    "Does anybody besides me here think this is dangerous and we shouldn''t be doing it? We should at least confess to the man that we don''t know what he''s talking about so..."


    "Don''t you dare!" Wikwocket interrupted, "This is the most intriguing thing that''s happened to us since we started, don''t you dare spoil it before we have a chance to play it out and see where it goes! Besides, it''s already gotten us a job, and seeing how much money people must be pushing through Hell''s Bathtub every day I''ll bet the pay is great! Sounds like we will even find that book you want so you can start summoning demons to overthrow the nobility!"


    "I''m not!... I just need to conjure up a small demonic spirit, it''ll just be a weak thing that I can bind to myself and command to do things so I can study it and learn more about how the dangerous ones work, I''m not going to open the gates to Pandaemonium and flood the world with evil like some trashy puppet-show villain or something!"


    "Don''t give up so soon, I think being overthrown by a trashy puppet-show villain suits the nobility just fine! Well, maybe with the exception of a few who liked my performance, I suppose."


    <hr>


    They returned to their room. Al took off his belts, pulled his shirt on, donned his trousers, and finally tossed the towel aside. He looked around to see that everyone else had finished dressing while he wasn''t paying attention, except for Gruntle who had been as dressed as he ever was to begin with. Al tried to ignore their impatient stares as he buckled everything back together.


    "I don''t know what the rest of you want, but I want to get something to eat, and then see if anyone here sells writing and magical supplies so I can finish preparing my experiments in fire-production," Al suggested.


    Gruntle was already drooling on the floor as Al finished speaking, so they headed out.


    They only got lost once trying to find their way out of the massive central building to the main street. After backtracking down a few hallways, the managed to locate an exit and stepped out into the awakening bustle of the market. They followed Gruntle''s nose past carts selling pies, breads, and patries to find a vendor selling smoked bacon-wrapped sausages. In Al''s opinion, they cost substantially more than they should have, but they were admittedly very good.


    "All right, I think I saw a little apothecary shop with some ink and papers in their window when we were led through here yesterday, I''m going to go see if I can get the supplies I need. Anybody want to come along?"


    "I don''t know, do they make anything that explodes or makes flashes of bright colors?" Wikwocket asked skeptically, "with all the rich people running around here, I imagine they only have boring safe stuff so as not to frighten the delicate nobles."


    "I won''t disagree with that assumption, but they might still have what I actually need."


    "As exciting as I''m sure inks and papers might be," Wikwocket said, "I think some of us would rather see what else people are selling around here. Right, Gruntle?"


    The gnoll gave this some thought, then grunted.


    "How about you, Bote?" Al asked.


    "I believe I should take some time to visit the religious institutions here and see if there is anything that I should know or do."


    "Well, okay. How about we meet back up at our room when we''re done. I''m just going to see if I can get the supplies I need and go back to my experiments. Just be back in time to get to the mysterious dinner meeting," Al suggested, "Oh, and remember, something bad will probably happen to you if you intentionally torment anybody, so try not to mess with the nobles please."


    Wikwocket made a show of exaggerated shock. "Me? Why, I would do no such thing! Gruntle and I shall simply explore the fine goods available to the public here, being prominently visible to many people who we will in no way molest. It''s all their own problems if they don''t like us being there. Right, Gruntle?"


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    She ignored the confused look the gnoll gave her. "Right. We''ll be seeing you later!" she announced to Al and Bote, then shot a challenging squint at Gruntle. The gnoll crouched, squinting back.


    Then, Wikwocket took off at a run, and Gruntle gave chase, and the two of them soon disappeared into an alleyway. Al shook his head, and with a nod to Bote he turned and headed down the street, looking at the shops for the apothecary that he''d seen.


    The entire main street was a riot of commerce. In addition to the wandering food vendors carrying wares or pushing them on carts, the buildings on both sides of the street were all shops selling all manner of goods and services. There seemed to be no particular pattern to them - Al spotted a fortuneteller next to a jewelry shop, which was next to a lawyer''s office, which was next to a gambling establishment, which was next to a massage parlor. A small bookshop was next, which Al decided to investigate.


    There were not many bookshelves, but they were clean and immaculately organized. The upper half of each bookshelf seemed to contain mostly books discussing the histories of various noble families and biographies of particular individuals, together with books on various subjects that had been purportedly written by members of those families. The lower shelves held many copies of several books on local knowledge, such as a work on the history of Hell''s Bathtub itself, a book on the regional folklore, a book of maps detailing the local area, a book of recipes ostensibly provided by a number of the local food-sellers, and even a few copies of Dangers of the Bloodless Swamp.


    "If you care to examine any of the books, I would ask that you wear clean gloves before purchase," a quavering voice called out. Al looked to see a short elderly man partly obscured by the sales counter he was standing behind. The old man wore a neat, well-fitted leather vest with numerous pockets over a clean shirt, and wore white cloth gloves. He held up another pair of gloves above the counter. Al obligingly walked over and accepted them. They were a little loose, but fit well enough to use.


    "Thank you, I was just passing by and was interested in seeing what you had," Al told the old bookseller as he stepped back over to the shelves and reached for one of the copies of Dangers of the Bloodless Swamp. "Do you happen to have any magic books?"


    "Do you mean books about magic, or books that are, themselves, magical?" the bookseller asked.


    "Oh, well, I suppose I mean books about magic," Al replied as he flipped idly through the pages of the book he''d picked up. It seemed to have some historical information near the beginning, though the language was of a style that seemed more sensational than factual. The rest of the book seemed to be illustrated pages discussing the flora and fauna of the swamp. He paused at the drawing of the pink snakes they''d run into while trying to rest in the ruined tavern. The book called them "landpreys". "Bloody swamp ferns" were on another page.


    "No, not really any books about magic," the old bookseller told Al. "Well, probably not the kind you''re looking for. There''s a copy of Lord Smitherton''s Lewd and Lurid Illusions there which involves quite a lot of uses for illusionary magic, but it''s not really about the magic."


    "No, not really what I was thinking of," Al agreed. He looked at the strip of parchment inserted between the last page and the cover of Dangers of the Bloodless Swamp which simply had "Price: 30 g" calligraphed in neat letters on it. He winced and closed the book, carefully replacing it onto the shelf where he''d gotten it. "How about the books that are magical?"


    "No, don''t have any of those either."


    Al bit back an urge to ask why the bookseller had asked which one he meant if he didn''t have either one anyway. "Oh, well, I''ve been looking for a book titled Otherworldy Beings and How to Make them Pay in particular."


    "Can''t say I''ve seen that one. We do sometimes get magic books of one kind or another in trade, along with others. I keep the books we get in trade on that back shelf over there if you want to look."


    Al went to examine the bookshelf, finding an unpredictable collection of topics in different languages, and in varying conditions. None of the topics that Al could read particularly interested him. In addition to the majority written in the common language, there were several books written in Elvish, a Dwarven text on the working of soft metals like gold and lead, and another on the uses of pumice-stone, and even one written in a curving, swirling script that reminded Al of what someone had once told him was the language used by the fae. He returned to the other bookshelves and scanned the noble-family names mentioned on the top shelves.


    "I don''t see anything about the Wulfcynn family in here," he remarked.


    "Wulfcynn? As in Baron Hearne Wulfcynn? Governor of the regions west of here encompassing the area around Silveroak and down to the southern border? Currently last of his family line, influence declining at court? That Wulfcynn?"


    "Yes, him."


    "Nope. No books about him. Only reason I even know that much about him is I''ve had a few other customers come in looking for something about him, too. Probably why his family''s not doing so well. All the successful nobles have books written about them, even if they write them themselves or pay someone else to."


    "Who buys that kind of book? It seems like they''d be...sort of embellished if the nobles are having them written about themselves."


    "Oh, they''re complete balderdash, really. But, if you read them properly, they still tell you what the noble family wants, needs, likes, and hates. Valuable knowledge if you have dealings with them. Naturally the nobles also find it flattering when someone buys their books to read about them."


    Al had begun to pull the gloves off to give them back when the bookseller''s comment brought a thought to mind. He glanced once more over the family names but didn''t see what he was looking for.


    "Is there anything about the Borge family?" Al asked.


    "Don''t know a noble family with that name. Oh, there is a merchant by the name of Borge who comes by here once in a while to buy or sell something. Man has a good head for the market, always seems to know what what books he''s looking for when he''s buying, and when he sells me one I can usually get a buyer for it soon after, who''s willing to pay a good markup to get it. Never seen any books about him or his family though."

 0073 - Successful Day at the Market

    Al returned the cloth gloves and thanked the old bookseller for his time. He told the man he might be back - he wasn''t particularly good at politics or social networking, but the bookseller''s comment about what might be learned from a noble''s flattering biography struck him as good advice, especially since those were the sorts of people who were more likely to hire adventurers for the higher-paying jobs.


    Al left the bookshop and continued down the street further, finally spotting the large glass window with "STATIONER - APOTHECARY" in gilded letters on it. He crossed the street, dodging assorted other visitors and a meat-pie vendor in a hurry, and pushed through the wooden door of the shop. A small bell attached to the inside of the door rang, alerting the prim middle-aged woman behind the sales-counter of his arrival. She wore plain, clean, white shirt, bonnet, and trousers. She adjusted the bun of greying brown hair atop her head that had a quill stuck in it, and gave Al a calculating examination over her spectacles while Al looked around at the shelves of writing supplies, inks, pigments, paints, brushes, bookbinding materials, and - behind the counter - a small selection of potions.


    "You''ll find our more utilitarian wares over there," she informed Al with polite detachment, pointing towards the least well-lit corner of the shop.


    Al found himself more curious than offended at the shopkeeper''s immediate assumptions about himself. "What makes you think I''m not here to buy supplies for gilding?" he asked. She stared intently at Al just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable, then relented.


    "Since you seem to be asking in earnest," she explained, "I would begin with your hands and what you are wearing."


    Al looked down at himself. He wore his usual traveling robes with his chainmail underneath. Everything was clean and in good repair, other than the tear in his left boot from the horrible bug-larva they''d fought in Aemilia''s tomb. Too much of the boot had been dissolved away by the digestive acids of the thing to be able to fix it with a magic trick. Al looked at his hands as well, turning them over. They were clean, too.


    "Your hands are clean, and look a bit rough to me, but not specifically in the places where a scribe would hold a writing implement or paint-brush. Your robes would suggest you are a scholar or scribe. They are plain but well-kept, which combined with your hands suggests you have more general labor in your lifestyle than a full-time reader or writer would, and that you are probably not wealthy. The chainmail I can see that you wear suggests you have concern for potential danger to yourself. The sword you wear seems to be a far more luxurious object than the rest of your presentation so I expect it is a gift, or possibly an old family heirloom. You make no effort to hide it, but I do not think you are trying to impress people with it, either. In my experience people who want to show off their swords will tend to rest their hands on them or unconsciously adjust the position of the belt or sheathe frequently to draw attention."


    "Then we should further consider your observed behavior as well," the shopkeeper continued, "I saw you cross the street and you seem to have more awareness of your surroundings than one would expect from someone who sits at a desk quietly reading and writing all day. Nonetheless, when you came in you noticed me first, then bottles of inks and pigments, then the blank journals and writing implements before the medicines behind the counter, so you do clearly have some familiarity and interest in writing. I deduce that you are most likely a favored but illegitimate child of some noble, granted an education that would allow you to support yourself as a scribe but currently given enough of a stipend that you don''t need to very often, and perhaps your funds are running low and you need to take on a simple job or two to raise them again, hence your need for less-luxurious and cheaper writing supplies. I suppose you could also be one of those adventurers, currently disguising yourself as a scholar or scribe. If that was the case, though, why would you be all the way down here instead of up in the northeast where most of the lucrative adventuring is currently taking place?"


    It took Al a few moments to digest the long trail of observations and conclusions. He chuckled.


    "Well, you''re partly right at least. I don''t spend all of my time doing wizardry, I''m also a warrior. The sword is a sort of gift, really, and, you''re right, I''m looking for basic writing supplies for some wizardry experiments I''m working on."


    "A wizard carrying a sword?"


    "I did spend a year in the army, I''m not just a wizard. My group took up adventuring just a few weeks ago."


    "If you''re an adventurer, why are you as far as you can get from the region where most of the adventuring work is?"


    "Well, we''re pretty new at it, so we decided to start down here where there was less competition. With almost no active adventurers in the area, we can just about choose any of the available jobs that we want so we can start with some of the ones that seem less dangerous. The pay isn''t always high but it gets us some experience and a way to earn a reputation before we head up to compete for the rich-people jobs."


    The shopkeeper nodded slowly. "Prudent. You''re very unusual, I don''t often misjudge people. What brings you to a luxury resort like Hell''s Bathtub?"


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    "The need for baths, really. Our last job got very, uh, unhygienic. Though I hear there is a job waiting here, too, which we''ll probably stay around to do."


    "Here? Do tell."


    "I don''t know if it''s a supposed to be a secret but they didn''t say so - apparently Hell''s Bathtub wants to expand out to take over some older elven ruins south of here."


    The shopkeepers eyes went wide, and she leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially.


    "They say there''s something unhappy in those ruins. I''ve heard it myself, once. I sometimes go out to the edge of the swamp to gather my own raw materials for some of the medicines and inks. I go at night, when the bloody swamp ferns are less active. I heard a sound from far off, like someone crying out wordlessly in frustration and despair from that direction."


    "That''s a little more than I knew before I came in, so thank you for that."


    "Thank me by bringing some of the reward money back to my shop to pay full price for some supplies. Just for today, I''ll give you a discount, perhaps whatever you''re working on will help you survive."


    In the end, Al still paid more than he was used to for a supply of inks and paper, but it was at least a discount from the marked prices.


    As he packed up his purchased supplies, a thought struck Al.


    "Do you ever buy alchemical ingredients rather than finding them yourself?" he asked.


    "Sometimes. There are some things that are bothersome to produce or harvest myself, at least in the quantities that I need. Do you have something I might need?"


    "Vinegar is a common ingredient in alchemical processes, isn''t it?"


    "It is, but it''s not exactly rare or difficult to acquire."


    "What about phosphorescent vinegar? Is that useful?"


    "I''ve never heard of such a thing. How much do you have and where did you find it?"


    "There was a winebarrel full of it down in the basement of an abandoned tavern we ran into about halfway through the bloodless swamp from Turnipseed."


    Al saw the shopkeeper''s skepticism on her face. "Yes, I know, nobody goes to Turnipseed," he told her, "The place really doesn''t want visitors, but it was nearby and there was no competition for the job. Not wanting to go back to Turnipseed when we finished is how we ended up following the old road-signs to Hell''s Bathtub through the swamp. There was an abandoned old tavern building by the road, and one of the few things left behind there was this barrel of vinegar with a sort of bluish-green glow."


    Al thought he caught a glimpse of interest in the shopkeeper''s facial expression for just a moment. "What did it smell or taste like?" she asked him.


    "Mostly like any other vinegar, really, it was pretty strong. From what I remember, there might have been just a hint of mushroom and petrichor. We did use a little of it in a stew, but I can''t promise that it''s not poisonous since we had some divine influence protecting us in case it was."


    "Well, that does sound interesting at least. I might be able to get some use out of such a thing. I''ll need to examine it first of course, but if you do have a nearly-full barrel of it and it has the properties you are describing, I suppose I could pay twent..." the shopkeeper began to say, then groaned and closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her head.


    "Are you all right?" Al asked with some concern.


    "Fine, fine. As I was saying...fifty...," the shopkeeper paused, then opened her eyes and lowered her hand as whatever momentary indisposition she''d felt went away. "Fifty gold coins, if it meets my standards."


    "I''ll bring it by tomorrow for inspection, then, thank you," Al said, trying not to make it obvious that this was more than he''d expected to get for it.


    They shook hands to informally finalize the deal, and Al returned to the main Hell''s Bathtub building in hopes of finding their room again, which he managed to do with only one wrong turn down a side-hallway.


    He completed his preliminary notes on how he might magically conjure a burst of flame. He was well into the more-advanced question of how he might add the attributes of fire to the darts of pure magical violence that he already knew how to conjure when Bote returned.


    "It appears your quest into the world outside was a success," the dwarf noted, as Al concentrated on trying to inscribe a composite of arcane sigils into a corner of a piece of paper.


    "Yes, I think so. Ah, there. That looks right," he said, putting down his stylus. "The apothecary offered to possibly buy that barrel of glowing vinegar we found for a fairly substantial amount of money, too, so I need to bring that over tomorrow. If nothing else it ought to cover what it''s costing us to stay here for a few days if she does."


    "As to that, I can add some more good news. There is a local temple dedicated to Praelectia and Mercator here. They were very grateful to hear of the texts we rescued from the imminently-collapsing tomb. They have offered a rather substantial reward if we would entrust them with the texts. I have not yet agreed, but I assume this would be amenable," Bote reported.


    "I certainly don''t mind, I can''t read Elvish anyway and I''d rather they went to someone who will take care of them. We definitely could use the money, too. I wonder how Wikwocket and Gruntle are doing out there. I hope they''re not going to get us kicked out or something."


    "They have both taken the oath, they will have difficulty doing anything truly harmful intentionally, at least. Last time I spotted them, they were chasing each other around the village. They seemed to be experiencing some discomfort when they did so too close to the other visitors, so I imagine they will now keep a safe distance where they can annoy the nobility without violation of the oath."


    "If I can find a safe place to try it, maybe I can distract her from her vendetta for a little while, and get her to stop nagging me about shooting magic fire from my fingers."


    "Success, then?" Bote asked.


    "I think so. I won''t know for sure until I try it, though."

 0074 - To the Meeting

    Some time later, Wikwocket burst into the room and dove urgently under one of the cots.


    Al quickly stood up to meet whatever danger was coming. "Hey, what is..."


    "SSSSHHH!! He might not know I''m here!" the gnome whispered from her hiding-place.


    "Who...?"


    Gruntle rushed into the room from the hall and looked around, panting. He turned to look back out into the hall, then his ears twitched and he sniffed the air. He turned back to the room, and it didn''t take long for him to find the cot Wikwocket was hiding under. Al heard her exhale and gasp as she stopped holding her breath. She laughed, and crawled back out.


    "Just can''t hide from those ears and nose, can I?" she asked cheerfully, holding up a fist. The demon of bestial violence that had been chasing her grunted, and lightly bumped her tiny fist with his own.


    "You two didn''t do anything that''s going to get us kicked out, did you?" Al asked, half-seriously.


    "No," Wikwocket answered, looking somewhat annoyed at this fact, "We had a lot of fun chasing each other around the streets and alleyways here, but every time we ran close enough to discomfort some pompous noble, my head started hurting, and Gruntle said he felt sick."


    "You did swear an oath not to disturb the other guests," Bote reminded her.


    "Sure, but that just makes it a challenge! We had to endure some discomfort, but we figured out that if we were far enough away it was like it wasn''t our fault if someone was annoyed to see us and we were fine. Also, there were some charming people around the public fountain that thought watching us was a lot of fun and we could get as close to them as we wanted. They even tipped us for the performance!" she explained, reaching into a pocket to pull out a small handful of copper and silver coins. She held them up proudly. Al looked them over.


    "Well, at the rate things are going maybe we''ll actually leave here with more money than we started despite how expensive everything is. Hopefully the job mister Borge was talking about isn''t too dangerous. I would assume it pays well given how rich everyone here seems to be, though."


    "Oh, speaking of that, we found the Secret Spring tavern! It''s in a basement at the end of an alley, but it looks clean enough on the outside. Sun should be setting in an hour or so, it''s almost time for dinner!"


    "Lets leave a few minutes early, I want to try something," Al suggested.


    <hr>


    They prepared themselves for dinner. After discussing, they decided to show up fully outfitted for adventuring aside from their packs, since that had seemed to make a favorable impact at the earlier meeting. A passing attendant was able to direct them to Stephen, from whom Al requested information.


    "Say, I''d like to do a little magical experiment, is there somewhere here that I could safely do that?" Al asked.


    "Is this experiment likely to do harm to a stone building?"


    Al actually had to think about this for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No, I very much doubt stone walls will be in any danger."


    "Do understand that you will be liable for the costs if you do harm to the structure. However, the dueling hall does have some reinforced spaces that are occasionally used for competitions of magical force. I can tell you how to get there. However since you are here, there is one other matter to settle."


    Stephen reached into his vest and took out a piece of paper and a sheet a parchment. He handed to the paper to Wikwocket.


    It was a bill for 8 silver coins.


    "Public performance requires a permit here. However, the magistrate fully understands this was an unintentional oversight on your part and gave permission to issue the permit retroactively, upon payment of the fee."


    He held up the sheet of parchment, which held a neatly-calligraphed missive indicating that Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer and company were allowed to publicly perform from the previous day to three days hence.


    Wikwocket grumbled as she took the tip money from a pocket and counted out the appropriate fee. She glared at the three copper coins left when she was done. "I''ll find some way to get my money''s worth out of that," she muttered. Stephen wrote PAID on the bill and signed it. He handed the permit over to Wikwocket, explained how to find the dueling hall, and wished them all a pleasant evening before leaving to attend to other customers.


    Now familiar with the building, they found their way back outside without any mistakes and followed Stephen''s directions to the dueling-hall. The long single-story rectangular building of dark volcanic stone had a large wooden main door, and a smaller secondary door. As Stephen had directed, Al knocked on the larger door. It swung open after a few seconds to reveal a tall dark-haired woman in a neat staff uniform. She looked the four of them over.


    "Which of you are fighting today?" she asked, giving Gruntle a second look.


    "None of us, I was just told there was a room here where I could do a short magical experiment. They just want to watch," Al replied. Some excited conversation off in the distance distracted him for a moment, and he looked back the way they''d come to see a group of other guests talking and pointing in their direction. "Uh, if not, we can leave," he added, not sure he was comfortable of the attention they seemed to be attracting.


    "No need, you were informed correctly. Well, there will be some disappointed spectators, but you''re not to blame for that. Will you be needing some victims?" the woman asked.


    "Victims? No, no, I''m not planning to hurt anyone, I just want to see if the magic I''ve come up with works or not."


    "Simulated victims," the staff-woman said with a grin. "Made of wood. Rental costs vary from on copper coin each to one gold coin each, depending on how human-like you want them to be. For ten gold coins, we can have our staff wizard animate them, but we need at least one day''s notice to arrange it."


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    "Well, I might actually damage them if my experiment works," Al said, hesitating as he remembered the warnings they''d gotten about being liable for damages.


    "That''s permitted, that''s what they''re for. Hell''s Bathtub retains ownership of them, though, so we can repair and re-use them if possible."


    "Give us three of the cheap ones!" Wikwocket announced, digging the three remaining copper coins from what they''d gotten earlier and holding them out. The staff-woman nodded and took them, and gestured for the group to follow her inside. Al turned back to look as they went in, and noticed people lining up at the smaller door. The party was led halfway down the long hall. To Al''s left, he saw them pass several doors to closed rooms, while to their right a wall only about a quarter of the way up from the floor to the ceiling separated them from tiers of chairs. Al could see people filing in from the smaller door on that side of the building and making their way to the seats. Their guide stopped and indicated an open space to their left. Thick walls of the same black volcanic stone extended from the outer wall to the left and all the way to the hallway, forming an open room.


    "Here is a space for your experiment, I''ll go fetch your victims," the staff-woman told them, and disappeared through a door in an adjacent room. She re-emerged quickly pushing a small wheeled cart with a man-high section of tree-trunk sticking up from it. A pair of thinner trunks or branches had been nailed to the sides of the trunk at about shoulder height, making a very crude approximation of a person reaching out in front of them. She pushed this into the open space.


    "How do you want them arranged?"


    "Oh, just next to each other I guess, like they''re all attacking I suppose."


    "Yeah! Get ''em!" rang out a shout from somewhere among the seats, followed by urgent shooshing sounds. Al tried to ignore the audience.


    When all three of the targets were set up, he took a deep breath.


    "Okay, stand back a bit. Here''s how this works...I think," he explained, though mostly for his own benefit rather than the people listening. "You''ve seen me do that trick where I conjure up fire from things that are meant to be on fire, and you''ve seen me conjure showers of sparks from nothing..."


    He concentrated and made a complex gesture, launching a brief spurt of silvery sparks into the air from his hand to demonstrate.


    "I just need to combine those concepts, and make the world in front of me believe that it''s supposed to be on fire."


    He focused on the three badly-simulated wooden attackers and intoned the arcane mnemonics that he''d worked out to go with the appropriate gestures, which ended with his hands outstretched. A bright burst of orange-yellow flames erupted through the air in front of Al out to at least five paces, engulfing the targets. Gruntle yelped and took a step further back. The flames disappeared as quickly as they''d appeared, aside from a few that began to grow naturally on the charred wooden targets. Wikwocket cheered and clapped, and to Al''s mild embarrassment the people watching from the chairs behind him added polite applause of their own. He shook it off, still pleased that it had worked the first time.


    "The next experiment is harder, but I think I''ve got it. I just need to conjure the abstract magical violence of the spell I learned from Melissa, and just make them on fire."


    Wikwocket leaned forward eagerly to watch as Al started the incantation and gestures to manifest the three silvery bolts of abstract harm in the air above him, then squinted with mental effort as he added the words and gestures to transform them from abstractions into shafts of deep-red flame. With a thought, he flung each of them at one of the targets, turning the top of one and the middle of another into a flaming circle of charcoal. The third went slightly off course, skimming past the simulated head and fizzling out of existence as it missed. Al shook his head and blinked as Wikwocket cheered more loudly and the audience once again politely applauded.


    "Got it on the first try!" Al said, grinning. "Seems it''s harder to aim as the less-abstract concept of fire than it is as pure abstract violence, but it''s potent at least. There! Now you can stop nagging me about shooting magical fire from my fingers! Come on, we''d better get going, we don''t want to miss our meeting."


    Their departure was delayed long enough for Al to demonstrate each work of magical fire once more when the audience seemed disappointed at how quickly everything was over, and Wikwocket insisted it would be poor showmanship to leave without an encore. Al aimed all three bolts of fire at the target he''d missed and reduced it to a pile of smouldering chunks of ash, and left the other two burning after engulfing them in another wide blast of flame. Wikwocket insisted that he bow to the audience afterwards as they clapped for a few moments before getting up from their chairs and making their way back to the exit.


    <hr>


    Wikwocket and Gruntle led the party up, down, and around several alleyways and to a set of stone steps that led below ground level next to one of the two-story buildings. The door in the wall at the bottom of the steps had a stylized waterfall painted on it under the words "Secret Spring". Wikwocket reached up to lift the latch and push the door open. Inside, lit by numerous candles, was a cozy tavern space. A bar along the wall behind the door hosted a cheerful, burly bartender in plain clothes. Round tables surrounded by chairs were lined along the other walls, around an artificial pond in the center of the room. Water trickled from a hole in the stone wall down to the floor and into a channel that kept the pond filled, a fine wire mesh prevented the school of small silvery fish in the pond from being washed down the shallow outlet channel and into a drain at the other end of the room. Well-dressed nobles or merchants were gathered at a few of the tables, but most were empty.


    "You''re an unusual bunch," the affable bartender said to the group, "Come in, close the door, we''re not secret if everyone can see us from outside, you know!" He gave the gnoll a surprised look, but shrugged to himself and persisted as though nothing unusual was happening.


    "Feel free to claim any empty table. What brings you to the Secret Spring?"


    "We''re here to meet with Cyrus Borge," Wikwocket replied. "Dinner meeting!"


    Al took a step away from the gnoll to avoid being drooled on.


    "Ah, yes," the bartender said, "He mentioned he expected visitors. Come on, I''ll show you to his room."


    The bartender led them to a door next to the bar and up a set of wooden steps back up to ground level. They emerged into what Al guessed had once been an ordinary residence, judging by the arrangement of the rooms. The bartender led them to what Al thought would have once been a bedroom, and knocked on the door.


    "Enter, and be welcome," the voice of Cyrus Borge said from the other side of the door.

 0075 - The Meat of the Meeting

    The bartender opened the door for the four adventurers, revealing that any bedroom furniture that might once have been there had been removed, and there was now a rectangular table surrounded by chairs. Cyrus Borge sat at the far end of the table with an empty plate, wineglass, and a hand-bell. Wineglasses and plates had been set in front of the four other chairs. The bartender returned back down the stairs as Wikwocket preceded the rest of the party into the room. Cyrus raised an eyebrow as Gruntle followed everyone in.


    "I am quite impressed," Cyrus said to Al, "how long can you keep him like that? I''m led to believe it takes quite a lot of magical potency to maintain a transformation for long."


    "Oh, not as much as you might think," Al said a little nervously, taking a seat. Bote and Wikwocket sat to his right, while Gruntle moved the chair aside and crouched at the table to Al''s left. Cyrus reached into a pocket somewhere under his white and gold shirt, and pulled out a monocle on the end of a silver chain. He set the gold-framed lens in front of his right eye and gently rubbed a finger around the rim, which Al noted had complex arcane sigils engraved in it. Cyrus must have noticed Al tensing and raising a hand defensively.


    "Very observant," Cyrus said calmly to Al with a small smile, "but don''t worry, this isn''t harmful, I''m just looking." Then, he quietly spoke a phrase that reminded Al of part of his magic-visualizing ritual. Cyrus closed his left eye and stared at Wikwocket through the monocle lens. Al had uncharitable thoughts about Cyrus'' focus for a moment before realizing that he was looking where Wikwocket wore Aemilia''s protective amulet. Then his gaze moved down to where her dagger was. After a moment, he moved on to Bote whose right hip seemed to be of some mild interest, then quickly over to Al, where he focused on Purgatio for several seconds, then the spot under Al''s robes where he had his mace-wand hidden. Finally, he looked up at Gruntle, and froze with an expression of shock on his face.


    "What? What is it?" Al asked with some concern, but got no answer.


    The monocle dropped to dangle on its chain as Cyrus quickly stood, shoving his chair back and drawing his spider-marked dagger from under his shirt, and Gruntle stood with a manic grin in response to lunge forward at him across the table. Wikwocket leapt up onto the table as well, drawing BiteySue and her dagger, and Al stood up quickly with his mace-wand in one hand and the other held out, pleading for calm.


    "Wait! Wait, what''s wrong?" Al shouted, hoping for some way to calm the situation. He was startled to see that before he''d even finished speaking, Cyrus groaned and clutched his head, and Gruntle collapsed limply onto the table with a yelp, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. Cyrus ignored the sword and dagger Wikwocket threatened him with, keeping his eyes and the point of his dagger aimed at Gruntle.


    "That is a gnoll!" he growled through clenched teeth, still clutching his head in pain with his free hand.


    "Duh," Wikwocket responded, entirely unimpressed. She kept her blades ready for stabbing to defend Gruntle if necessary.


    "That is an actual gnoll! Not someone transformed by magic! How did you get that in here?"


    "What did you do to him?" Al asked in turn.


    "Nothing!" Cyrus insisted, "Now help me finish it off before AARGH!" His dagger wavered as he squinted his eyes shut and cried out in pain.


    Gruntle looked up at the sound, and seeing his attacker momentarily indisposed he began another lunge, reaching out towards Cyrus, but then immediately curled back up on the table, whining and making retching sounds.


    "What is happening here?" Al demanded to know.


    "There is one answer to all of your questions," Bote explained, still sitting calmly amid the drama. "Both Gruntle and Cyrus have been allowed into Hell''s Bathtub after swearing an oath to Balnea Infernala, which included a prohibition on attempting to harm other customers. Both are currently violating that oath by attempting to do violence to one another outside an arranged duel at the dueling house, and are being punished for it. The punishment will likely cease when your efforts to harm one another do. Gruntle, if you vomit on the table, it will certainly delay our dinner."


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    "...sick...," Gruntle groaned, much to Cyrus'' surprise. The mysterious merchant slowly lowered his dagger. He breathed heavily but his face relaxed as the intense headache receded.


    "It talks? It took the oath?!" Cyrus asked, incredulous. He kept the dagger ready to defend himself, but seemed to be feeling better now that he wasn''t actively threatening anyone with it.


    "He does, and he did, yes," Al replied, his irritation evident in his voice. Then he sighed. "Well, I was assuming something like this might eventually happen with him being one of us. At least it didn''t happen in a public crowd."


    "One of us?" Cyrus repeated, "Like it''s..." He saw Al''s glare. "Like he is a person? This is unprecedented." Gruntle glared up at him, then curled back up with a whine. "Is...he going to keep trying to kill me?" Cyrus asked.


    "Probably, you did try to kill him first," Al speculated.


    "Yeah, anybody would be pretty angry about that," Wikwocket added, returning BiteySue to her sheathe and tucking her dagger back into her belt, seeing that the action seemed to have concluded.


    Cyrus thought for a long moment, then coming to some satisfactory conclusion he slowly returned his dagger back to where it had been beneath his shirt. His facial expression gradually remolded itself from confused and worried to thoughtful, and perhaps even a little intrigued.


    "I apologize," he said to Gruntle, who was still panting uncomfortably and curled up on the table with his arms clasped around his stomach. "for misjudging the circumstances here. What must I do to de-escalate this situation?"


    "Well, there is one thing that probably works," Al suggested.


    <hr>


    Al, Wikwocket, and Bote persuaded Gruntle to crawl back off of the table and return to his place, and Cyrus picked up the hand-bell from the table and rang it. Neatly-dressed servers arrived moments later with trays of food and bottles of wine. At Al''s urging, once the servers had left Cyrus picked up a slab of steak and tentatively offered it to Gruntle. He flinched as the gnoll leaned forward and clamped onto the meat with his teeth, then relaxed as the meat was quickly chewed and swallowed.


    "Thanks. Cyrus," Gruntle pronounced slowly, and a lopsided disbelieving grin grew on Cyrus'' face. He offered the gnoll another piece of meat.


    "Your aspirant has brought the cause something very valuable. We look forward to welcoming them soon," Cyrus told Wikwocket.


    "We''re not bringing him to anyone, he''s ours," Al insisted. Cyrus nodded.


    "Of course, of course, but even the knowledge that this is possible is valuable. I hope you will share more information before we end our meeting tonight, but for now I think we should address our original agenda," Cyrus said, standing to fill everyone''s wineglasses from the bottle on the table. Once everyone had food on their plates, Cyrus began his explanation.


    "The Lavatio," he said between morsels of medium-rare steak, "is believed to be a facility similar to Hell''s Bathtub, from the previous Elven population that lived in the area centuries ago. For unknown reasons it seems to have been abandoned and the swamp has been engulfing it. It was rediscovered perhaps seventy-five years ago during the early days of Hell''s Bathtub''s founding but not extensively explored due to the unpleasantness of spending time in the swamp and the obvious state of ruin that the buildings were in."


    Cyrus took a drink from his wineglass and continued. "It seems that the increasing popularity of Hell''s Bathtub has brought some complaints from some of the wealthier and more elite customers about having to be in the presence of less-prestigious people..."


    "Hey! That''s us!" Wikwocket whispered loudly to Al with a malicious grin.


    "...so the magistrate would like to revisit the restoration of the Lavatio as a more exclusive part of Hell''s Bathtub," Cyrus continued, "They don''t want to advertise this widely, because they don''t want to offend their current customers or make the Lavatio widespread knowledge, so they''ve been quietly waiting for suitable visitors to offer the job to for a while now. Very few adventurers make their way down here, so you''ve come at an opportune time. If you''re willing, they will contact you with the details, but fundamentally what they need is a simple mission to inspect the place and clear out anything that would be excessively dangerous to the work-crew that will be hired to restore the place."


    "Oh, that sounds exciting!" Wikwocket said, "what sort of excessively dangerous things are there?"


    "Formally, we do not know. Possibly swamp-vermin. There are some vague records from the early days of Hell''s Bathtub that suggests a few curiosity-seekers went to explore the ruins and never returned. There are also still rumors of someone or something screaming or crying that can be heard in the area. Other than that, not much is known. Informally..."


    Cyrus paused and reflexively scanned the room for possible hidden spies. Seeing none, he continued.


    "Informally, the cause has its own interest in the Lavatio. We believe someone or something may have been dabbling in the necromantic arts in the area around the time of Hell''s Bathtub''s founding. Divination is an inexact art as I''m sure you know, but we believe something was left behind in the ruins. We have no details, but we believe it is something that is not humanish, it is something corporeal, and it represents a danger to the world outside the Lavatio should it escape. Assuming our divination is true, we want to contain whatever it is in a still-animate state, so that we can examine it to learn more about whoever or whatever made it. Bring it to us, and that will be your service. If you can''t subdue it without...neutralizing it, or if you find no evidence that such a thing is actually there, we will still accept your payment instead, and you will still be offered access to the former library to look for your book."


    Cyrus stopped to cut another piece of steak and allow the others to speak.


    "Great," Al sighed, looking accusingly up at the ceiling and shaking his head, "first demons, then possibly fae, and now the undead. I''m going to end up dealing with every sort of doesn''t belong in this world thing that can be found, aren''t I."


    "That''s good!" Wikwocket said encouragingly, "That''s what you''ve been reading about, right? Nothing beats actually experiencing something to learn about it!"


    "Well...," Al agreed, reluctantly, "I can''t say that I disagree with that."


    "Then this arrangement will be mutually satisfactory?" Cyrus prompted, taking another drink of wine.


    "Yes!" Wikwocket answered before Al could speak up.


    "I''m glad that we can help each other further our cause. Now that we''ve dealt with that, why don''t you tell me more about this gnoll of yours?"

 0076 - Welcome to the Conspiracy

    Al wasn''t sure just how much information he should share with the mysterious Cyrus Borge, but it wasn''t as though much of it was especially secret.


    "If you want the whole story, the expert is the wizard Melissa Browne of Goatminster. She should be publishing her research soon," he explained, "She convinced us to join up with him as a field experiment, and we''ve been questing together for a couple of weeks now."


    "There was no sign of supernatural influence that I could see," Cyrus said, "how do you control it...him?"


    Al looked over to Gruntle, who seemed to be more focused on his plate of meat and cheese than the conversation.


    "We...don''t, really," he said, but hastened to continue when he saw Cyrus'' concerned expression, "not directly anyway, it''s just a matter of understanding what he needs and wants just like anyone else. He''s ...dangerous, but he''s not complicated, really."


    "It helps that he has a healthy respect for the magical prowess of our mighty shaman," Bote added.


    "Two shaman," Gruntle corrected, looking up from his food. "Bad shaman," he said, pointing to Al, "Good shaman," he continued, pointing to Bote. "Strong party. Some clans don''t even have one shaman."


    "What''s so bad about me?" Al complained. Gruntle flinched, looking back down at his food.


    "Bad shaman stuff for clan enemy. Good shaman stuff for clan," he grumbled.


    "I believe our inarticulate ally is praising your ability to do magical harm to those who oppose us, and myself as a conduit of divine will to heal and protect," Bote explained. Gruntle gave a grunt of affirmation, then after a moment looked up in Al''s direction and added a vigorous humanish nod of his inhuman head.


    "How is that fair? Until today I had literally just one way to do harm to anyone with wizardry, and I''ve always spent a lot more time using magic to examine things, fix things, or carry things," Al argued. "Plus, we''ve all seen you conjuring divine light down from the heavens to burn our enemies, why am I the bad one?"


    "Clearly, your direct conjuration of violence makes more of an impression for a gnoll than your more utilitarian magic. As for me, I expect that miraculous healing is not something a gnoll would typically experience and so is unique. My presence nearby when Divine Will chooses to punish interference with the Ineffable Plans that I have drawn attention to is not so noteworthy by comparison."


    "Divine healing can be applied to gnolls?" Cyrus asked, with the confused, quirky smile of someone enjoying a puzzle.


    "It seems I am permitted to call upon it for this gnoll, at least," Bote answered, "so it seems Gruntle has a role of his own in the Ineffable Plans."


    Cyrus chuckled. "That definitely sounds ineffable, yes. And, you said you got this one from someone named Melissa Browne? How did she acquire him?"


    "The whole explanation is complicated, but he was very young and had gone off to hunt when Melissa''s adventuring party showed up to put down the rest of his clan in the village the gnolls had just raided and slaughtered," Al summarized, "they found him afterwards and sort of adopted him. I mean, it wasn''t actually that simple but it''s all in her dissertation."


    Cyrus looked from Al to Gruntle and back.


    "It does seem quite remarkable that you''ve gotten so comfortable in such a short time about traveling with a violent and possibly demonic beast," he remarked, watching Gruntle carefully as he said it. Gruntle gave no apparent reaction, either not hearing or not caring.


    "Oh, I wouldn''t say comfortable, it''s really sort of...," Al began, but tapered off. He mentally prodded his recent memories, looking for the fear or at least concern that he thought he ought to be feeling. Even the memory of putting his face in front of Gruntle''s open jaws and reaching all the way back between those jagged teeth to pry the leech from its attachment at the back of the gnoll''s tongue had no fear associated with it.


    Well, except for the fear that I''m going crazy because this doesn''t seem mentally normal, Al thought to himself. That first day had all the expected worry in it, but it was already starting to feel like it was normal by that night. Except for a few dominance tests along the way and worrying about how other people are going to react, it really hasn''t been uncomfortable at all, has it? Well, waking up that morning in Turnipseed practically snuggling a gnoll was kind of uncomfortable, but that was weird and awkward instead of scary. Maybe I should ask Bote, this sort of psychological crap seems like something they might have some insight into.


    "Hey, Al, you okay in there?" Wikwocket teased as Al got lost in thought.


    "What? Oh, uh, yeah, just thinking." Al shook his head. "He just sort of fits into our party, contrary to any rational expectation. I can''t really explain it," he told Cyrus.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "He almost died fighting to protect us! It was heart-breakingly sad!" Wikwocket added cheerfully.


    Gruntle unconsciously reached down to scratch at the patch of unevenly-regrowing fur over the scar on his right side as he lapped at the wine in his glass.


    Cyrus scratched his chin thoughtfully. "This is actually valuable information you''ve brought for us. I should warn you that you''ll have a much harder time getting him into a place like Southwall where the former library is. It''s not the sort of place where people often walk around in public in the shape of monsters. What will you do?"


    "I don''t know yet," Al admitted. "We''ll have to figure something out after we get done here I guess."


    "You should have a few days to come up with a solution, after your service here is finished. I suggest you not take too long, though - the longer someone gnoll-shaped is seen wandering freely here, the more attention you''ll draw. Someone is bound to start asking questions."


    <hr>


    The rest of the dinner was filled with Wikwocket''s dramatic retelling of anecdotes illustrating what Gruntle was like. Cyrus seemed to enjoy the novelty, and Al did his best to offer some possible explanations along the way, based on what he''d read so far of Melissa''s treatise and from his own experience. After an hour or so, the food and wine were gone and the conversation tapered off.


    Al was concerned that none of the discussion had been about this mysterious cause that Cyrus had mentioned, and he was no closer to understanding what they were getting themselves tangled in. He was afraid to ask for fear of spoiling the act Wikwocket seemed to be successfully pulling off, though, so he went along with it as best he could.


    "The food is gone and the hour is late," Cyrus finally announced, "and I still have some tasks to finish before my day is done. I''ll get word to the magistrate of Hell''s Bathtub that you will take on their job, I would expect you''ll be contacted by them tomorrow morning. As for the service you''re performing for our cause, take this."


    Cyrus reached into his shirt, and took out a small metal disk, about twice the size of a typical coin. He handed it to Wikwocket. It had a detailed engraving of a housefly on it.


    "When and if you find and successfully subdue the necromantic thing we believe you''ll find there, rub your thumb around rim of this five times and someone will come to collect it from you. If you don''t find anything, or if you are unable to deal with it without destroying it, I will follow up with you once you return."


    "The cause can count on us!" Wikwocket assured him, and pocketed the disk.


    Cyrus picked up the handbell and rang it again. A server opened the door moments later.


    "We''ve finished our dinner, please show my guests out," said Cyrus, "I''ll be along myself in a moment."


    The servant nodded politely and beckoned the others to exit.


    "Well, thanks for the dinner. I''m glad we can be useful," Al said as he stood. Bote gave a polite bow, and Gruntle even gave a grunt of agreement, and the three of them headed out of the room.


    "A private moment before we leave, please," Cyrus whispered to Wikwocket as she jumped down to the floor from her chair.


    "What is it?" she asked. Cyrus reached into his shirt again, and took out a clean linen handkerchief, which he handed over. She took it from him with a grin.


    "Thanks!" she said confidently.


    "Would you say," Cyrus quietly said to her, "that I have appropriately answered your request for help?"


    "Oh, yes, I''m sure this will work out great!" she replied.


    Cyrus grinned knowingly. "So, you were not of the cause."


    "What? Why would you say that?" Wikwocket responded with indignation.


    "Because," Cyrus replied, "even now you''re still signaling that you are seeking assistance." He ignored Wikwockets protestations, and pointed to BiteySue''s hilt over her shoulder.


    "You will want to cover the spider-mark unless you are looking for help from others of the cause. If you see the spider-mark from someone else, you are obligated to offer what help you can, in exchange for an agreed-upon service or the usual payment. If you cannot help, you at least owe them the regular payment or some other service that can be agreed upon."


    One last attempt to bluff withered in Wikwocket''s throat, to be replaced by a question.


    "Wait, if I''m not part of this cause, why are you telling me this?" She asked, taking a wary step backwards. Cyrus laughed.


    "I said you weren''t of the cause, but these things happen for reasons. You are in with us now whether you intended it or not. I hope we will not disappoint one another."


    "That''s great! So what''s this cause all about?" Wikwocket probed. She reached back to tie the handkerchief around BiteySue''s hilt to hide it.


    "That can wait until you''re ready to know it." Cyrus saw Wikwocket''s dissatisfaction with that answer, and relented just a little. "I''ll say this much, your wizard spoke a bit about his studies and goals tonight. I judge that he, at least, will approve of what we''re about once he is initiated and permitted to know. We can talk more once you''re back from your job."


    "What can I tell the others?"


    "Since there isn''t much that you know, you may tell them whatever you want to for now. Oh, I suppose I should at least tell you how much the usual payment is, in case you need to give or receive payment. It''s..."


    "...One hundred and seventy-three gold coins, right?" Wikwocket finished for him, grinning mischievously.


    Cyrus gave her a long look. "After you return, if you''ll give me an explanation of how you knew that, I''ll give you a statement of our cause''s purpose."


    "Deal," she agreed, "I can tell you right now if you want!"


    "No, save it for next time. Your companions are waiting and will be wondering what''s taking us so long, and your gnoll''s large ears make me suspect he may be listening to us already anyway."


    A gnollish grunt sounded out from the hallway outside.


    <hr>


    "...but he said he thought you''d approve of the cause, whatever it is, when you find out!" Wikwocket was reassuring Al as they made their way back to the center of the village. Candle and lamplight from occasional windows as they passed provided just enough light for Al to almost not trip over anything in the dark. Fortunately for him, once they got out of the alleys and back to the main streets, there were few obstacles.


    "Can we be sure this isn''t some sort of elaborate set-up to rob, murder, or enslave us or something?" Al wondered aloud.


    "While Cyrus Borge''s motivations are somewhat mysterious," Bote opined, "I do not feel that he has knowingly told us any falsehoods. He is certainly withholding information, but it seems he is not trying to hide that he is doing this. I believe his explanation of the task Hell''s Bathtub wants done is legitimate, as is his request that we capture whatever it is that he believes is in the Lavatio. I cannot guess as to what his cause may intend to do with whatever they learn from it, but I think he at least believes it is for some moral good and not profit or conquest."


    "You think it''s okay to take the jobs then?" Al asked.


    "We are taking these jobs!" Wikwocket insisted, "It''d be inexcusable to pass up an exciting mystery like this one!"


    "All right. I can''t say I feel as confident as you do about it, but I can''t really think of a good reason not to go along with it. It''s only a couple of hours walking to get to the turnoff to the Lavatio, so if they give us the details in the morning we should have some time to take care of some errands and buy some supplies before we head out."


    Gruntle yawned widely, showing off his entire array of frightening teeth. Al found himself yawning in response. Wikwocket and Bote joined in after him.


    "After plenty of sleep, I hope," Al suggested.

 0077 - Hired to Clean the Baths

    Despite some intellectual discomfort brought on by the thoughts of what had happened during the busy day, the relative lack of emotional distress made it easy for the fatigue to drag Al down to sleep.


    He wasn''t sure how long he''d slept when the bodily imperative to return the wine he''d rented at dinner woke him again. Grumbling at the insistence of nature''s call, Al got out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the others. He made his way out into the hall, carefully closing the door again behind himself, and headed towards the privies.


    He hadn''t gotten far down the hall when the door of one of the other rooms opened, and an elderly bearded man leaned out to look up and down the hall. He saw Al, and seemed to carefully examine Al from his head to his feet. The man stroked his beard thoughtfully as Al drew closer, but before Al decided to speak up, the man gave a sort of noncommittal nod of tentative approval to himself, then withdrew and closed the door again.


    That was weird, Al thought to himself, but hurried past the door and continued on his way.


    Further ahead, on the opposite side of the hall, another door opened. An elvish person leaned out and looked in Al''s direction. Al wasn''t sure whether this was an elvish man or woman - only their head and shoulders were visible, and by humanish standards, elven men tended to appear feminine almost as much as dwarven women tended to seem masculine. Regardless, the elf watched with careful appraisal as Al passed. Al''s polite "Uh...hello," as he went by seemed to startle them. They smirked and nodded back, watching as Al continued down the hallway.


    Is there something on my back? Al wondered and twisted his neck around to look, to discover that there was in fact nothing on his back. At all. In his urgency, he''d forgotten to put any clothes on as he left. Al felt the blush of embarrassment on his face as the elf went back into their room and shut the door. Al walked faster.


    All right, it''s not like we haven''t seen other people walking around in here with no clothes, just act like I''m doing it on purpose and maybe I can find a towel to borrow, he thought to himself. He looked away and tried to be nonchalant as yet another door opened ahead of him. A well-armored but helmetless and golden-haired-and-bearded dwarf emerged with clanking steps to stand directly in Al''s path, scrutinizing him.


    "Halt a moment. I would examine you," the dwarf announced sternly.


    "Uh, sorry, no, I really need to do something right now," Al replied, quickly stepping around the dwarfish obstacle.


    "I insist!" the dwarf demanded, turning smartly to face the direction Al was headed.


    "Possibly on the way back, there''s something I really need to take care of at the moment," Al insisted back, continuing on his way.


    "Hmmm," he heard the dwarf mutter behind him, "...Vielleicht." This was followed by clanking footsteps again, and the closing of a door.


    "Maybe" what? Are they even allowed to order other guests around like that here? Al wondered. He reached the turn that led down a side hall to the privies. He went quickly around the corner. Someone wearing long silvery-white hooded robes was standing in front of the nearest door. The shadow of the hood made the wearer''s face indistinct, but Al thought there was a polite smile there. Al dismissed a thought of asking to borrow the robes.


    The robed figure grasped the handle on the nearest privy door with slender, long-fingernailed hands, and beckoned Al to make use of it.


    "Um, thank you," said Al quietly as he rushed inside, eager to get a least a few moments of privacy to take care of what he came for. The door was gently pushed shut behind him.


    The privies were all of clean, polished stone. Holes drilled across the top of the door allowed in just enough light from the lamp-lit hallway for someone to be able to see what they were doing, and of course one large hole in the stone bench awaited use. The sound of water running somewhere below the toilet''s opening explained why the privies never smelled bad, at least not for more than a few moments at a time. Al stepped closer to the hole, grateful to get at least a short break from people staring at him.


    The cluster of glowing sickly green eyes that looked up from inside the hole at him almost made him involuntarily and indiscriminately do what he''d been about to do. The combined dim light from the holes in the door and the glowing patch of eyes allowed Al to just barely make out the opening of a wide mouth, resembling that of some giant shark-toothed frog. Al quickly stepped back, pushing the privy door open with his body as the burbling, croaking voice spoke. He couldn''t understand any of it, but it sounded mocking and threatening, and was easily recognizable as the language he''d heard the demons in Wulfcynn Keep speaking. A slimy spiked tentacle reached up out of the toilet.


    The robed figure still stood next to the door, watching Al curiously as he continued backing away.


    "There''s a demon in the privy!" Al shouted. "One of us should run for help! I don''t know how long I can hold it off but if you hurry OOF!"


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    His announcement was interrupted as he tripped backwards over something, sitting down hard on the cold tiles. He looked down to see the end of a long reptilian tail, clad in opalescent scales and stretching across the floor. His eyes followed it to where the other end disappeared under the robe, which was rising. A silvery-white reptilian head as large as Al''s body extruded itself on a long neck from under the hood. A moment later, the creature had mostly filled the hallway.


    Wet slapping sounds and the disturbing voice of the privy-demon distracted him from watching the transformation. A reptilian claw gently tapped his shoulder, then pointed with a talon the length of Al''s arms at the slimy green tentacled shark-frog-topus thing squeezing itself out of the privy through the hole.


    No time to question, only one of these things is threatening me at this moment so...


    Al spoke the words and made the gestures to conjure the bolts of flaming magical energy, hurling them at the demon as it lunged out of the privy towards him.


    "Get away from my toilet!" Al growled as he sat up in the dark.


    Al looked around for a moment, breathing heavily in his confusion. A quiet sliding sound came from under his bed, and the bestial head of the monster that had been sleeping there was just barely visible to Al in the sliver of light coming in under the door from the hallway. Gruntle looked to Al and then quickly around the room. Seeing nothing, he began to sniff.


    "Just another weird dream, it''s alright," Al told the gnoll. "There''s nothing here, I think."


    Gruntle''s eyes glowed amber in the dim light of the room as they regarded Al. Then the gnoll grunted once, and returned to his comfortable space under the bed. Al took stock of his situation in the meantime. He was still wearing the trousers and shirt he''d gone to bed in. He felt reasonably well rested, and guessed that it was probably early morning near sunrise. The urgency of the bladder, on the other hand, was real. Al rose from the bed.


    "Got to use the privies. I''ll be right back," he said quietly. The only answer was a snore from Wikwocket, so Al left the room quickly and retraced the path he''d dreamed about. He half-expected doors to open and people to stare at him, but the only sign of activity was a few members of the staff in the distance, making the usual preparations for the day. There was nobody in the hall with the privies. Al opened the first privy door, and cautiously leaned in to look down the deep hole of the toilet. After some paranoid staring to make sure the sparkles of reflected light from the flowing water down below were not eyes, Al huffed and stepped in to do his business.


    "If you are down there, take this, you jerk," Al muttered at the toilet as he finally answered nature''s call.


    <hr>


    Al found Stephen waiting patiently beside the door when he got back to the room.


    "Good morning," he said to Al with a small bow, "I''d been informed one of you was up and about. On behalf of the magistrate of Hell''s Bathtub, we thank you for your party''s service and discretion."


    He offered Al a leather scroll-case. Al accepted it.


    "The details of the job are there, along with what information we have available that might help, and a permit to leave and return by the southern gate. It''s been requested that you avoid tormenting Larry, the guard there, but this isn''t a mandatory element of the job. I understand that it might be difficult for vampires and werewolves to resist the temptation," Stephen said, barely repressing a grin.


    "Thanks, I''ll let the others know and take a look at what you''ve given us," Al responded.


    "If you perceive any problems with the terms of the job, contact me and I will mediate for you. Otherwise, we look forward to your successful completion."


    Another member of the staff further down the hall waved, and Stephen sighed.


    "I must go, there''s always more work to be done," Stephen said, and with another small bow headed off to see what else he was needed for. Al opened the door and went back inside. He went back to his bed and commanded the candle on his nightstand to light itself. This revealed Bote sitting up on their bed.


    "I presume you now have the details of our public job?" the dwarf asked, getting down from their bed.


    "It looks that way," replied Al as he opened the scroll-case. Wikwocket snorted and sat up, fighting her way sleepily out from under the blanket.


    "Are you opening treasure?" she yawned.


    "Potential treasure, I guess," he answered.


    The scroll-case contained several pieces of paper rolled up together, and one smaller piece of fine parchment, the latter of which held a finely-calligraphed statement that the four of them were allowed to leave and return, with a wax seal and signature of the magistrate. Al couldn''t really tell what the name represented by the elaborately-swirled lettering actually was, but it was certainly distinctive. Al set the parchment aside and unrolled the papers. Three of them were copies of older maps showing the distribution of the remains of buildings on the site of the Lavatio, None of them were particularly well surveyed and the distances and sizes suggested by the maps all disagreed, but the broad details of the layout matched well enough. A large rectangular area at the approximate center of the mapped territory had been labeled Lavatio in a more modern script on the copies of the older maps. One of the three copies even indicated that there were steps heading down into the Lavatio on the eastern side. A fourth paper had a sketch of the area around Hell''s Bathtub, showing the path south and down to the intersection where the road to the Lavatio split off. Given about two hours between the gate and the intersection, Al guessed it was probably a further hour of travel to their destination from there if the proportions on that map were accurate.


    The last piece of paper was the actual quest.


    "Oh, wow, this is a step up in formality and reward. A thorough description and multiple payments. Let''s see...Hell''s Bathtub thanks blah, blah, blah authorizes the.... Really? The gnoll party? I knew it."


    Al sighed and scanned down the document.


    "Okay, here we go. One hundred gold coins for agreeing to take the job, payable upon completion of at least one other goal. Fifty gold coins for documenting the layout, contents, and possible structural dangers of the Lavatio with up to a further one hundred at the discretion of the magistrate for especially useful information. One hundred and fifty gold coins for the elimination of any dangerous flora or fauna in or around the Lavatio with up to another two hundred at the discretion of the magistrate depending on the danger and thoroughness. After completion, a bonus..."


    "What? A bonus of what?!" Wikwocket demanded when Al stopped to stare at the page.


    "One...thousand...gold coins, if the survey crew sent by Hell''s Bathtub after completion of this job is able to complete their first day of surveying the interior of the Lavatio without harm, excepting those caused by negligence of the survey crew or ordinary well-known natural pests of the area," Al read, with a crooked smile.


    "I like that number," said the wide-eyed Wikwocket.


    "...oh, and according to this, we agree not to take anything of value that belonged to the original site."


    "Of course, not," Wikwocket agreed, "we''re not looters. Especially not if they''re paying us that much!"

 0077? - BONUS: Letter to Headquarters

    Gruntle hadn''t re-emerged from under the bed. Al guessed there being no mention of food and the potential for violence being so abstract hadn''t been exciting enough to wake him back up.


    "I should take care of something before we start running around today," Al said.


    "Didn''t you just do that?" Wikwocket asked. Al ignored her and continued.


    "If anyone''s hungry, they could go get us some food while I work."


    That did it - Gruntle stretched out from under the bed, and he, Bote, and Wikwocket left to seek breakfast. Al put the quest materials back in the scrollcase and fetched the writing supplies he''d picked up the previous day.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    To the esteemed Melissa Browne and Notamimic Manor,


    It has been less than two weeks since we left Notamimic Manor, but it feels to me as though more has happened since then than in any entire year of my life up to this point. We are currently enjoying the hospitality of Hell''s Bathtub and are about to take on a job for them that may possibly provide us with the means to already repay your initial investment. Gruntle''s presence here has been surprisingly little problem because apparently everyone thinks he''s some minor noble that I''ve transformed into the shape of a gnoll with my mighty powers of wizardry. Apparently that sort of thing isn''t too uncommon among the wealthy customer base here.


    Though it has been such a short time, I wanted to initiate correspondence while my thoughts and observations are reasonably fresh in my mind, before we set out on today''s quest.


    I confess I was quite nervous and uncomfortable having a gnoll accompanying us when we set out, but all of us seem to have mutually settled into this arrangement quickly. My misgivings about how Gruntle would fare among the populace of Silveroak turned out to be unfounded, and I can report that his behavior appears to have been well-conditioned for behaving among a population that is at least somewhat familiar with him. The contest of fisticuffs that he has been taught to use as a form of dominance-testing appears to be a very effective adaptation. I would like to bring up a complaint that you did not warn me that the town knew of him already, it would have saved me a lot of worry. We were able to supply ourselves with most of what we needed in town before setting out for a job in Henhaven. We were unable to procure a pack-animal though, so I can confirm your observations of the responses of most domesticated beasts to the presence of gnolls.


    On our way to Henhaven, we were accosted by some bandits. Please convey my appreciation to Grakthor for Gruntle''s training, he dispelled my doubts about his readiness in the fight that ensued. He was not only quite effective during the fight, but he showed some unexpected cunning and self-restraint in controlling how the fight started despite the obvious effort of will it required of him. We made it to Henhaven with relatively minor injuries, and successfully dissuaded Gruntle from trying to eat what was left of our assailants.


    I''m sure I will have more to report from our job there when I have some time to rest and think about it, but a few matters stand out in my mind as noteworthy. For one, I can confirm and expand upon your observations regarding Gruntle''s affinity for the demonic language. As you described in your writing, he clearly can''t understand or use the language itself, but he seems to instinctively understand the meaning of both speech and writing in that language. The..."


    </blockquote>


    Al paused, looking at the page and hesitating. Then he sighed and continued:


    <blockquote>


    "...Demonic Flesh-beast of Henhaven appears to have once been a human caretaker of Wulfcynn Keep while the baron was away, and seems to have entered into some inadvisable arrangement with a demon. Gruntle was able to not only understand the speech of some demonic spirits guarding the place and the demonic-language glyphs one of the now-deceased caretaker''s books had written in it, but he was also able to broadly recognize when the writing was a reference to a name, or to magic-working. The book I tested this with, according to Gruntle''s interpretation, appears to be a sort of catalog of specific demons with their names and, I believe, descriptions of what would be suitable as offerings to appease them. I think it''s noteworthy to mention that Gruntle seemed to recognize one of the individual entries, though when I asked him later about it he insisted he had never had any interaction with it or any specific knowledge of it. He was unable to tell me what the name of this entity actually is though he pointed out where it was written on the page. The illustration appeared to be of some bear-like thing, and Gruntle told me the text indicated it liked violence. Might this be a demon particularly associated with the gnolls somehow? Two other matters I noticed at this time seem noteworthy. For one, I''ve been quite surprised at just how well Wikwocket and Gruntle seem to work together. I think it''s partly just that she thinks adventuring with a gnoll is exciting and novel, but I don''t think that''s all of it. I think she accepted him as a person even more quickly than I did, and has been hunting, fighting, and even playing with him in ways that seem to mesh well with Gruntle''s natural habits. She''s even taken to grunting and huffing in normal conversation. Gruntle seems to be very comfortable with this, perhaps her accidental or intentional gnollishness is just reassuring for him. I''m not certain if this means anything but I thought you''d be interested to know. The other matter is that we did, in fact, find a donkey that didn''t appear to be especially frightened of Gruntle. Gruntle seemed to take that as a challenge, but I was able to convince him to treat this as an intra-clan dominance matter rather than a prey-animal to be killed. The donkey actually managed to surprise Gruntle with a solid kick, and Gruntle accepted this as a loss. When it came time to name the donkey later, it was actually Gruntle who gave him a name. "Haunch" has been a reliable packbeast ever since, and seems somewhat attentive to Gruntle. I still don''t know why he wasn''t afraid of Gruntle, but I''m glad for this, because we really needed a pack-animal to help us haul our growing collection of possessions. Our second job was through Turnipseed, and now I understand why nobody wants to go there. The job was outside of Turnipseed itself so we only had to spend one night there. The next morning we found ourselves..."Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    </blockquote>


    Al stared at the page and found he really didn''t want to describe the embarrassingly snuggled state they all unexpectedly found themselves in when they woke up. He scratched out the last few words and skipped ahead.


    <blockquote>


    "...found ourselves made our way out of Turnipseed to a nearby tomb to lay a tribute upon the grave of an old elven hero on behalf of the village. This ended up being a much more eventful job than I''d hoped, but it ended well. I''m sure there are plenty of useful observations to be had from a detailed discussion of events but there''s only one that I feel I should mention in this letter. During an attack by a giant insect-monster of some sort, Gruntle..."


    </blockquote>


    The moments of Gruntle''s nearly-fatal injury and their efforts to end the fight and save him replayed themselves in Al''s mind. After a while, he realized he was sitting there with his teeth clenched and lips in a snarl, gripping his writing implement as if he was trying to crush it. He took a slow, deep breath and forced the strange anger back down.


    <blockquote>


    "...suffered what would have been a mortal wound. I want to assure you he is fine now, and in fact I don''t perceive any substantial change in his personality or signs of emotional distress. However, if it were not for Bote being able to call upon divine healing magic so quickly, it is likely we''d be making a very unhappy trip back to Notamimic Manor already. Oh, yes, in case Bob had not already discovered something similar, it appears Bote is in fact permitted to call upon divine miraculous healing for Gruntle, despite him being a gnoll. I wanted to mention this in particular not so much as an observation about Gruntle directly, but about myself."


    </blockquote>


    Is this dumb, or weird? Al wondered. Is this a useful observation? He forced himself to continue his introspection. Awkward or not, Al assumed that factors affecting how a gnoll might successfully associate with non-gnolls was one of the most important questions being tested here.


    <blockquote>


    "While to me it seemed that Bote was concerned, and Wikwocket was distraught - both emotional reactions I would expect - I felt angry. It was like someone had brazenly stolen something valuable from me, and in that moment I just felt an urge to destroy what had taken it from me and get it back. I think this is probably just a matter of how facing adversity with someone tends to strengthen the social bonds between them, and this last week or so has been the most concentrated adversity I''ve ever had to handle in my life so far. Perhaps that''ll be useful if there''s ever a reason to try to integrate another gnoll into a humanish group. It still feels very strange that I''ve gotten so comfortable traveling with a gnoll so quickly, but I think writing it down like this is helping me understand, somewhat."


    </blockquote>


    ...and now I''m rambling like an idiot, he thought to himself, and reached to scratch out what he''d just written.


    "Hey, Al!" Wikwocket called out from the doorway, "We brought food! If you hurry, there might be some that Gruntle and I haven''t eaten yet!"


    The scent of bacon and sausage wafted through the air.


    "Okay, I''m almost done," Al answered, and rushed to finish the letter.


    <blockquote>


    "After our job here in Hell''s Bathtub, I expect we''ll be headed to Southwall, where I''m told there''s some sort of disused library that may have a particular reference that I''m looking for. I''m not certain how we''re going to get Gruntle in there with us, as I expect they won''t be so welcoming. We''ll be sure to leave if it looks like there''s going to be too much of an angry mob problem. If the job here is as lucrative as it sounds like it may be, we may take the road back to Silveroak from there and come visit Notamimic Manor to repay your initial investment and the additional 15% beyond that which we owe you so far. We''ll be able to discuss observations more then."


    yours in service,


    Al. Arcanisen


    </blockquote>


    "There," Al said, putting down the pen. Then, "Oh, wait." He picked the pen back up and scribbled.


    <blockquote>


    Postscript: I seem to have acquired a sword. Would Grakthor be willing to give me some pointers on using it properly?"


    </blockquote>


    Wasn''t there something else I wanted to ask about? Oh. Right.


    <blockquote>


    "Also, he keeps sleeping under my bed. Is that normal?"


    </blockquote>


    Al put the pen down again and got up to liberate some breakfast from from the gnome and gnoll.

 0078 - Loading Up and Heading Out

    Al successfully claimed enough bacon-wrapped-sausage to properly feed himself without ending up overstuffed. He retrieved his cleaning-cloth from his pack and used it to wipe the grease from his hands. Then he magicked the grease away from the cloth and put it back.


    "Everything seems to be more expensive than normal here," he said as he folded up the letter he''d hastily penned, "but I know there are at least one or two things I''d like to try to get before we set out. I need to spend a few minutes looking over my notes, but once I''m done I suggest we offload the things we were going to trade for money and then do some quick shopping before we leave."


    "I think that may be good, it will also give us a chance to bring Haunch out into the fresh air with us for a while before we go," Bote suggested. "Also, I''m sure the cart will be preferable to trying to carry that barrel of vinegar. I do also wish to spend a few minutes in communion with Indicina to ensure our actions today will remain in alignment with the Ineffable Plans, so perhaps our expert in discretion would like to examine the documents while we prepare?"


    Gruntle grumbled a bit as he dropped down into a lazy crouch to wait, and Al handed Wikwocket the scroll-case to examine while he and Bote took care of their supernatural preparations. Al spent some time going over memetic exercises to ready his mind for the selection of magic-working that he guessed would be most useful while Bote conferred with the spirit of the divine. It didn''t take too long before Al finally closed his book of notes.


    "Are you done with your magic nap now?" Wikwocket asked him..


    "It''s not a nap, it''s meditation! I had my eyes open to look at my notes and everything!" Al protested.


    "Could have been a magical illusion to make me think you were awake! Anyway, since you''re awake now, we''re going back into vampire-bug land again, right? Do we have any more of that smelly flea-paste left?"


    "Not enough, but I was going to take the trace we have left over to the apothecary and see if she''s got anything like it. I''m assuming the local goddess protects Hell''s Bathtub from bugs, but there are a lot of people that have to leave and go home eventually. I imagine there''s some demand for something to protect people once they go through the gates and end up back on the road to somewhere else."


    "So, what you''re saying is that if we buy all of it, a bunch of wealthy nobles are going to be sucked dry by mosquitoes?" Wikwocket asked hopefully.


    Al rubbed his forehead and sighed.


    "No, I''m not saying that at all. At the prices they charge here, I doubt we could even afford to buy enough to make that much of a difference."


    "Unfair!" Wikwocket complained. "Don''t worry, I''ll think of something."


    "You know, saying that just makes me worry more," Al replied.


    <hr>


    Al deflected some further questions about the possibility of tampering with the apothecary''s products to make them attract biting insects and whether or not there was such a thing as "mosquito demons" that Al might potentially conjure up. He finally managed to grind the topic to a halt by referring to it as "arthropod-mediated desanguination of aristocratic individuals of high net wealth". Bote grabbed the collection of Elvish religious scrolls to bring along, and promised to find a courier to take Al''s letter to Notamimic Manor. Al decided to ask Gruntle to help him carry the barrel of vinegar instead of using magic. Wikwocket''s disgusted glare at Al''s excessively erudite speech lasted for the entire walk to the stables.


    As they party arrived, The donkey stood calm and still while a stablehand brushed him down. Haunch''s eyes were half-shut and he gave a quiet groan of contentment.


    "It appears you are being well cared for here," Bote called out, and received a cheerful neigh in return.


    Al gave Bote a questioning look. "You can talk to him?"


    "Of course," the dwarf answered, "we all can, should we choose to do so."


    "We have talking-to-animals magic? What did he say?" Wikwocket excitedly asked.


    "He tells us he is happy and content, but there is no magic involved, one simply needs to recognize what a happy donkey looks like."


    "Aw, I wanted magic," Wikwocket pouted.


    "And how do you know what a happy donkey looks like?" Al asked, genuinely curious.


    "They are not much different from mules. There is a particular breed of mule, that some of our barley-farmers produce from their workhorses. They have a good temperament for the mines. Our helpful friend Haunch seems to have similar mannerisms."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The donkey under discussion turned to sniff at the still slightly floral-scented gnoll as Gruntle and Al set the barrel of vinegar down on the cart.


    "We thought you might like to get out and walk around a bit," Bote told Haunch as Al worked to get him hitched back up to the cart. "I would assume we do not intend to take him with us back into the swamp, as we should not need to bring back more than we bring with us, and it may not be easy to protect him from the natural dangers there while we go about our tasks inside the Lavatio."


    "Hmmm, no, you''re right. Sorry, donkey, we''ll need to leave you behind. I''m sure that totally breaks your heart, though, passing up a nice blood-sucking swamp for this cruel stable," Al suggested sarcastically, and offered the stablehand a silver coin for his efforts. Finally tightening the last buckle, Al led Haunch out of the stable and into the street, heading for the apothecary. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to shine on the fading fog in the air, but a few other customers seemed to be up and about already. A trio of well-dressed, sour-faced people some distance away seemed to take notice of Gruntle, then turned and walked away muttering amongst themselves. A woman wearing the most expensive-looking servant clothing Al had ever seen passed by, walking a large mastiff on a surprisingly delicate leash. The dog stood up on her hind legs and barked happily to get their attention and the woman holding the leash looked up to wave cheerfully as well. Wikwocket returned the gesture with a grin.


    "They liked our little game of absolutely not tormenting some of the nobility," she explained.


    The shopkeeper at the STATIONER - APOTHECARY appeared to be in the midst of opening business for the day. Al saw her unlock the door and then stop in front of the shop window when she noticed Al and his associates approaching. She stared for a long moment before moving away from the window towards the counter. She was still watching with disbelief as Gruntle helped Al heft the barrel and carry it through the door into the shop.


    "I had heard someone was...," she said quietly. She turned to Al and gestured towards Gruntle. "Who is...no, never mind, not my business. But may I at least ask if this is your doing?"


    "I suppose you could truthfully say that," Al hedged.


    "Hey, we helped!" Wikwocket insisted.


    "Anyway," Al continued, "this is the vinegar I mentioned yesterday if you''d like to inspect it."


    The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter, approaching warily but fascinated by Gruntle. She looked the gnoll over, and seemed to have to stop herself from reaching out to touch the scars on his side.


    "Impressive attention to detail," she told Al with apparent sincerity, then forced her attention away and down to the barrel. She donned a set of thin leather gloves, and took a set of protective goggles out of a pocket and put them over her face, and then pried out the cork with her fingers. It came out with a POP! and a few drops of the glowing bluish-green contents spattered across the top of the barrel. She wrinkled her nose and leaned back.


    "Whoo! That''s definitely vinegar!" she asserted, then slowly leaned back down to examine the glowing spots. She reached into another pocket and fetched out a ring of metal of the sort that one might expect to have keys dangling from it. This one, instead, had a collection of small circular pieces of tinted glass in metal-wire frames, each a different color. She selected a few different colors and regarded the glow of the vinegar through several of them. She nodded.


    "Yes, I suppose I could find some use for this. I''d be willing to pay you forty...fifty gold coins for it. Is this acceptable?"


    "Yes, it is, I''m just glad someone can get good use out of it. We don''t really need it and it''s bulky and heavy. You may get some of it back before we walk out of here - we''re heading out into the swamp again and we''re wondering if you can formulate something like this," Al responded, pulling out the small crock containing the last little bit of the flea ointment. He handed it over for inspection.


    "What an odd formulation!" the shopkeeper exclaimed as she sniffed the scent of the ointment. "Is this meant to repel insects?"


    "Well, yes, it was meant as a flea ointment. It seemed to work reasonably well to keep the flies and mosquitoes off of us, though."


    The shopkeeper looked again at Gruntle, and laughed. "You really are committed to this, aren''t you. I can assure you that my own formulation is more well adjusted for our particular pests."


    They ended up surrendering ten of the gold coins back, but in Al''s opinion forty gold coins and several large jars of viscous oil that would supposedly repel not only insects but any of the normal blood-hungry creatures in the swamp was still a good deal. The oil''s odd flowery scent was less offensive than the minty-sheep smell of the flea ointment, too.


    They helped the shopkeeper move the barrel into her workshop and then bid her farewell.


    "It may save us some time if I go do my business at the temple while you return Haunch to his comfortable lodging, We may meet back up in our room to equip ourselves to set out then, and perhaps be at the Lavatio by mid-day." Bote suggested. They patted the donkey''s neck gently. "Do not worry, we should return within the day if the Ineffable Plans do not require otherwise," they reassured the donkey.


    "Yeah, if nobody else objects, that sounds good to me. The sooner we get started, the less likely we''re going to be stuck out there after nightfall."


    <hr>


    Al thought he saw Haunch try to take a step to follow Gruntle after they''d gotten him back to his stall and unhitched from the cart. A bag of oats supplied by a stablehand settled him down and the party returned to their room. Bote joined them soon after while they loaded their packs. Bote set a cloth bag of coins into the lead-lined chest, and set three small scrolls on their bed.


    "We discussed religious matters and decided that the manifest benedictions belong with us, as surely we were lead to find them for a reason," they announced. Bote respectfully loaded them into their pack.


    Then, they slathered themselves with with the pest-repelling oil and set off for the southern gate.


    Larry the guard refused to look at them as he opened the gate and let them out, so he didn''t see Wikwocket giving him a very toothy smile.

 0079 - The Bathhouse Below

    The flowery oils made Al feel greasy and wet at the same time, but seemed to be doing an excellent job of keeping mosquitoes and flies away from them all. Most of the bugs flew by as though not even noticing their presence, and the occasional insect that landed on one of them tended to immediately take off again and leave them alone. The slightly sulfur-scented humidity in the air made things a little uncomfortable, and Al had to watch his steps to avoid tripping over the uneven remains of the ancient paving stones, but otherwise the hike out to the turn-off to the Lavatio was peaceful. They turned left and headed through the pine trees, following the faint remains of the old small road. Less than an hour later, Al discovered they''d reached the site by tripping over the remnants of an old stone building foundation that had been obscured by the weeds. The area they found themselves in wasn''t clear of trees, but the pines were younger, smaller, and sparser than what they''d traveled through to get there.


    Al got out the copies of the map sketches that they had, and they made a hasty survey of the surface. Traces of old foundations were the only thing left of most of the surface buildings, but their locations seemed to correspond reasonably well with the markings on their maps. In the approximate center of the site they found the the Lavatio itself. The above-ground portion of the building had long since collapsed, and eroded remains of stone columns, stone walls, and clay roof-tiles cluttered the badly-worn granite floor stones. However, the steps leading below ground on the eastern side of the Lavatio were there, somewhat smoothed by time but still obvious and usable. They led down to an archway that formed the entrance to the underground space, and the Elven script across the top read: MUNDABERIS.


    Beyond the archway appeared to be a wide open space, but the light from outside only made the first few feet of dirty stone floor clearly visible. Al took off his pack for a moment to fetch a torch from it, glaring a bit at the others to discourage comments about his poor human night-vision.


    "In case anyone was planning to make a smart remark about my difficulties seeing in the dark, maybe some people who can see in the dark want to sneak ahead and take a look before I come down with my attention-getting torch."


    "I wasn''t going to say anything!" Wikwocket insisted, "At least not until you tripped over something."


    "Thanks," Al said sarcastically. Wikwocket and Gruntle looked at each other, and then headed quietly down the steps - Wikwocket leading, and Gruntle following ten or so paces behind.


    "Is it just me," Al asked Bote as they watched, "or is it kind of weird how well they work together?"


    "I''m not sure I would call it weird, even if it is unexpected," Bote suggested, "Wikwocket seems to have committed to coordinating with our gnoll from the very beginning, though I do think it was at first only for the excitement and novelty. She has consistently and frequently interacted with him and seems to enjoy it. I perceive that they have some commonalities that help to make their cooperation more natural. Both enjoy simple, visceral experiences - Wikwocket by choice, and Gruntle by nature. And of course they both have substantial experience at sneaking around, even though this is due to entirely different practices before they met. Given her efforts, I would be surprised if they did not work well together by this point."


    Wikwocket came back up the steps.


    "Looks clear," she announced, "It''s pretty dirty in there, but nothing obviously dangerous. There''s a big statue of some half-naked elf guy in there. At least, I assume it''s a guy. We see at least two old, warped wooden doors in the left and right walls, the one on the left has a big hole in the bottom of it. Come on down and take a look!"


    Al commanded his torch to light itself, the simple fiery magic trick coming to him even more easily now. He followed Bote down the steps.


    Just as Wikwocket had described, the large square room beyond the open archway was littered with dirt and dead leaves blown in from outside. Marble columns on either side of the entrance flanked a massive marble statue of an elf in the center of the room. The carved folds of the elf''s stone toga hung loose from one shoulder as he scraped a curved sickle-shaped implement down one arm.


    "Munditio," Bote explained, "god of hygiene."


    The decaying remains of a tall fresco behind the statue appeared to depict an idyllic bathing scene, from what could be discerned of the portions that hadn''t flaked off already and weren''t covered with lichen. Al spotted Gruntle off to the left, quietly stalking the door in the wall that had a hole through the bottom of it. Wikwocket scurried over to consult.


    "What is it?" she whispered.


    "Food," Gruntle growled quietly, grabbing his flail and taking hold of his shield.


    "Oh, not again," Al grumbled as Wikwocket ran lightly and quietly to the side and then up to the door, grasping the latch with her left hand and BiteySue''s hilt with her right. She exchanged glances with Gruntle, who was beginning to pant through an excited grin. She pressed the latch and pushed on the door as Gruntle charged.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The warped door stuck slightly but Gruntle''s bulk slammed it open the rest of the way as he went through. Alarmed squeaking came from inside along with sounds of the heavy flail smashing down on something crunchy. Wikwocket charged in immediately after to join the violence. Al struggled to unsheathe Purgatio without dropping his torch as he headed the same way with Bote.


    "You will try the sword?" Bote asked, unlimbering their hammer.


    "If this is just more big rats, it''s probably safe to try to get used to using the sword on them," Al answered, finally getting the faintly glowing sword loose as they reached the doorway and looked inside.


    Several angry rats as large as some dogs were swarming Gruntle, or at least the survivors were. One was already smashed messily against the floor, and another dangled limply from Gruntle''s prominent teeth, muffling the gnoll''s barking laughter. Wikwocket ducked out from behind Gruntle and skewered a third as they watched. A sudden movement by the gnoll forced away one of the rats biting at him, and Al lunged clumsily for it with the tip of his sword. He imagined the rat''s squeaking was mocking him as it dodged aside and turned on him. Bote smiled gently and aimed a casual swing of their hammer at the same rat, missing widely but forcing the rat to split its attention between the two of them. It leapt at Al''s throat, but Al stepped back just enough for the rat''s teeth to clamp down on robe and chainmail instead of his flesh. He shook the rat loose and skewered it as it tried to move away from the encroaching Bote.


    The two remaining giant rats moved apart as Gruntle''s flail smacked against the floor between them, and then they rushed in to bite at his ankles. Wikwocket aimed a lunge between Gruntle''s feet and stabbed deeply into one rat''s neck. Al tried to get the other one, but had to lean away to avoid the wide swing of Gruntle''s flail as it came around to bat the last rat across the room and into the wall. It flopped to the ground, twitching, then was still. Ignoring his own blood dripping from bites in his legs, the gnoll scanned the room hopefully for more. Seeing none, he took a deep breath and relaxed, aside from the clenching of his jaw as he closed his eyes and bit the rest of the way through the dead rat still dangling from his jaws. Blood dripped down his muzzle and the rest of the remains dropped to the floor.


    Al held his torch higher. There was no obvious danger remaining, though suddenly noticing the elf standing in the middle of the room startled him until he realized it was another granite statue, this one more life-sized.


    "Which god is that one?" he asked Bote.


    "That is no god, just an elf."


    "How do you know?"


    "I just do. When one works as a messenger for the gods, it is necessary to know from or to whom one is taking messages. I do not know this one, therefore he is no god."


    Al looked around the rest of the room. The remains of the wooden benches were warped and rotting, and mildewed curtains had once covered the openings of three slightly raised alcoves along the far wall. The lower portions of the curtains had been gnawed into strips and piled up in the middle alcove. The floor was damp due to a stone basin full of dirty water that was dribbling over, as it was fed by a drip from a pipe in the wall. To the right, a hallway led away further into the complex.


    Al was distracted by a sickening, meaty cracking and tearing sound.


    "Can''t you at least cook it?" he complained,


    "Sure!" Wikwocket answered, and snatched Al''s torch from his hand. She ran across to the alcove where the rats had been nesting and set to work trying to get the pile of cloth to catch fire.


    "Okay, okay, I guess I did ask for that," Al said, resigning himself. "At least pull the skins off so we don''t have to smell burning hair, and don''t take too long please."


    In the growing flickering light of the short-lived cookfire, Al went a little ways down the hallway. The remains of artwork on the walls seemed to be more bathing scenes, which Al suspected would have been beautiful before time, neglect, and dampness destroyed them. He returned to the room and took out some paper and ink to sketch out a rough map of what they''d seen so far while he waited.


    He had to admit that the smell of cooking giant rat wasn''t really so bad, for the few minutes that the cookfire lasted before dying out. The ripping of meat and crunching of bones didn''t get any less distracting, though.

 0080 - A Snack, Track, and ATTACK!

    Al was not at all confident the rats had been cooked much, seeing how quickly the rats'' nest they''d used for cooking fuel had burned up. For a moment, Al considered abusing his new understanding of magical fire-production to deal with the matter, but decided against it. Not only did it seem impatient and lazy, but he wasn''t at all confident he could control it well enough not to end up with giant-rat-sized piles of ashes.


    He finished his rough sketch of the two rooms they''d explored so far and looked up before he packed the writing implements away. Gruntle was still noisily gnawing on a half-raw, half-burnt rat. He wasn''t as horrified as he thought he''d be when he saw Bote eating a piece of cooked rat meat. Wikwocket was cooking another piece of meat skewered on her dagger over Al''s still-burning torch flame. She saw him looking at her.


    "You want a piece? Free food! It''s actually pretty good when it''s freshly cooked." She said, holding the dagger out towards him. Al gave in to curiosity and took the small slab of cooked flesh with his fingers - carefully, since it was still hot. He clumsily juggled the piece for a few seconds until it cooled enough to hold more comfortably, and then sniffed it. The smell reminded him a bit of cooked rabbit meat. Taking a cautious bite, he found the flavor was similar, too, though also having some odd flavors like dark chicken meat and poorly-processed venison blended in.


    "Needs salt," he decided aloud. He still ate the rest of his sample, though.


    A lot better cooked than raw, at least, he thought. He absentmindedly wiped his fingers off on his robe, then realizing what he''d done he magicked the grease-stain away. He was just putting his pack back on when a faint noise echoed down the hallway from the room. Gruntle''s ears swiveled. He dropped what little was left of his rat-snack and he stalked in the direction of the hallway. Al took his torch back from Wikwocket and inexpertly pulled Purgatio from its sheathe.


    "What was that?" Al whispered as Wikwocket scuttled silently over to join Gruntle at the hallway.


    "Glass breaking," Gruntle answered in a low rumble. "Maybe voice. Quiet now."


    Wikwocket disappeared down the dark hallway. Al and Bote jogged to catch up as Gruntle followed her.


    "The luncheon of the adventurer is an unsure thing, it seems," Bote observed.


    Al''s torchlight quickly caught up to Wikwocket and Gruntle. The hallway was no more than ten paces long before splitting directly left and right. Gruntle was sniffing the air at the intersection. He finally looked leftwards with a grunt, and Wikwocket led him away in that direction. Al and Bote hastened to catch up, and they all found themselves a few paces down the corridor, standing in front of another warped wooden door. This one was embedded with a bronze locking mechanism and keyhole. Wikwocket nodded at Gruntle and knelt down to try to peek under the gap at the bottom, while Gruntle leaned forward to touch his ears to the door. After a few seconds, Gruntle huffed.


    "Nothing. Smells like bad food," he announced.


    "I think I can see some barrels. The room in there doesn''t look too big," Wikwocket said as she stood up. She pushed on the door, which refused to move. "Locked. There must be something good in there!"


    She extracted a metal ring of tools and set to work trying to force the lock open. A few minutes went by.


    "Okay...almost got...no, wait...come on, move!...just...ARRGH!"


    The oddly-shaped pieces of metal she had stuck in the keyhole bent as she tried to force the ancient lock open. The springy steel almost returned to its original shape when she took them out.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "I guess we''re not getting in there," she lamented. Gruntle looked down at her and blinked, and then slammed his body against the door with as much force as he could. The damp, ancient wood cracked and splintered, pulling away from the lock mechanism. A second body-slam smashed the remains of the door the rest of the way open, leaving the lock sticking out of the door frame. Wikwocket cringed as Gruntle strode into the revealed store-room heedless of any traps that might be there. Fortunately, no obvious harm came of it.


    The storeroom had a collection of shelves, barrels, and boxes. It stank of mold and mildew. Gruntle sniffed around but found nothing of interest to him.


    "Anything we need to worry about in there?" Al asked, holding the torch closer to illuminate the room.


    "Nothing," Wikwocket answered, pulling BiteySue out and pointing its tip straight ahead,"except this mimic!"


    She stabbed the nearest barrel, which did not shriek and sprout eyes and teeth. "This mimic?" she tried, stabbing another barrel. BiteySue poked a hole through the old wood and a few grains and small chunks of what Al guessed was probably salt spilled out. Stabbing every other object in the room found only disappointment, particularly when a small box on a shelf fell to the floor and broke open instead of fighting back. It spilled a small handful of gold coins onto the floor, each bearing some Elvish writing and an unknown elf''s face.


    "Gold is pretty clearly of value so we have to leave that here," Al pointed out.


    A quick survey of the room turned up mostly long-spoiled supplies - moldy, clumpy flour, chunky salt, a thick sludge that smelled like vinegar in a mostly-empty barrel, decayed dried meats, cooking-fat hardened like old wax. Some knives and other utensils in the smooth Elven style seemed to be in reasonable shape, but of course that meant they, too, were of value. The population of small scavenging beetles scurrying around was the only other thing they found. They were probably not especially valuable, Al thought.


    "I think we should get moving," Al urged, "it doesn''t look like there''s anything dangerous in here, but this also doesn''t seem to be what we heard that noise from so..."


    Almost as if purposefully timed, another sound of breaking glass echoed down the hall outside. It sounded like it came from far off. A hint of distant cackling laughter seemed to follow it, and Gruntle crouched low to poke his head back out into the hallway to listen.


    "Goblin voices," he growled. Al frowned and gripped Purgatio tighter while Wikwocket quietly left the room and then led Gruntle away.


    "Do you think they''re following us?" Al quietly asked Bote as they rushed to catch up without making too much noise.


    "Not so much in this case, as they would almost certainly have been here already when we arrived," Bote suggested.


    "Probably just paranoid to think they might be intentionally staying ahead of us in particular, isn''t it."


    "Yes, I would say so, though that doesn''t mean there is certainty that it isn''t happening anyway."


    They jogged back up the hallway and past the intersection they''d come in from. The corridor turned, then turned again, then deeper down a set of steps to a landing. As they descended the steps, Al''s torchlight showed Wikwocket headed back towards them from a set of steps going back up on the opposite side.


    "Drunk goblins!" she whispered to them as they met. "Probably about seven or eight of them. Looks like the room up the steps was some sort of old bar and they got into whatever ancient booze is still here."


    Al approached the steps back up hesitantly, not wanting his torchlight to give them away. The landing had paths leading away to either side as well as straight ahead and back the way they came. To the left was hallway - with, Al noticed, a faint sound of running water coming from further in the distance. To the right, more steps leading back up. Al tried to keep his torch to the side, around the corner from the steps to minimize how much light might shine up to the room they were stalking as he tried to look up the steps ahead of them. This left him just enough light to see Gruntle lying prone on the steps, his head just barely high enough to be able to watch from the room over the topmost step. Another sound of shattering glass echoed down, followed by more of the harsh, high-pitched laughter of goblins. Al pondered.


    "What are they wearing?" he whispered to Wikwocket.


    "Elegant silk gowns decorated with fine jewelry, shamelessly cut high so you can see their ankles," she whispered back. She valiantly held back laughter when she saw Al''s confused and slightly horrified expression.


    "The same mess the bunch in front of that dead hero''s tomb were," she admitted, "Dirty skins and furs. A few of them have spears and a few have small swords, but they looked like they were too busy drinking to be paying much attention. Why, do you need some new clothes?"


    "No! Just...never mind. Gruntle?" he whispered up the steps, "Can you hear us?"


    The appearance of two glowing spots of amber-colored eyes up near the top of the steps reflected the dim torchlight and suggested to Al that he could.


    "Bote and I are probably going to make noise when we go up these steps. Do you think you two could take them on safely for a few seconds until we get up there to help?"


    Al saw the gnoll''s shining eyes bob with a nod. Wikwocket smiled eagerly and nodded as well.


    "All right then," Al said quietly, gripping Purgatio tightly. "Whenever you''re ready..."

 0081 - Drunken Goblin Violence

    Wikwocket moved silently up the steps. Gruntle carefully backed a few steps down towards her and slowly brought his shield down from his shoulder to his left hand. Wikwocket crouched next to him as he reached up to his collar. The faint clink of the buckle striking the stone step as the collar came off was immediately washed out by the eager bloodthirsty gnollish bark-laughter and the startled shouts of goblins as Gruntle charged up into the dark room, followed closely by Wikwocket. Al sprinted up the steps as quickly as he could, torch in his left hand and Purgatio in his right. He heard Bote stomping up the steps behind him as he reached the top.


    Al''s flickering torch lit the scene. The 10-paces-square room had a wooden countertop to the left, a few round wooden tables and simple chairs were ahead of Al and to the right, and violence was throughout. One hide-clad goblin lay smashed against the floor at the nearest table next to Gruntle, whose prominent teeth were chomping shut just a fingerwidth short of another goblin''s neck and shoulder as the goblin stumbled and fell back beneath the table, slipping on blood that had spurted from a hole in another goblin''s chest as Wikwocket pulled BiteySue back. Two more panicked goblins were reaching for spears propped against a nearby table.


    Three more, Al noticed, were behind the serving counter, arms raising glass bottles to throw at the terrifying demon that had appeared from nowhere to kill them all. Caught up in the carnage, Al quickly tucked the flat of Purgatio''s blade between his left arm and body to free his right hand, so he could conjure the fiery magical violence he''d taught himself. Al grinned vengefully as the three bolts of red flame obeyed his will and hurled themselves at the goblins behind the bar. One managed to throw itself back out of the way, but the goblin dropped the bottle to the floor and the liquor that had been inside splashed and caught fire itself as the deep red flame intended for the goblin brushed through the fumes. The other two goblins weren''t so lucky. Shrieking and sizzling, they fell to the floor and went silent, bones exposed behind patches of charred and vaporized flesh. Al stepped to the side to get out of Bote''s way as they followed up the steps into the room. The dwarf took in a hasty view of the room and planted themself next to Al with hammer ready, daring the last goblin behind the serving-counter to come closer. It bared its yellowed pointy little teeth at them and drew its crude sword, menacingly backlit by the dwindling blue flames of the spilled liquor as it boiled away. It shouted something hatefully at them. Then...it turned and ran out of sight around the far corner of the counter. Al tried to keep track of where the sound of its footsteps led. They seemed to have fled down a hallway at the leftmost wall.


    The two goblins at the far table had grasped their spears, and they charged desperately at the madly laughing gnoll. Crouching low to get closer to their level, Gruntle caught one spear-thrust and knocked it aside with his shield. He caught the other in the side of his abdomen. The goblin''s triumphant shout ended with a wet SPLUTCH! sound as the gnoll ignored the stab wound and stepped towards the startled goblin, bringing his flail down upon the goblin''s head. Gruntle continued the motion, and this time the second goblin had no lucky escape. Small neck and shoulder bones crunched between the large gleaming teeth and the small green-skinned foe went limp.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The goblin facing Wikwocket underneath the table rolled quickly back to its feet, drawing its crude sword. It charged. Wikwocket shifted her rapier and dagger to parry the incoming blow, but the goblin apparently didn''t feel like fighting. It simply swatted the points of her weaponry away from it as it sprinted past her with fear-enhanced speed, running to follow the other goblin down the hallway, where panicked goblin speech and grunting of effort could be heard, followed by the creaking of a door. Al grabbed Purgatio''s hilt and released the sword from between his left arm and body, running after the fleeing goblins.


    The sound of the door opening at the end of the hall was followed by the footsteps of the goblins fleeing into the dark room beyond as Al reached the start of the hallway. Frightened-sounding goblin speech suggested they didn''t like what they found in there. Both of them screamed. There were sounds of struggle and one of the screams abruptly stopped. The other got louder as rapid small footsteps came back. A terrified goblin draped in cobwebs rushed back towards Al, seemingly hoping to simply rush past. Al carefully drew back Purgatio and swung. The goblin''s scream became one last sigh of exhalation as the body collapsed, and the head bounced across the floor back into the room. Gruntle looked down the hallway, eyes black from fully-dilated pupils. The gnoll began to run after the last missing goblin.


    "Gruntle, stop!" Al shouted in warning, but the gnoll barely hesitated. "Stop! It''s some kind of trap!" Al tried, louder.


    Gruntle huffed, slowing and stopping before he ran over Al. The gnoll looked frantically for more goblins. Seeing none, he relaxed, with some apparent reluctance. A long groan of relief came from his throat, and his eyes returned to their normal amber. Panting, Gruntle slowly hung his flail back on his belt and returned to walk a few steps down the stairs they''d come in from. He returned moments later, buckling his collar back around his neck.


    Al knelt to examine the body of the one he''d decapitated. Thick, sticky webs clung to its body and limbs, and to Al''s hands as he turned the body over. A small pair of shallow punctures in the goblin''s side dripped blood through the hides the goblin wore. The webs melted away near the torch-flame as Al held it closer to look.


    "Oh, good, more giant bugs," Wikwocket said sarcastically, peering down the hallway and into the next room. With his torchlight, Al could see that the entire doorway had been filled with webbing before the goblins pulled the door open and charged in. Now streamers of webbing hung from the inner side of the door and there was a large hole through it into the room.


    Al shuddered as he though the could make out the movement of long black legs, turning a grey mass over and over deeper in the webs.


    "We''ll have to deal with it eventually," Al suggested, "but we don''t necessarily have to do it immediately. If there are webs, that means it should stay in there and wait for food to show up instead of coming after us, right?"


    They all watched for a while to make sure nothing was going to rush them. The sounds of movement that could occasionally be heard were eerily quiet. Eventually, Al thought he could see the webbing flex, and something within seemed to scuttle quietly further back into the darkness.


    "Anybody feel like going down there and pushing the door shut?" Al asked hopefully.


    "Nope!" Wikwocket replied.


    "I cannot truthfully say I feel like tempting that which waits within, either," Bote agreed.


    Gruntle strode past them all and down to the door, a few drops of blood from the stab in the side of his abdomen dripping along the floor as he went. He reached the door and pushed it shut. The door''s closing was momentarily slowed by something thudding into it from the other side, but that didn''t stop Gruntle from pushing the door the rest of the way until it was latched shut again.


    "Thank you," Al said, "That should give us some time to decide what to do next."


    "The goblins aren''t part of the baths, right? So if they have anything valuable we can take it?" Wikwocket suggested, holding her nose with her left hand while she gingerly began pulling back headless body''s crude clothing to see if there was anything worthwhile to find.


    "I''m pretty sure that''s true, yeah. Have fun with that," Al answered.


    "I''ve had fun before, I''m pretty sure this isn''t it."


    For her troubles, Wikwocket found nothing especially useful on any of the goblins except, possibly, the short spears which seemed to be balanced well enough to throw. A search of the rest of the room revealed broken glass scattered around a door on the opposite side of the room from the hallway - which the goblins were apparently using as a target for the bottles they''d emptied - and a few more dusty glass bottles full of light amber liquid beneath the counter. Atop the counter, they also found a crude clay jug. Its amateurish quality, lack of dust, and the sloppiness of what seemed to represent a skull painted on the side in black pigment made it obvious that it wasn''t of Elvish origin. It was stoppered with a piece of wood smeared thickly with some sort of animal fat.


    "My gnomish intuition tells me that this jug contains something that we do not want to drink," she sagely observed.


    "Your powers of deduction amaze me," Al deadpanned.


    "I know, right? I''d say either there''s poison in here, or powdered skulls. Either way, yuck."


    "We can take it to an apothecary and see if we can find out what it is when we''re done. If we assume those goblins brought it here, it can''t be anything good. Until then, though, we should keep exploring. Do we want to try to do something about whatever horrible spider-thing is at the end of that hallway, or...?" Al asked. An anguished scream of frustration echoed up from somewhere beyond the stairs they''d come up, interrupting him. It lasted several seconds before fading out.


    "Somebody''s unhappy," Wikwocket observed.


    "Or in trouble," Al said, heading for the stairs. "I think we should check it out."

 0082 - Wrathful Spirit

    There seemed to be no objections as Al''s companions moved to follow him back down the steps.


    "This could be a chance for you to do your first rescue as a sword-hero!" Wikwocket enthused.


    "I''m not really an anything hero, it''s just common decency to try to help people," Al scoffed.


    "One might argue that considering the urge to rush to help someone to be simply common decency is itself an obvious indication of heroism," Bote argued as they reached the landing at the bottom of the steps.


    "If you say so," Al replied skeptically. He leaned into the hallway to his right and listened for any further sounds. As he listened, a bestial fuzzy head leaned over him on a long fuzzy neck, ears twitching.


    "Do you hear anything?" Al asked. "I think I hear water."


    Gruntle grunted. "Moving water." The gnoll listened for a few seconds more. "Brushing. Maybe a quiet voice."


    "Brushing?" Al asked, imagining some mysterious person dealing with hair. To demonstrate, Gruntle swept his hand across the wall as if to brush off dirt, making Al wince as he scraped away the flakes of delicate ancient pigments from the mural.


    "Is the voice saying anything?"


    "Too quiet to hear."


    "Would the brave hero like to lead the charge?" Wikwocket teased.


    "I don''t know, would you?" Al retorted.


    Wikwocket grinned. "Very well, I shall!" she said, drawing her dagger and BiteySue, and striking a dramatic pose. She opened her mouth as if to shout for everyone to follow her into danger, but then smirked and quietly set off down the hallway to scout. Gruntle followed. Al and Bote followed Gruntle. The hallway turned left after about five paces and continued about ten more. Al noticed that the amount of clothing on what was left of the Elven figures painted in the wall murals seemed to be steadily decreasing as they reached the end of the hall. The wide door to their right was better preserved than the other doors they''d seen so far, treated with some sort of oil to prevent harm from the dampness. An intricately carved scene on the door seemed to depict a long room, with long rectangular baths along the left and right walls, and a wide circular pool at the far end. A sort of open window along the wall to the right above that pool seemed to have clothed, seated elves, watching the bathers. Carved representations of a few nude long-eared people lounged in each of the depicted pools or were  scraping their skin clean with some curved instrument like the one the statue in the entry room had held.


    The sounds of flowing water were obvious here, and Al could finally hear the muttering and gently swishing sounds coming from beyond the door. He looked up at Gruntle, who seemed to be more fascinated by the bas-relief carving of on the wall at the end of the hallway more than the door. It seemed to show an overflowing fountain. Markings carved into it seemed to depict some sort of writing around the edge of the fountain. They were too small and worn to tell what they were supposed to mean, but something about the arrangement seemed interesting to Al. He couldn''t tell why, though.


    "You like the carving?" Al asked the gnoll, never having seen anything to indicate he had any interest or appreciation for art.


    "Water," Gruntle said quietly, pointing at the wall.


    "Um...yes. Yes it is."


    Al shook his head and turned his attention back to the door. He pointed at it with the tip of Purgatio and gave Wikwocket a questioning look. She nodded and put her rapier away, then gave the door a careful examination. She ran her dagger around the edges and underneath. Finally, she looked up and shrugged. There was an empty sconce for a torch next to the door, so he put his there, and reached for the door latch with his left hand. As quietly as he could, he lifted the latch and pushed the door slowly open.


    The hinges seemed to be in as good a condition as the wood of the door, and it swung silently. Al hesitated as he spotted something just to the right of the door inside - a small pile of dirt, and a dead goblin. The goblin was withered like an old, mummified thing, and its face was stuck in a stiff expression of wide-eyed, open-mouthed terror.


    Now Al could hear the words of the feminine voice inside, though he couldn''t understand them. The quiet brushing sound was there, too.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare. Reficio. Ego sum Cleodora."


    Al slowly pushed the door further open. The flickering torchlight revealed that the portion of the room that Al could see actually matched the depiction on the door. He thought he could just barely see the nearest edge of the round pool at the far end. Unlike the rest of what they''d seen so far, this room both looked and smelled clean, though Al could see some cracks in the stone walls.


    The elf who crawled along the floor away from them seemed not to have noticed the door opening nor the torchlight. She was muttering to herself as she brushed the ground ahead of her, as if trying to sweep the dust from the floor with her hand. She continued patiently along and beyond where Al could see.


    In the darkness at the far end of the room, the voice cried out again, frustrated and angry.


    "Debeo emundare! Ego sum Cleodora! Debeo emundare!"


    ...and then all was quiet.


    "What was that about?" Al asked quietly.


    "She seems quite maddened. She screamed angrily at the pool at the end of the room, then dove in," Bote interpreted.


    "I didn''t hear a splash, though."


    "We didn''t see one, either. Oh, she has returned."


    A wordless scream of anguish echoed out from the darkness, much like the one they''d heard from up the stairs. Al felt uneasy as the elven woman strode back into view at the edge of the torchlight. She was pale and sad. Her steps made no sound at all, and Al was discomforted to find that she seemed translucent. Her face began to change as she glared at the adventurers at the door.


    "Uh, sorry to disturb you, we came to help," Al called out. This did not have the desired effect. The elven woman''s face distorted into a terrifying mask of anguish, rage, hate, and death as she glided swiftly towards them shrieking madly in Elvish.


    "Transgressores abierunt! Ego sum Cleodora! Debeo emundare! AAAIEEEEEEE!!!!!"


    Even the normally-stoic Bote let out an involuntary scream at the horrible sight. Al screamed as well, scrambling back away from the door and holding Purgatio defensively in front of himself. Wikwocket screamed, and Al saw her ghost-stabbing dagger in his peripheral vision, held out in front of her as she backed away, too.


    They were all drowned out by the high-pitched shrieking bark-laugh of a completely panicked gnoll. "Hey! Let go! Let go!" Wikwocket shouted. Al risked a very brief glance back to see Gruntle crouching tightly into the far corner of the hall against the wall with the fountain carving, wide-eyed and clutching the struggling Wikwocket to himself. His feet kicked forward as he tried to retreat further despite the wall in the way. Al had no time to see more than this as the vengeful screaming spirit clawed at him from the door. Al waved his sword frantically at her, and Al was thankful to notice that she actually moved to avoid it.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "I don''t want to hurt her, she might have useful information!" Al called out over the spirit''s ranting and Gruntle''s noisy panic, as he jabbed at the floating madwoman with Purgatio to make her back off. Her long-nailed hands were like pale transparent talons as she nearly managed to slash his hand. The near-contact felt cold and itchy.


    "She may be beyond reason, we may be forced to fight if she cannot understand," Bote shouted back, holding up the consecrated bronze scroll-case that served as the symbol of Indicina''s holy order.


    "Will someone at least tell her we didn''t come here to fight her or loot the place, we''re here to get the place ready for restoration! Stop clawing at me!" Al shouted back, dodging another swipe of the ghostly hand.


    "Oh," Bote said, almost inaudibly amid the other noise. "Yes."


    They stood up tall, for a dwarf, raised the scroll-case up in both hands, and spoke. The voice was Bote''s, but it reverberated and echoed in a way that seemed to make the other sounds fade away.


    "Nos pugnare non venimus. Furari non venimus. Venimus ad locum istum restituendum. Unguibus oppugnare non debes!" spoke Bote''s voice.


    The ghostly elf''s face softened, inhuman anguished rage replaced by sadness, tinged by hope. She floated back a step as Bote sagged and swayed for a moment. Al kept Purgatio pointed in the spirit''s direction but lowered the point. Even Gruntle''s desperate bark-laughter became a little less frantic, though Wikwocket still couldn''t pull away from the clingy gnoll.


    "What did you say to her, I thought you didn''t speak Elvish?" Al asked, panting.


    "I don''t speak Elvish, but the Divine Will does," Bote answered. "It seems I have earned a more direct role in the Ineffable Plans, so with the help of the divine, I was able to deliver your message."


    "What message?"


    "That we did not come to fight her or loot the place, that we had come to prepare the place for restoration, and that she should stop clawing at you. Just as you said."


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Lavatio restituetur? Debeo emundare," the ghostly elf pleaded. Bote held up their hands to her to ask for patience.


    "What is she saying?" Al asked.


    "I do not know, I do not speak Elvish. But, wait a moment, I am sure the Divine Will does. Perhaps they will share," Bote answered, and bowed their head to speak a short prayer for understanding. Then they raised their head and gave the eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture of their religious faith, and nodded to the ghost to continue.


    The ghost spoke a rushed tumble of hopeful words. "Ego sum Cleodora. Teneor ad hunc locum. Debeo emundare. Lavatio restituetur? Ego sum Cleodora."


    Bote nodded to her, and the ghost clasped her hands together, pleading and hopeful. "Vos omnes novae species hominum. Intellexistis sermonem meum? Ego sum Cleodora."


    Bote nodded again to her. "She says her name is Cleodora, and that she is bound to this place, but she must clean. Then she observes that we are new sorts of people, by which I presume she means not elves, and then asks if we understand what she is saying. I believe the nod-for-yes and shake-head-for-no goes back to elves, so I am hopeful I can at least communicate that much. If so, I told her yes."


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Dic quid acciderit et quid futurum sit!"


    Bote shook their head, and covered their mouth with their hand.


    "Intellegis sed loqui non potest? Ego sum Cleodora."


    Bote nodded. "She asks what has happened, and what will happen now. I believe I have managed to convey to her that while I can understand the meaning of her speech, I cannot speak it myself."


    "But you just did, moments ago!"


    "I did not. That was the voice of the divine, speaking through me."


    "Can''t the voice of the divine talk to her, then?"


    "I''m sure it could, but that is not my choice. I cannot simply command the divine voice to speak through me, it is not a servant to be ordered about. It is sacriligious to even think such a thing."


    "That''s...ineffable," Al complained.


    "Yes, it is."


    The ghost of Cleodora seemed to be considering.


    "Indica mihi haec lavatio restituenda. Debeo emundare. Ego sum Cleodora. Ut te credam?"


    "She seems hopeful about our claim that the Lavatio will be restored, but seems to feel she has a duty to clean. She asks if she can trust us."


    Bote placed their right hand on their chest and nodded deeply with a small bow.


    "Ad hoc teneor. Vos venite et videte."


    Cleodora''s ghost turned back into the room and floated towards the pool at the far end, her feet moving as though walking but not quite matching the pace.


    "She repeats that she is bound to something here. She invites us to come and see something," Bote translated, and stepped in to follow. Al took the torch from its sconce again and held it high as he followed, too.


    "Come on, Gruntle, let me go! Let''s go see what the dead elf is trying to show us!" Wikwocket demanded, finally pulling herself loose as Gruntle mostly calmed down. "Don''t worry, I''ve got my ghost-stabbing knife to protect you if she tries anything!" She rushed into the room to catch up. With a small whine, Gruntle hurried in on all fours, letting Wikwocket stay in the lead.


    Cleodora''s spirit stopped at the edge of the round pool, and pointed upwards, indicating where a chunk of stone seemed to be missing from the ceiling. She pointed into the pool. The water would be perhaps chest high for a typical elf or human standing in it. The surface of the almost invisibly-clear water rippled gently with a current. At the bottom of the pool was some debris - a few large rocks, and Al noticed as he knelt down to look closer, some bones.


    "Ibi sum. Captus sum. Debeo emundare. Non possum non esse ubi ossa mea. Ego sum Cleodora. Si sincerus es, adiuva."


    "She says that is her. She is bound to where her bones are. She seems to be testing us, she wants us to help to prove our sincerity."


    Wikwocket arrived, keeping her dagger out in case of emergency, and leaned to look down into the pool as well.


    "So, that''s you?" Wikwocket asked, pointing down at the pool and then at Cleodora''s spirit. The ghost nodded.


    "Ego novissimus. Ego sum Cleodora. Lassus sum et solus. In aqua quievit. Dormivi," she said. Her face grew serious. "Mortuus pollutor requiem meam finivit. Debeo emundare. Meum est officium. Ego sum Cleodora."


    "That is not comforting," Bote said, "I believe she is saying she was the last one here, perhaps she was the last caretaker when this place was abandoned. She says she rested in the water and fell asleep. Then she says a dead defiler came and disturbed her rest. She seems determined to continue being the caretaker of these baths even in death."


    Cleodora''s spirit scowled as Gruntle creapt up behind Wikwocket. In spite of some obvious reluctance, he stood up to look around and then down into the pool. This seemed to startle Cleodora.


    "Quae est haec bestia?" she asked peering closer. Gruntle cringed. "Hoc est aliquo modo hominum? Fortis videtur."


    Bote nodded. "She does not seem to know what a gnoll is. She asks if he is a kind of large, strong person."


    "Si adiuvabis, bestiam illam mihi dabis."


    "I''m not entirely sure what she means here, she seems to believe that we can help her by giving Gruntle to her," Bote explained.


    "What? No!" Wikwocket exclaimed, threatening the spirit with her dagger. "I warn you, I''ve been itching to find out if I can really stab ghosts with this!"


    Gruntle crouched behind the much smaller Wikwocket, keeping her between him and Cleodora''s spirit as best he could. Cleodora drifted closer, just out of stabbing range.


    "Concede hoc. Non laedetur," the ghost said emphatically. Then she lunged forward.


    Wikwocket''s stab struck empty air as Cleodora''s spirit vanished, and Gruntle collapsed convulsing to the ground.

 0083 - Let Me Borrow This

    "The last thing she said is that he would not be harmed," Bote translated as they rushed to check on the fallen gnoll. The convulsions were all slow, wide movements. Gruntle''s head, arms, and legs stretched out, pulled back, and swung uncoordinated, but not violently. His eyes had rolled back in his head.


    "Gruntle! Gruntle! Are you okay? Say something!" Al called out.


    The limbs relaxed. Gruntle''s eyes blinked, and looked around.


    "Ego sum Cleodora," he growled. "Debeo emundare. Ego sum Cleodora."


    He clumsily rolled over and got his hands underneath himself and pushed himself upright. He stood unsteadily, and took a step forward, immediately falling back to all-fours.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Quomodo haec bestia ambulat? Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare." Gruntle grumbled.


    "It seems Cleodora has undisembodied herself into our gnollish colleague''s body, and is now confused how Gruntle walks," Bote explained with a hint of amusement. "I do not think she means to do him harm, though I hope she does not injure him with a clumsy fall while her spirit is in control."


    "Is it just me, or does he... she... keep telling us her name over and over?" Al wondered.


    "Yes, she has been. I don''t know why."


    "Uh... Ego sum Cleodora, ego sum Cleodora, ego sum Cleodora?" Al tried, emphasizing the question.


    Gruntle shook his head, and stood again, swaying a little off-balance. He turned to look at Al.


    "Repeto ut non obliviscar," he said.


    "She repeats, so that she does not forget, she says."


    Gruntle stumbled towards the pool and stopped at the edge. He crouched down again, and sat to put his legs in the water. Then he lowered himself in, the water coming up to just above his lower ribs. He breathed heavily for a few moments.


    "Diu fuit quod exspiravi," he growled, then ducked beneath the water. He came up a moment later, straining to heft a large piece of stone out of the pool. He repeated this a few times, then began to come up with bones.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare. Me oportet omnia emundare," he said as he came up with a broken skull and a few neck bones to set next to the pool, before ducking under again.


    "What is he... she... what are they doing?" Al asked, puzzled.


    "I am not certain. She said that she was bound to her mortal remains, but she keeps insisting that she must clean this place. She is emphasizing now that she means the entire place. I would speculate that she intends to clean her remains from the pool, but what she intends to do with them afterwards, I cannot say."


    "She will give him back to us, right?" Al asked, one eye twitching involuntarily. He realized he was still gripping Purgatio tightly, and he forced himself to put it back in its sheathe and let go.


    "She''d better!" Wikwocket agreed vehemently.


    "I would guess she has been forced to borrow the strength of his body to accomplish some task that her insubstantial spiritual manifestation is unable to do," Bote suggested, "I believe she will relinquish her hold on him when she is done."


    While they discussed this, Gruntle''s body ducked repeatedly under the water, coming back up each time with hands full of bones. It didn''t take too long before a more or less complete set of bones from what was obviously Cleodora''s skeletal remains was piled on the side of the pool. Gruntle stood panting in the water. The gnoll''s eyes squeezed shut, and he gave a small snarl, pounding a fist on the floor next to the bones.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Ego sum Cleodora. Est nimium cupidine violentiam, est fames magna. An semper hos affectus habet? Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare," the gnoll growled between breaths.


    "It seems she can feel Gruntle''s urges for violence and gluttony," Bote interpreted, "She wonders if this is how he feels all the time, which of course we know he does."


    "If she doesn''t like it she can let go of..." Al growled, then squeezed his own eyes shut and took a deep breath. "He''s fine in there, right? Just temporarily not in charge of his own body. Why am I so angry?"


    "I think it is natural to feel concern for the well-being of one''s allies," Bote said.


    "Yeah, that''s what heroes do!" Wikwocket enthused. Al groaned and rolled his eyes, though glad to be distracted for a moment from the unexpected hint of rage.


    Gruntle''s own breathing slowed, and his fists hesitantly unclenched. His eyes opened again.


    "Vos oro ne irascatur. Ego sum Cleodora. Fieri debet antequam hanc belluam ad te redeam. Debeo emundare," Gruntle''s voice growled softly.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "She pleads with us not to be angry, and says there is something she must do before she can return him to us," Bote translated, "so, it seems he should be unharmed in the end. Assuming of course that whatever she means to do isn''t dangerous. I do not think that is the case."


    "What does she intend to do?" Al asked.


    "We will simply have to watch and see."


    Gruntle dragged himself out of the pool and crouched next to the bones. He picked up the skull and clumsily stood, then staggered to the wall at the back of the room, and set the skull down on the floor. He walked unsteadily back and crouched again, to gather up a selection of more bones.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Nescio si hoc bene, sed tentandum est. Debeo emundare. Ego sum Cleodora," he growled, and stood again, stumbling and dripping water from soggy fur across the room towards the door. He stopped at the threshold as Al, Wikwocket, and Bote caught up.


    Gruntle took one heavy step into the hallway. He looked slowly left, then right. With a shaky hand, Gruntle put a piece of toe-bone in the sconce of the torch next to the door.


    "Is locus relinquere non potui," Gruntle''s voice whined softly. "Debeo emundare. Totum in exitium est. Ego sum Cleodora."


    "She says she could not leave before. She seems unhappy with the state of the facility."


    Gruntle turned to face the carving of the fountain on the wall at the end of the hallway, and pointed.


    "Aqua," he said.


    "Did he... she... just say water? Gruntle? Is that you?" Al asked.


    Instead of answering, Gruntle held his hand up and watched carefully as he flexed his fingers. Then, apparently satisfied that they worked properly, he reached out and traced several of the worn symbols on the carving of the fountain. There was a jolt of vibration through the floor, and the section of wall the carving was on swung inward with a grinding noise. The sound of flowing water came from a hidden room beyond.


    Gruntle stepped into the dark room, and Al stepped up to lean in with his torch to look. Gruntle was setting a rib-bone on the floor next to the wall inside to the left. The room extended to the right where there was a large pool of water, with symbols carved into the floor around it, and a persistent waterspout rising from the center. Water ran through a channel in the floor from the pool and into an opening in the shared wall with the bathing room. As Al watched, four smaller spouts of water detached themselves from the center of the pool and spun to the nearest edge as if standing guard.


    Al stared. In spite of his usual reservations about casual use of magic, he made a hasty gesture and incantation to sensitize his eyes to magical influence without the long ritual. The impossible concepts rushed through his mind, and the auras of magical effects manifesting in the world revealed themselves to him.


    "Water," Al agreed. "It''s like a tunnel out of reality and into the fundamental concept of water!"


    Gruntle saw Al staring.


    "Mundus tantum aqua. Aqua pura," his grumbling voice said as he pointed to the pool and waterspouts.


    "She says it is a world entirely of the purest water," Bote helpfully interpreted.


    "So that''s what elemental existences look like. I''ve never actually seen one before. Those four waterspouts seem to be tied to the whole thing."


    "Noli turbare aquam. Portam apertam tenent," Gruntle seemed to be explaining. "Ego sum Cleodora."


    "She says not to disturb the waters. She says that they keep the portal open."


    Al had to admit he was impressed. "They poked a hole out of reality and across the Dreamlands to a whole separate reality just to have clean water to bathe in?"


    "Hey, Al, now that you''ve got the magic fire thing figured out, maybe this can be your next project!" Wikwocket suggested.


    "I am not an elf, there is no way I can spend the decades it must have taken to make this," he objected. He continued to examine the strange portal with the continually flowing water until Gruntle pushed his way past him and back into the hall. Al pulled his gaze away and stepped back, so that Gruntle could trace his stubby-clawed finger over the symbols on the carving again, and the wall swung shut.


    Gruntle walked his way back along the hall slowly looking over the crumbling murals with evident sadness.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare. Lavatio restituetur?" Gruntle''s voice questioned softly. Bote nodded as the gnoll''s eyes turned towards them. Gruntle gently touched the wall with his fingers. "Lavatio retituetur. Debeo emundare. Ego sum Cleodora."


    Gruntle led them back to the landing at the bottom of the various steps leading backup, pausing to drop a fingerbone into an empty torch-sconce there before continuing straight ahead up the steps they''d not yet explored. A patella was set on the edge of one of the fountains at the top of the steps, which still had flowing water but was overgrown with scum. Gruntle led them further up the hallway, yanking open another warped wooden door, which finally took them back to the room they''d originally entered from. Gruntle reverently set a femur at the feet of the statue of Munditio, bowing his head in quiet prayer.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare," he finally said. He turned around to look at the archway, and the sunlight shining on the steps outside. He began to walk.


    "Wait, wait, you can''t just leave now, we''re not done yet!" Al complained as he and the others followed.


    Gruntle stepped through the archway, and up a few steps until sunlight fell on his head. He stopped, looking up and squinting at the light. He stood there, still, for a long moment.


    "Hello?" Al finally called out. "Gruntle? Are you there?"


    "Solem iterum me visurum non putavi," he nearly whispered. "Debeo emundare. Ego sum Cleodora." He began to step backwards down the steps again, holding one hand out as if to keep some part of himself in the sun for as long as possible.


    "She seems overwhelmed to see the sun again for the first time since she was trapped down here," Bote interpreted.


    A few more steps backwards, and Gruntle returned to the entry room again through the archway. He turned to face Al, Bote, and Wikwocket. Al found it disconcerting to see tears dripping from the gnoll''s eyes.


    "Satis est," he said. "Nunc tempus est me experior. Bestiam tuam do tibi. Gratias tibi ago et tuam bestiam. Ego sum Cleodora."


    Gruntle''s eyes closed, then flew open again as he waved his arms frantically and backed away, bark-laughing madly and dropping the rest of the bones he''d been carrying. Wikwocket rushed to try to calm him. Cleodora''s ghost appeared, transparent but visible. She looked around the room, and smiled.


    "Exspecta paulisper quaeso," she said, and turned to float away back down the hall they''d come in from.


    "She wants us to wait for a moment," Bote explained.


    They didn''t wait long before Cleodora floated back into the room. She looked happy. She clasped her ghostly hands in front of herself and bowed to the adventurers.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Alligatus sum ossibus meis. Debeo emundare. Postremo a te gratiam peto. Pone ossa mea in omni camera."


    "She asks one last favor of us. She repeats that she is bound to her bones, and asks that we place her bones in every room of the Lavatio." Bote chuckled. "In death, she is still obsessed with her duty as caretaker of this place, and wants to be able to clean everywhere. I assume you do not object to this?"


    "I... suppose not," Al conceded as he moved to join Wikwocket in making sure his gnoll was unharmed. Gruntle was still breathing heavily.


    "Not me. Trapped. Not me," the gnoll panted. Al tried to think of something that might help him feel better.


    "It''s okay, it''s over now," he said, which didn''t seem to help. "We still have some things to brutally kill in here but we can wait until you''re feeling better."


    That definitely seemed to help, and Gruntle''s breathing slowed back down to normal.


    "Moneo te," the ghost of Cleodora spoke up. "Aliquid contra naturam manet. Pollutor mortuorum hic erat et sensi. Ego sum Cleodora. Obsecro vos ut caveatis. Debeo emundare."


    "She wants to warn us that the...one who was dead who was a defiler, I think," Bote guessed, "has left something unnatural here. She asks that we be careful."


    "I''ll bet that''s the secret undead thing that we''re supposed to find and try to subdue without destroying. At least that confirms it''s really here. Is that all she knows about it?" Al asked.


    "If she knows more, she has not said," Bote answered.


    Al looked to see Cleodora''s ghost, once more in a kneeling posture on the floor, brushing dead leaves and twigs patiently along with her hands and appearing quite contented. "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare," she hummed peacefully to herself as she swept.


    "Wonderful, that''s ever so helpful."

 0084 - That Spiders Not Going to Step on Itself

    "I wish we could actually ask her questions. I''d like to find out how much more there is to this place and what we might expect to find," Al complained, watching the ghost of Cleodora float towards the largest concentration of dirt and dead leaves on the floor.


    "My ability to understand what she is saying is only a temporary gift anyway, so we wouldn''t have a great deal longer to get answers," Bote said.


    "At least if she''s going to obsessively tidy the place up, it''ll probably make our employer happier," Al sighed, and went to begin gathering the scattered bones. "Hey, Gruntle turn around and I''ll put these in your pack."


    Gruntle gave Al a wide-eyed stare, then slowly began to back away.


    "All right, all right, I guess that''s understandable. I''ll carry them."


    Al took off his own pack and loaded up the remaining bones as neatly as he could manage, then donned it again. Cleodora''s spirit carried on happily cleaning, taking no notice.


    "Shall we check the door over there that we haven''t looked at yet, and see if there''s anything that needs killing behind it?" Al suggested. Gruntle perked up, and grunted. As if nothing important had happened recently, he rose and stalked to the door in question, followed closely by Wikwocket sporting a relieved grin. Gruntle listened to the door, and Wikwocket crouched to try to look underneath.


    Al''s torch sputtered.


    "Hang on, my torch is about to burn out, let me get out another..."


    Gruntle readied his shield and unhooked his flail, and Wikwocket put her hand on the door''s latch.


    "No, really, I won''t be able to see..."


    The torch sputtered and died. Al heard Wikwocket lift the latch, and the impact of what was presumably Gruntle ramming the door aside to rush into the room. There was a single CRACK! like a heavy piece of wood hitting stone, and then a thud of stone-on-stone as something fell to the floor. A gnollish huff reached Al''s ears through the darkness. Al finished taking his pack back off again as quickly as he could, and rummaged blindly for another torch.


    "Well, that one isn''t going to threaten us anytime soon!" Wikwocket announced from the darkness with some amusement.


    "What I can see of the room from here appears very much like the one on the opposite side where we fought and then ate the rats," Bote explained to Al. "I would guess that they have ambushed the decorative statue in there."


    Al finally found a torch. He pulled it out and commanded it to light itself. He heard no sounds of distress or violence coming from the room Wikwocket and Gruntle had invaded, so he took the time to put his pack back on before going to look.


    As Bote had predicted, the room was a mirror of the other one, though this one''s moldy curtains over the alcoves weren''t shredded by rats, and the now-headless marble statue had slightly more pronounced hips and chest suggesting that this one represented an elven woman. The statue''s head lay on the floor, broken off at the neck. Its nose lay on the floor a few feet away.


    Gruntle and Wikwocket were sneaking up on the curtained alcoves and yanking the curtains aside looking for anything dangerous. They found nothing but mildew stains.


    "At least the break is clean," observed Bote, stepping up next to Al to inspect the statue. Al sighed and picked up the nose. He fitted it to the face of the head on the floor and made use of another magic trick to make it forget that it had been broken. He lifted the heavy stone head, but then decided he wouldn''t have the strength to set it back in place cleanly and hold it by himself while he fixed it.


    "Hey, Gruntle, help me put this back before Cleodora notices you broke it," he called out. He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt seeing Gruntle''s worried expression as the gnoll rushed over.


    It''s only been couple of weeks, and that''s not at all a human face. Is it weird that I recognize what "worry" looks like for a gnoll already? he wondered to himself. But, then, as they''d done with the statue of Fortuna at Wulfcynn Keep, he had Gruntle steady the head atop the statue''s neck so he could magic away the break.


    "There, as good as new. Well, as good as when we got here, anyway," Al declared, getting an agreeable grunt back from Gruntle. Al held his torch up and looked around. Mirroring the other room, Al could see a hallway leading away further into the Lavatio. This one seemed to have some sunlight shining into it.


    "Did you find anything?" he called out to Wikwocket, who was leaning over to look into the slowly overflowing basin of water against the wall.


    "Nope, nothing worthwhile at all. The statue didn''t even fight back," she answered. Al pondered where to place a bone, and sighed heavily as he realized he was going to need to take his pack back off again since that''s where he''d put them. He wedged his torch into the bent arm of the elven woman''s statue and removed his pack. He reached in and selected one of the loose vertebrae from Cleodora''s skeleton, and set it at the feet of the statue. Then he took out a selection of vertebrae and fingerbones to put in a pocket of his robe, before going through the whole process of putting his pack back on again and retrieving his torch. Wikwocket and Bote were standing nearby, waiting patiently, while Gruntle scratched with idle curiosity at the magically-repaired neck of the statue where it had been rejoined.


    "Well, if you all are done poking around," Al said, "I suppose we can see where the light''s coming from in that hallway."


    "No, wait a minute," Wikwocket objected. She took BiteySue from her sheathe and used it to jab the marble-toga-clad buttocks of the statue a few times. "Okay, now I''m done poking around."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    After a heavy sigh and melodramatic, silent pleading with the ceiling for mercy, Al shook his head and stepped into the hallway.


    It appeared a substantial portion of the walls and ceiling there had collapsed, possibly worn over time by the small trickle of water that dribbled down from the open hole that the sun shone through. The water formed a shallow puddle throughout the jagged stone rubble of the collapsed roof and walls, and green slime-covered mosses grew over everything.


    "I wonder if Cleodora can clean that up?" Al wondered aloud. He reached into his pocket for a small bone, selected a relatively flat mossy stone in the center of the rubble and took a step towards it.


    The piece of bone went flying as his foot immediately shot out from under him along the slime-slicked floor and he fell forward hard. Crashing down onto the stony rubble hurt, and Al heard his torch hissssss as it dipped for a moment onto the surface of the puddle. His retreat was undignified, but he managed to slide back out of the slimy growth and back onto dry hallway, where he sat to catch his breath for a moment as the others watched.


    "Are you badly injured?" Bote asked.


    Al rubbed his chest where he had hit the rocks, wincing. "I don''t think anything''s broken, but that''s going to leave an ugly bruise."


    "I''m not sure," Wikwocket commented with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "but it may be that this area might be very slippery and dangerous to walk through."


    Gruntle grunted in agreement.


    "You know, Melissa''s disembodied spirit voice was right, you are a smart-ass," Al replied.


    "Thank you for noticing, I work very hard!" Wikwocket shot back with a satisfied smile.


    "If I am not mistaken," Bote said, "That door at the other end of the hallway, just a few paces ahead there, is probably the other door to the drinking room. Perhaps it would be easier to simply go back around to where we entered the first time, at the stairs."


    They made their way back around. The ghost of Cleodora was still quietly reminding herself who she was and what she was doing, seeming calm. She had already swept much of the debris in front of the steps off to a small pile with her spectral hands. She didn''t even look up at the party as they retraced the path they''d taken when they originally arrived, placing a bone at the foot of the statue of the elven man, and then one in a corner of the storage room they''d broken into, and yet another in an empty torch-sconce in the hallway.


    The refreshment room''s lingering smell of spilled ancient brandy and dead goblins wasn''t actually refreshing at all, but Al took his pack off again and sat down at the table furthest from any goblin remains. He pulled out his writing supplies and the sketch he''d been making of the Lavatio''s layout. At his request, Gruntle yanked the unexplored closed door open and confirmed that it really was at the other side of the slimy broken hallway.


    "Is it all right if we take a break for a little while? I want to sketch out what we''ve seen so far, and it would probably be nice to catch our breath before we deal with whatever horrible spider-thing is in that room."


    Gruntle huffed impatiently, but then grunted and crouched at the table with Al, facing down the hallway to watch the closed door that hid the creature they were planning to kill. He rummaged in his pack for another ball of fat and meat to snack on while he waited.


    "I suppose we''ll be forced to drink a little of what the goblins were into," Wikwocket suggested cheerfully.


    "If it''s any good, it''s probably of value so we shouldn''t take any," Al answered without looking up from his drawing.


    "Well, maybe, but we won''t know if it''s any good unless we taste it!" Wikwocket countered, "I mean, goblins were drinking it, maybe it''s awful."


    "She does raise a valid point," Bote agreed.


    "We''re still not supposed to take anything, though."


    "If we wait around for a little while, we can leave it behind when we''re done with it!" Wikwocket suggested brightly. "They''ve got to have privies in here somewhere."


    "That''s..."


    Al gave up.


    "Okay, fine, but I''ll trust you not to overdo it. And we will wait around until you... return it, so we''re at least upholding the wording of the contract."


    Wikwocket went behind the bar and picked up one of the bottles that the goblins had been about to throw at them. The unfortunate goblin''s charred body had cushioned the bottle from hitting the floor. It was an almost spherical bottle with a glass stopper. A few beads of wax around it indicated it had originally been sealed, but the heat of the magical fire had melted it away, and the stopper had fallen out. About half of the bottle''s contents was yet to be spilled on the floor. Wikwocket sniffed carefully, raised an eyebrow, and tilted the bottle back to take a sip.


    "Good brandy!" she declared. She took another sip, then picked the stopper back up off of the floor and closed the bottle with it.


    Gruntle fidgeted impatiently, ears twitching as he continued watching the door down the hall. "Moving around in there," he grumbled.


    "Hang on, I''m almost done... there. I think that''s good enough for now," Al responded. He looked at his sketch of a map. It was no work of professional cartography by any measure, but Al thought it would be good enough to guide the restoration workers. He carefully repacked his writing supplies, and then went to set another of Cleodora''s bones underneath the bar.


    "Now then," he said, "how do you want to deal with the spider-thing don''t just run down there and open the door yet!"


    Gruntle huffed again, but crouched back down as they discussed what to do. For once, Al had to agree with Wikwocket that resorting to the use of magic from the start was probably justifiable in this case, since the room was full of webbing and they might not be able to tell exactly where the thing was. Conjuring a wide area of fire to fill the room, hopefully eliminating the webbing and perhaps the spider-thing as well seemed like a smart tactical approach. Gruntle would pull the door open just as Al finished the spell to conjure the fire, then Al would back up far enough to leave room for Gruntle to beat the spider-thing to death if it survived, with Wikwocket assisting by her own insistence.


    The plan proceeded smoothly. Gruntle took up his place next to the door and grabbed the latch. Al chanted and made the appropriate gestures, and Gruntle timed the opening of the door perfectly. A bright, searing burst of flame filled the entire room beyond the door, melting the webbing away in an instant and highlighting a spider the size of a large dog withering and crisping in the heat directly across the room. Al took a few steps back, drawing Purgatio as he went.


    The only flaw in the plan, Al realized too late, had been in the assumption that there was only one spider-thing. Singed unnaturally-large arachnids launched themselves through the air at Al and Gruntle from all the way in the far corners of the room.

 0085 - Get It Off Me!

    The horrible spider was a large as Al''s torso. It collided with his upper body like a heavy leather sack full of mud. Its many legs clung to him as the impact knocked him off balance and he fell. The creature drove its dagger-like fangs into Al''s shoulder. He screamed at the burning pain as he struggled on the floor to push the thing away and get Purgatio into position to stab. He could spare little attention for Gruntle as the gnoll''s eager barking laughter started up, but Al''s peripheral vision caught the black-eyed gnoll holding another of the spider-creatures away from himself. Its legs scrabbled for a grip on Gruntle as he lunged in for his large gleaming teeth to chomp behind its head.


    Gruntle dropped the stricken spider twitching to the floor and rushed into the room, as a bright flash of divine light stabbed down from the ceiling onto Al''s attacker. A gleam of metal followed, puncturing the side of its head and sending it spasming and rolling off of Al. Bote rushed to help Al get to his feet as the bark-laughter from the room beyond was joined by several loud CLONK! sounds of wood hitting stone.


    Quiet skittering quickly approached the hallway and another of the spiders scurried out from the top of the doorway and fled over their heads down the hall along the ceiling.


    Despite its foremost legs being burnt and stiff, the creature moved quickly, dodging Al''s hasty stab up at it with Purgatio as it went by. Al heard Gruntle''s running footsteps chasing after it, but considering how fast the spider was moving he didn''t think the gnoll could catch up to it. He tucked Purgatio away again and conjured up the bolts of abstract violence that Melissa had taught him. They struck the spider as it reached the middle of the ceiling in the refreshement room. It twiched and writhed for a moment and then was still, dangling by one leg from the ceiling. Gruntle raced down the hallway after it and swung hard at the dangling spider. Ichor and chunks spattered messily against the far wall as the dead thing practically exploded from the impact. Gruntle looked for more things to kill, but found none. He gave a long huff of frustration, then loped back down the hall to where the others stood, watching the door warily in case anything else came out to attack them.


    Al hissed at the stinging pain as he unconsciously reached up to massage the spot where the spider had bitten him. The only sound coming from the room was a quiet trickling of water somewhere inside. Al raised his torch to get a better look and groaned when the movement made the bite hurt worse. In the torchlight through the haze of burnt-spiderweb smoke, Al saw the blackened lump that remained of one of the spider-things, on the floor pressed against a door in the opposite wall. Another door was in the wall to the left, between a pair of washbasins. To the right, a row of partitions were along the wall, each enclosing a portion of a wall-spanning stone bench with a hole in each. The sound of running water seemed to be coming from there. Mildly charred wooden half-doors, which would cover the partitioned areas from about two feet from the floor up to about three feet from the ceiling hung open on bronze hinges at then end of each partition wall. Numerous bones were scattered on the floor, mostly from small animals of some sort. There was also a burnt and very dead goblin with lumps of charred webbing stuck to it.


    "Found the privies," Al said, lowering the torch again with a wince. Gruntle walked back inside and looked around hopefully for other threats. When he saw none, he went to look down into the holes.


    "Allow me to examine that injury," Bote insisted to Al while Gruntle investigated, "if it is envenomed, it would be dangerous to leave it untreated.


    "Okay, but let''s move away from there just in case there''s anything else hiding," he agreed, "Oh, and thank you both for helping me out there. I hadn''t expected there to be more of them, and I didn''t know they could jump like that."Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "Hey, no problem, we can''t let anything bad happen to our mighty sword hero!," Wikwocket replied, "Besides, you''d do the same for us."


    Al struggled to come up with a witty retort. "Yeah, probably," he finally said, "If I could actually hit what I was swinging at with it. You''re both unhurt?"


    "So far!" Wikwocket answered. Bote nodded.


    "All right then, would you mind chaperoning our gnoll in case he annoys something dangerous in there?" Al asked Wikwocket.


    "Wouldn''t miss it, I should get chances to annoy dangerous things, too!" she answered with a grin, and went into the room to see what Gruntle was looking at. Bote led Al back to a table in the refreshment room and helped him get his robe and the chain shirt off. Al frowned at the two small holes through broken chain links, while Bote prodded around the holes in his shoulder. They fangs hadn''t penetrated too far, possibly slowed by having to punch through the chainmail. The small holes bled only a little but the skin around the punctures was a deep angry red. Al yelped, as Bote pressed lightly on the injury and examined the resulting blood and change in skin-color. The dwarf placed a hand gently between the two holes and spoke a brief prayer to correct the wound''s interference with the Ineffable Plans, and a flash of divine light pulsed from underneath Bote''s hand. Al felt the relief of the pain immediately reducing to a mild ache.


    "So, it is allowed for the wizard to be miraculously healed occasionally," Al said.


    "Yes, occasionally," Bote agreed.


    Al picked up his chainmail shirt and carefully bent the links back into place and magicked the broken ones back into an unbroken state, one after another. He tugged on them just to make sure they were holding up properly. Then, he magicked away the holes in his cloth undershirt, followed by the bloodstains.


    While he was doing this, he listened to Gruntle and Wikwocket down the hall.


    "HELLOOOOO!" Wikwocket''s voice echoed and reverberated as she shouted down into the privy-holes. Al heard her laugh as Gruntle aimed a low howling sound ending in a quickly-rising whoop into one of the holes as well.


    Al was just getting his chainmail shirt back on when he heard Wikwocket exclaim, "Wow! That''s still hot!"


    "What is it?" Al called out down the hall.


    "That door behind the spider you baked is still hot to the touch!" She shouted back. "The other one isn''t, though."


    "Don''t open them yet, wait for us!" Al yelled back, pulling his robe back on and buckling Purgatio around his waist again. Bote watched as Al did this.


    "You appear to no longer be in pain," the dwarf observed, nodding in satisfaction, "shall we go see what further danger our troublemakers have found for us?"


    "I''d rather not, but I don''t think we can avoid it."


    Al found Wikwocket lying down on the floor near the opposite door, trying to see underneath around the crispy remains of the spider that had been waiting there when Al conjured up the fire.


    "The heat''s coming from inside," she observed, "I can''t see much, but the room looks mostly empty, except for a lump of something in the middle. I haven''t seen anything move."


    Gruntle yawned and pressed an ear against the door. He listened for a while.


    "Water. Some hissing," the gnoll announced.


    "Hissing...like a snake?" Al asked, remembering the last non-humanish corporeal undead thing they''d fought - the giant skeletal snake in the tomb of Aemilia and Darius. Gruntle shrugged.


    "So, the thing your mysterious cause wants us to capture might be in there. Don''t open the door yet!" Al hastened to add, "I think we should leave that for last, after we have a chance to prepare properly. It''s going to be dangerous enough just to fight some unknown dead thing, it''ll be even harder to do it without destroying it. Whatever it is."


    "Are you sure?" Wikwocket asked, "it''ll be more exciting if we just charge in!"


    "I can''t tell if you''re being serious right now, but I''d rather spread the excitement in my life out over a long time than end up getting prematurely killed off by excessively exciting events. I would have assumed you''d agree, it''s kind of hard to brag about your adventures when you''re dead."


    "Oh! But what if I became a ghost! I could haunt this place and tell visitors our story forever!"


    "But then you''d be stuck here, and never have any new stories."


    "You know, you''re a real pessimist," Wikwocket accused Al.


    "Realist. Besides, knowing my luck, the terrible thing we''re supposed to run into is probably hiding in a perfectly ordinary room and this unnaturally-hot room is just some sort of trick. We may all end up haunting this place anyway."


    "That''s the spirit! Ha! I made a pun," Wikwocket said with a grin. "All right, we''ll take a look at the other door first."


    She went to peek under the other doorway, and Gruntle lazily joined her to listen.


    "More water," Gruntle announced.


    "I think I see a few big chairs, but not much else. Looks like it''s not very wide, the wall looks like it''s only a few paces across from here," said Wikwocket from the floor.


    Bote looked thoughtful. "If I have not lost my sense of direction, I would guess we are near the baths. This might be the space we saw overlooking them."


    "One way to find out!" Wikwocket declared, standing and putting her hand on the latch. Gruntle calmly readied his shield and flail. Wikwocket lifted the latch and yanked the door open, and Gruntle leaned into the space beyond to look around.


    Had enough violence to satisfy him for now? I suppose we''ve been fighting things trying to kill us violently at least three times in just the last hour or two. Is that going to be a problem when we find the thing we''re supposed to subdue? Al wondered to himself. Then again, maybe that''ll make it easier to keep him from destroying it if there''s a fight. He followed as Gruntle strolled through the open doorway.


    True to Bote''s prediction, Al saw they were in a sort of narrow gallery. Only perhaps four paces from the door was a partial wall that went from the floor up to about hip height. Above that it was open, overlooking the baths below. Finely carved granite chairs were set near the opening where occupants could easily watch anyone that was in the baths. Though it was only a few paces across, it stretched for a good fifteen to twenty paces above the baths. There was another door in the wall at the other end, which Wikwocket and Gruntle went to investigate.


    "Hey! This one''s hot, too!" Wikwocket called out as she got down on the ground to look under the door. "It''s the same room, I can see that lump sticking up in the middle of the room, it might be in some kind of hole. I can hear running water and that hissing sound Gruntle mentioned."


    "I guess that settles it. This room seems to be the only place left, so whatever it is we''re looking for has to be in there," Al reasoned aloud.


    "You''re about to tell us not to open the door yet so we can spend some boring time getting ready, aren''t you," Wikwocket predicted.


    "Yes."

 0086 - Prepare Carefully, This Might Be Dangerous!

    Despite being carved from stone, the granite furniture was polished into reasonably comfortable shapes to sit on. Al set his torch in a sconce conveniently located between the two doors, then selected a chair and sat down with his notes to meditate. Gruntle yawned and curled up in a corner to nap while Al worked to smooth back the distortions along the mental paths traveled by the unnatural magical concepts involved in spellcasting. He was only slightly distracted by Wikwocket getting bored and removing her pack, boots, and much of her clothing to leap down into the bath below the gallery.


    The splash of her dropping into the pool of water was followed by a complaint of "Yikes! Hot!", a splash as she got out, and the sound of her feet across the floor to jump into a cooler bath.


    Bote settled into another of the chairs and closed their eyes. Their prayers were too quiet for Al to make out even if he had been trying to listen in, but the subtle speech still gave Al the impression that Bote was gossiping.


    The only other distraction was the sputtering out of Al''s torch again. He paused to dig through his pack for another one. This time he got one out before the first completely went out and he was able to get the new one lit without resorting to magic tricks. He replaced the burned-out torch in the sconce and went back to finish his meditations.


    Wikwocket eventually returned, leaving the baths to walk the halls and stairways back through the privies where they''d arrived. She squelched her still-damp self into another of the chairs, sighing contentedly.


    "Well, I''m relaxed and clean and ready to go wrestle with whatever fiery abomination is in the next room, how about you?"


    "I think I''m about ready to plan for what we''re about to do, before we rush in and wrestle anything," Al corrected, closing his book of wizardry notes and putting it away in his pack.


    "With the guidance of our mighty sword hero, we can''t lose!" Wikwocket asserted with only a little teasing sarcasm. "What do you want us to do?"


    Al rolled his eyes and shook his head at the ceiling, but pressed on with the planning anyway.


    "Let''s think about what we know so far," Al said, "Whatever it is, I don''t see how it wouldn''t have noticed us being here considering how noisy the fight with the spiders outside the door was. Cyrus said it should be something undead, physical, and not humanish. I''m wondering if maybe it''s something that''s dormant or trapped. If that''s the case, if we could keep it that way it''d be very convenient for delivering it subdued and intact like they wanted."


    "It could also be that it is simply very patient, or is under orders from its master or creator not to move until something happens, such as someone entering the room," Bote suggested. "We have heard no movement from inside, but the dead have few needs, and have no reason to be impatient."


    "In the stories, righteous people can subdue the undead with the power of their faith alone," Wikwocket suggested to Bote, thinking through some of the adventurous tales she''d heard of, "Couldn''t you do some sort of cower before the will of the gods! thing to make them surrender?"


    "That is not precisely how it works," Bote explained, "but it is true that the state of undeath is usually anathema to the natural order of things according to the ineffable plans. A sufficient show of strength may force the undead to fully confront awareness of the terrible crime against nature that their existence typically represents. This is an unpleasant experience for them, and they may react in a manner that seems pained or fearful. The effect is not permanent and would not provide any control of their actions. Still, my faith will provide us with some protection if the need arises."


    "Wait," Al interrupted. "Usually anathema? When would it not be?"


    "I do not know yet," Bote admitted, "but consider that it is also not natural to resume actually living after being killed, yet sometimes the gods allow this. I feel it might be blasphemous if I were to declare that the gods would never have a use for undeath."


    "Yeah, well, let''s just hope that''s not an issue here, I''d rather not be attracting more attention from gods than we need to," Al said. He saw Bote looking amused. "What?"


    "Your statement seems absurd to me in several different ways, which I think would be difficult for me to explain. It is a philosophical matter, nothing that is of concern to our immediate problems."


    "So," Wikwocket said, "what you''re saying is that you not only talk funny sometimes, you actually think funny, too!"


    "No, that is not what I am saying. However, it is not an unreasonable inference."


    "It is, however, off-topic," Al interrupted, "Not that I''m in a hurry to go running into danger or anything, but if we can safely get done clearing the place out well enough, we can actually get back before dark and go sleep in real beds instead of camping in here with a ghost."


    A slight whine of complaint came from the gnoll, still lounging on the floor but awake and listening to the conversation.


    "Exactly," Al agreed. "So, what else can we do to get more information about what we''re facing? I can probably see if there''s any active magical influences at work before we open any doors. How about you, Bote, do you have some way to ineffably sense nasty evil things waiting for us or something?"


    "In fact, the same Authority," Bote answered, "that permitted me to examine the souls of Gruntle and yourself for demonic influence may also reveal to me the presence of other unnatural things nearby."


    "Well, at least that gets us some investigation before we try to open the doors. Wikwocket, would you and Gruntle mind checking again to see if you can see or hear anything going on in there?"


    "Sure, but give me a minute. Hey, you''ve got that magic trick for cleaning things, do you have one that dries things?"


    "You have no idea how many times I''ve wished that I did, but no."


    Wikwocket sighed dramatically, as she began putting the rest of clothes back on over the still-damp undershorts and shirt. "You should fix that!"This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Well, it''s not something I can fix right now," Al grumbled.


    Gruntle yawned and stretched, then stood and loped quietly to the door. He leaned forward to press his forehead against it to put both ears near, jerked away, then leaned in again.


    "Hot," he growled. He listened while Wikwocket finished pulling on her stockings and boots and got down on the floor to try to look under the door again.


    "Water. Hissing," Gruntle finally decided. "Don''t hear anything else."


    "I think there might be some puffs of smoke or steam coming from whatever that is in the middle of the room. I don''t see anything else that looks like movement though," Wikwocket added from the floor.


    "Shall I ask for divine insight into what may be beyond the door now?" Bote asked, standing from their chair.


    "Wait, is that something you can do whenever you want, or is this another one of those ineffably limited things?" Al asked in return.


    "The degree of involvement with the mortal world does limit my Authority to call upon this degree of insight, yes," Bote answered.


    "In that case let''s discuss something else first. How can we subdue an undead thing without destroying it?"


    "Hit it ''til it stops moving," Gruntle suggested.


    "I think perhaps that would be considered destroying," Bote countered, "it is my impression that in order to do as Cyrus requested, we will need to restrain whatever it is while leaving it intact enough that it could still move. He did request that the thing still be animate so that its workings might be studied."


    "If we have enough rope, maybe we could tie it up," Wikwocket considered, "I don''t know how we get it to hold still long enough to do that though."


    Al was struck by a thought.


    "Do you remember those demon-possessed suits of armor in Wulfcynn Keep? We managed to disable one by breaking its arms and legs loose, but it was still alive, or alive-like, anyway. If it''s something with limbs maybe we can break them or cut them loose so it can''t move around."


    "What if it''s another snake?" Wikwocket asked.


    "Maybe we can break its ribs? I think the one in the tomb was moving around on the tips of its ribs."


    "So, get rid of whatever it uses to move around, then maybe try to tie it up? I''ll bet if it still tries to resist, Gruntle could wrestle whatever''s left of it into submission!" Wikwocket suggested. Gruntle gave a grunt of agreement.


    "I guess we have a plan of attack then. Hmm," Al said, looking at his torch in the holder on the wall. "I think it''d be better if I had a hand free instead of having to carry the torch to see. Give me a few minutes, I''ve got a solution for that. I should probably practice this more anyway before I try conjuring a semi-permanent demon."


    "Ooo, sounds ominous! What are you going to do, sword-wizard?" Wikwocket asked.


    "I''m going to conjure a spirit to carry the torch for a little while. It won''t stay manifested for very long, but it should last longer than the torch will as long as nothing disrupts it," Al answered, flipping through his wizardry notes to the right pages.


    "I''ve never seen a demon-slave before! What does it look like? Does it have horns, and fangs, and claws? Is it burning with hellfire and reeking of sulfur?" Wikwocket enthused.


    "It doesn''t look like anything, it''s just a simple spirit! And it''s not a demon-slave!"


    "What do you mean, it doesn''t look like anything?"


    "Just watch and see! Now, let me concentrate, this will take a little while."


    All took his mace-wand out and began slowly tracing out a circular pattern on the floor as he muttered a crooning chant. Wikwocket watched carefully for the fires of the hells to erupt from the ground and listened for diabolical laughter, but was disappointed when Al stopped after a while despite nothing dramatic or even obvious happening.


    "There," he said quietly to himself, "Now that I think about it, it''s probably best if you get a fresh torch from my pack."


    "Who, me?" Wikwocket asked.


    "Hmmm? No, no, not you."


    Al''s pack opened itself, then bulged slightly as if someone was reaching in for something. An unused torch floated up out of the pack. Wikwocket clapped with delight.


    "Invisible demon-slave!" she cheered.


    "I told you, it''s not a demon-slave! It''s not a demon at all, it''s just a very simple spirit, with just enough of a manifestation in our world to be able to do some simple chores. I''ll have it carry the torches for me."


    "If it''s not a demon, why does it smell like brimstone? Isn''t that a demon thing?"


    Al sniffed the air. There was a very faint sulfurous odor.


    "That''s never happened before. Anyway, brimstone''s a natural mineral, it''s not inherently demonic."


    The torch floated slowly across the room towards the one burning on the wall. Wikwocket shook her head as she watched.


    "Not a very fast demon, is it," she observed, watching the slow progress of the floating torch disapprovingly.


    "No, it''s not fast, and it''s not a demon. It barely exists, and it doesn''t even have a mind of its own, it just does small, simple chores when I want it to. It''ll probably last about as long as that new torch does, and then it''ll harmlessly cease to exist. When I do finally summon a demon, it should e a bit like that, not really independent of my own mind and obedient, and not powerful enough to be dangerous at all."


    The new torch was lifted up by the invisible spirit to be lit by the one on the wall.


    Gruntle cautiously approached and sniffed at the empty air where the torch floated. The torch waved towards Gruntle''s face to ward him off, then floated slowly back to where Al stood flipping through the pages of his notes.


    "Please avoid doing anything that might harm the spirit, it''s actually pretty fragile," Al explained. "All right, if you''ll give me just a little more time to prepare, I can be ready to see if there''s any magical influence going on in there, and Bote can see if there''s anything unnatural that we should know about."


    "I will get ready while you perform the working of your magic," Bote agreed. By the time Al finished the repetitive chant and gesturing until he could see the subtle influences of magic on the world, Bote, Wikwocket, and Gruntle had all selected what equipment they wanted for the anticipated conflict and gathered around the door to the mysterious hot room. Al looked around the gallery, but saw no unexpected magical influences.


    "Are we ready to begin now?" Bote asked. Al nodded, and Bote closed their eyes to recite a brief prayer for knowledge. Then, they opened their eyes.


    "There is...something...inside, ahead and to the left of this door. I do not have a clear feel for what it is, but it is certainly unnatural," they announced.


    "I think it''s just a wall on that side, from what I could see when I looked under the door," Wikwocket said, "Maybe we should check from the other door in the privies?"


    "It might be a good idea, we might want to go in through that door instead so we''re further from whatever Bote is feeling. That might give us some time if we need to react quickly. Let me take a look at the door, though."


    Al strode over, followed slowly by the floating torch which caught back up to him as he tried to look through the door.


    "I won''t be able to tell anything in detail until we open a door so I can see in there, but I can definitely feel some magical influences. There''s one in the direction that Bote is describing, and another somewhere inside and to the right," Al decided. "At least, I think that''s what I''m feeling. Either way, yeah, I think we should go in through the privies instead."


    Before leaving, Al pulled one of Cleodora''s bones out of his pocket and set it on a chair. On the way back into the privies, he set another one next to one of the washbasins. Just in case, Al also took the coil of rope from his pack and looped it across his shoulder in case they needed it quickly.


    "The only magic I have that we might use against whatever''s in there is destructive, so I can''t really use it unless we have to risk destroying it," he explained as he drew Purgatio. "Remember, try to go for the limbs, or whatever it has that''s like limbs."


    Bote nodded, and Gruntle and Wikwocket grunted. Everyone readied their weapons and Gruntle slid his shield down his arm and grasped it. Wikwocket reached for the latch on the door and looked to the rest of the group.


    Seeing no hesitation, she lifted the latch and shoved the door open.

 0087 - Dont Dead Open Inside

    Steam billowed from the open doorway, and an angry hiss rose from the center of the room beyond. The adventurers braced themselves to meet the attack as the steam cleared to reveal the thing that threatened them.


    It was a rock.


    More precisely, it was hexagonal column of black volcanic stone, with a diameter a bit wider than Al''s head. It rose up to about knee-high from the center of a wider hole in the floor. With another hiss, a puff of steam belched from the hole around the column. From somewhere below floor level came the sounds of running, bubbling water.


    The room was perhaps ten paces long, and perhaps six paces wide. A granite bench ran all the way around the steamy room, interrupted only by three doors. One was the door they''d just opened, the other, to the left, was the one leading to the gallery. A third door was directly across the room from the party on the opposite wall. The ceiling was arched, and Al estimated he might almost be able to reach the highest point of it if he stood on Gruntle''s shoulders.


    They waited for several tense moments, then Wikwocket and Gruntle looked at each other. Gruntle gave a quiet, vaguely questioning bestial noise from his throat, and Wikwocket nodded. Gruntle lifted his flail and stepped into the room, tensing to swing as another hiss rose from the stone in the middle of the room. When there was no further threat, Wikwocket joined him, with Al and Bote following cautiously.


    "This looks like a caldarium, like the one we met Cyrus in for that first meeting," Al observed. Still sensitized to magical influences, he looked more closely at the stone column.


    "Ah," he said, "after spending all that time thinking about fire, it''s easy for me to see where the heat''s coming from. There''s some kind of enchantment on that stone column that keeps it hot."


    "That is a piece of columnar basalt," Bote added, "I do not believe it is native to this territory. Leave it to elves to waste so much time to separate a single column from whatever formation it came from, and then transport it all the way out here to make a magic water-heater."


    Gruntle stalked to the edge of the hole the column was in and looked down. He leapt back to avoid another hissing puff of steam.


    "Do you see anything that shouldn''t be here?" Al asked Bote.


    "Yes. That door," they answered, pointing to the door on the far wall. "There is a wrongness to it that I cannot quite place. It is not truly desecrated, but it feels similarly unnatural."


    Al focused his own senses on the door. The swirling patterns of magical influence were of a degree of complexity he''d never personaly examined before. The details were unclear from across the room, but Al could definitely tell there were multiple layers of interacting concepts embedded in the skillfully-crafted magic. His fascination compelled him to move closer, until he was standing at the doorway. Having the torch brought near by his invisible spirit-servant revealed the neatly compacted spiral of arcane sigils that covered the door and extended beyond it and over the doorframe and part of the nearby wall. Some were familiar to Al, but many were not.


    "This one is definitely over my head right now," Al admitted as he carefully looked over the symbols that had been shallowly carved and then painted on and around the doorway. "I think this part means this is some kind of warding magic. These look like symbols that are supposed to mean vitality, but their orientation isn''t in line with the rest of the pattern. They''re sort of upside-down and backwards."


    "Wow, that''s a lot of incomprehensible scribbling. So they mean, what, death? Because of being anti-vitality symbols?" Wikwocket''s curiousity compelled her to ask. "Like a magical trap that kills people who try to open the door?"


    "I don''t think so, the concept of death or dying has its own symbols, at least in the tradition that I was taught from."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Al inspected the spiraling pattern of sigils more closely. He was so caught up in the mystery that he didn''t even notice that he was slowly leaning and tilting his head to the side to follow it until Wikwocket snickered at him. He straightened back up.


    "I think opening the door will disrupt whatever it is this is doing. From these symbols down here and from what I can see of the way the magic is manifesting, I think it''s aimed inside, not towards us, so I think it might be safe to open... um... well, this ward at least probably isn''t dangerous. No guarantees whatever inside isn''t dangerous of course," he explained, then took a deep breath and wiped the dripping sweat from his face with his sleeve. Wikwocket and Bote were sweating heavily as well in the hot, humid air of the caldarium, while Gruntle panted.


    "Maybe if we open both of the other doors for a little while it''ll cool off in here," Wikwocket suggested. "That''ll also give us a couple of escape routes if whatever terrible otherworldly threat is sealed away behind the evil magic door is too dangerous."


    "I don''t think it''s evil," Al objected.


    "It''s got to be!" Wikwocket countered, "It clearly doesn''t belong here!"


    "Since when did you become an expert on magical wards?"


    "You don''t need to now anything about magic, just look at it! It clearly doesn''t fit the aesthetic of the rest of this place!"


    "That doesn''t...," Al said, but as he looked at it, he felt he''d have to concede that much. "Well, yes, I agree that it looks like someone came along and added it long after this place was originally built and that it doesn''t look like it fits in with the way the rest of the place is decorated, but that doesn''t make it evil."


    "Evil might perhaps be an oversimple assumption," Bote suggested, "but I am forced to agree that it does have a certain wrongness to it that I do not find myself comfortable with."


    Al looked around at a sudden slight breeze, and saw Gruntle opening the door to the gallery and stepping out to squat down and pant heavily in the cooler air outside. Having both doors open did seem to help make the air a little more comfortable.


    "Do you feel anything else past the door?" Al asked. "I know I''m only going to be able to focus on magical influences for a little longer before everything just gets too blurry to keep it up, but I''m not feeling anything actively magical on the other side of this door, just the ward on it."


    "At present, my divinely-gifted insight reveals nothing beyond the door, though the feel of the door itself is very distracting," Bote answered.


    "I was all ready to fight the walking dead before we came in, shall we give it another try?" Wikwocket asked. "Let''s not waste the anticipation! Hey, Gruntle, want to see if there''s something behind this door that we can be violent to?"


    "Remember, we don''t want to destroy it if it''s in here, just disable it!" Al hastily reminded them, as Gruntle strolled back to get into position in front of the door. "And just in case, maybe don''t put your hand on the door when you open it."


    Wikwocket lifted the door''s latch with the tip of BiteySue, then gently thrusted forwards. The door resisted for a moment but then there was a crackling, tearing sound, and flickers of dim violet light danced between the edge of the opening door and the doorframe before snuffing out. As its momentum swung it further open, Al heard a heavy, dull thud inside, and the door finally swung far enough to reveal someone crouched on the floor.


    Al was about to ask whoever it was if they were all right before Bote called out urgently, "I feel them now! On the ceiling inside!"


    The figure on the floor lurched to its feet with a pained groan, then ran at them. Its eyes glowed with violet light and it bellowed in incoherent rage as it charged.


    Before it could get near, Bote held up the sacred scroll-case that symbolized their order and called out a malediction upon all who make a mockery of life in death. Silvery divine light lit up the whole room beyond the door, and the formerly-living person shielded its withered eyes with one arm as it halted. A wordless, hollow cry of distress came from the thing''s throat. Its face contorted in horrible fear. It turned and fled away towards the furthest corner of the room it could reach.


    "That will not keep it away for long, be ready! There are still things on the ceiling!" Bote called out.


    "Was that a dead guy walking around? My first zombie encounter!" Wikwocket cheered. She pointed her dagger and BiteySue upwards and stepped inside to look up, saying "From what Cyrus told us I was expecting something more MMMPHH!"


    Whatever she was saying was muffled as she was knocked down and glued to the floor by a sticky sheet of silk.


    A spider the size of a horse dropped from the ceiling, its mold-ringed eyes flickering with the same violet glow as the zombie as it flexed its long fangs in anticipation.

 0088 - Its Raining (Dead) Men

    Dusty patches of dry mold speckled the giant spider''s shriveled, leathery body. Five of the eight eyes in its head were decayed or missing but a pinpoint of violet light shone in each one. It turned almost silently on its eight legs to face Bote and raised its forelegs threateningly. If it made any sound, Al couldn''t hear it over the agonized groaning of the zombie in the corner of the room, cowering away from the horror of its own existence.


    Another shape fell into view from somewhere above, behind the spider. A second once-humanish body thudded to the floor. Its own fearful moan joined the other''s as it staggered to join its dead companion in the corner.


    Gruntle charged into the room before Al could say anything, but he was relieved to see that the gnoll had heeded Al''s request, dodging underneath one of the upraised forelegs to smash his flail into the leg behind it. The rotted chitin of the spider''s leg cracked and bent, leaking glowing violet ichor as the gnoll gave subdued bark-laughter at the joy of violence.


    Al saw Wikwocket''s shiny dagger stab out through the webbing she was trapped under as she began to saw herself loose, so he left her to join the fight. He raised Purgatio in one hand, leaving his left free so as to have another hand for defensive magic if he needed it. Emulating Gruntle, he ran under the other raised foreleg and chopped at the leg behind it on his side. Purgatio connected with a flicker of silvery light as it bit into the exoskeleton and cleaved through, cutting away the lower half of the leg. The wounded arachnid ignored its attackers and charged past them towards the doorway. It stumbled awkwardly as it tried to use its broken and missing legs but was unrelenting as it bore down on Bote with its remaining six.


    The dwarf called upon the divine for the guidance and protection of them all as the spider charged in, lunging to bite. Bote raised their hammer defensively but the horse-sized spider pushed it aside with a foreleg. Bote bellowed angrily as the spider''s fangs punched through the corroded metal of the breastplate and stabbed into Bote''s chest. Bote managed to pull free of the fangs. They dripped the same unnatural fluid that leaked from its injuries onto the floor. Al and Gruntle were both turning to chase after the spider when something hit the floor behind them. Al''s hastily conjured protective magic manifested just in time to stop the wild swing of the angry dead man before a fist like hardened leather would have smashed into his face. The light of Al''s torch carried into the room by the heedless invisible spirit showed him the face of a long-dead man, withered and dessicated and contorted in mindless rage. His assailant wore tatters of spider-silk draped over what had probably once been a well-tailored set of clothing. Like the others, the pale violet glow in its eyes was there watching him.


    Al was not happy when motion in his peripheral vision drew his attention to at least one more human-sized pale squirming shape in the webs on the ceiling, but he had no time to look any closer. Gruntle''s flail swung out and smashed into the side of the zombie''s head with a loud crunch and a spray of teeth. Al took advantage of the distraction to shove the point of Purgatio between the zombie''s ribs - just below a pair of punctures through the dead man''s jacket, Al noticed. The sword slid in with another silvery flicker of light and a slight sizzling sound, and the zombie sagged and groaned angrily in its suffering.


    Wikwocket pulled herself free of the cut webbing. The massive undead spider stood over her fighting Bote, so she aimed a stab with BiteySue up at where one of the forelegs attached to the unnatural thing. Spider-marked blade bit deftly into the death-marked spider. Pale violet dripped from the joint as the rapier was levered out when Wikwocket leapt upwards to stab at the joint of the other foreleg with her dagger, driving into the chitinous shell and cutting into whatever may have been left of its flesh. With its four front legs broken and disabled, the front end of the restless-dead spider dropped towards Wikwocket, who barely avoided being impaled by the spider''s fangs as she dove and rolled out to stand next to Bote. With a short prayer of thanks for the favorable attention of divinity, Bote rushed beside the crippled spider to smash their hammer down on one of its intact legs which scrabbled ineffectually as the spider tried to move to face him. The chitin cracked open like a cooked crab-leg as it was crushed between hammer and floor.


    Al was too busy fighting an angry corpse to see any of that happening. Purgatio had plunged flashing with divine light between the ribs and into where a heart should be, so he was unpleasantly surprised by the fist that slammed into the side of his head. Through the sparkling starbursts of pain in his vision as he rocked back, Al saw Gruntle''s flail swing over him and down, smashing hard through the zombie''s decaying ribs and hard enough to snap the backbones behind them. The dead man folded unnaturally to the ground as Gruntle rebounded from the strike to dash back to the spider and sink his teeth into one of the still-struggling legs. Al spared a brief glance at the noisily lamenting zombies hiding in the corner and the still-writhing shape in webs on the ceiling. The two in the corner were still turned away, mindlessly pressing themselves against the wall as if they desperately hoped to flee through it. The thing on the ceiling, Al finally saw, was wrapped in a dense coccoon of silk and seemed to be having trouble breaking out of it. Satisfied that it wouldn''t be an immediate threat, Al turned to help the others with the spider but felt something smash painfully into his back. Al grasped Purgatio with both hands in a flash of anger and turned back to see the smashed and broken-backed zombie still refusing to die. Its upper body wobbled crazily as it stood and spun to swing its fists at him.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Die already!" Al screamed at it, swinging Purgatio as hard has he could and chopping deeply down between the zombie''s neck and shoulder. The sword flickered again with divine light and the corpse collapsed to the floor. "Die! Die! Die!" Al shouted at it as he chopped a few more times into the body. Cheering from two of his companions behind him, and a bestial gagging and coughing noise from the gnoll, snapped Al out of his moment of rage. He backed away from the seemingly actually-dead zombie, watching the remaining two in the corner and the thing on the ceiling carefully.


    The giant undead spider still twitched. Its fangs flexed uselessly and the upper joints of its broken legs spasmed fitfully as it continued trying to move. Gruntle gagged and coughed an unpleasant wad of saliva, mucus, and slightly glowing violet ichor onto the floor.


    "Tathtes bad," he declared, tongue lolling from his mouth, streaked with the faint violet glow. "Mouth ith numb. Kill thoth?"


    Gruntle pointed at the two zombies still avoiding them at the far end of the room.


    "We will probably need to," Bote replied quickly, "they will not remain afraid of us indefinitely. Are you still good to fight?"


    Gruntle grunted, brow furrowed in confusion. Why wouldn''t I be?, Al interpreted to himself.


    "Watch out above, there''s still something bound up in webs there on the ceiling," Al said, pointing. "And be careful, they refuse to die properly. How shall we do this? Focus on making sure one of them is properly dead before dealing with the other one, or try to do both at the same time?"


    Having a few moments to breathe, Al finally had a chance to take stock of the room. The arched ceiling was completely covered with thick webs, but not so much at floor level. There was an old dusty cot in one corner, a wardrobe against the middle of the far wall, and in between the two was a broom, some buckets, and a moldy cloth mop.


    "I imagine it would be best to avoid engulfing the room in flames, yes?" Bote suggested. Al had to agree.


    "Yeah, probably. Okay, let''s start with one of them and see how it reacts. Darius'' sword seems not to like the restless dead, so I''ll use that."


    "No," Wikwocket corrected insistently, "it''s your sword now, Magical Sword Hero Al!"


    Al couldn''t help jokingly pleading with the ceiling for mercy, but that only reminded him that there was probably another of the angry dead people inside the cocoon up there. He gripped Purgatio and returned his attention to the zombies that were free. The others lined up with him.


    "I shall denounce the one there with the leather jacket for its violation of the natural order. I am not certain if this will frighten it further or make it angry, so be ready," Bote suggested. Everyone nodded - except for Gruntle who grunted and grinned. Bote recited a brief malediction, and holy light stabbed down from above to burn the flesh of the zombie. It bellowed angrily and turned on them, its horror forgotten. On cue, the rest of the party moved to intercept it. Gruntle''s flail smashed solidly into its face, snapping its head back and probably its neck with it. As the head rebounded forward, Wikwocket''s dodge out from behind the gnoll and a leap to attack sent the point of BiteySue straight into an eye-socket, and her momentum carried her forward to jab her dagger into its neck.


    Those two are dangerous together, Al thought to himself. He noticed the glow in the zombie''s remaining eye flicker out then rekindle as it collapsed, so he lunged forward and drove Purgatio into its torso. Divine light flickered along the blade and the glow in the zombie''s eye went out again. Al checked the ceiling again, reassuring himself that the one up there was still trapped. The last free zombie''s groans were beginning to get less desperate.


    "Once more?" Bote asked.


    They lined themselves back up and dealt with the last one in much the same way, cut down before it could strike anyone. For a short time, they paused to catch their breath and watch the remaining dangers in the room struggle helplessly. The massive spider''s broken legs twitched endlessly in a futile attempt to move, and whatever was encased in the cocoon on the ceiling seemed hopelessly imprisoned, and no longer struggled. With time to examine more closely, Al could see three more places where dense wads of spiderweb had been torn open.


    "I can''t say I really want to touch this thing, but maybe we should try to move it back a bit so it''s not taking up so much of the doorway," Al suggested. With Gruntle''s help, they dragged it back a few feet into the room by its disabled hindmost legs. The feel of them spasming as the stubbornly undead spider tried to react was disquieting for Al, but he managed.


    Its fangs reached for Al when he walked around to the front of the thing to look. The three remaining eyes and the five partially or completely empty sockets all held the same glowing violet point as the zombie''s eyes. Al had expected the thing to make some sort of noise, perhaps a screeching or chittering sound, but it was completely silent except for the weak scuffling from the twitching of its destroyed legs.


    "This thing is both horrifying and fascinating," Al said, "I have no idea how you create something like this, and I really have no idea why." He looked back up at the ceiling again. "Also...what are we going to do about that one?"

 0089 - Get Rid Of Them

    The room was quiet as Al, Bote, and Wikwocket watched the coccooned shape webbed to the ceiling. It struggled fitfully a few more times, then went still. Gruntle, on the other hand, had gone to the front of the spider and was amusing himself by standing just out of range of the reaching fangs, watching the thing''s ruined legs jiggle as its unnaturally persisting reflexes continued to urge it to leap on him.


    "So, there''s probably another angry dead guy in there?" Wikwocket finally asked.


    "Probably," Al agreed.


    "Do you think there''s any way to calm them down? Without actually killing them, I mean."


    "I don''t really know, but they''re just soulless things with a false magical vitality sustaining an animating spirit. At least the stories describe nercromantic magic being able to control them," Al speculated. Then he gave Wikwocket a hard look. "No," he said insistently.


    "No, what?" Wikwocket asked with a amazingly authentic simulation of innocence.


    "No, we are not going to try to keep a zombie as a pet!"


    "No fair! If you can have a pet demon, why can''t I have a pet dead-guy!"


    "It won''t be a pet! The spiritual binding of a familiar-spirit is a whole different matter from waking up a dead body and having some way to keep it under control!"


    Wikwocket ignored Al''s protests. "What do you feed the walking dead, anyway? Do they like food? Maybe we could train it like a dog, with some kind of treat."


    "Please tell me you''re joking, necromancy doesn''t seem like something to play with. There are reasons most cultures consider it morally wrong," Al pleaded.


    "Well...mostly joking," Wikwocket admitted, "but you have to admit, having a dead guy begging for treats would be pretty funny."


    "Yeah, until it goes crazy and beats you to death."


    "It might not!"


    "Tell you what, if you can learn enough magic to make and control your own animated dead bodies, I might go along with it."


    "Maybe I will!"


    "You know, we''ve already got one monster among us already."


    "And it''s been great!"


    Al looked over to the monster in question. The gnoll was softly bark-chuckling to himself as he teased the undead immobilized spider by slapping the top of the spider''s fangs and pulling away before it could reach up to bite into him.


    "Hey, Gruntle, I don''t think the venom in that thing is natural. Please stop doing that."


    "He''s right," Bote agreed. They were buckling their badly abused breastplate back on, having apparently taken it off while Al had been watching the ceiling. Al saw lightly bloodied cloth bandages through the holes punched in the breastplate by the spider''s fangs. "My people are less bothered by most poisons, venoms, and drugs than most, but it felt to me that this spider''s venom is both potent and unusual. I do not think I am substantially harmed but much of my chest and arm are still numb and I experience some mild muscular spasms. The symptoms seem to be subsiding, so I am hopeful there will be no lasting harm for me."If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Keep an eye on the ceiling for now, I want to take a look at the zombies we were just fighting," Al requested.


    "I''ll help!" Wikwocket offered, "If they''ve got anything interesting on them that might tell us something about how they got here, it might make for an interesting story!"


    The three crushed, sliced, and punctured zombies all seemed to be wearing very dated clothing of a sort that well-off merchants or minor nobles might have worn more than half a century ago. They seemed to still have whatever possessions they''d died with. All three had daggers of some variety on their belts, and one had a short saber in a sheathe. They even still had their coinpurses, to Wikwocket''s joy.


    "We''re taking these from the dead guys, not from this place!" she insisted, counting out the handful of old gold and silver coins.


    "We should at least tell our employer about it and see what they say. It''s not as if they''re not paying us a lot more than that already," Al countered, leaving her to her greed while he continued examining the corpses.


    Their clothing and flesh were both stained with mildew. All three of their bodies seemed stiff and dry like leather, and all three had a faint, fading violet glow visible where the fight had torn their flesh. All three also had paired puncture wounds somewhere on their bodies.


    Al looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling again.


    "Were they already undead when they got here, or were they alive when they came in? Does the spider eat zombie fluids or something? Or...," Al speculated aloud, then sighed. "I hope this isn''t a stupid thing to do. I think we should get that thing down off of the ceiling so I can test something."


    The intact coccoon was too high up to reach directly, so Al had to convince Gruntle to come stand nearby so Al could climb up on his shoulders. Al was relieved that Gruntle didn''t seem to object to this as he clambered up and had his invisible spirit servant bring him the torch. The flame melted away the spiderwebs above his head easily, so he applied them to the strands that held the coccoon up. It began to struggle again when enough of the webs had been destroyed that it tore free and thudded dully to the floor. Al leapt down, handing the torch back to the obedient spirit and drawing Purgatio. Fortunately, whatever was inside the coccoon was still wrapped tightly enough to prevent it from escaping, at least for the moment. Al resheathed his sword and watched the wriggling lump of silk.


    "Okay, help me shove this in front of the spider," Al requested. As strong as it was, the silk was dry and not sticky. It was still uncomfortable pushing the struggling thing across the floor. Al did his best to suppress his reluctance in the name of scientific curiosity. At Al''s direction, he and Gruntle were able push the coccoon directly up against the dead spider''s face while Bote and Wikwocket watched to make sure it didn''t get loose. The spider ignored the sruggling silk-wrapped presumptive zombie, the spider''s fangs continuing to reach instead for the living.


    "Does this horrible thing make zombies?" Al considered. He gave Bote a concerned look.


    "Healthy people do not become undead directly," Bote reassured him, "I do not believe it will be necessary to worry about me at this time. Should I happen to lose my soul and rise as a member of the restless dead abominations, you have my blessing and encouragement to destroy whatever is left of me."


    "That doesn''t reassure me as much as you might hope," Al said, "so please warn us if you start, I don''t know, craving people-meat or whatever."


    "That is a reasonable request."


    "I do. Tastes good," Gruntle helpfully offered.


    "Okay, right, thanks for warning us, but unfortunately that doesn''t seem to be abnormal for you. So, now that that''s about as settled as it''s going to be right now - we''ve got to get rid of both of these," Al reminded them, pointing to the huge spider and the coccooned figure. "Didn''t Cyrus say this cause, whatever it is, was going to send someone to fetch this thing? Maybe they can take the silk-wrapped thing with them, too."


    "Oh, yeah!" Wikwocket said, reaching into a pocket. She retrieved the metal disk engraved with the housefly. "He said once we found what they were looking for, we can use this to let them know and they''ll come and get it. I wonder how it works, and how long it''ll take them to get here?"


    She ran her thumb around the outside of the coin-like disk. It began to vibrate as she continued. After the fifth pass around the edge, it tore itself from her grasp and shot across the room, smacking flat against the wall and sticking there.


    The metal disk pressed itself into the stone of the wall, which deformed like a soft flabby belly being jabbed with a finger.

 0090 - Retrieval Team

    The clearly unnatural effect on the stone wall was nothing Al had ever seen before. The familiar arcane concepts associated with the visualization of magical effects practically forced themselves through Al''s mind so that he could watch what was actually happening.


    Both the intensity and complexity of what Al saw was beyond his ability to properly comprehend, but careful examination of the swirling storm of magic radiating out from the metal disk seemed to suggest that it was being pulled towards some specific place or thing. The visibility of the magical activity also made clearer to Al what was happening to the wall.


    "It''s not the wall that''s stretching," Al announced, backing away towards the door, "it''s the world."


    Seeing Al backing away, Gruntle crouched low and began to back away as well.


    "Neat! Is it dangerous?" Wikwocket asked, approaching the wall to look closer. The area of the stone wall that seemed to be stretching away from them was widening. Wikwocket drew BiteySue again and tapped gently near the edge of the distortion, which sounded and felt like metal tapping on ordinary stone.


    "I don''t know if it''s dangerous, that''s why I''m getting away from it!" Al warned.


    Bote walked calmly to the side of the room so as not to be in front of the distorted wall.


    "If this is meant to enable our new associates to come and collect this creature by some means, I doubt this effect is meant to be dangerous to us," Bote suggested, "Perhaps we may not want to be between it and what is being collected, however."


    "Point taken," Al conceded, and rushed to stand next to Bote, followed closely by a worried-looking gnoll.


    In ordinary sight, the metal disk appeared to have sunk a foot or more deep into the stone of the wall, deforming a wide area around it into a funnel shape. What Al could see while his eyes were tuned into the manifesting patterns of magic was even less natural, as some force seemed to be pulling the object against reality itself.


    An almost inaudible sound a bit like tearing paper heralded the stone wall snapping back away from the hole the coin-like disk had torn through it. A clean circular hole several paces wide was opened in the wall to reveal another room. A quiet whoosh of air being sucked through the opening preceded a loud CLANG! as the metal disk shot in an arc across the space and to the left, smacking firmly into the center of a brass gong in front of the leftmost wall. The gong''s surface was embossed with a complicated spiderweb pattern, which Al could see associated with swirling patterns of magic that entangled with the magic of the smaller disk.


    The room beyond the opening was well-lit by oil lamps. It was perhaps five paces square and made of smooth white stone. It gave Al the impression of an unusually clean prison cell, due to the only other visible feature of the room being a large door clad completely with riveted iron in the middle of the wall directly opposite the wall Al was looking through. Someone on the other side of the door pulled a narrow panel out of it at about head level, and a pair of eyes peeked through. Al heard a voice that was at least human-like mumble a rhythmic chant for a few seconds.


    "Undead!" the voice called out from behind the door. "Giant bug! About the size of a horse! Active, but it looks immobile!"


    "Understood!" another voice called out. Sounds of multiple people busily running around began and then were stifled by the replacement of the panel in the door. Wikwocket leaned out from behind Al to look. Gruntle''s head leaned out on Gruntle''s long neck over Al to watch as well.


    Less than a minute later, another loud shout rang out from behind the door.


    "Three! Two! One!"


    The One! was obscured by the sound of a heavy bar sliding out of the way, and the door swung outward. A pair of human-sized figures completely encased in suits of plate armor rushed out to take up places on either side of the door, holding gleaming silvery boar-spears. One of them spotted Gruntle.


    "Gnoll!" one of them shouted in a masculine voice from somewhere inside his helmet, pointing his spear in Gruntle''s direction.


    "How many?" came a rough feminine call from beyond the doorway while several more human-sized people with metal helmets and well-crafted leather armor rushed through the doorway carrying crossbows. With obviously practiced precision the first two knelt to point the crossbows at Gruntle while the other two stood behind them and did the same. The steely heads of the crossbow bolts were each wreathed in a silvery-white flame.


    "Just one that I can see!" the armored figure answered.


    Al noticed the gnoll''s toothy grin growing. "Wait! Wait!" he yelled, raising his hands and stepping out where he could be clearly seen. "He''s with us, don''t attack!" He heard Gruntle huff.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Who are you, and how many more are there?" whoever was in the armor demanded to know, shifting his spear to point warily at Al. The others kept their aim at Gruntle.


    "How many of what? There are four of us here, only one of us is a gnoll if that''s what you mean," Al replied, keeping his hands up.


    "There''s never just one gnoll," the other armored figured argued.


    "That''s true!" Wikwocket agreed cheerfully, stepping out to stand next to Al. "We''re actually all gnolls! Al, here, is our mighty clan shaman and a sword hero, so don''t make him mad!"


    Cackling laughter came from beyond the doorway behind the crossbow crew. A hunched elderly woman walked out with the aid of a cane. She wore plain gray hooded robes that appeared to be completely covered with pockets. Her head was shaved smoother than her face, and one eye squinted beneath an old scar across the side of her wrinkled forehead, whose cause must have just barely missed blinding her. Her teeth behind her wide smile were incongruously all intact and clean.


    "Don''t worry about them, focus on the retrieval," she demanded. The crossbows all shifted to point at the spider, but the two spears still aimed to ward off Al and Gruntle.


    "Ma''am, that''s a gnoll," the armored figure who''d originally spoken insisted. The elderly woman hobbled around until she could reach up to smack the side of the man''s helmet with her cane.


    "Hey!" she demanded, "Who''s in charge here? Listen..."


    Still holding onto his perception of the magical flows, Al took a few moments to look over the armed crew that had come out to meet them. Both spears had that unnaturally real look common to magically-enhanced objects, and the clearly supernatural flames on the crossbow bolts had a shine of divinity. The old woman''s cane shone with complex magics that Al couldn''t quite place. Her robes had a recognizably protective enchantment of some sort, and many of the pockets seemed to be carrying magically-active objects.


    The man dutifully leaned down so the old woman could say something quietly to him. Al thought he caught Cyrus'' name amid the murmured statement. The man''s spear wavered and relaxed, then shifted to point towards the spider. The other did as well after a moment''s hesitation.


    "Him again. Should have known. But that''s still a gnoll," the armored man persisted. The old woman shook her head and hobbled across the room towards the opening in the wall where Gruntle watched, looking confused. His lips pulled eagerly back from his teeth when the old woman reached into a pocket, but relaxed again when she took out a long stick of dried meat that looked like it shouldn''t have fit in the pocket.


    "Here," she said, holding the stick of meat up towards Gruntle''s face once she was close enough. Gruntle drooled and bit into it. "Just like he said. Too bad that''s not what we''re here for." She turned back to the armed and armored team still waiting defensively behind her as Gruntle stepped back, pulling the meat-stick out of her hand. "Don''t just sit there, you know how long this stays open so we don''t have time to waste. Move!" Al and Wikwocket jumped aside as the small militia charged in formation through the hole in the wall to surround the spider, the four crossbow operators standing to the sides while the armored figures moved to the front.


    "Are you a witch?" Wikwocket asked, "you''ve got a great cackle!"


    Al felt like he should object to the question, but he had to admit to himself that she did bear a lot of resemblance to the "witches" he remembered seeing in illustrations for children''s stories.


    "Thanks, but no, not a witch. First impressions are important, though!" the old woman answered as she hobbled past towards the spider.


    "What''s this?" One of the armored figures asked, prodding the coccoon gently with the butt of his spear. He flipped the spear around to aim the spearhead at it when it started struggling again.


    "We think there''s a zombie in there," Al explained, pointing out the merely-dead remains of the other zombies elsewhere in the room. We think that spider might have made them somehow."


    The old woman cackled happily. "Good! Good, more research materials. Are you four going to introduce yourselves?" she asked while she inspected the giant undead spider.


    "I''m Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, adventurer, thrillseeker, storyteller, and professional gnoll!" Wikwocket announced proudly.


    "Oh, uh, I''m Al. This is Gruntle," Al contributed.


    "I am Bote Wissengr?ber," Bote said. The old woman looked up to see the dwarf making the eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture of their order.


    "Ah, yes, he said one of Indicina''s messengers was involved. Auspicious!" she cackled, then returned her attention to the spider.


    The armored spearmen stood out of reach and watched the fangs stretching out at them. "Yeah," one of them said, "this is definitely one of..."


    "Yes, I agree," the old woman interrupted. "Pity all of its legs are so badly damaged, but we can work with this." She raised her cane and expertly traced a quick circular pattern along with a muttered chant. Despite the personalizations, Al recognized this as a version of the same floating disk magic that he''d learned early in his education. The shimmering transparent disk rose from the floor, lifting the spider and the presumed cocoon-zombie up into the air.


    "Hey! You know how to do the magic invisible cart, too!" Wikwocket observed.


    "Very useful for retrieval. You did good work for a first service, I expect we may see each other again one of these days," the old woman told Wikwocket, then turned to her militia. "Well, let''s get going, anyone who''s stuck on this side when it closes is going to have a long walk to get back." She turned and began hobbling back towards the hole in the wall, with their prizes floating on the shimmering disk behind her. The militia kept their spears and crossbow bolts pointed at the disk''s cargo as they escorted it back.


    "Aren''t you going to introduce yourself?" Al asked as she walked past him.


    "Nope!" she answered, with another cackle. "Not this time, anyway."


    She turned to look Al in the eyes, though she didn''t stop walking. "Cyrus is a pain but he''s usually a good judge of people, and the examination went well from what I''ve heard. I expect you''ll be allowed to know my name soon enough."


    Al huffed. Wikwocket snickered at him.


    "What?" Al asked.


    "Nothing!"


    The old woman and her guards were all through the hole in the wall and standing in the room on the other side now. The old woman waved.


    "Should we follow you?" Al asked.


    "Nope!" she repeated, and smacked the gong with her cane. The sound of the gong cut off with jarring, abrupt suddenness, and there was only a plain stone wall in front of them again.

 0091 - A Parting Gift

    "That was...weird," Al said, still staring at the restored stone wall.


    "Not weird," Wikwocket corrected him, "mysterious! Did you see those people? They looked like they''ve rehearsed what they do, they must be collecting strange things from all over! But why?"


    "Exactly, why," Al pointed out, having noticed Wikwocket''s enthusiasm, "I''m kind of worrying that maybe we gave something dangerous to someone whose motives we don''t know anything about."


    "We can always get revenge on them later if they''re up to no good, that would make a good story too!"


    "We do not know their true motivations," Bote considered, "but I do not feel as though any of those that we have met so far are knowingly engaged in malevolent or destructive pursuits. If something nefarious is happening here, those involved may not know. Of course, this could simply be a benign project that requires secrecy for safety."


    "Well, we just gave them a giant undying bug that makes zombies," Al said, "Hopefully mysterious madam not-a-witch was serious about wantng it for research and nothing harmful."


    Wikwocket traced the edges of the meticulously-smoothed stones of the wall, looking for a way to open it again. Not finding anything, she tapped on the wall with the pommel of her dagger.


    "Hello?" she yelled at the wall. "Hey! Open back up!"


    "They won''t be able to hear you," Al assured her.


    "They might hear me tapping, it didn''t look like the wall was very thick, the other room was right on the other side!"


    "No it wasn''t, it just looked that way. The room they dragged the spider into might be all the way on the other side of the world for all we know. There was some magic at work there, poking a hole through reality to connect their room to the wall of this one."


    "How can you say something like that and still be reluctant to use magic? If I could poke a hole through reality and just stroll over to the other side of the world I''d do it all the time!"


    "See, that''s the problem, you''d end up going completely crazy...crazier... from what it would do to your mind. That kind of magic is completely unnatural for mortal minds. Working bigger magic distorts you, it makes you like a small god!"


    "If you''re trying to convince me that this is a bad thing, you''re failing. Who wouldn''t want to be like a god?"


    Al sputtered in amazement, wondering how she was missing the point. Bote was nodding along in agreement with him, at least. Al realized that without a proper education in magical theory, perhaps being "like a god" would seem desirable. He tried to think of a way to explain.


    "Think of it this way. Let''s see... do you like Gruntle?" he finally said.


    "What kind of question is that? Of course I do! How many people get to be clanmates with a gnoll and go have exciting adventures with him? He''s great at smashing bad things!" Wikwocket mimed clubbing something to death with a remarkably accurate if somewhat high-pitched imitation of Gruntle''s bark-laughter. "He''s fun to do heroic violence with!"


    Al spared a glance for Gruntle, who had finished eating the stick of dried meat. He was crouched down and appeared to be listening to the conversation. He seemed to be pleased at what he was hearing.


    "How would you feel if you woke up tomorrow morning and Gruntle was just a worthless lump of mud to you?"


    "What? I''d be angry, and I''d be pestering you to come up with whatever magic you need to work to change him back!"


    "I don''t mean he''d literally be a lump of mud, just that from that moment on, that''s all he seemed to be to you. Like, you look at him and you still know he''s a gnoll, but he seems worthless and unimportant, and nothing you should even bother to acknowledge any more."


    "Well," Wikwocket said with a mischievous grin, "in the hypothetical situation you''re describing I expect it wouldn''t bother me at all!"


    "Exactly!" Al said, pouncing on the rhetorical point, "but how would you feel right now if you knew that was going to be how you felt in the morning?"


    The grin faded from Wikwocket''s face as she considered the question, trying but failing to come up with an answer she liked.


    "I wouldn''t like that at all," she finally admitted.


    "The existence of a god is mostly outside of the mortal world we live in. Right?" Al said, directing the question to Bote.


    "That is a sufficiently correct statement," Bote answered. Al continued.


    "Right. So, basically, working magic is a little like sticking your head up into a world that gods are native to that''s too much for mortals like us to understand. The more time you spend looking at that, the more it messes with your mind. I keep trying to tell people, there''s a good reason that mad wizards get mentioned in stories so often."


    "So," Wikwocket said, the grin returning, "what you''re saying is that gods are nuts!"


    "By our standards as mortals, gods are completely, incomprehensibly insane, yes," Al agreed, and looked up at the ceiling. "No offence meant," he said to it with a bit of a smirk as he returned his attention to the conversation. The smirk vanished and was replaced by concern.


    "And now I''m talking to the ceiling. See? I''m barely touching the simplest layers of magical concepts and I''m already going insane."


    Wikwocket and Bote both laughed at him. Bote reached up to give Al a friendly pat on the back.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Do not be concerned," the dwarf assured him, "you are not yet as insane as you worry you may be at this time."


    "Thanks, I feel so much better now."


    <hr>


    With the philosophy settled for the moment, the adventurers carefully checked over the rest of the room for other potential hidden dangers. The wardrobe contained a selection of togas and sandals. Under the bed, they found nothing but dust. The buckets were dry and contained only some residue of whatever had been in them so long ago when they were last used. Wikwocket even gave the walls a close look to see if there were any hidden openings, but with no success. In the end, they gathered around the corpses that had attacked them so recently.


    "They didn''t take the actually-dead bodies," Al said with a little annoyance. "I guess it''s up to us to figure out what to do with them. No, we''re not going to eat them."


    Gruntle grunted acceptance. "Smells bad. Probably tastes bad."


    Al didn''t think they smelled as bad as he''d expect. They certainly didn''t smell good, but the dry and shriveled state of the bodies seemed to have minimized the rot. Maybe the magic that maintained their animating spirit also preserved the flesh? Al wondered to himself. He mentally filed the question away with other academic questions that he wasn''t prepared to research at the moment.


    "We might take them outside and burn them, Bote suggested, "It is too late for an appropriate burial to do any good for the souls that once inhabited them, but we might also do that for the peace of mind for the living if you would rather."


    "Maybe if we leave them here, Cleodora''s ghost will...Oh! I almost forgot!" Al said. He rummaged in his pockets for another bone. He only had one small bone left, so after he set it on the cot, he set his pack down to pocket a few more from the ones he''d gathered up for the purpose. Seeing the torch that was floating in the grasp of his invisible spirit-servant beginning to sputter, he also pulled one of his few remaining torches from the pack. He lit it from the dying torch''s flame in time to avoid being stuck in the dark.


    "I think we''ve gone through the whole place now. Would you agree? My torch-carrying spirit there will be fading away any moment, so I''m not going to conjure another one to carry this torch unless we''re going to do something dangerous again." Al said as he put his pack back on.


    "The construction habits of the elves is decadent and odd, so I cannot definitively say that we haven''t missed anything," Bote answered, "but I have not noticed anywhere that might suggest another hidden space behind the walls."


    "We found the baths and the water source and the bar and the bathrooms and the old storage room and the changing rooms and...hmmm, nope, I can''t think of anything else we should expect to find," Wikwocket considered. "Besides, we''ve defeated the evil lurking here and resolved the problem of the ghost haunting the place. I''d say the story is nicely wrapped up!"


    "Yeah, but this isn''t a story. If it was a story, we''d have a pile of treasure at least," Al complained. "Also, I probably wouldn''t have to sit down and deal with mundane labor like finishing my sketch of this place while I worry that I''m going to run out of torches and have to grope my way out of here in the dark if I take too long."


    Bote fetched a broom and dustpan from the collection of dusty cleaning tools against the wall before they left the room. "Cleodora will likely appreciate having access to her equipment instead of trying to do all of the cleaning with her insubstantial hands," they explained.


    They left the room and Al shut the door behind them. He looked for a long moment over the complex pattern of sigils on the door. In the last moments of the fading spell that let him see the magic, he could tell that whatever the formation had been doing was now broken, and it was only a pattern of symbols. He considered asking the others to wait while he tried to sketch out the whole shape, but he guessed it would probably take several hours to do properly. Maybe we can come back with the work crew to make sure they stay safe, and I can copy it then, he thought to himself.


    Al set one of Cleodora''s vertebrae on the bench in a corner of the caldarium as they passed, heading back through the privies where Al''s invisible spirit-servant dropped the burned-out torch to the floor as it faded out of existence. Al went and picked it up, not wanting to intentionally add to the clutter of the place.


    The group took a break to let Al sit at one of the tables in the bar to finish sketching out the map of what they''d found, which gave Wikwocket a chance to go back and make sure the privies were still functioning as intended. Having more-or-less *returned* the taste of the ancient elven booze to the *Lavatio*, she came back to the bar to collect the jug the goblins had brought with them. Al had just finished sketching the outlines of the remaining rooms and was beginning to add annotations when Wikwocket got bored and decided to open the jug to see what was in it. She pushed the jug out as far as she could reach and cautiously wiggled the wooden stopper loose - then immediately shoved it back in and doubled over with dry-heaves.


    "Are you harmed?" Bote asked urgently, running over to assist. Wikwocket waved them off as the horrible smell spread to the rest of the room. The stench reeked of decaying fish, sewage, and rotten eggs, and even the momentary exposure of the jug''s contents made the room seem unbearable to stay in.


    "In the interest of accuracy," Bote said, backing slowly away but watching to make sure Wikwocket would recover, "I would not say that this smell is unholy, but it should be."


    Wikwocket valiantly fought to retain possession of her lunch.


    "I''ll be...HRRRRRR...I''ll be okay...HURK...in a minute..."


    Al hastily cleaned his writing supplies and stuffed everything back in his pack, then rushed to the steps looking rather pale.


    "Thank you for volunteering to carry that please don''t open it again and warn us if you''re dying I''ll meet you downstairs," Al blurted out quickly as he fled, waiting until he has halfway down the steps before he risked taking another breath.


    "Smells very bad," Gruntle agreed. He hesitated at the top of the steps, looking from Bote and Wikwocket and then down the steps. With seeming reluctance, he headed down the steps as well.


    Bote remained behind until the smell had dissipated enough for Wikwocket to feel a bit better. Determining that no lasting harm had been done, the two of them made their way down the steps to join a worried-looking Al and a bored-looking Gruntle. Al relaxed to see Wikwocket was unhurt, and they made their way back towards the entrance of the Lavatio.


    "I don''t think we''ve been down here too long, if we get going we can probably make it back to Hell''s Bathtub before nightfall," Al urged.


    On the way out, Bote stopped to offer the broom and dustpan to the crawling ghost of Cleodora, still patiently trying to brush the dust and dirt away with her spectral hands.


    "Hoc est iuniperorum!" the ghost exclaimed with obvious joy. Transparent hands took the broom and dustpan from Bote and hugged them tightly against the ghostly body. "Ego sum Cleodora. Ego sum cum iuniperorum. Mundi meliore mei!"


    The sounds of intense sweeping began behind them as the four adventurers went back out into the early evening light outside.

 0092 - Not-Vampires Return to Hells Bathtub

    The steam rose from the warm swampy ground and collected into growing wads of ground-hugging fog as it met the cooling air of the early evening. If someone happened to be standing nearby, they might have been startled to see a strange bestial head rising into view as the head''s owner walked warily backwards up the sunken steps leading up from the entrance to the Lavatio. Gruntle''s eyes and ears were fixed on the archway at the bottom of the stairs that led back inside.


    "You need not be so concerned," Bote assured the gnoll from further down, "Cleodora is content now, and thankful for us."


    "Can you blame him?" Wikwocket said in Gruntle''s defense. "Her way of greeting us was really scary, and then she took his body away from him and made him watch helplessly while she forced it to do things for her."


    A quiet whine came from Gruntle''s throat and he turned and rushed to the top of the steps like a child fleeing an imagined monster in a dark basement.


    Al actually growled, just a little. "I''m still kind of angry about that. I''m not unhappy that we helped her out, it was the right thing to do and I''m glad she''s happier now. She could have just asked us to help her instead of trying to steal our gnoll, though."


    "In her defense, she actually did ask before she acted," Bote pointed out.


    "So you said at the time, but she didn''t wait for clear permission, either."


    "Was not me. Not me," Gruntle mumbled to himself, shivering and still watching down the steps as the other three adventurers came up to join him. Al felt compelled to put a hand reassuringly on his inhuman colleague''s shoulder.


    "Don''t worry, she won''t try it again. If she did, I might forget that I''m trying not to be quick to use magic for violence," Al told him. He was surprised at how effective that seemed to be to calm the agitated gnoll, who grunted once in acknowledgement and relaxed.


    "I think some leniency is called for under the circumstances," Bote said, "Her remains have been down there probably for centuries, and while it was not clear how long she has been awakened from death for, it seems it would have been at least most of a century, during which she was entirely alone, confined to one room, and obsessed with the frustrated need to fulfill her purpose. I am skeptical that any of us would have been any less eager to leap upon any means of progress that presented itself to us under similar circumstances."


    Al sighed. "I''m not sure I can deny that." He looked up at the gathering fog and the slowly-darkening sky. "Now''s probably not a good time for that kind of philosophical discussion anyway. I''d like to get back before it gets dark, and then we can get some real food and I can finish annotating the map."


    The prospect of real food spurred Gruntle into action. Psychological trauma entirely forgotten, he loped back up the path they''d arrived from to scout for hazards.


    "I guess he''ll be okay," Wikwocket said, grinning. "I was a little worried."


    "Our gnoll," Bote said, with amused emphasis, "derives a great deal of resilience from his simplicity."


    "I''m almost envious," Al admitted. "Come on, let''s catch up before he finds something he shouldn''t be eating."


    <hr>


    "We''re back, we''re not vampires, I promise!"


    Al ignored Wikwocket''s disappointed huff when he called out to the guard before they got near. Larry''s shift had ended, and Al didn''t recognize the new one who was standing by the shack in the light of a nearby lantern hanging from the top of a pole. She was startled by the voice unexpectedly coming from the dusk''s shadows on the disused road, but recovered quickly.


    "And I assume your tall friend there isn''t a werewolf, either?" she asked as they came close enough to be clearly seen. "Larry said to keep an eye out for you. He''s kind of embarrassed, but I don''t think he''s entirely convinced you''re not bloodsucking monsters from the swamp."


    "We could be," Wikwocket insisted.


    "But we''re not," Al countered. He set down his pack and dug the permit to return out to show to the new guard. She tilted it to catch the light of the lantern so she could inspect it, then nodded and handed it back.


    "Looks like everything''s in order, though if you don''t mind I''d like to check something else," She said, and reached into a pouch hanging from her belt. She pulled a palm-sized flat metal disk from it. She Examined her reflection in the smooth, polished surface, then turned it to look at the reflections of the adventurers. "Okay, all good," she said, putting the mirror back with a wink. "I promised Larry I''d check."Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She unhooked the ring of keys from her belt, unlocked the gate, and opened it. She cleared her throat and spoke again with a grin.


    "I am not inviting you to come inside," she said, still holding the gate open.


    Al sighed. "Doesn''t the permit already count as an invitation though?" he asked. The guard''s smile widened.


    "Oh, that''s not going to reassure Larry at all," she said as the adventurers went through the gate.


    "Um...," she began to say, looking up as Gruntle loped past. "...what...no, never mind."


    Al turned back and saw her questioning gaze directed at Gruntle. "He''s a gnoll," he explained.


    "Yes, I see that, I just...it''s nothing, enjoy your stay."


    Al sighed. "No, it''s all right, what did you want to ask?"


    Still looking up at Gruntle, she asked: "Why a gnoll?"


    Gruntle paused to look down, meeting her gaze and looking somewhat confused. Al held back the answer he was going to offer when he noticed that Gruntle seemed to be considering the question himself. The inhuman brow furrowed deeply as the gnoll considered the strange philosophical problem.


    "It''s what I am," he finally said, slowly.


    Al was a little surprised that this seemed to be a complete enough explanation for the guard. "Fair enough," she said, nodding, "we have plenty of other customers in similar situations. I just never expected gnoll to be among them. Um...please don''t mention that I asked, we''re not supposed to ask personal questions like that."


    Still looking confused, Gruntle gave a grunt of agreement, and continued on his way, sniffing as the scent of the evening food-vendors further up the road drifted through the air.


    "Don''t worry, we won''t get you in trouble!" Wikwocket assured her.


    "Yes, the philosophical exercise may be good for him as well," Bote added, following the others through the gate.


    She waved, then closed the gate and locked it again behind them.


    "Why am I?" Gruntle asked as they proceeded along the street towards the smell of food. This was such an unexpected question that Al stumbled over a cobblestone and nearly fell.


    "That is a very complicated question, which many ask of themselves but often do not ever find a clear answer," Bote replied.


    "Yeah, it''s not a simple concept. It''s the kind of thing maybe only gods can understand," Al added, "I think you kind of have to define it yourself after a lot of deep thinking."


    "Oh," Gruntle said, appearing to lose interest.


    "You two are so bookish!" Wikwocket accused them. "It''s obvious! You''re here to smash bad things, devour food, and relax!"


    Gruntle smiled, satisfied, and Al wondered again how he could tell that''s what the inhuman expression meant.


    The gnoll pointed up the street at one of the food vendors in the distance.


    "Meat," he said.


    <hr>


    Given the prospect of imminent lucrative payment, Al felt it was reasonable to indulge. The meat-on-a-stick vendor still seemed a bit nervous to be in such close proximity to a gnoll-shaped person but was happy to sell them enough food to satisfy them at the usual premium prices. At least they all seemed to be better cuts of meat than Al typically associated with street-vendors. They gnawed on their portable dinner as they returned to their room. Al waved over a passing staff member on the way and asked that they let Stephen know they had news for him.


    Once everyone settled back into their room, Al got out his sketched map and set it on his nightstand. He sat on the cot and worked on finishing his annotations of what they''d found inside.


    After considering what he''d done, he added a small arrow pointing to the hidden door leading to the water source and wrote Bring Elvish speaker, ask Cleodora how to get in next to it.


    Wikwocket ran to answer a knock at the door, and found Stephen there.


    "Good evening," he said, "I''m happy to see you''ve made it back. Do you have good news for us?"


    "I think so," Al answered, picking up his sketched map. He stood and walked over to give the map to Stephen. "I believe we''ve cleared out everything dangerous, except maybe a couple of environmental hazards, like this slippery floor here where the ceiling is leaking." Al pointed to the map where he''d slipped on the slimy puddle. "The water source in here seems to be guarded but that''s part of the facility, and I think they''re what keeps the water flowing. They don''t seem to be dangerous otherwise. Everything else that we found in there that was dangerous has been ... taken care of now."


    "I think the magistrate will be happy that you''ve worked so quickly, I will pass this along to her," Stephen said, taking the map. "If you''d like some ointment for your bruises, I can procure some."


    Al reached up to touch the side of his head where the zombie had punched him, and winced. "No, that''s okay, I should be fine after I get some rest."


    "Very well then."


    "Oh," Al added, "I''d like to go back with the work crew for the first day, when you send them out, we found a magical formation on one of the doors. It''s inactive and broken now, but I wanted to try to make a good sketch of it for study later before it gets removed completely."


    "I shall pass that along to the magistrate as well. Will there be anything else?"


    "Wine!" Wikwocket requested. "In a jug, with some cups! This was the best job so far, we should celebrate!"


    "I shall fetch the wine steward."


    "Uh, probably not necessary, we don''t need anything too high-class, as long as it''s the red kind," Al said.


    Stephen nodded and left, returning minutes later with a dusty clay jug and some wooden cups.


    "I didn''t always work in a place as fine as Hell''s Bathtub," he said with a small smile, "I know exactly what you need." He handed over the jug and the cups, then bid them good evening and closed the door behind him as he left. Wikwocket set the cups on the floor and popped the cork from the jug. She hefted the jug in her gnome-sized arms and filled the cups, then passed them out to Gruntle, Al, and Bote.


    A sort of high-pitched groan came from Gruntle''s throat, which to Al seemed contented. Wikwocket laughed, then held her cup up as if to make a toast while imitating the same sound. Al did the same, as it seemed appropriate, and Bote joined in, too. Everyone drank.


    The evening passed in comfortable camaraderie. Proportionate to his size, Gruntle lapped up most of it, with Bote and their dwarfish tolerance for alcoholic beverages following closely behind, but there was still plenty of the cheap, potent wine in the jug for everyone. At the end of the night when Al went to sleep, he imagined the sounds of Gruntle''s collected growls, groans, grunts, barks, snarls, and whoops echoing in his head through the light inebriated buzz as he drifted away from consciousness.

 0093 - Meeting Invitations

    Al groaned in complaint the next morning as his internal organs demanded he wake up and go visit the privies. He forced himself to sit up and paused for a moment to evaluate his condition before standing and shuffling out into the hallway. He didn''t actually feel too bad, just a light headache from dehydration, a little disorientation from waking up and walking around so quickly, and the discomfort from the urging of his guts. Bote was already awake and engaged in quiet prayer. Wikwocket seemed to be missing as well. Al wasn''t feeling comfortable enough to bend over and look under his bed for Gruntle so he closed the door and hurried down the hall to take care of the biological necessities.


    "''Morning, Al!" an unexpectedly-appearing Wikwocket said as he nearly ran into her and Gruntle rounding the corner. "What''s for breakfast?"


    She was barefoot and wearing her towel-toga again, virtually silent as she walked. That made sense to Al, considering how small and light she was, but he still found himself surprised that someone as big as Gruntle could move around almost as quietly.


    "It''s too early for this," Al answered, shaking his head, "I''ll think about that when I get back." He hurried past them as his innards gave a very audible gurgle of warning.


    Al returned to the party''s room some time later, feeling better and glad that he''d had the presence of mind not to overindulge on the cheap wine. He entered to find Bote and Wikwocket examining a sheet of paper with a fine calligraphed message on it, while Gruntle crouched nearby looking bored. Another rolled and sealed piece of paper and a similarly sealed piece of parchment waited on Bote''s nightstand to be examined.


    "What is it?" Al asked, leaning over to look. He sighed and cast a reflexive melodramatic glance at the ceiling to beg the heavens for mercy when he saw that the letter began with To the Gnoll Party.


    "Our host Stephen has delivered three separate messages addressed to us. This one is from the magistrate of Hell''s Bathtub, requesting that we join her for midday luncheon to discuss our job and, of course, to pay us. She wishes to hear the details of our findings so that she may determine what we are owed, and what information the survey crew may need to know," Bote summarized.


    "That sounds positive at least. And the other two?"


    "I think we all know who this one is from," Wikwocket answered, picking up the rolled and sealed paper. She turned it so Al could clearly see the wax seal, which had a stylized spider on it.


    Bote picked up the rolled parchment. The green wax seal bore the image of a cow from the side, with exaggerated udders and small curved horns. "I am not familiar with this one, but given the use of more expensive parchment rather than paper, I would guess the seal belongs to someone of means."


    "Now that we''re famous and successful adventurers, it''s probably some noble family beset by an ancient curse and they want to pay us vast amounts of gold to delve into the tombs of their ancestors to put down a terrible undead menace and break the curse!" Wikwocket explained.


    "That''s an oddly specific prediction," Al teased, "and a lot more charitable than what I''d have guessed you''d assume a noble person wanted."


    "Hey, money they give to us is money taken away from the nobility," Wikwocket said, "though you have a point. Maybe it''s someone who thinks they can buy Gruntle from us."


    "They can''t have him," Al snapped. "Uh... if that''s what they''re after." The recent hardships and regular mortal peril lately seems to be getting to me, Al thought. "So...what does it say?" he asked.


    Bote broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.


    "Your presence is requested," Bote read aloud, "The Lady Darla FitzWayne cordially invites the delightful gnomish lady to bring her beast and her other companions for refreshment and conversation regarding the matter of your beast at midday tomorrow at the FitzWayne residence, 12 Milkstone Lane, Hell''s Bathtub. Please send word if unable to attend."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Regarding the matter of your beast?" Al asked, giving Wikwocket a suspicious look. "What did you two do?"


    "Nothing! Well, nothing bad, probably. It says we''re cordially invited, that''s good, right? Maybe she''s a fan of us harassing the other nobles."


    "Maybe," Al considered. "but I''m not sure I trust her. Noble connections and money might lead to some strange feelings of entitlement. Wait...when did we switch places on this? Why do you seem so comfortable with this one?"


    "She said we''re delightful and it sounds like she''s offering us free food, probably fancy noble food, even! She can''t be all bad! Don''t you want to go?"


    "Well, maybe. If the FitzWayne family is friendly, they might be beneficial to have a good relationship with. I''m just not sure what their intentions are."


    Al gave the situation some thought. "I suppose since she wants to discuss Gruntle, it should probably be up to him." He looked to see what Gruntle''s reaction was.


    The gnoll grunted. "I like food," he said.


    "Of course you do," Al said, rubbing his forehead. "All right, but I''m going to be unhappy if she tries to buy him for a zoo or something."


    "If they do, we can get to work on that downfall of the nation stuff to get revenge. Welcome to the revolution, Al!"


    Al shook his head. "And I assume that last message is from Cyrus, what does he have to say?"


    Bote broke the grey spider-marked seal, which fell apart unnaturally into tiny sand-grain-sized bits on the floor. Bote unrolled the paper and frowned.


    "It simply says, ''This message was not for you.''"


    Bote turned the paper around so Al could see it. This message was not for you was the only visible writing. "Is this some sort of prank?" Al wondered aloud, feeling annoyed.


    "Let me see that!" Wikwocket insisted. She took the paper and looked it over with a grin. "Not bad, you had me going there for a moment. We''ll turn you into skilled actors in no time!" Al watched skeptically as she traced her finger slowly down the blank space on the page as if reading.


    "Let''s see, he says we''re invited back to the Secret Spring for dinner at sundown again. He writes that the mysterious cause we''re caught up in now approved of our results with the thing we subdued, and...oh, good - Al, he says they''re arranging access to the former library for you," she said, turning the page towards Al and pointing to a particular spot on the blank page below the This message was not for you.


    "How much of this are you making up on the spot here? Did you get a message from him?" Al asked.


    Wikwocket gave him a puzzled look.


    "Wizards do have to know how to read, right?" she said, pointing insistently to the blank page. "He goes on to say he has some suggestions about getting into Southwall, too."


    "Neither of us see anything but ''This message was not for you'' at the top of the page. Right?" Al asked Bote, who nodded in agreement.


    "Is this magic paper?" Wikwocket asked, wide-eyed as she quickly read through what she saw on the paper again. "What about you?" she asked Gruntle, shoving the paper towards him. He squinted and Al watched the gnoll''s eyes slowly scan back and forth across the page. Gruntle began to drool.


    "Says there will be much meat," he said.


    "Ah," Bote said, nodding, "a magical method for secure transmission of messages. Presumably the writing conveys the true message to the reader intended by the writer, while showing a misleading message to anyone else."


    "So it is magic paper!" Wikwocket exclaimed happily. "Hey, Al, do you know how to make the magic paper?"


    "What? No, I don''t. Besides, it''s probably not the paper that''s magic, it''s probably the message itself, or maybe the ink...and no, I don''t know how to make that kind of magic ink."


    "Oh," Bote said quietly, staring unfocused past Al and Wikwocket with a growing smile. "Thank you. I shall endeavor to be worthy of it."


    "What?" Wikwocket asked.


    "Al may not know how to craft and use the ink for this, but it seems this secret has been granted to me for the performance of my duties. The crafting of the ink requires some costly ingredients, though, so please avoid asking me to abuse this authority for pranks."


    "No promises!" Wikwocket threatened, wondering what sort of mischief she might accomplish with illusionary documents.


    "Please don''t spend all of our pay to play tricks on people," Al pleaded.

 0094 - Morning and Magistrate

    With the meeting with the magistrate was still a few hours away, Al suggested that they go out to take care of some errands and find some food. This got Gruntle''s attention and successfully distracted Wikwocket from speculation about the joys of magically-aided forgery.


    "If you bring your jug of goblin death-stench, maybe we can get the apothecary to figure out what''s in it," Al suggested.


    Everyone who wasn''t named "Gruntle" dressed themselves appropriately to be seen in public, Wikwocket pushed down on the stopper of the goblins'' jug to make certain it wouldn''t come loose and choke everyone to death, and they all made their way out of the building in search of breakfast. They were greeted outside by birdsong, sunlight cutting through the morning fog, and excited barking. Al spotted the woman in the well-tailored but plain black trousers and jacket of a servant taking the mastiff for a walk again. This time the dog was excitedly pulling at the end of the leash in their direction. Al wasn''t particularly an expert on canine behavior, but as far as he could tell this one was being eager and friendly rather than aggressive. He was a little surprised, considering how most other domesticated animals seemed to feel in Gruntle''s presence so far.


    "No, Darling," the dog-walking servant insisted, pulling back on the thin leash. Al thought it might break against the pull of the large dog, but instead the mastiff whined and sat down. Typical for the breed, this one looked as though she had too much skin, and the droopy face resulting from this fact made her look completely pathetic. "That''s better," the dog-walker said, stepping forward to scratch the dog gently behind the ears. Darling the mastiff panted happily and watched the adventurers. She seemed especially interested in Gruntle, perhaps mistaking the gnoll for a very large dog. "Don''t worry, she''s well-trained. You''re in no danger," the dog-walker assured them.


    "Neither are you, I think," Al replied, looking back and forth between Gruntle and the mastiff.


    "She seems to have taken an interest in you, do you mind if she comes closer?" asked the dog-walker.


    Worry over what awful things might happen if the dog and the gnoll got near each other warred with curiosity and lost. "I guess that should be okay," Al answered.


    "Politely," the dog-walker urged, tugging lightly back on the leash, and then allowed the mastiff to walk forward. This time the dog showed some self-restraint, approaching at a calmer pace. The mastiff slowed to let Wikwocket reach up to scratch behind her ears and call her "good doggie!" Bote did likewise.


    "She seems quite attentive," the dwarf remarked.


    "She''s well-bred and well-raised," the dog-walker explained. The mastiff allowed Al to scratch behind her ears as well, then pushed past gently but insistently to get to Gruntle. She got in close and began sniffing eagerly around Gruntle''s legs, and Al watched nervously as Gruntle crouched down and leaned forward to put his face near the dog''s.


    Al groaned and put a hand over his own face in embarrassment as Gruntle began sniffing back.


    "Politely," the dog-walker insisted again, coaxing the dog away from the gnoll before the sniffing could get too mutual. "My apologies, Darling seems to be fascinated by your tall companion," she told Al, "Thank you for letting her greet you. Come now, Darling, we''re nearly out of time and I''m sure these fine people have their own matters to attend to.


    The mastiff gave a single happy bark in the gnoll''s direction, and then the dog-walker led her away into the morning fog at a brisk walk.


    "New smell," Gruntle declared.


    "Different from other dogs?" Al asked.


    "Not sure. They run away."


    "Maybe this is a good thing. Our donkey wasn''t afraid of you, now this dog isn''t either. Maybe you''re getting less scary."


    Gruntle considered this, then grunted. "Easier hunting if they don''t run."


    Al decided to change the subject so as not to encourage that line of thought.


    "If nobody minds, after we get something to eat I''d like to visit the apothecary and see if she can tell us exactly what that jug of goblin-filth is, and then I''d like to visit the bookshop. I think we might find something useful there."


    <hr>


    The meat-on-a-stick vendor''s nervousness near a gnoll-shaped customer seemed to have been washed away by the tide of coins he''d been getting for the party''s repeated purchases. He''d even prepared some beef in a somewhat rarer state then usual on the correct assumption that it would be well-received.


    The meat was already gone in the few minutes it took to walk to the apothecary shop. The apothecary herself was stocking fresh vials of alchemical products into the shelves behind the counter when Al and his companions entered. She turned to greet them with a hopeful smile.


    "Well, the valiant adventurers return!" she said, looking carefully at Al''s face. "Not without some hardships it seems. I can compound an ointment that works very well for bruises, by the way."


    Al reached up to touch the side of his face, wincing at the discomfort. "It looks that bad, does it? Maybe later, though. For now we wanted to see if you could analyze something for us."


    Wikwocket lifted the clay jug up onto the countertop.


    "Whatever you do, don''t open it inside though. Whatever''s in there has a horrible sickening smell. It could be some sort of concentrated disease as far as we know," Al warned her.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Or, it could be a concoction of powdered skulls and souls of the evil dead trapped by vile magic during the dark of the new moon and boiled over a lamp fueled by the fat of a hanged murderer!" Wikwocket fantasized aloud.


    The apothecary gave her a skeptical look and leaned down as if listening to the jug.


    "I very much doubt that," she said, "Oil of Malice requires some potent magic to create and I don''t think anyone capable of making it would store it in such a dangerously crude container. Besides, we''d be able to hear the screaming."


    Al was amused to see Wikwocket rendered speechless for once, having not expected her wild speculation to be something real. He also mentally adjusted his opinion of the apothecary''s education upwards. He''d never heard of Oil of Malice before but it seemed like something you''d have to be very learned to know about.


    "No, definitely not something I''d expect a bunch of unsophisticated goblins to get their hands on," he agreed. "The sloppily-painted skull on the side certainly suggests something horribly poisonous though."


    "Goblins? You didn''t find this on your job here, did you?"


    "I''m afraid so. Nasty green menaces were down in the ruins of the old elven baths getting drunk on ancient elven liquor. They had this jug with them, so I was wondering what horrible plans they might have intended with it."


    "Some of the other customers have been complaining about goblins further north of us," said the apothecary with open disgust, "I don''t like the thought of them getting nearer. You did get rid of them, I hope?"


    Gruntle grinned toothily.


    "We most certainly did, yes," Al said with some satisfaction.


    "Good. Well, I can examine your jug of goblin filth after I close for the evening. The fee will be one gold coin plus the cost of reagents. I can''t predict exactly what that will be until I start working and see what we''ve got, but I wouldn''t expect to go over another five coins, probably no more than one. If it looks like I''ll need something unusually expensive I''ll suspend the analysis until I get your approval to continue. Is that acceptable?"


    <hr>


    Feeling the fee was worthwhile, Al agreed. Promising to return the next morning, they left for their next stop. The elderly bookseller looked shocked to see Gruntle duck through the door behind Al.


    "I don''t think I''ve got gloves big enough for you," the old man quavered.


    "It''s okay, he''s with me. We were just wondering if you''ve got anything about the FitzWaynes," Al said. The bookseller produced a pair of gloves for Al and pointed to a shelf.


    "Ah, old ranching family, runs the barony out on the frontier to the east. They aren''t big on literature but there''s a family history and a few books some of them have written."


    "Ranching?" Wikwocket asked, "Like, cows?"


    "That''s right. They got their wealth from cattle, and then their elevation to the nobility when they took up raising warhorses. Now they have ranches with sheep, goats, and pigs as well. One of them has recently also developed a special breed of dog, he''s got a book there as well."


    Al put on the gloves and examined the indicated shelves. All Cattle, No Hat: The FitzWayne Story appeared to be the family biography he''d expected to find. There were some small books discussing the raising of cattle, the operation of a dairy, textile production from wool, and the diseases of sheep. There was additionally a cookbook with rustic recipes, and a book entitled "The Care, Feeding, and Training of Magehounds". The latter book caught Al''s eye and he picked it up. It wasn''t an especially large book, making the price of 75 gold coins quite shocking. He carefully flipped through just to see what was in it. The author was given as "Edward FitzWayne" and described an exclusive dog breed that seemed to only be available from Edward. In addition to the expected sections describing the physical characteristics of the breed and how to properly feed and work with them, the table of contents included a section titled "Intellectual Stimulation", and another labeled "Magic and your Magehound". From what Al could glean from his brief skim, magehounds were unusually intelligent for dogs, and they supposedly could smell active magic.


    Unable to justify the cost of the book and certain he wouldn''t be able to find a magehound any time soon, let alone afford to buy one, he put the book back and picked up All Cattle, No Hat. It was moderately thick, authored by an "Angus FitzWayne". The table of contents was arranged chronologically. The book seemed to have been written relatively recently, and was cheaper than Al expected at 15 gold coins. It still felt like a lot of money to Al, but under the circumstances still a worthwhile investment.


    "This will do nicely, thank you," Al said, setting the book on the countertop.


    "Ah, yes, Baron Angus FitzWayne''s history. I judge that he hired at least three different scribes to author the various portions of the book, each of them rather amateurish. Much of it reads like rustic folklore but I''m sure you can learn much about the FitzWaynes from it nonetheless."


    Al noticed Gruntle beginning to sniff around the books out of either curiosity or boredom, so he quickly returned the gloves, paid, thanked the bookseller, and ushered the party back out.


    <hr>


    With some time left to spare Wikwocket and Gruntle opted to spend some time not at all terrorizing the local nobility with their antics while Al and Bote returned to the room. Al wanted to use whatever time was available to see what relevant information he could find out about the FitzWayne who had extended the unexpected invitation, and since there were two more meetings to be attended the rest of the day, he wasn''t sure how much time he''d have for reading later. He started in on chapter one, which was a tale of a Benton FitzWayne, described as the founder of the family who drove cattle across the wide grasslands in the east. There were numerous tall tales of improbable athletics and slaying giant beasts to protect the herd.


    Wikwocket and Gruntle returned well-exercised, and Wikwocket showed off the pouch full of silver coins she''d collected.


    "I told everyone Gruntle was a werewolf and challenged them to throw silver at him," she laughed. "Everyone who wasn''t a jerk had a great time!"


    Stephen arrived soon after to take them to meet the magistrate. They were led up to the top level of the building, where a pair of guards in polished armor with spears and short swords let them in. A wide table was set with plates and cups for five people, and was loaded with platters of luxurious food.


    Al cringed as Stephen loudly announced, "The gnoll party is here, magistrate!"


    "I''m coming, don''t rush me!" called a forceful, feminine voice from behind a door in the opposite wall. Heavy footsteps stomped closer, and the door opened. A bulky, wrinkled, grey-haired woman stepped confidently into the room. She wore a bonnet, soft slippers, and a plain robe over what might have been a nightgown. She looked over the party with clear, focused eyes and smiled, giving Al the overall impression of an energetic grandmother determined to squeeze every bit of enjoyment possible out of her remaining years.


    "Al Arcanisen, Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, Bote Wissengr?ber, and Gruntle," Stephen announced, "This is Winifred Ditcher, Magistrate of Hell''s Bathtub."


    "Well, you didn''t tell me Al was such a handsome young man!" Winifred said, waggling her eyebrows.


    "Hey, Al!" Wikwocket stage-whispered loudly, "I think she likes you! If you seduce her, she might pay us extra!"


    Wikwocket and Winifred shared loud, uninhibited laughter as Al''s face turned red.

 0095 - Performance Evaluation

    Al stoically withstood the laughter at his expense with the closest thing to a smile that he could muster. Apparently it wasn''t very convincing since it only made Wikwocket and Winifred laugh harder. It took an uncomfortable minute or two for them to settle down.


    "You''re fun, I like you," Winifred chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from her face, "but we''d best get to eating. Big fella looks hungry. Never seen a real gnoll, is that what they actually look like? Hey! I don''t care what you''re being today, don''t drool on my floor!"


    Gruntle actually closed his mouth, to Al''s surprise. Stephen directed everyone to their assigned places at the table, Gruntle shoving his chair aside to just crouch down. He stared at the array of forks, spoons, and knives arrayed on either side of the empty plate and finally grabbed two forks at random while Stephen took Winifred''s plate and loaded it up with - as Stephen announced along the way - confit of duck, braised lamb shank, baked fancy cheese, and a pate of poultry liver with vinegar-based glaze that visibly glowed a greenish-blue color. Al stared suspiciously at the plate as Stephen set it down for Winifred and picked up Al''s.


    "The vinegar is phosphorescent?" Al probed.


    "Oh, yeah! Head chef was so excited, some nut made vinegar out of goblin wine! Said he got a whole barrel of it for only a hundred gold!" Winifred cackled, ignoring the silverware and just picking up a lamb shank. She dipped it in the runny baked cheese and bit into it. Al thought he saw Stephen wince.


    "Do I look like an elf?," Winifred snapped at Stephen around the mouthful of food. This time Al definitely saw Stephen wince. "I haven''t got much time left, I''m not going to waste it figuring out if I''m supposed to use the aspic fork or the soup fork!"


    "Oh, I''m sorry to hear that," Al said sympathetically, "I didn''t realize you were ill."


    "I''m not! I''m old! I could keel over any minute!"


    Stephen leaned down as he set Al''s plate down in front of him.


    "She''s been saying that for at least the last fifteen years that I''ve been here," he whispered.


    Gruntle was looking impatiently from his plate to Stephen and back, so Stephen took Gruntle''s plate next.


    Winifred tossed the bone from the lamb-shank onto her plate and wiped her hands on her napkin. Then, she reached down the front of her nightgown and pulled out a rolled piece of paper, which turned out to be the map Al had made of the Lavatio when she unrolled it on the table.


    "So," Winifred said, nodding to the map while she picked up a slice of the candied duckmeat and used the biggest spoon to scoop some of the pate onto it, "it looks like you went over the whole site. Not exactly professional cartography but that''s why we send a survey crew after you."


    Stephen set a heaping plate of food down for Gruntle, who was clutching his forks as he watched Stephen intently. Stephen got to work serving Wikwocket and Bote. Still holding the forks, Gruntle turned his head sideways, opened his jaws wide, and leaned down to close his mouth on most of the food on his plate. He sat back up and crunched on the bones noisily a few times before swallowing.


    "Well, can''t fault you for really committing to the part," Winifred remarked. It was Al''s turn to wince in embarrassment, but at least Stephen gave him a sympathetic look. Winifred stuffed the pate-topped strip of candied duckmeat into her mouth. "''dja get rid of everthun'' danjrous?" she pronounced wetly through the food.


    "As far as we can tell, yes, other than what I''d call environmental hazards. We cleared out a nest of giant rats, exterminated some disturbingly and unnaturally large spiders, killed some filthy goblins up to no good in there, and someone had some zombies locked up in the old caretaker''s room with some sort of magical formation," Al listed, deciding to omit mention of the crazy undead spider. Having to explain where it went seemed like it would be problematic.


    "Oh, yeah, Stephen mentioned you wanted to go back and draw a picture of it. Don''t see why not, survey crew having some proven adventurer types around for protection might be nice," Winifred said, stirring the remaining duckmeat, melted soft cheese, and liver pate together with a spoon. She lifted a spoonful of the uncouth mixture to her mouth with one hand and reached again down the front of her nightgown with the other. "Keep talking, I''ll get your pay figured out," she said, pulling out a soft leather pouch. She took a bottle of ink and a stylus from the pouch.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "Yes, well, I don''t think there''s much left to worry about in there. There''s a place where the ceiling has fallen in and it''s got slimy algae growing all over it, so it''s a little dangerous to walk around in," Al continued, standing up to point at the spot on the map. "Also, over here is where the source of the Lavatio''s water is. It''s guarded by some sort elemental creatures of water. They almost certainly are dangerous but as far as we can tell they''re not going to harm anyone who isn''t tampering with it. The entrance is a magically-locked an inobvious doorway, so nobody should be going in there accidentally. I think they should be left alone, I think they keep the water flowing, and if you got rid of them the *Lavatio* might dry up."


    After a quick look around the table for something to write on, Winifred grabbed a clean napkin, earning her another wince from Stephen.


    "It''s just cloth, and it''s still legal as long as I sign it," Winifred insisted, and began writing on the napkin, muttering to herself as she listened.


    "Let''s see, one hundred for doing the job, fifty for the map, hundred and fifty for getting rid of everything dangerous. Didn''t expect goblins around here," she said, writing the numbers on the napkin. She looked up at the map where Al was pointing to Water. Winifred read the annotation.


    "Oh, yeah, who''s Cleodora? That sounds like an elvish name." she asked.


    "Uh, she''s the caretaker," Al replied. "When we left she was trying to get the place cleaned up."


    "We were fairly certain the place was abandoned," Winifred said.


    "It is, Cleodora is the only one left."


    "Can''t rightly be considered abandoned if someone''s still living there."


    "She''s...not living."


    Winifred narrowed her eyes at Al.


    "Um...she''s a ghost. We think she died there sometime after it was abandoned."


    Winifred frowned, and scratched out the hundred and fifty.


    "You want to tell me why you got rid of everything else and left a vengeful undead abomination floating around to prey on the living?"


    "She''s not really dangerous now..."


    "Not dangerous, eh?" Winifred said, watching the fearsome gnoll cringing and baring his teeth.


    "I mean, we had a bit of a misunderstanding and..."


    Al stopped himself from saying more for fear that his lingering resentment might make him say something unhelpful. He understood, rationally, that the tortured spirit''s behavior was not really malicious and shouldn''t threaten anyone now that the ghost was free to fulfill her purpose, but his feelings weren''t rational.


    He looked over to Wikwocket for help. "You''re better at this kind of thing, could you explain?"


    "Gladly!" Wikwocket answered. She stood up on her chair and struck a dramatic pose befitting the storytelling challenge.


    "A tragic story of a dedicated custodian of her beloved Lavatio! When all others had abandoned it, she remained to care for it. Alas, the unstoppable ravages of time were too much for one person to hold back, and she was killed by falling stone in the baths! Awakened, her spirit clung to her duty and strove to continue cleaning her cherished facility. But, lo! Bound to her mortal remains she was trapped in the room where she perished, alone for decades or even centuries and maddened by frustration, she lashed out with terrible supernatural power against any who invaded her prison. Her torment continued until a kindly and brave band of adventurers saw through the anguish that caused her to lash out! They heard her pleas, and offered her aid! In need of mortal strength she borrowed..."


    Wikwocket''s eye twitched, but she didn''t lose the tone of the story.


    "...borrowed the flesh of the strongest to free her mortal remains and spread her throughout, so she can once more fulfill her purpose! And now, content, she labors diligently and ceaselessly for the restoration of the Lavatio!"


    "Very nice," Winifred said as Wikwocket finished, "but back up a little. What was that about spread her throughout?"


    "Well, her problem was that she can only be where her mortal remains are, so we...uh...put some of her bones in every room so she can clean everywhere," Al explained sheepishly. Winifred gave him a skeptical glare.


    "You intentionally put haunted bones everywhere, so an incorporeal undead abomination can haunt the whole place?"


    "Uh...yes?" Al admitted, pleading silently with his eyes for help from Wikwocket and Bote.


    "Her purpose is the restoration of the Lavatio," Bote interjected, "so the ability for her spirit to access the whole facility to perform her work is what calms her spirit and allows her to provide her services. Her very purpose favors the restoration of the Lavatio that Hell''s Bathtub plans."


    "She''s still an abomination. Our baths are not mere services, we are a holy place, the mortal home of the goddess Balnea Infernala. We cannot have the undead befouling our facilities!"


    "But, she just wants to clean! That''s a good thing to do for a holy place, right?" Wikwocket argued.


    "It doesn''t matter what a ghost wants, we''ve got actual people to clean things and repair things already, no sacrilege required!"


    "But, she works nonstop! She''s already dead so she can''t starve to death, so you don''t even need to feed her. She doesn''t sleep either, so you don''t need to give her a bed!" Wikwocket tried.


    "That''s really not important."


    "You don''t have to pay her, either!"


    Winifred opened her mouth to object, but said nothing. The argument had made an impression.


    "No wages?" She considered. Gruntle had stopped paying attention and was obsessively licking the remaining bits of food from his plate, but the other three adventurers watched Winifred for a decision. Finally, Winifred took up the stylus, and wrote the hundred-and-fifty back onto the napkin.


    "You''d best go back with the survey crew, if she does something to them you''ll not be getting your bonus," Winifred declared. "It may still not make any difference, when we consecrate the Lavatio it will be up to Balnea Infernala what the fate of your dead woman''s ghost will be, but I''ll give her a chance. Wouldn''t want to see that handsome, rugged young face looking sad!" she said, batting her eyelashes at Al.


    Wikwocket nearly fell ouf of her chair with laughter.

 0096 - Committment

    No food remained by the end of the meeting with the magistrate. The magistrate herself had a surprisingly prodigious appetite, and of course gnolls are experts at gluttony.


    "Survey crew''s being assembled now, first trip should be day-after-tomorrow, we''ll let you know when we have the details worked out," Winifred told them. "Keep in mind, it isn''t up to me what happens to your ghost in the end. Once the survey''s done and we get enough work done, we''ll be consecrating it, then it''ll belong to Balnea Infernala. The old girl will decide what happens to the spirit."


    Stephen cringed visibly as if expecting the room to collapse on everyone at the sacrilege.


    "Cut it out, I''ve been magistrate here for a long, long time, she knows what I''m about," Winifred chastised, "If she didn''t like it, she''d''ve done something about it by now,"


    <hr>


    The business discussion concluded, and they spent a while in more idle conversation. Winifred said she''d been magistrate for thirty-seven years. She was in charge of the secular side of Hell''s Bathtub, making sure the mundane mortal affairs aligned with the divine will of Balnea Infernala. The goddess normally conveyed her intent through the high priestess, a halfling of the Garish clan.


    "Every now and then, I feel the old girl checking in on me, though," Winifred said. "And what about you, we don''t get a lot of adventurer types around these parts. What''s your story?"


    Al gave a brief account of his comfortable but unsatisfying background and let Wikwocket do the storytelling as of when she, Al, and Bote had met at the Vandalized Grimoire in Al''s hometown of Bright Peaks. Wikwocket saw Al''s meaningful looks as the story reached the junior warrior at Notamimic Manor. She skillfully adjusted the description of events to make Gruntle''s original nature ambiguous, hinting that perhaps Gruntle also had orcish ancestry like Grakthor. She left out the details of his origin but couldn''t resist the drama of Gruntle being orphaned when his entire nomadic family from a far-off land was killed. Winifred had looked bemused by the stories the group gave of themselves up to that point, but at Gruntle''s origin-story she nodded as if everything made sense.


    "There we go. Figured at least one of you had to have some kind of drama going on. Isn''t natural for a whole adventuring party to be right in the head."


    Gruntle was napping contentedly with his head resting on his plate. Winifred gave him a sympathetic look.


    "Explains the borrowed shape. Got a few regulars with a similar way of coping with things. Well, you can tell me the rest of the story another time, I''d better let you get back before the magic runs out. Lot of folks don''t like people watching when they change."


    She dipped her pen in the inkwell and signed her name on the bottom of the napkin and handed it over to Al. "Here you go, Stephen can take you down to the treasury when you want the coin."


    She stood, stretched, and scratched her butt.


    "I''ve got other business to deal with, I''m looking forward to hearing the rest!" she said, then turned with a casual wave and shuffled back out the way she''d come in. Al woke Gruntle and Stephen led them all back to their room.


    "I do hope you''ll excuse the magistrate''s very informal personality," Stephen said as they walked back. "To the extent that I''m qualified to judge, she seems to be very good for Hell''s Bathtub.


    "I am probably the most formal person in this party," Bote answered, "and I am comfortable in discourse with most personalities. I doubt any of us have a poor opinion of the magistrate and I suspect at least one of us has formed a very favorable impression."


    "She''s great!" Wikwocket agreed, "she''s got a strong personality and good wits!"


    "She''s an honest dealer at least," Al allowed, waving the promissory napkin before tucking it into an inside pocket. "Even if she''s a little uncomfortably casual."


    Al''s desire to do some research before their evening meeting with Cyrus drew some good-natured mockery from Wikwocket. "We''re practically rich now in a luxury resort with plenty of hedonistic fun available and you want to read some boring old book?"


    "It''s not old, I just bought this!" Al countered.


    Wikwocket opted to escort Gruntle for another casual, innocent stroll around Hell''s Bathtub. Bote took the opportunity to go make visits to the local temples and shrines to see if there was anything they needed.


    Bereft of distractions, Al opened All Cattle, No Hat and began to wade through the folklorish presentation of the FitzWayne family''s history.


    According to the book, the FitzWaynes were originally semi-nomadic cattle-herders in the region. Benton FitzWayne founded the lakeside village of Summer''s Rest as a place with abundant vegetation for the cattle and good fish and cat-tail tubers to eat. Having a location to settle down in gave the extended family time to better develop their ancestral animal-husbandry culture. The legendary - according to the book - stamina of FitzWayne horses came to the attention of royalty during a time of territorial disputes with the neighboring Republic of Sabbatalia nearly a century ago and earned the family a baronial title. The Barony of Thundering Plains now boasted several large towns and numerous villages, but still kept much of its rural nature to the present day, including the annual cattle-drive to the market at Southwall.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The closing chapters described the ongoing modernization of the barony as though they were adopting and fixing broken cultural habits from the more urban parts of the nation and the writing was dripping with cultural smugness, but underneath it showed how the family was doing market research in the wealthier urban markets and adapting successfully. Edward FitzWayne''s "magehound"-breeding project was at the end, presented as something that could only be accomplished by the old-fashioned common-sense wisdom of the barony of Thundering Plains. Darla FitzWayne showed up in that chapter, as a cousin of Edward FitzWayne and credited with being "vital" to getting the project started, though no details were given.


    No mention of Turnipseed appeared anywhere, but the combination of a rural culture and the "Wayne" in the family name made Al wonder if there was some connection. On the positive side, the book suggested the culture took pride in practicality over spectacle, or at least they wanted people to believe they did.


    Bote returned, proclaiming they had been useful without elaborating, and sat down on their bed for some meditative prayer.


    Some shouts of concern in the hall outside their door roused Al from his thoughts. The door opened. Gruntle slouched into the room, carrying a limp Wikwocket in his teeth by the back of her shirt. Al did not like the reminder this represented.


    "What happened?" he asked urgently as he sprang up to see what was wrong.


    "I got tired," Wikwocket said, looking up and grinning. "I swear he''s getting faster, it''s getting harder to dodge him unless I can find small spaces to go through or a lot of obstacles!"


    Gruntle opened his mouth and dropped Wikwocket to the floor. She landed on her feet, a little unsteadily from fatigue. She reached behind her neck to the collar of her shirt.


    "Hey, Al, could you magic my shirt back together? It feels like the collar got torn somehow!"


    Al''s reply was only a silent glare of disapproval.


    "Please, Sir Wizard?" she tried, batting her eyelashes with comic exaggeration.


    With the long-suffering sigh of someone forcibly made to be the adult in the room, Al stood and went to perform the little trick that made the shirt-collar forget that it had been punctured by gnoll teeth and ripped.


    <hr>


    Wikwocket and Gruntle demonstrated the familiarity they''d developed with the alleyways and obscure shortcuts of Hell''s Bathtub as they led the way back to the Secret Spring Tavern for their meeting with Cyrus. The bartender remembered them, and led them upstairs to the same room the previous meeting had taken place. This time when the bartender knocked, Cyrus opened the door himself. The bartender left them to their private meeting, and Cyrus smiled as he motioned the party inside, where the table was already loaded with a meat-heavy meal. Cyrus gestured for Wikwocket to remain in the hallway as the others went through the door.


    "You''re welcome to begin eating before us, we''ll join you in a moment," Cyrus announced to Al, Bote, and Gruntle, an amused smirk growing on his face as the CRUNCH! of Gruntle''s jaws on a bone-in piece of meat erupted before he''d even finished his statement. Cyrus closed the door on them. Al couldn''t tell what they were saying, but what he could make out of the tone of the discussion sounded mutually friendly, at least. After a few minutes, Wikwocket raised her voice in a declaration loud enough for him to understand.


    "I would trust everyone in that room with everything that I am," Wikwocket stated with uncharacteristic solemnity, as if taking an oath. Al felt touched, and not a little self-conscious to hear this. A few more words of conversation mumbled by in the hallway and Cyrus opened the door again, then came in and closed it again behind himself after Wikwocket took her seat at the table. He made sure everyone''s wineglasses - and Gruntle''s wine-mug - were properly filled before seating himself and putting some food on his own plate.


    "We have several matters to discuss now, though I think you''ll find them mostly pleasant," Cyrus stated, reaching into a pocket of his fine silk jacket and pulling out a fist-sized smoothly-polished sphere of plain grey stone and setting it on the table. He spoke a word that Al couldn''t quite understand. There was no visible effect, but Cyrus seemed satisfied.


    "That should prevent anyone outside from listening in," he explained. "Before we begin, at our last meeting I promised our latest participant a statement of our purpose in exchange for answering a question of mine. We wouldn''t be much of a secret society if news of our existence and activities got out to people who are not participants, but Wikwocket speaks well of your trustworthiness, and if for some reason I''ve misjudged and any of you are not suitable participants in the cause, I think it would be best to find that out now. Are you prepared to hear it?"


    "Wait," Al objected, "is this a situation where knowing something is going to endanger us?"


    "Ah, yes, the examination did suggest a healthy amount of caution, I''m told," Cyrus said, cryptically, "but also a willingness to confront dangerous situations rationally when necessary. Me telling you what our purpose is won''t put you in any direct danger, no, but all knowledge has some danger associated with it. You have to compare it with how much danger not knowing might represent."


    "That''s...very philosophical," Al said. "I''m just not sure if..."


    Wikwocket glared at him and wordlessly made an animalistic grumbling, growling noise. Don''t mess this up!, he interpreted. Gruntle grunting as if in agreement made him feel outvoted, particularly since Bote didn''t seem bothered by the situation they were in.


    "Apparently, not knowing would be very dangerous for me," Al conceded, returning Wikwocket''s glare.

 0097 - The Cause

    Cyrus sipped his wine, then set his glass down as Al''s hesitancy was overcome.


    ¡°I''m sure you know that there are many things in this world that don''t properly belong here. Many of those things are dangerous to the natural inhabitants of our world. Like, demons, and those corrupted by their influence,¡± Cyrus said, gesturing to Gruntle, ¡°the¡­ playful fair folk who don''t always have the comfort of mortals as a priority, the undead, workings of magic that are potent enough to threaten the stability of mortal reality, and things like that.¡±


    ¡°Like giant undead spiders that raise the bodies of anyone bitten to death as undead corpses?¡± Al asked pointedly.


    ¡°Very much like that sort of thing, yes,¡± Cyrus admitted with a grin. ¡°Something like that wandering around loose and unsupervised could cause a lot of deaths, not to mention the expenses a growing zombie threat could impose through social disruption, I mean, nobody wants to go buy things at the shops if there are violent dead people in the way. Tell me, what do you think should be done about things like that?¡±


    ¡°Well, that''s kind of what keeps adventurers in business, isn''t it? Protecting people from things like unnatural threats is our job,¡± Al answered.


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Wikwocket agreed, ¡°What good is it to have a band of intrepid adventurers lead by a magical sword hero if they don''t keep demons from eating people?¡±


    ¡°I''m not a magical sword hero!¡± Al objected.


    ¡°Don''t try to deny it,¡± Wikwocket insisted, ¡°You do magic all the time, and you have a sword that''s also magic. That undeniably makes you a magical sword hero, in at least two different ways!¡±


    ¡°Hero or not,¡± Cyrus said, trying to get the conversation back to the point, ¡°elaborate a bit on your jobs. What should adventurers do about a supernatural threat?¡±


    ¡°Depending on what we''re talking about, either destroy it or at least separate it from whatever makes it dangerous, right?¡±


    Cyrus seemed to be waiting for a longer answer, so Al continued.


    ¡°Like, if it''s some sort of magical artifact that threatens people, it might be safer to just take it and put it somewhere that people who would use it to do harm can''t get to it, rather than trying to destroy it.¡±


    Cyrus smiled and sat back, satisfied.


    ¡°You see? I told you he would approve,¡± He said to Wikwocket. ¡°That is our cause, put simply.¡±


    Cyrus sipped at his wine again, considering his next words. Finally satisfied with what he''d come up with, he continued.


    ¡°Supernatural dangers are like pestilence-carrying flies. They buzz into the reality that is our home uninvited through open doors and windows, or cracks in the walls, they lay their eggs on our bread, and multiply. Even without malicious intent, their presence spreads disease and threatens our health. We want to stop them, capture them, isolate them from anything that makes them dangerous, and either preserve them in a safe place where they can be properly studied and put to good uses, or destroy them if necessary. The spider-and-web motif that we identify one another with is a metaphor for this. Every supernatural fly caught by the web of our cause is one less maggot infestation in the larder of society!¡±


    Cyrus saw the skeptical look Al had, and laughed.


    ¡°Apparently I''m a better merchant than a poet, but I had to try. All I''m saying is, there are unnatural and dangerous things that find their way to our world, are brought to our world, are created in our world. Someone should take those things from where they endanger people and put them where they won''t, or sometimes perhaps put them where they might even be beneficial. The danger we tasked you with capturing for us is a good example. Even now it''s being probed and tested to try to determine how it was created, and who or what might have done it. Whatever nefarious plans its creator had for it are now interrupted and we will hopefully learn something about what it was for, and how to deal with whatever other threats its creator and their other potential creations might represent. And, should we have a more benign use for it, we have it at our disposal.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Al narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Cyrus.


    ¡°Who is we,¡± he asked, ¡°and what kind of benign use could a giant undead zombie-making spider have?¡±


    ¡°We would be participants in the cause generally. Those who I have met tend to be purpose-driven, and potentially being able to borrow something or some¡­well, the possibility of making personal use of what we collect for one''s own benevolent purposes is a strong incentive for some. I see in your face that you are about to ask how we know if a participant can be trusted with the kinds of powers we collect.¡±


    Al nodded.


    ¡°Everyone gets carefully examined before we even consider allowing them to participate. Further examination and testing of a potential participant takes place if they seem promising, giving them the bare minimum information about the cause until enough of us agree that they can be relied on. Each of us tries to keep an eye on the few participants that we each know personally, and requests for service tend to spread widely among us, so if someone among us was asking for something unreasonable many of us would know about it before any harm could be done.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Al questioned, ¡°so who did the examining and testing of Wikwocket?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea!¡± Cyrus answered cheerfully. ¡°Sometimes the spider-marks find new owners. From what I''ve heard and seen, the tendency of the new owners to be suitable participants is too much to be coincidence. That suggests that someone is watching over things when that happens.¡±


    Al frowned in thought. ¡°Hmmm. And what about the rest of us?¡±


    ¡°I''m told we have verification of Bote Wissengr?ber''s service to Indicina, and if the god of secrets and conspiracies has taken an interest in our cause we don''t have much choice but to welcome their mortal representative and hope for the god''s divine favor. At the least, we can have faith that our secrets are safe with Indicina''s clerics. And as for yourself, you seem like exactly the sort of person who should be a participant in our cause. You seem to have a deep and scholarly interest in the sorts of things we collect, but also a sense of caution and responsibility. You want to keep the world safe, don''t you?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but safe from what?¡± Al responded. ¡°Bote says they believe you''re sincere and I trust their judgement, but how do we know you''re not being manipulated? From what you''re telling us, the cause has a very dangerous collection of things that I''m sure malicious people would want to have access to. How do any of us know that this whole thing isn''t some scheme to manipulate people into gathering power for someone that really shouldn''t be anywhere near it?¡±


    ¡°Al¡­¡± Wikwocket growled.


    ¡°No, no, he has a point,¡± Cyrus said, coming to Al''s defense. ¡°I obviously don''t have any reason to believe there''s a malicious conspiracy at the heart of the cause, but no participant knows the whole cause. It''s true that we could be, let''s say, unwitting members of the cult of a demon who are being tricked into gathering the power to subjugate and rule the mortal world, ushering in a terrible age of death and torment until everyone''s souls are devoured.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Wikwocket said, perking up, ¡°or the machinations of a clever and devious lord of the Unseelie Court, gleefully entertained by the thoughts of the self-destruction they''re tricking the ugly, filthy mortals into inflicting on themselves with their efforts!¡±


    ¡°Or perhaps an ambitious diversion arranged by dragons, walking among humanish peoples in magical disguise, manipulating the cause in ways that will drastically alter the political and economic structures of society for their amusement,¡± Bote contributed with a smirk.


    ¡°Bote, I''m being serious here¡­¡± Al objected.


    ¡°It''s true,¡± Cyrus agreed, ¡°none of us, myself included, can be sure that we are not the result of a plot by an ancient and powerful necromancer, seeking the power to finally overthrow death itself and usurp the gatekeeper and command every soul that has ever existed¡­or something like that. For the sake of discussion, let''s assume the cause is the result of an evil scheme like the ones we''ve just come up with. If so¡­what should be done about it?¡±


    ¡°Oh! That''s good! I like you!¡± Wikwocket said approvingly. ¡°Obviously, someone would need to put a stop to it! Probably multiple someones! Like a group of brave, heroic adventurers, led by a magical sword hero!¡±


    Al pressed his hands to his face and groaned at the feeling that he''d lost the debate.


    So, we try to walk away, knowing that we might be leaving some horrible conspiracy free to end the world, or agree to participate and risk contributing to the problem, or possibly be in a position to discover the threat and at least try to do something about it. Or, maybe they really are benevolent, and we''d be helping and doing important things. They probably have a lot of access to research that why am I talking myself into this instead of out of it?, Al thought to himself.


    ¡°You okay, Al?¡± Wikwocket asked.


    ¡°Yeah, probably,¡± Al answered. He let go of his face and took a deep breath. Then, a possible rhetorical escape-route presented itself in his thoughts.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Al said, ¡°you explained why you want to let Wikwocket, Bote, and myself into this. What about Gruntle? Who''s examining and testing him?¡±


    Cyrus laughed.


    ¡°Nobody is!¡± he answered, ¡°Gruntle is not a participant, Gruntle is a subject to be collected!¡±

 0098 - What Can Be Done With A Gnoll?

    "Collected?" Al exclaimed.


    One shocking moment later, Al was looking at the startled and perhaps a little frightened face of Cyrus Borge. Wikwocket was grasping the hilt of BiteySue, looking at Al with an also-startled but slowly-growing lopsided grin. Even Bote was wide-eyed with one eyebrow raised questioningly. Gruntle was doubling over with a yelp. Al found himself on his feet, his face still in the process of going from intense defiance to confusion. Al''s right hand grasped the shaft of his mace-wand, having unhooked it from its carrier. Al froze and quickly re-examined his memory of what had just happened.


    There had been a thought that Cyrus and his associates intended to take Gruntle away and put him in a cage somewhere. Al wasn''t sure what he''d said - something like you can''t have him! or we''re not giving him to anyone - and he''d stood up, reaching for his mace with the thought that he might need to resort to magic or violence to prevent Gruntle''s abduction. Gruntle had leapt into motion immediately as Al did. The gnoll''s eyes had gone black and the muscles around his jaw had bulged. Al was sure this time that he''d seen Gruntle''s teeth get bigger, for just a moment.


    "Please...there''s no need for that," Cyrus said, slowly raising his hands and speaking in the sort of forced calm that a hostage negotiator might use to say there''s no need to stab that baby, we can work this out.... "I think you may have misunderstood my intentions."


    Al felt a blush of embarrassment spreading across his face. "Sorry, sorry, I don''t know what came over me there." He put the mace back and forced himself to let go of it.


    Cyrus let out a slow breath and relaxed.


    "No, don''t apologize... on second thought, go ahead and apologize, but don''t feel bad about it. In some ways, that''s the kind of response I would want to see, just maybe not quite so threatening. I want to assure you right now that we do not intend to separate your gnoll from you," Cyrus promised, then hastened to add, "nor do we intend to imprison you all somewhere together, either."


    Gruntle made a distressed retching sound as his punishment for intending to violate his oath continued. Al gently put his hand on the suffering gnoll''s back.


    "It''s all right now, I didn''t mean it," he said. The immediacy of Gruntle''s small groan of mixed relief and complaint as the gnoll relaxed surprised Al. He looked to Bote for advice. "Is there... something wrong with me?"


    "Not at all!" Wikwocket interjected as she sat back down. "A magical sword hero should leap to defend his precious party from threats!"


    "I''m serious about this, Wikwocket," Al said.


    "So am I! You might think it was too dramatic, but I thought it was great!"


    "You would," Al sighed, "but..."


    Bote nodded. "I understand. Please relax and look into my eyes."


    Cyrus watched, fascinated, as Bote quietly recited a short prayer asking for divine insight, peering intently into Al''s eyes. Al grew nervous as Bote stared for longer than expected. Finally, the dwarf shook their head.


    "You still are not under the control of a demon, or other external entity. I am not able to say with certainty if you might be under the influence of some sort of mortal spell, but it is my opinion that this is probably also not the case, and your thoughts and actions are still your own."


    "I don''t know if that''s reassuring or not," said Al.


    "What is it that you felt, in that moment that worries you?"


    Al gave this some deeper thought, as much as he could in his self-conscious state, He was realizing that everyone was watching him except for Gruntle, who had gone back to eating as if nothing had happened.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Well... ," Al considered aloud, "I thought maybe we were about to get another squad from this mysterious cause popping out from somewhere to capture Gruntle, and maybe assault the rest of us when we tried to stop them," he said, feeling foolish now.


    "Good, but I did not ask what you were thinking. What did you feel?"


    Al stumbled verbally as he tried to describe what he remembered of his emotional state.


    "It''s... uh... It was... I don''t know, protective maybe? It was a feeling like someone was about to break or steal something that was important to me... do we really need to talk about this right now?" Al tried, beginning to feel uncomfortable at the scrutiny.


    "Awww, that''s sweet, you do care about us!" Wikwocket said. Al wasn''t sure if she was teasing him or not.


    "Did you hear any voice, even your own, telling you to take a specific action at that time?" Bote pressed.


    "No, it was almost like a reflex. It wasn''t like it didn''t feel like I was the one reacting, either, I just didn''t even have time to think about it as it was happening."


    "What was your intent in that moment, if you had not stopped yourself? You did not intend any specific harm to Cyrus, correct?"


    "N... no. No, not unless he or someone else actually did something threatening."


    Cyrus raised an eyebrow at Al''s hesitation, but risked a small smile. "You hesitated there. I promise, I have no intention of being a threat to anything but our dinner."


    "Look, it''s not like it was just me, Gruntle thought you were coming after him too!"


    "Nah," Gruntle replied, picking up his mug of wine.


    "You didn''t think they were after you?"


    "Nah."


    Gruntle lapped at the wine in the mug with no apparent sign of concern.


    "If you didn''t think they were after you," Al interrogated, "why were you trying to attack Cyrus?"


    Gruntle licked his muzzle before answering.


    "Shaman wanted Cyrus to go away. Not right to fight alone."


    "There!" Cyrus exclaimed, pointing to Gruntle. "This is the sort of information that I think will benefit us all! The gnolls aren''t the most exotic threat to the world nor the biggest, but they are a dangerous manifestation of demonic threat, and one that we don''t fully understand yet. Having one willingly under the care of the cause may help us find a way to avert the rampaging of the others, or at least learn where they''re coming from. Where did you come from, Gruntle?"


    Gruntle paused as he was about to gnaw at the bone from a leg of mutton.


    "Not-a-mi-mic-ma-nor," he slowly pronounced, then put the bone between his teeth and clamped down. The bone gave way with a loud crack, and Gruntle began scraping the marrow out of the broken bone with his teeth.


    "I think he means your first clan," Al said, warily as he still wasn''t sure what information to trust Cyrus with. Gruntle''s gnawing stopped. His eyes unfocused as he spoke a complex series of bestial noises of the gnollish language, describing his memories of a violent place. Then, he tried again in the common language.


    "Always fighting. Other clans. Dangerous things with teeth and claws. Meat hunting meat, clan always hunts together to live. Clan followed the call to easier hunting. Green, bright. Softer, better meat, weaker meat, could even hunt alone."


    Cyrus listened raptly to the disjointed description. Al''s curiosity compelled him to inquire further.


    "Something called you? Is that how you got to the village that Melissa told us about?"


    Gruntle grunted, but didn''t elaborate.


    "Don''t you remember anything more about your first clan?" Al probed.


    Gruntle huffed dismissively.


    "Weak. New clan killed them, didn''t even eat them. This clan is better."


    "I regret not bringing writing materials," Cyrus said, bringing Al back to the present matter.


    "All right, about that, if you don''t intend to take Gruntle or us away, how exactly do you intend to collect him?"


    "I intend no such thing, You''ve done it for us!" Cyrus answered, "You are the cause''s gnoll project! I admit that there are a few that I''ve spoken with who would rather he was confined to a more controlled environment for study. Since you seem to have already formed into a cohesive party somehow, though, even they agree the results will be better if we leave your group intact and leave it up to you to keep him from situations that might be harmful to the rest of us. Some concern was expressed about potential social disruption, we expect you''ll do your best to avoid that. Now that I''ve hopefully explained the situation better, how do you feel about it?"


    "Since I have seniority in this," Wikwocket said, striking a dramatic pose, "I hereby declare the Gnoll Party''s agreement!"


    Al groaned.


    "Do you have to call us that?" Al complained.


    "We''re gnolls, aren''t we?" Wikwocket answered.


    "Really wishing I''d brought writing supplies," Cyrus muttered. He looked to Al and waited for Al''s reluctant nod before continuing.


    "Good, that brings us to the other two matters I had to discuss, then. First, as we agreed, I''ve arranged access to the former library for you. Here is the information you need to find it and get in," Cyrus said, handing over a folded piece of paper to Al. "Secondly and more importantly, what do you plan to do with your gnoll when you reach Southwall? If you weren''t aware, unauthorized use of shapechanging magic is illegal there. If you attempt to bring him in under the same ruse that you are taking advantage of here, it''s just going to draw more attention to you and get you in more trouble with the city watch."


    "I confess I haven''t come up with anything yet, we''ve been kind of busy. Do you have any suggestions?"


    "Yes. Payment or service?" Cyrus answered with a grin.


    "That seems awfully mercenary," Al griped.


    "It''s actually a safety mechanism, it''s good practice to always walk away at the end of the meeting with none of us still owing a debt to any of the others. It''s very important. This time I have a proposal that should take care of that neatly. I''m in touch with one of my professional contacts about an arrangement that might be of interest to you. I propose that if I can arrange this, your service to me in exchange will simply be to agree to it."


    "That depends on what it is."


    "Fair enough. Tell me, does Gruntle like violence?"

 0099 - Gnoll Employment Agency

    "The more important questions, then," continued Cyrus when he was emphatically assured that, yes, Gruntle does indeed like violence, "are - can I assume that he..." Cyrus paused and coughed. "Sorry, I''m still getting used to thinking of a gnoll as someone that can be spoken to instead of something. Gruntle, I think I can safely assume that as a gnoll you don''t mind killing people. Can you engage in violence that doesn''t kill someone?"


    Gruntle stared, his brow wrinkled with confusion. His head slowly cocked to the side questioningly.


    "I think what he''s asking," Al tried to explain, wondering what Cyrus had in mind, "is when you start hitting someone, how do you know when to stop?"


    "Stops being fun when they stop moving," Gruntle answered.


    "I can work with that," Cyrus said, nodding, "that should improve your chances. Tell me, would it bother you if people watched you fighting?"


    Gruntle''s head slowly tilted sideways in the other direction, and a short growling, grumbling noise came from his throat that Al thought sounded like disbelief and confusion. What difference does that make?, Al guessed was the intended sentiment.


    "If you''re planning to study how he fights to learn how to fight other gnolls you might not get what you expect. I doubt any typical gnoll out there has been trained by a professional warrior the way Gruntle has," Al said to Cyrus.


    "No, nothing like that. In fact I think it would work out better with him having some well-developed skill alongside the intimidating brutality," Cyrus explained, "No promises yet, but as a professional merchant I do have some contacts. One of them just happens to be the steward for the penal arena at Southwall. I can''t make any promises right now, but occasionally criminals are sentenced to fight wild beasts or to duel with skilled members of the city watch or the militia. The spectacle generates a lot of revenue for baron Smitherton, and given the reputation of gnolls I would imagine a criminal sentenced to fight one would attract quite an audience. The criminals aren''t always sentenced to death, though, so if Gruntle is capable of fighting without intentionally killing it substantially improves how useful he can be."


    "Now, hold on," Al objected, "the criminals don''t necessarily lose, do they? This sounds dangerous."


    "Less dangerous than adventuring, I''d bet. These are meant to be punishments, after all, the condemned are nearly always put at a disadvantage," Cyrus responded, with a dismissive wave, "Injuries are likely, but modern medical alchemy is potent and reliable. Uh, assuming it works on gnolls, that is."


    "I know that answer to that, at least," Al admitted, but explained no further. Cyrus smiled.


    "There, you''re catching on quickly!" Cyrus said, raising his wineglass and taking a sip, "Information has value. Save it for now, no need to complicate the ledger any further."


    Al looked up at the ceiling and shook his head, then returned his gaze to Cyrus.


    "Okay, so, what you''re proposing is that we dump Gruntle into an enclosed space to smash and possibly bite people while we''re in Southwall?"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Not dump him, no. Hire him out! If there''s interest from the arena - and I feel confident there will be - as the... caretakers of the gnoll you''d be paid for his use. From what you told me of him at our last meeting, I would imagine he''d enjoy it, too."


    "Shocking brutality performed by a fearsome monster for the excitement of a cheering crowd?" Wikwocket fantasized, "That sounds amazing!"


    Al was taken aback. "You didn''t seem like the kind of person that enjoys egregious, gratuitous violence," he observed.


    "Hey, there''s more than one kind of story," she countered, "variety is a good thing! And, besides, this isn''t gratuitous, it''s a penal arena. It''s for punishing bad people who deserve it! When you think about it, it''s like an actual civic duty, like paying taxes, or overthrowing corrupt nobility!"


    "Overthrow...No! You''re going to get us in trouble, and then nobody will want to hire us!" Al complained. He looked up at Gruntle, who was lapping at his mug of wine but seemed to be following the conversation. The gnoll noticed Al looking at him.


    "They give me someone, and I can hit them until they stop moving, and nobody tries to stop me?" he asked slowly.


    "Yes, that''s right!" Cyrus encouraged, "Well, sometimes they''ll want to stop you before you kill someone, but you''ll still get to indulge yourself in some violence."


    Gruntle''s muzzle stretched into a distrubingly happy grin. Al groaned.


    "All right, all right, we''ll at least consider it," Al conceded, "but we''re not agreeing to anything until we get more details."


    "I''d expect no less," Cyrus agreed, "but I think we''ll all profit from this if I can sell the steward on this idea."


    "What exactly are you getting from this?"


    "If I''m correct about how much this will interest the penal arena I''ll get a payment for the work of arranging everything, and I may just end up having the steward of the Southwall penal arena owing me a favor once everything''s worked out. If everything goes as I hope, I''d consider neither of us owing anything to the other in the end, though maybe the experience will help ensure you think fondly of me. Having a good relationship with adventurers is smart for someone like me who trades in... antiquities and such to make my modest living. Not everything is about the cause."


    <hr>


    "It just feels like there''s too much happening lately," Al confessed to the others as they walked back from their meeting with Cyrus. "It''s like we''re on a cart pulled by runaway horses..."


    "Or a donkey!" Wikwocket interrupted.


    "...right. But, it''s like I''m too busy trying to yank on the reins just to steer us away from hazards in the road, so that I don''t have time to actually think about where we''re going or how to slow down."


    "This is not an uncommon feeling for leaders, I am led to believe," Bote suggested. "You cannot lead well if you do not feel concern about where we are going."


    "I didn''t actually want to be a leader, you know."


    "It is unfortunate that you are the best suited among us to handle the duty, then," Bote countered with a grin.


    "You just want to sit around reading your dusty old books, don''t you," Wikwocket accused.


    "They''re not dusty, but, yes, I do need some time for that. Between our gnoll and what we found when we were chasing the beast around Wulfcynn Keep, I''ve got a lot of education on the infernal that I really need to learn about. I want to make sure we''re ready for whatever demonic threat might come up next."


    "Well, if Gruntle''s going to become a celebrity executioner for justice when we get to Southwall, that will free you up to do boring stuff for a while until you''re ready to conjure up a demon slave and cause the downfall of the nation, in accordance with the prophecy!" Wikwocket said cheerfully.


    "I keep telling you, it''s not a... wait, what prophecy?"


    "I don''t know, but there''s got to be one like that around somewhere!"


    "Well, keep it away from me. Things like that are the reason I want to avoid having gods notice me."


    Al ignored Bote''s amused snort.


    "I feel pretty nervous about putting Gruntle in front of strange crowds. I''m not sure there''s a better option though. I don''t think we''d be able to sneak him in somehow and keep him hidden, and we''re not leaving him alone outside the city just so I can go read a book."


    "It will be necessary for him to be known," Bote said, "so that his presence does not deter those who have jobs to place before us."


    "I suppose," Al said. "This whole situation just feels unreal to me. Just a few weeks ago, I was expecting to be excited to maybe help scare goblins away from a village or check out some unthreatening old ruins that the locals are superstitiously afraid of or something. Now I''m walking around a luxury resort having meetings with magical secret societies about how I can intentionally bring a gnoll, of all things, into a city. What gets me is that it''s starting to feel normal. It''s like some kind of bizarre dream."

 0100 - Embarrassing Childhood Stories

    Al found himself once again annoyed at the scale and complexity of the hallways in the Hell''s Bathtub building. He''d thought he knew the layout by now, but some wrong turn had sent them all off into a completely unfamiliar area. It didn''t seem to be a very busy place, either, so there wasn''t even anyone to ask directions from. He took a guess at the next crossing hallway and turned right, but this one turned out to dead-end at a massive wooden door, reinforced with polished steel band across it. The steel was engraved with a pattern of intertwined serpentine dragons.


    "Well, I admit it, I''m lost. Any of you know which way...," Al asked, turning around to address his companions, only to discover he''d lost them as well.


    "Gruntle? Where are you? Bote? Wikwocket?" he called loudly down the hall. The only reply came from behind the door. The booming voice called out in challenge.


    "What foolish adventurer dares approach my lair?" it demanded to know with a forcefulness that would cause consternation in most anyone. Al was no exception to this, though the source of his consternation was different than it would have been for someone else.


    "Mooooommmmm!" he complained, grasping the door handle shaped like a dragon''s talons and pulling the door open. His mother stood inside, next to the table in the sitting-room of the family home. She appeared as she did in waking life, and wore sturdy cloth and leather clothing suitable for outdoor work under a fine hooded cloak embroidered with gold and scarlet threads in a pattern like scales.


    "There''s my missing son!" she said, holding out her arms for a hug.


    "I''m not missing, you did this just a week or so ago!" Al complained as he approached and provided the demanded hug. His mother''s dream-self was just as strong as her physical self, and the embrace squeezed a quiet "oof!" from Al''s dream-self.


    "You might have been eaten by kobolds since then, as far as I know! You''re a daredevil adventurer now, a lot can happen in a week!"


    "Well, yes, I can''t deny that. We''ve been very busy. But, do we even have kobolds in Casusia?"


    "Not that I know of, but you can never be sure. Don''t let their size fool you, those things are devious and industrious. They could be building a whole city in the capital''s sewer system without anybody noticing. But, never mind that, tell me what you''ve been doing! Also, you smell funny, have you been bathing properly? And since when do you carry a sword? You haven''t given up wizarding, have you?"


    Al sniffed himself before remembering this was a dream. He looked down at his left, and saw that Purgatio was hanging from his dream-self''s belt without a sheathe, shining with a noticeable silvery-white glow.


    "No, that''s...Why is that there? I mean, I do have a sword now but...," he stuttered, scratching his head. "Well, I should probably start from when we last talked. But first, yes, I''m bathing, we''re literally staying at a luxury bath resort right now."


    "There had better be an explanation of how you got a gnoll into a luxury bath resort somewhere in what you''re about to tell me," his mother demanded. She gestured to the table, inviting him to sit and share the imaginary tea that was set out as they talked. Al sat, and began recounting their visit with Baron Wulfcynn and his odd game. His mother nodded knowingly and recounted a time when Baron Smedley-Smythe had sent out dinner invitations to a number of prominent families in the barony that included Bright Peaks, and when the guests arrived they''d been coerced into playing "hide-and-seek" to determine the seating arrangements. He was a little annoyed when she laughed as he described the ambush by the goblins, saying that they weren''t sophisticated but they were "sneaky little bastards". Al hurried through their time in Turnipseed for fear that his mother would think he was making things up, along with his reluctance to relive the experience. She seemed disappointed that the adventure seemed to be "deliver some flowers", but perked up as he recounted the various dangers inside Darius'' tomb. She nodded approvingly as he described how they bravely but not stupidly faced the threats as they looked for the hero''s resting place. He stopped when his mother interrupted him.


    "Al, are you all right?" she asked with an uncommon softness.


    Al was describing how Gruntle had been mortally wounded in the fight with the monstrous insect. His mother''s question brought him back from his memories, and he realized his teeth were clenched in a snarl, Deep red flames flickered on his fingers for a moment before going out.


    "Uh...yes. I''m fine. I think it''s just...well, this was the first time one of us was actually that close to dying. He got pretty badly mauled by the beast in Wulfcynn Keep but even there I wasn''t worried he was about to die. I think I just really don''t want to have to face the others or make excuses to the nice folks at Notamimic Manor over someone getting killed."


    "That didn''t look like social anxiety to me, that looked like anger and maybe an urge for revenge," his mother countered, but then smiled. "I approve. Your father wouldn''t be impressed but I think it''s right to feel that way if someone tries to take something valuable away from you."


    "I guess that kind of is what it felt like," Al admitted.


    "Of course it was! The real treasure is the allies we make along the way!" his mother quoted, "and sometimes the world needs to be reminded what a bad idea it is to steal something from your hoard."


    Al groaned. "Hoard?"


    His mother just laughed at his discomfort. "Hey, if you weren''t so much fun to tease, maybe I''d get bored of doing it! Go on then, what happened next?"


    Al ran quickly through the rest of the eventful exploration of Darius'' tomb and their eventual encounter with his ghost, including how Darius had practically forced the sword on him against his will before departing the waking world for his long-overdue meeting with the gatekeeper.


    "I even tried to get one of the others to take it, but Gruntle''s the only one that has the training to use it properly and he outright refused. It seems to have some kind of divine influence on it, so maybe the bit of him that''s demonic just doesn''t like it. Anyway, when we got out of there, we decided we really didn''t want to go back to Turnipseed and we were all really filthy, so we took the road towards Hell''s Bathtub instead. I do not recommend traveling through the Bloodless Swamp, and if I have any choice in the matter I never will again. We kind of freaked out the guard at the gate when we finally got there, but things calmed down when another guard noticed I was a wizard. It turns out Hell''s Bathtub has multiple customers that like to walk around there transformed into some non-human shape, and they assumed Gruntle was just somebody who hired me to transform them into a gnoll. Some people seem to be starting to wonder how I make it last so long, but it''s working so far. Well, except...oh. Uh, I don''t think I should be talking about them, but there''s one person there who seems to have gotten us roped into some sort of secret society. I''ll admit I''m still a little suspicious of them, but they seem benign and I don''t want to betray their trust by talking about them."


    "Well, only the hottest fire can melt the silver of the moon," his mother replied.


    "What?"


    "Oh, nothing, never mind, what can you tell me about them?"The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "They did help us find our best job so far, and through them I will hopefully get a chance to read that book father insisted that I study before I try dealing more directly with infernality. We just finished the job yesterday. Well, the first part of the job, we''re going to be going back..."


    Al stopped as his mother held up a hand, looking around the room as she rose to her imaginary feet. Al saw what had caught her attention. The room had changed. Half of it was now bookshelves, and part of the table they were sitting at had become a desk. Al''s mother cracked her knuckles and rolled her head to loosen her neck.


    "Not sure what''s going to happen here, I''ve never seen anything like this before. That''s not mine. Be ready to dream about fighting for your life if it comes to that."


    Al stood up as a bookshelf against the far wall swung open. His mother raised her hands to deal with whatever threat was posed by the person who emerged from hallway behind the bookshelf.


    "Ah, there you are, Al, I got your letter...," the middle-aged woman in the white-and-gold robes with a magpie perched on her pointy hat began, halting when she noticed Al was not alone. She raised her own hands, ready to engage in magical fighting if necessary.


    "Are you in danger?" she asked Al, at the same moment Al''s mother asked, "Is she dangerous?"


    Al''s mother smiled broadly and relaxed, and the newcomer did the same a moment later.


    "Al, aren''t you going to introduce us?" Melissa prompted.


    "Oh, uh, right," Al said, after a moment to shake off the surprise. "Uh, this is my mother, Agatha Arcanisen. Mom, this is Melissa Browne, she''s the wizard I told you about who''s been studying Gruntle and the other gnolls."


    "Oh, she''s the one who finally talked you into learning magical violence?" Al''s mother asked in a tone of obvious approval. She stepped towards Melissa and held out her fist in greeting. Melissa obliged her, and the two dream-selves touched fists.


    "I''m happy to finally meet you, even if the circumstances are unexpected," Melissa said, "I''d long assumed that something like this would happen if someone was subjected to this magic from multiple sources at the same time, but I never thought I''d be testing that assumption. Do you use this magic often, Ms. Arcanisen?"


    "Just Agatha, please. And, yeah, a mom''s got to keep watch over her innocent little boy!"


    "Mom!" Al complained, "I''m an adult!"


    "You have less experience being an adult than I do, so you''re still my innocent little boy."


    "He truly is," Melissa agreed, to Al''s horror. "I must say you''ve raised your child well, he''s a good-hearted young man. I was nonetheless surprised to discover that he''d set out adventuring without any means of using magic offensively."


    "Oh, he''s always been like that. Well, don''t just imagine yourself standing there, come on over, have a seat and join us for some tea!" Al''s mother insisted. A third chair appeared at the desk-table as she spoke, and a third cup and saucer sat on the table in front of it.


    "Gladly, thank you," Melissa answered, "I''d love to hear more about the young man in whose endeavors we''ve invested." She took the indicated place at the table and poured some of the golden dream-tea into the cup and admired the imagined scent of it.


    "Well, there''s not much a proud mother would like to do more than brag about her perfect little angel of a child," Al''s mother said, taking her own seat at the table. "Well, almost perfect. What was that about a letter? He never writes to his poor worried mother..."


    "Okay, well, if you don''t need me I''ll be on my way back to normal sleep," Al said, having gone well past his embarrassment limit. He turned to head for the door he''d dreamed he came in through, only to find it missing.


    "Don''t be rude, Al, we have a guest! Get back over here and sit down," his mother insisted.


    "Besides," Melissa added, "you seem educated enough to realize that as the subject of these workings of magic, if you leave, the dream will end, and this delightfully serendipitous meeting will end with it before I have a chance to properly meet your mother."


    "So, I suppose you both want me to tell you about how our most recent job went?" Al offered as he sat, hoping to head off any embarrassing stories of his childhood. He hastily launched into a retelling of the adventure at the Lavatio and almost immediately stumbled right into an embarrassing childhood story when he described the nest of giant rats.


    "Oh, I thought you liked rats," his mother teased, "you were so fond of Mister Cheese."


    "Mister Cheese isn''t a real rat," Al answered tersely.


    "He has a large cloth rat stuffed with wool," his mother explained to Melissa, "He used to carry Mister Cheese around with him everywhere and slept with him every night."


    "Mom, I was four years old when I got Mister Cheese!"


    "And it was adorable!"


    Melissa was unable to completely hide her amused smirk. Blushing, Al decided to drop the subject altogether and press ahead with the rest of the story, leaving out the giant undead zombie-making spider and the mysterious group that had come to fetch it. Both of the women in his audience nodded approvingly when he described his successful applications of shooting magic fire from his fingers.


    "And how is Gruntle doing after his spiritual-possession ordeal?" Melissa asked as Al finished.


    "He seems to be getting over it. For some reason, it seems to have made even more of an impression on him that nearly dying did, though. He doesn''t seem to like being reminded of it."


    "Why is that, do you think?" Melissa asked, leaning forward in a way that Al immediately recognized as tutor quizzing a student.


    "Well," Al thought aloud, "I read the section of your treatise on gnolls and magic. You wrote that gnolls with a gift for magic-working are rare. They don''t have the intellect or culture for scholarship so I expect even the ones that can work magic don''t actually understand it. Something supernatural like spiritual possession must seem especially scary compared to something normal like being bitten in half by a giant bug-monster. ...right?"


    "Well put, yes. Good, I can report to Grakthor that you are taking proper care of Gruntle for us. He won''t admit it, but he''s been worried. He said that if Gruntle was being well cared for that he''d be willing to help you familiarize yourself with your sword. That answers one of the questions from your letter. It seems to me you can probably answer the other one yourself. Would it be normal for a gnoll to sleep under your bed, and if so, why?"


    Al flinched as he realized his mother hadn''t heard about that yet. He ignored her raised eyebrow and tried to answer the question.


    "That first night he did it, he said it was a place that was hidden and safe and good for ambushing people if they came to kill us. That much makes sense from what I''ve learned about gnolls so far, but why my bed?"


    "Having a shaman makes a clan of gnolls more dangerous," Melissa prompted.


    "Oh. Oh! Is he trying to protect me?"


    Melissa laughed. "Agatha, I must again congratulate you on your son''s upbringing, he''s a very modest young man. No, Al, he''s hiding under your bed so that you can protect him."


    She imagined drinking the last of her tea and stood up. "I should get back, the others will want to know how things are going. They''ll be happy to hear things seem to be working out even better than we''d expected. It was very pleasant to meet you, Agatha."


    Al''s mother stood as well to see their unexpected dream-guest off. "If you''re ever up around Bright Peaks while you''re awake, I expect you to come by for supper. Al can tell you where we are. Thanks for helping my son."


    "It''s a mutually beneficial arrangement," Melissa demurred, "it''s no trouble at all. And, likewise, should you find yourselves in the vicinity of Goatminster, Notamimic Manor will always welcome you. I look forward to meeting you again."


    Al and his mother waved as Melissa returned to the passage behind the bookshelf. It swung shut and disappeared, taking the rest of the bookshelves with it and returning everything to being a dream of the family sitting-room once again.


    "I like her," Al''s mother said, "a little bookish like you and Franklin, but I think she''s a good influence on you. So...there''s a gnoll under your bed, right now, while you''re sleeping?"


    "Yes?"


    She reached over and ruffled Al''s hair. "Thank you, Aloysius," she told him.


    "For what?"


    "For not being a boring child, and for indulging your mother''s fun. You are just the best little hatchling."


    "Mommmmm....."


    "Just like that, yes!" she laughed. Then she leaned forward and kissed Al on the forehead. The door reappeared in the wall. "You will bring your friends for a visit sometime soon," she insisted.


    "As soon as we can, I promise. Good night, mom."


    "Good night."


    Al turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.


    "Please don''t," he pleaded.


    "Don''t what?"


    "You''re about to wake up and tell father that I''m ''sleeping with a gnoll'', aren''t you?"


    Agatha Arcanisen exploded with uproarious laughter. Al waited.


    "Yes, I was," she admitted when she could speak again, "you have to admit, he has an interesting way of thinking."


    "If you tell him that, he''s going to think I''m ... doing some kind of intense physiological and behavioral research."


    "Yes, that''s what makes it funny," his mother chuckled, "but that''s also why I decided not to. When you finally come to visit, I don''t want to listen to him complaining that you didn''t show up with an essay and technical diagrams with your observations."

 0101 - Lady FitzWayne Has Needs

    Al woke with a deep, long-suffering sigh. His memory of the dream-meeting was still fresh in his mind, as it always was when his mother made use of that particular magic. Or Melissa now, apparently, Al remembered as well. He quietly rolled over to look under his bed. Two points of amber appeared, looking back at him from the darkness, reflecting the dim light coming in under the door from the hallway.


    "Just... checking. We''re safe," Al said to the monster under his bed. The gnoll replied with a quiet grunt, and the shining amber eyes disappeared from view again as he went back to sleep.


    Al sat up, and was unable to keep from laughing, though he managed to keep it down to a strangled wheezing in hopes of not disturbing the others. The restrained hilarity wound down and then restarted a few times before Al finally got it under control.


    "You seem amused this morning," Bote''s voice observed from their bed across the dark room.


    "Oh, sorry, I was trying not to wake anybody up."


    "I awakened in accordance with the ineffable plans before you did, you were not responsible for it," Bote assured him, "It did seem as though you were quietly complaining in your sleep before you awoke. Unpleasant dreams?"


    Al had to think about that for a moment before answering. "Not exactly unpleasant, but maybe uncomfortable. Mom knows how to work magic that turns my sleep into a lucid dream with her in it. She mostly uses it to check up on me and occasionally nag me about things. Apparently, Melissa knows how to work the same kind of magic, and they were both in there, asking about what we''ve been doing and telling embarrassing stories about me."


    "I can understand why this would be funny for the rest of us to hear, but why does it amuse you?"


    "Oh, it''s not that. It was something that Melissa told me. Why do you think Gruntle keeps sleeping under my bed?"


    Bote was silent as they considered.


    "I think perhaps he simply feels safest there," the dwarf answered. Al had to stifle another fit of laughter.


    "That''s what''s so funny! I mean, look at me, he could probably bite me in half if..."


    A yelp from under Al''s bed alerted him to the fact that the subject of discussion was listening to the conversation. I will not start any sort of dominance dispute with you!, Al guessed it meant.


    "You, however, command dangerous and incomprehensible supernatural forces to obey your will," Bote pointed out. A quiet grunt from under the bed agreed, leaving Al unsure what to say.


    "It''s just a little education and practice," he finally grumbled.


    A yawn came from the bed where Wikwocket had been sleeping.


    "Oh, no! It sounds like our magical sword hero is suffering a crisis of confidence!" she announced drowsily.


    "Stop calling me that!"


    <hr>


    Wikwocket assured Al that any good hero will question themselves occasionally, even magical sword heroes. "It''s how you know you''re going through real hero trials, it happens in all the stories!"


    He eventually gave up arguing and changed the subject to food, successfully appealing to Wikwocket''s and Gruntle''s baser instincts.


    "I''m not sure how early it is, but I suspect we have a few hours before we''re supposed to meet Lady FitzWayne. We should be able to get something to eat and check in with the apothecary before midday."


    "Oh, yeah! I want to know what was in the goblin skull-juice!" Wikwocket agreed, wrinkling her nose and grimacing despite her enthusiasm.


    The mid-morning sun and excited barking from down the street greeted them as they set out. "Politely, Darling," the well-dressed dog-walker insisted as the mastiff tugged insistently at the leash. "I think she likes you, she insisted on walking this way again this morning." She pulled back on the leash for decorum, and the mastiff sat, panting and looking from Al to Gruntle and back with her tail wagging.


    "Wait...Darling?" Al asked as he looked back at the large, muscular dog that appeared more suited to guard duty or war than softer activities, "That''s...not what I would have guessed someone would name a dog like this."


    "You don''t think so?" the dog-walker answered, "She is a Darling, though, happy and friendly. See?" She tugged once on the leash and stepped closer. Darling the mastiff walked with her at a heel. She sniffed at Al''s hand and stared up at him with soulful eyes. Al scratched her gently behind her ears, earning him some happy panting. A gnollish head leaned down over Al''s shoulder to sniff at the mastiff''s face, to be sniffed in return.


    "All right, Darling, we have somewhere to be," the dog-walker interrupted after allowing a few moments of animalistic indulgence, "Say goodbye."


    Darling whined, but backed off. "Thank you again. Come, Darling," said the dog-walker. With one happy bark, the mastiff followed obediently as she was led away.


    "Aw, I didn''t get to pet the doggy this time," Wikwocket complained, as they continued on their way.


    The cheerful meat-on-a-stick vendor gladly sold a collection of skewered meatballs and strips of herb-marinated mutton to them as they passed by on their way to the apothecary. They ate eagerly as they walked, and Al was grateful that they''d eaten all of it before they got to the apothecary. A faint, unpleasant odor of rotting garbage seemed to linger there. The door of the "STATIONER - APOTHECARY" yawned open, with a large stone holding it in place. A thin wisp of fragrant incense-smoke reached out into the street as if trying to escape the stench.


    "I think maybe I should wait for you out here," Wikwocket offered as casually as she could, trying to hide her nausea. "You know, in case something happens."


    "I thought you wanted to know what was in the jug, that''s what we''re here to find out, right?" Al countered, innocently, grateful for a small opportunity be the one doing the teasing. He took a theatrically-exaggerated deep breath through his nose. "Such a unique scent," he continued as Wikwocket''s face turned pale. It wasn''t actually any stronger than any other of the ordinarily-unpleasant smells Al had been near at various times in his life, but it was unmistakably the same horrible smell that Wikwocket had released from the jug in the Lavatio. Al relented at Wikwocket''s distress as she tried not to remember it.


    "All right then," he said, "I''ll go in and ask. What about you, Gruntle, want to wait out here with her?"


    The gnoll grunted. "Can''t smell anything else if I get closer," he grumbled with his muzzle wrinkled in disgust. He moved back to crouch next to Wikwocket. Al opened his mouth to make a quip about how good the stuff would be for hiding scent, but his brain engaged in time to stop himself. He imagined what a flowery midden-heap might smell like up close and gagged.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Perhaps I should stay here with them as well, to discourage impulsive behavior," Bote suggested.


    Al sighed with exasperation. "Fine, I''ll go in, just don''t let anything bad happen."


    "Thank you for saving us, magical sword hero!" Wikwocket said as cheerfully as she could, then turned to walk further away from the odor. Al went through the door into the haze of incense-smoke.


    "Ah, it''s you," the apothecary said through a cloth mask covering her nose and mouth, "Allow me to thank you once again for your business."


    "Sorry. We did try to warn you about the smell."


    "I apologize for assuming you were exaggerating. I''ve had efforts going all night and this morning to deal with it. I''ve got a batch of something brewing that should neutralize it, if I can make enough of it."


    "Were you able to find out what it''s made of?"


    "Yes, essentially. It seems to be a very complicated mixture, so at this point I can''t definitively say I know everything that''s in it, but a lot of it is familiar. It seems to be a concentrate of every poisonous, sickening, or caustic ingredient found natively in the Bloodless Swamp. I don''t believe it''s a very sophisticated combination. From what I''ve heard of goblins, I''d expect they probably just gathered every nasty thing they could and boiled it down to start with. What is sophisticated is the degree of concentration. This is far stronger than you could achieve by simple reduction over a fire. Much of the potency would boil off with the steam, and you''d probably sicken everything downwind if you tried to cook it down more than even a tenth of this potency."


    "That''s disturbing. I''ve never gotten the impression that goblins had the capacity for anything like proper alchemy. Do you think someone made it for them?"


    "I couldn''t tell you that, but I will say that for myself, I wouldn''t want to do the work of concentrating this substance at all, and if someone could convince me to do it, I''d be asking for a very hefty fee. As it is, I''m going to ask for two gold coins for the analysis so far. I haven''t needed to use much of my supplies to examine the tiny sample I''ve taken, but mitigating the fumes has required some uncommon reagents."


    "I suppose that''s fair," Al agreed. He took the coins from his coinpurse and set them on the counter. "What do you think we should do with the stuff? I don''t suppose you''re interested in buying it for alchemical purposes."


    "No," replied the apothecary emphatically, "I definitely don''t want to keep this anywhere near my shop any longer than I need to. I don''t think there''s anything in it that I can''t get from the swamp myself or hire someone else to get for me. I''ve got the jug sealed by dipping it into molten wax a few times, so it shouldn''t do any more harm for now. As a favor to you, I think I could safely destroy the stuff for a fee of a further two gold coins, or you''re welcome to take it away with you if you promise not to ever bring it back. If you insist, for two more gold I''ll try to analyze it in more detail, but although I think I can come up with a way to handle it more safely, I''ll admit I''d rather not."


    "Give us some time to think about it? We''ve got a meeting to get to soon," Al asked, hopefully.


    "All right, but don''t take too long, or I''ll want a fee for holding onto it for you."


    <hr>


    Al explained to the others what he''d found out as he caught up to them where they were waiting, further upwind of the apothecary.


    "So, it''s poisonous goblin swamp juice," Wikwocket simplified. "Disgusting. It sounds like it would have been hard to make, who do you think did it?"


    "I don''t like any of the answers that come to mind," Al replied, "It''s pretty disturbing to think that goblins might actually be colluding with someone, or that anyone would offer that kind of service to goblins, especially for what little I imagine goblins might pay. The idea that goblins might have enough patience to develop that kind of alchemical talent themselves is even more disturbing."


    "Could it be," Bote speculated, "that someone who can make this substance is the instigator, and is trading with them or threatening them to make use of them?"


    "I don''t like that idea, either, I mean, what kind of deranged person would do that?" Al said with a horrified cringe. "Also, that jug it was in wasn''t exactly proper alchemical glassware. Who would take a crude mixture like that, apply a sophisticated alchemical process to it, and then dump it into a badly-made clay jug? Aside from the sophistication of the process, that all sounds like goblins to me. "


    "Does it actually have to be sophisticated?" Bote wondered, "Perhaps they might trade sophistication for wastefulness, brute force, and dangerous practices?"


    "That seems in character for what I''ve seen of goblins. I imagine there''d be lot of dead ones if they took that approach though," Al said. He lifted his arm so that he could smell the sleeve of his robe, and grimaced. "Since we have some time, can we go back to the room for a bit so I can try to clean the smell off of me?"


    <hr>


    A visit to the room and then the privies to go through the magic tricks of cleaning his clothes got Al feeling as ready as he was going to be for the meeting with Lady FitzWayne. They found Stephen and got directions to Milkstone Lane, out along the eastern edge of Hell''s Bathtub. As they walked to their appointment, Al began to notice the attention they were getting as they made their way across the village had less polite indifference than when they first arrived. Now it seemed most of the attention was more obviously curious, with a noteworthy minority that seemed displeased.


    12 Milkstone Lane turned out to be a small but respectable manor, its property bounded by the fence surrounding Hell''s Bathtub at the back, and by more wrought-iron fencing and a gate around the other sides. The gate was latched, but not locked, so the adventurers opened it and went in. They latched the gate shut behind them again and walked the cobbled path through the grass and a few oak trees. The knocker on the door was shaped like the head of a bull, with a ring in its nose. The door opened only a few seconds after they knocked, and a fastidiously-dressed, bald-headed butler with a white moustache greeted them. He seemed startled for a moment to see Gruntle, but he didn''t let this slow down his duty.


    "Ah, you are the party with the beast. Please come in, Lady FitzWayne has been expecting you," he told them calmly, pulling the door open wider so they could enter. He led the into the manor and down a hallway, knocking on the door there.


    "Lady FitzWayne, your visitor has come with her beast and companions," the butler announced.


    A barely-audible feminine voice answered back. "Please show them in, we''re ready."


    The butler pushed the door open. Behind a table laden with pastries, teacups, and wineglasses sat two women that startled Al.


    "Lady Darla FitzWayne," the butler announced, "and her attendant, Charlene."


    It took an effort of will for Al not to stare rudely at Lady FitzWayne. Al guessed she was probably young, but she was so pale and gaunt that he wasn''t sure. She wore simple cream-colored dress and had a colorful wool shawl draped over her shoulders. Her light brown hair hung limp and straight around her narrow face. Her almost skeletal right arm and hand wore a curious ring with a polished white stone that flickered with a white light, She held up a small teacup, shaking with effort while the other hand remained under the shawl for warmth. Her smile was wan and soft, but her brown eyes seemed alert.


    Charlene, on the other hand, turned out to be the woman they''d met walking the mastiff.


    "I''m Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, thrillseeker, adventurer, and chaperone of the beast!" Wikwocket announced with a dramatic flourish. "Our beast is Gruntle, tenderizer and devourer of foes! And this is Bote Wissengr?ber, messenger of the ineffable gods! And, finally, our magical sword hero, Al!"


    Al took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He was glad Wikwocket had no magic of her own, as he expected there''d have been some sort of embarrassingly flashy illusion of sound and sparkling lights as well if she did.


    "Just Al is fine," he said.


    "Thank you all for coming, and bringing your magnificent beast," Lady FitzWayne said, her soft voice not much louder than a whisper. "Please, sit, have some pastries. I''ve had our best wines brought up from the cellar, and a tea of herbs with honey. If your beast - Gruntle - would prefer, I can have meat brought up. Darling will be happy to share it."


    "See, I told you she wasn''t mad at us," Wikwocket whispered to Al, "she called him magnificent!"


    Gruntle grunted and headed for the table. Lady FitzWayne watched Gruntle push aside a chair and crouch down, as the others took their seats.


    "Yes, he would like meat," Al clarified, "Wait, sorry, you are Lady Darla FitzWayne. Is the dog named after you?"


    "Darling is everything that I am not," Lady FitzWayne answered wistfully, still watching Gruntle. "Healthy, strong, swift, unafraid of the sun and the rain and the wind and the cold."


    "I will bring some of Darling''s meat," the butler interjected politely, and left them.


    "Is she a magehound?" Al asked. Darla tore her gaze away from the gnoll to look at Al.


    "Oh, you know about the breed my cousin and I have created? But, no. Darling is just an ordinary, beautiful, healthy, happy dog. Mastiffs were part of the ancestry of the magehound breed, though. Perhaps you''d like a magehound of your own?"


    "Thanks, but I''m not sure I could take proper care of one right now, and I certainly can''t afford to buy one."


    "But you already take such good care of this handsome creature," Lady FitzWayne countered, her eyes wandering back to the gnoll. "I could procure a magehound for you. If that doesn''t interest you, the FitzWaynes are not the most prestigious noble family but we have many connections to the merchant houses, we could make introductions for you," she continued, beginning to breath heavily.


    "Lady FitzWayne, please don''t overexcite yourself," Charlene said gently. Darla ignored her and pressed on.


    "We have money, I could pay you. Land? Titles? Almost anything in my power to give, if you help me with the one thing I truly need to feel happy!"


    "Wait, your message said you wanted to discuss Gruntle, what is it that you want?"


    Lady FitzWayne looked longingly over the bestial, demonic creature, who looked back at her in confusion.


    "I covet his body."

 0102 - At Nearly Any Cost

    Gruntle''s sudden distressed yelp was almost a scream as he leapt backwards away from the table. The gnoll''s back slammed against the wall as he moved away as far as he could, baring his teeth. Al found himself rising to his feet to defend Gruntle from whatever might be about to happen, but lady FitzWayne''s expression of surprise and dismay made clear that she hadn''t meant to do anything alarming. Al stopped his hand from reaching for his mace as he backed up to the corner Gruntle had pressed himself into. Lady FitzWayne seemed to be breathing too hard to speak, but she reached out a thin pleading hand with the faintly-flickering ring on one finger. Charlene rushed to support Lady Fitzwayne as Al reached back to put a hand on Gruntle''s arm.


    "It''s all right, she''s not going to do anything to you," Al promised as he watched Charlene trying to calm their host. Gruntle quieted down and relaxed into a crouch, leaving Al feeling a little silly about somehow having ended up needing to protect such a fearsome creature, and self-conscious about the fact that Gruntle seemed to think he was so good at it.


    "Why... what...?" Lady FitzWayne wheezed, as Charlene attended to her.


    "Calm yourself," Charlene quietly urged, "Deep, slow breaths now. You''ve overexcited yourself again."


    Al began to feel bad for the sickly lady as she struggled to regain her breath and speak.


    "When you say you covet his body," Al explained, "I can think of a couple of ways to interpret that. He recently had a bad experience with spiritual possession and I''m sure that''s the one Gruntle was thinking of." A quiet grunt from Gruntle confirmed Al''s assumption.


    "No... no... I don''t even know how... I would do such a thing...," Lady FitzWayne pleaded between breaths, the stone on her ring flickering in time with her speech, Al noticed. "Please..."


    Wikwocket let go of BiteySue''s hilt, looking as surprised at herself as she was at Lady FitzWayne''s statement.


    "Well, that was dramatic!" she said, "What did you mean, and are you all right?"


    "No," Lady FitzWayne answered, sadly, "I am not."


    The stone on the ring flickered in time with Wikwocket as well, Al saw. As the sound of running footsteps coming from the hallway outside distracted Lady FitzWayne''s attention, Al muttered a brief chant and gestured, sensitizing his sight to magical influences. From this perspective, Lady FitzWayne''s ring was the center of a waving mass of tendrils, tasting the air for information like some strange sea-creature feeding on plankton.


    The out-of-breath butler rushed into the room, a wide silver bowl of cold, lightly-seared meat chunks in one hand, and a fireplace poker gripped tightly in the other.


    "Lady FitzWayne, is anything wrong? I heard a dreadful noise," he said, looking surprised to see the gnoll backed away into a corner behind Al. Al gave the man a strained smile, then turned his attention back to Lady FitzWayne and her strange magical ring. Al watched the ring''s tendrils of magical sense wave as if in a current of water as Lady FitzWayne answered, the simple magical spirit inside the stone sending out small pulses of light in response.


    "It''s fine, Percy, just... a misunderstanding. Thank you," she answered.


    "Ah, I see," he said, and Al watched the ring respond to his words the same way, "Well, I have brought some of Darling''s meat for our guest." He held up the bowl and looked from Lady FitzWayne to Gruntle and back, uncertain what do to.


    "Uh, Lady FitzWayne," Al suggested, "would you give it to him? It might help."


    He tried to keep his focus on Lady FitzWayne''s face to avoid giving away his interest in the ring. In his peripheral vision, though, he could see the magic around it tasting his own words and the light flickering in time with them.


    Lady FitzWayne nodded to the butler, with a small smile on her lips as he gave her the bowl of meat.


    "I admire how freely he commits to being what he currently is," she said, and held out the bowl towards Gruntle. "Please. Come back and eat." Her hand wavered and she had to set the bowl down on the table, though she held onto it. Al gave Gruntle an encouraging nod, and the gnoll stalked cautiously back to the table to lean down and sniff at the bowl. His jaws opened wide and he sank his teeth into the pile of meat chunks. Lady FitzWayne grinned softly like a child feeding a stray puppy. Al returned to his seat and reached for the tray of small cakes, only to discover that nearly all of them were gone. He took the last one with the cherry on top and sent an accusing glare in Wikwocket''s direction.


    "Wha?" she asked around a mouthful of pastry, holding several more in her small hands. "You guyth weren''t eatin'' ''em." She swallowed and threw one of the small cakes at Gruntle''s head, yelling "Catch!"


    Gruntle''s head snapped up and turned, expertly snatching the flying pastry out of the air with his mouth and chewing it with the meat.


    Lady FitzWayne laughed, then sighed.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "He is beautiful," she breathed, admiring.


    "So, uh... getting back to the point, when you said you covet his body, what exactly did you mean?" Al finally had to ask as he began to feel uncomfortable.


    "I mean I envy him. I envy his strength, his vitality, his freedom. I would be just like him, if I could."


    "You... want to be a gnoll?"


    "Yes. Or anything else that isn''t... this," she answered, gesturing towards herself with a shaky, pale hand.


    "Can''t you make a sacrifice at a temple somewhere and get a miracle to fix you?" Wikwocket asked. Lady FitzWayne shook her head sadly.


    "No. I''ve been inquiring for years. If this was the result of some disease or curse something might be done, but this is just the way I was born. There are miracles offered that would restore me to a natural state, but this is my natural state. None have offered me a miracle that would change what I am."


    "So I expect you have asked us to come so that you might ask how it is that Gruntle remains what he is?" Bote predicted. Lady FitzWayne nodded.


    "Yes. I am no worker of magic, but I can read. I may be too weak to fetch the books myself, but I can at least turn the pages. I have made some study of shape-changing magic. I am familiar with magic that can transform someone into a natural beast. I have seen hints that there is magic known that can even transform someone into an unnatural beast, like your wonderful gnollish friend. What I have read confirms that the change is always only a short, temporary, thing that wouldn''t even last a whole morning. Gruntle has been seen in this shape at all hours so I must know, what magic have you discovered that lets him remain in this shape for so long?" Lady FitzWayne shot Al a pleading look, breathing heavily again just from the exertion of speaking.


    "Oh, uh, well, the magic is... unusual and complicated...," Al began. The light from Lady FitzWayne''s ring went out. She glanced at it sadly, then looked back up at Al.


    "Please," she begged, the light from the ring resuming, "I promise I will keep your secrets. I need to know."


    It''s tasting the truth of words? Al speculated.


    "Well, if you promise," he tried, "you see, he''s... been this way since he was very young. The influence of a demon was involved in making him this way. I suppose you could consider it something like a curse. He''s been kept away from most populated places until recently." The ring continued its flickering light with Al''s words.


    "Do you know the demon''s name?" Lady FitzWayne asked hopefully.


    "No, we don''t yet but... wait, please tell me you aren''t considering asking a demon for help?"


    "Yeah, the last guy we ran into that did that, the demon took all that he was, and all that was left was a hideous malformed beast going around murdering villagers and ripping out their hearts for a terrible sacrifice. That doesn''t seem like something anybody should do," Wikwocket agreed.


    "But, was he free?" Lady FitzWayne asked emphatically.


    "Very much not," Bote answered, "All parties to a deal of this nature are effectively enslaved by it, and demons have a reputation for knowing how to arrange these deals to profit from the suffering of the mortal that enters into it."


    Al nodded. "Yeah, the thing we found that had once been a man who made a deal with a demon had become horrible, afraid of the dark and nothing left of himself but fear of the demon and an obsession with what he''d made the deal over. I''ve been doing research on demons lately and that seems to be how things usually go for mortals."


    "You''ve studied them?," Lady FitzWayne asked, voice hopeful, "You could help me find the right demon, and craft a deal that wouldn''t be so costly?"


    "Yeah, Al! Maybe your demon-slave will be able to help!" Wikwocket suggested with far too much enthusiasm for Al''s comfort.


    "No! And as I keep telling you, it''s not going to be a demon-slave!" he insisted, feeling guilty at Lady FitzWayne''s crestfallen expression.


    "Come on, Al, what kind of magical sword hero can ignore this kind of suffering?" Wikwocket countered.


    "Yes, look at me," Lady FitzWayne added, jumping on the opportunity. She held out her stick-thin arms, pale and shaking. "Look at this. Like this, I can barely walk. Sunlight burns my skin. The cold chills me. Winds could knock me over. I cannot run or climb or swim. The slightest sickness is a mortal threat to me. I can''t even experience any real excitement without feeling faint. Relief from this torment is all too scarce. Please. Help me. I will give anything..."


    The light of the ring went out, and she allowed a soft smile. The light returned as she spoke again. "I will give nearly anything that is within my power to offer to be rid of the burden of this form," she corrected.


    "I''m not saying we won''t help," Al said, relenting a little, "but I don''t know where we''d start or how long it would take to come up with something. I mean, maybe there''s something alchemical that could help, or some sort of magical spell or object, or something. It''s not just me, though, we''re a team."


    "A heroic team!" Wikwocket amended.


    "Who, I am confident, is here at this time for a reason," Bote agreed.


    "Yeah, yeah, ineffably, I know," Al muttered, looking to Gruntle, who gave no obvious sign of opinion. He did at least look up from the bowl he was holding and licking clean of meat-juices.


    "All right," Al conceded, "but only if you promise to wait for us and not to get involved with demons." He was reassured by how quickly Lady FitzWayne answered.


    "Yes! Yes I promise! Thank you!" she gasped, as Charlene moved to steady her again.


    "And, you don''t care how it might change you?"


    "All I''ve known of this shape I was born into is frailty and weakness. I have no love for it. I would gladly have another."


    "And you''re not going to ask what it will cost you?"


    "Nearly anything I am able to offer will be yours!"


    Al sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.


    "See, that''s why I made you promise. Do you have any idea what I could do with that if I was a demon?"


    A questioning grumble came from Gruntle''s throat as he looked up. His brow furrowed in thought as he stared at Al for a long moment.


    "Kill and eat," he finally suggested, to Lady FitzWayne''s startled delight.


    "He can even speak?" she marveled.

 0103 - Plentiful Polymorphic Potential

    After Lady FitzWayne had gotten over the excitement of hearing humanish speech coming from such a bestial creature and was calm again, they all finished the food, wine, and tea while they all discussed some potential solutions for her problem.


    The possibility of seeking acceptance with a circle of druids and learning their secrets of adopting the shapes of natural beasts was considered, but deemed infeasible since Lady FitzWayne was in no condition to even survive, let alone endure, the ordeals in the wilderness that were likely to be involved. Lady FitzWayne turned out to have a passing familiarity with alchemy, so some discussion of alchemical principals and possible extracts, essences, or potions that might alter one''s body in favorable ways were considered. Al contributed what little he knew of the crafting of enchanted objects and the possibility that there might be some form of charmed clothing or jewelry that might strengthen a body or change its nature entirely - Al noticed that Lady FitzWayne unconsciously rubbed her ring when the subject came up, perhaps unaware that Al already knew it was enchanted. The subject of magic led to Al''s digression on "the thaumatological normalization phenomenon", earning him an exaggerated eye-roll from Wikwocket at the jargon until he explained in plain language how some kinds of magic-working can be made to last indefinitely by repeating them consistently and frequently enough to trick reality into acting as though the spell was naturally-existing and permanent. Al had to admit that he didn''t know much about shape-changing magic yet, but thought he remembered reading something that suggested it was at least possible to make their effects last indefinitely. Wikwocket insisted that they at least consider the possibility of seeking aid from otherworldly beings. After all, there were lots of stories about djinni and demons and fairies and gods and even dragons making deals to do a supernatural favor for someone. Al reminded her that these stories usually didn''t work out the way the recipient of the favor wanted them to. Wikwocket insisted that usually isn''t the same as always and so it should at least be kept as an option. This led in turn to the concept of spiritual possession, which the stories often depicted as providing supernatural strength and vigor to the body of the possessed. Al emphasized that this meant literally sharing your body with someone - or something - else who will have complete control some or all of the time. After a pause to calm the distressed Gruntle at being reminded of this, Al described the stories of werewolves he''d read as a boy, and how the afflicted person would sometimes wake up naked and spattered with someone else''s blood, and no memory of what had happened in the night.


    Finally, Bote asked Lady FitzWayne if she was prepared to die to escape her unwanted body.


    "Uh, I don''t think necromantic animation of her corpse is really what she wants," Al had objected, "and I''m pretty sure that sort of thing is very illegal, or at least tightly restricted."


    Bote had laughed and agreed, but then explained that they''d read somewhere that the druids - who Bote referred to as the priesthood of the nature-spirits - had some among them with such an understanding and mastery of the natural cycles of flesh and spirit that they could call a soul into a new and different natural life. That, of course, meant being freed of the previous natural life first.


    By that point, Lady FitzWayne had become completely exhausted. She agreed with Al about spiritual possession, saying that the entire point of her request was to experience life herself and not vicariously through some other spirit or soul, but otherwise didn''t much care what solution was ultimately chosen. Her primary concerns were only that she be able to spend as much time as possible being free in a healthy body, and that it happen as soon as possible. She did reluctantly admit that it would be advantageous to be able to return to at least her original appearance in order to attend family functions and meetings, but was willing to give even that up. With that, she mustered a whispered thanks for the party''s attendance and promise to help, and Charlene rang a bell to summon the butler to show them out.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Charlene met them on the way out of the room and recapitulated Lady FitzWayne''s thanks.


    "She doesn''t get much relief from the prison of her frail body," she had told them, "She''s been so hopeful since she first saw you here. Thank you for agreeing to help."


    "So, how do you like your very first damsel in distress?" Wikwocket asked Al once they had left and walked for a while back towards the main street.


    "As far from demons as possible, that''s how," Al answered. "I understand why she''s so desperate but that could have been very dangerous."


    "I''ve seen stories where demons get tricked into ending up with the worse end of a deal, so it''s not always bad!", Wikwocket insisted. "Besides, once you''ve got your own demon-slave you''ll be a demon-master and you''ll be able to make them obey, right?"


    "A familiar spirit does not have the ability to make supernatural deals with other people, and even if they did they don''t have the ability to supernaturally enhance or control someone''s body. The whole point of a familiar spirit is that they''re small and simple and obedient," Al corrected, "I really think it''ll be safer if we concentrate on alchemical or mortal-magical approaches."


    Wikwocket gave this some thought.


    "I suppose if we had to go somewhere exciting and do something dangerous to get what we need, it might be okay. You know, hidden away and guarded by terrible monsters, so that only the most worthy hero may claim it!"


    "It doesn''t have to be dangerous."


    "Sure it does! It''s not a proper adventure if there isn''t some danger! Who wants to hear a story about people just going to a market and haggling to buy something to fix the problem?"


    "I would expect," Bote added, "that if there was something available to simply buy that would satisfy Lady FitzWayne''s desires, she would have found a way to acquire it by now, or if too costly, she''d at least have mentioned it."


    "Well, we''ve got some time to figure it out, I did warn her it might take us a while to come up with something. Maybe I''ll be able to find something in the books at the place Cyrus gave me the directions to in Southwall. The instructions and requirements for getting in that he wrote down suggest it''s not a normal place."


    "Like what?" Wikwocket asked, intrigued.


    "Uh...part of the instructions say I''m not allowed to talk about those parts in any detail, and if I don''t follow the instructions properly I won''t be able to get in. Let''s just say the detailed explanations of what I am required to do and what I may or may not tell people about makes it pretty clear there''s something supernatural going on."


    "You can''t tease something like that and not tell me more!"


    "Hmmm. Let''s see, it gave an oath that I need to take and a list of some temples and shrines where I could swear it. I have to do that first to even be able to find the place, so it seems it''s hidden in some supernatural way. Also, I won''t be going in the front door."


    "Sounds like a lot of hassle just to read some weird books."


    They arrived back at the main street. A well-dressed couple - Al guessed some minor nobility - scowled at seeing Gruntle and crossed to the other side of the street to pass by.


    "Jerks," Wikwocket muttered.


    "Yeah, well, they shouldn''t be able to do anything to us here, but I feel like we should wrap things up soon and leave as discreetly as we can before someone decides to try to catch us on the road to be unpleasant."


    "I''m fine with that," Wikwocket agreed, "this place is fun but unless something exciting happens when we go back to the Lavatio one more time, I feel like we''ve probably experienced all the really novel things we can here. Time to go find the next part of our story!"


    "We only have a little more to take care of first. For one thing, what are we going to do about that horrible goblin swamp-juice concentrate. I don''t want to just abandon it here. I don''t think the apothecary would be happy about that, and we might actually want to come back here again someday."


    "That stuff is the most horrible, sickening thing I''ve ever smelled! I think we should keep it!" Wikwocket decided.


    "Why?" Al asked.


    "It''s bound to be useful for something! We just need to package it up well so it won''t break or leak, until we want it to."


    "All right, but you get to carry it. Aside from that we just need to find out when the surveyors are going to the baths so we can go with them and try to earn our bonus, collect our pay, and then see what kind of deal Cyrus manages to work out with his contact in Southwall. Maybe check on our donkey in the meantime..."


    "Haunch," Bote corrected.


    "Uh, right, check on Haunch and make sure he''s not getting too pampered while he''s here."


    Gruntle''s immediate turn to head towards the stables surprised Al, but he supposed now was just as good a time as any other.


    They found Haunch with his eyes half-closed and tail gently swishing as he was brushed down by one of the stablehands, who had to move to avoid being stepped on as the donkey turned to face the party. Haunch raised his muzzle to meet Gruntle''s curious sniffing, then snorted gently in the gnoll''s face.


    "I see you are content with your arrangments," Bote told the donkey, "We will probably leave in the next few days, so please do not become too comfortable."


    Haunch turned to snort gently at Bote''s face as well.


    Al tipped the stablehand another silver coin. Al and Bote returned to their room while Wikwocket and Gruntle went back out to - as Wikwocket described it - "delight the locals with our charm", promising to bring food back once they got bored.


    The remainder of the evening was pleasantly uneventful, aside from Stephen stopping by to announce that the survey party would be leaving one hour after sunrise for the Lavatio the next morning, and a brief attempt later by Wikwocket to get Al to catch pieces of meat and cheese in his mouth the way Gruntle did.


    Al read through Auswelte Sachen''s informative chapter on familiar-spirits then finally went to sleep dreaming of demons throwing cheese at him.

 0104 - Return to Lavatio

    Al stood in the middle of the unfamiliar burning room. He wondered why he felt unconcerned as the unnaturally deep-red flames devoured the rest of the room''s contents. He couldn''t tell what those contents actually were through the sulfur-scented smoke, but he didn''t feel much interest in finding out. This is fine, he thought to himself.


    The smoke wasn''t actually pleasant but Al noted that it didn''t seem to irritate his throat or make him cough. He inhaled deeply through his nose, picking out a few of the more subtle scents under the sulfur. Al smelled burning tallow, meat, and hair, but also wormwood and spices.


    A quiet but quick and continuous scratching sound as of a small animal''s claws scratching at a door to be let out - or in - reached Al''s ears. The smoke parted, and a charred door made from a single wide piece of wood came into view. It was loose, and the persistent scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch of something pawing at it from the other side made it jiggle and thump against the frame.


    The thumping was still there as Al awoke, realizing it was someone knocking on their door. Al heard Bote hop down from their cot and walk to open the door.


    "Stephen asked me to wake you. It''s nearly sunrise, and I am to remind you that the surveyors are leaving an hour after sunrise," the staff-member outside declared in politely quiet tones so as not to awaken anyone that didn''t want to be awake yet.


    Out of curiousity, Al rolled onto his side and looked down over the edge of his mattress. He saw Gruntle''s head just barely poking out from underneath, watching the doorway intently.


    "Thank you," Bote replied to their visitor, "I shall ensure we are ready to accompany them at the appointed time. Can you inform us as to where we should be meeting them?"


    "They should be gathering at the southern gate," the helpful staff-member answered. He bid them a good day, and headed off to whatever his next chore was.


    "If we want to eat before we leave, we should probably start getting ready," Al said, yawning and stretching. "Hopefully this won''t be quite as dramatic of a visit to the Lavatio as the last one, but I''m going to take a few minutes to meditate and prepare for anything dangerous that might happen. There''s a big bonus riding on none of the work-crew getting hurt."


    Some intensive meditation on arcane notes, a selection of meats-on-sticks bought by Wikwocket and Gruntle from a happy food-vendor, some application of bloodsucker-repellant ointment, and some loaded packs later, they were out of the building and on their way to the southern gate. The locals were up and about getting ready for their days, along with a few early-rising visitors as the morning sun burned off the fog that had risen during the night.


    More than half a dozen people were gathered by the gate, preparing for the expedition to leave as the adventurers arrived. Four wore the well-polished armor of Hell''s Bathtub''s guards, along with sheathed short swords. They each carried a spear. One of them was the woman with the crested helmet who seemed to be in charge as she spoke to the other three. A trio composed of two humans and a dwarf wore similar suits of sturdy cloth and soft leather work-clothes and carried a selection of measurement tools. A priestess of Balnea Infernala also waited patiently in golden-yellow robes marked with narrow black trim and a black embroidered symbol that suggested steam rising from a rectangular bath. A slender woman with slightly pointed ears that suggested some recent elven ancestry rounded out the small crowd, wearing the same neat clothing of the staff inside the main Hell''s Bathtub facility.


    "Oh, good, you made it," said the guard with the crested helmet, looking up at the sound of the approaching adventurers. "Larry, Shelly, you two are with the expedition. Fred will watch the gate."


    "But...," Larry the guard began to object, but relented at the stern gaze of his superior. "Yes, ma''am."


    "Good, now, everybody, I''m sure you''ve been told about where you''re going and why, so you can probably guess that these are the adventurers that scouted the place for us. Let''s see, that''s Al, Wikwocket, Bote, and Gruntle," she announced, pointing them out, and then turned to introduce the survey crew. "That''s Larry, who I know you''ve met before, and Shelly, they''ll be going along for backup, and that''s Heinz, Helen, and Gerald who will be doing that actual surveying, that''s Livia who we''re bringing because your notes said to bring someone who can speak elvish, and this is Rachel, priestess of our holy Balnea Infernala who will be preparing for the consecration of the Lavatio. Are there any questions?"


    Oh, she''s good, Al thought to himself, Very efficient.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "No, ma''am!" he said, reflexively standing to attention.


    Gruntle grunted. Al turned to look up at the gnoll.


    "There are questions?" he interpreted, getting another grunt of agreement in answer, but nothing else as Gruntle stood there taking no notice of everyone watching him. Al sighed.


    "What question do you have?" he asked.


    "We hunting?" Gruntle asked back, startling a few of the assembled crew who hadn''t expected him to be able to talk.


    "If something threatens these people we''ll take care of it, if that''s what you mean."


    "Hunting," Gruntle agreed, and took off his pack. He set it down on the ground, opened it, and reached inside.


    Al hastened to intervene when he saw Gruntle pull out the bottle of pink Bl¨¹tenblattgeruch. "No, no, no, that won''t be necessary!"


    "Good for hunting," Gruntle insisted, giving Al an uncomfortably direct stare. "Hides scent."


    Al forced himself to stare back. "I will apply it, then, so you get the right amount," he said after a moment. The gnoll accepted this with a grunt and held the bottle out. Al took it and tried to ignore the disbelieving chuckles from the survey crew as he opened an arcane gateway to the quasi-elemental plane of flowers - or at least that''s what removing the cap on the bottle smelled like - and reached up to very carefully rub a small drop of the extremely concentrated perfume behind the gnoll''s ears and down his spine. Even that amount made for a strong scent, but at least he smelled like someone wearing mildly strong perfume instead of being a violent olfactory assault. Al capped the bottle as tightly as he could and handed it back to the gnoll. Gruntle sniffed a few times, grunted, and put the bottle back in his pack.


    "Any other questions?" asked the guard in the crested helmet as she suppressed a smirk. Nobody spoke up, so she nodded to Fred to unlock and open the gate, and the expedition got properly underway.


    Al suggested that Gruntle lead, offering that he''d be in position to do the killing if something showed up to threaten everyone. Wikwocket joined him, clambering up to sit on top of Gruntle''s pack. Al and Bote took up the rear of the group. Al felt some sympathy for poor Larry, so he said nothing when he saw the guard surreptitiously take out a polished metal mirror to check for the adventurer''s reflections.


    "Actually," Heinz, the dwarven surveyor, finally asked after they''d walked for a while, "I did have a question. Will he stay like that the whole time?" He pointed to the floral-scented gnoll walking at the front, watching and listening hopefully for anything that might need violence applied to it.


    "I would hope so," Al answered. "I''m not sure he''d be as good in a fight if he didn''t."


    "Oh? Do you think we may be in danger? We were told you had eliminated dangerous creatures from the ruins."


    "We did, but there''s no door or gate to keep things out, so something could have gotten in since we left. We could also run into something from the swamp on the way. I hope not, but we wanted to come along just in case."


    The rest of the expedition began to warm up to the adventurers as Al described for them what they''d found inside the Lavatio - minus the zombie-making undead spider. Al''s description of Cleodora caused some concern, though.


    "You understand that the divine goddess is unlikely to abide the restless dead profaning her holy domain," Rachel, the priestess, reminded them.


    "If it is the fate willed by the divine that Cleodora''s soul must move on to its rest, then that is how it must be," Bote replied, "but I would not make assumptions. Cleodora''s honest efforts to make the Lavatio a cleaner and more fitting place for Balnea Infernala may be praiseworthy in her sight."


    "I just hope she''ll talk to me," Livia interjected. "I can speak and read elvish but I''ve got an accent."


    Wikwocket took over the storytelling for the remainder of the journey, regaling everyone with a tastefully embellished recounting of their quests so far.


    "Wait, so, when is he not like that?" Larry asked after Wikwocket had finished her retelling of their visit to Darius'' tomb, nodding towards Gruntle. "Even werewolves don''t stay the same shape all the time...do they?"


    "Uh... well, we don''t like to talk about it much but... he''s kind of stuck like that right now, because of some demon''s curse," Al hedged, falling back on the hastily-constructed technically-true explanation he''d concocted for Lady FitzWayne. Larry''s eyes widened.


    "Oh! Yeah, that would explain it. So I guess you''re doing the adventuring thing to look for a way to lift the curse?"


    "Not now, no," Al said. "I think he''s more comfortable being what he is now than he''d be as anything else."


    They arrived at their destination not long after this. Al managed to notice and point out the overgrown remains of building foundations that were a trip hazard before he tripped over any this time. He guided everyone back to the middle of the site, where they all gathered around the steps leading down into the ground and to the entrance of the Lavatio itself.


    "All right, how about this, the four of us will go down there first to make sure nothing dangerous has moved in," Al suggested, "Then you all can follow us. There''s probably nothing..."


    Gruntle''s ears twitched, and he slid his shield down to his hand and unhooked his flail, startling the survey crew besides Larry and Shelly into backing away.


    "What is it?" Al asked Gruntle as he worked to pull Purgatio free from its sheathe. "Do you hear something?"


    Before Gruntle could answer, a terrible shriek came echoing out from somewhere inside. This was joined by a cacophony of higher-pitched incoherent shouting that got louder as the shouters approached quickly. Despite not being able to tell what the shouters might be trying to say, Al groaned because he could tell what it sounded like.


    Al was getting very tired of dealing with goblins.

 0105 - Consecration

    Al motioned for the survey crew to retreat while the adventurers made hurried preparations to meet the mob of goblins that the horrible noise suggested was rushing towards them. Gruntle placed himself right at the top of the steps and grinned viciously, while Wikwocket hopped down off of his back to stand behind him. Al moved to stand at ground level above the bottom of the stairs, and Bote followed his lead to do the same on the other side so they could look down at what was coming up. Larry and Shelly nervously held their spears ready as they ushered the survey crew back. Al tucked Purgatio between his body and his left arm so he''d have his hands free if he decided he should resort to magical intervention.


    They''d barely gotten into their chosen positions when the sound of many small running feet became loud enough to be heard underneath the panicked goblinish yelling. With no discipline whatsoever, a large handful of terrified goblins burst out of the Lavatio, pulling at each other to be the first to get away. The goblin mass got several steps up before they noticed the dangerous gnollish obstruction at the top. As they piled into each other in hesitation, Al conjured a blast of magic fire from his fingers down onto the goblins. Hearing Al speaking the arcane words of magical power, several of the goblins were able to shove some of their fellows in front of the flames in time to shield themselves. The brief, intense burst of reddish fire crisped to death the half of the mob that were used for cover and left the remaining few with singed skin and smouldering hair.


    The unearthly shriek of rage that had been pursuing them rang out from inside and spurred the surviving goblins back into motion and they all made a desperate dash in hopes of getting past the madly bark-laughing, black-eyed gnoll blocking their way. One was crushed beneath Gruntle''s flail. A second narrowly dodged the lunging jaws of the gnoll, only to find itself skewered by the unexpected Wikwocket as they rushed past. The last took advantage of the attention on the unfortunate other two and dodged through the melee to get away. It screamed at the sight of the two guards protecting the survey crew as it passed the top of the steps, and quickly changed direction as it ran.


    Al conjured the bolts of abstract magical violence, and the last goblin''s sprint away became a limp tumble as it collapsed dead. The last thing we need right now is that thing telling the rest of them we''re here, Al thought.


    The face of a ghostly corpse, twisted with rage and hate, came into view at the edge of the shadows near the entrance to the Lavatio.


    "Et non reverteris!" it shrieked. Gruntle yelped and rushed back up to the top of the steps.


    The terrible face softened, and returned to the ghostly form of Cleodora''s as she - Al assumed - had appeared in life.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Reversus es. Debeo emundare," Cleodora said in a much calmer and friendly tone.


    "Uh, yes. Hello," Al answered back, leaning over to wave down at the ghost. He grasped Purgatio''s hilt and worked the sword back into its sheathe, turning towards the survey crew to look for Livia. He saw the entire group, including their two guards, looking shocked and frightened. "It''s okay, it''s over now. See, this is why we wanted to come along. That''s Cleodora down there, I guess she doesn''t like goblins either."


    It took Larry a moment to find his voice again. "Do... does... do you... do this kind of thing a lot?"


    "More than I''d like, lately," Al admitted, "I''m still getting used to it."


    "If that''s still getting used to it, it''s going to be really impressive when you are used to it," Larry insisted.


    "Hoc loco grata es. Debeo emundare. Veni. Ego sum Cleodora," Cleodora''s voice called out from below.


    "Oh, right, uh, she only speaks elvish as far as we know, and none of us can talk to her," Al said, giving Livia a questioning look.


    "She says we''re welcome here. She says she has to clean but is telling us to come in," Livia interpreted, looking nervously towards the steps down.


    "Are you sure we can trust her?" Rachel asked, "While I know of no formal holy edict, our Lady Balnea Infernala is a goddess of comfort, health, and cleanliness so I''m not sure we should be colluding with the undead."


    "You will find few people, regardless of their vital state, who are more concerned with cleanliness than Cleodora," Bote assured her. "If it is at all possible for a restless soul of the dead to be acceptable to divinity, I feel this one probably will be. Of course, if she is not, there will not be much that we can do about it. Please, come and see."


    Bote went to the top of the steps and started down, turning back to beckon again after a short way. After a brief dispute between Rachel, Livia, Larry, and Shelly about who should go first, Livia gave in, as the person who would need to talk to the ghost of Cleodora on behalf of everyone else. She followed Bote down the steps, with Rachel behind her. The survey crew and guards followed them.


    "Will these even do us any good down there?" Larry asked Al, holding up his spear as they headed down.


    "Against a ghost, probably not as much as you''d hope, but from what I''ve read it''d be better than nothing. If you know how to use it, the intent to stab someone with it can make it have an effect on a lot of supernatural creatures, even if they aren''t bothered by them as much as a normal thing might be," Al answered. "Don''t worry too much, she can be scary but since we''re here to talk to her about restoring the baths that she loves so much, I think she''ll be friendly. Everything else we ran into in here last time seemed like they''d be put off by a spearpoint well enough."


    From what Al could see, the entrance room was much cleaner now, aside from a pile of dirt, ash, debris, broken glass, some terribly smelly goblin-corpses, and for some reason one dead frog to the right of the archway. One of the dead goblins looked mummified, and Al thought perhaps it was the one they''d seen in the room where they''d originally found Cleodora. A silk-wrapped bundle with two holes poked in it seemed likely to be the goblin that had been caught by the privy-spiders. Cleodora''s broom was leaned against the wall with a dustpan, next to the pile.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    From the darkness further in the room came the sound of something being dragged across the floor, and eventually Cleodora''s spirit came into view again. She dragged a second similarly-mummified corpse of a goblin who seemed to have died in a state of terror towards the pile of rubbish.


    "Um... Salve, nomen meum Livia," Livia spoke up as the ghost pulled the dead goblin up onto the top of the pile.


    "Ego sum Cleodora. Debeo emundare. Linguam intellegentiam gaudeo audiendi. Venisti auxilio?" Cleodora''s spirit answered, as she picked up the broom and dustpan.


    Cleodora and Livia traded questions and answers in Elvish, with Livia occasionally translating for Rachel and the others. While they did this, Al took his pack off and went digging for torches, only to realize he had only one left. "Lamp oil," he muttered to himself, "Need to remember to buy lamp oil." He decided to wait until it was really necessary before lighting it.


    "Well, she''s very happy to hear that we''ve come to start restoration of this place," Livia finally summarized, "she insists she''s going to stay and keep the place clean, though."


    "You explained to her that I''m here to consecrate the place to Balnea Infernala?" Rachel asked.


    "Yes, but she just keeps insisting that she''s going to stay and help. I don''t know if she doesn''t understand or if she''s just stubborn."


    "Is it safe for us to begin our survey?" asked Heinz. Livia relayed the question in elvish to Cleodora, then interpreted the ghost''s answer.


    "She apologizes for the mess by the entrance, she says she can''t actually leave here to take out the stuff she''s cleaned up. She doesn''t seem to mind if you get started. She does ask if we could remove the pile of waste since she can''t leave to do it herself."


    "Well, maybe after we get done surveying," Gerald the surveyor said, as he busied himself getting his equipment out of his pack. "I''m sure the work-crew that gets hired could do it. We didn''t bring anything for hauling stuff though."


    "We''ve got a magic invisible cart!" Wikwocket announced, pointing proudly to Al, who sighed.


    Great. Now we''re the Garbage-Collector party.


    "Yes, we can help get this stuff out of here while you all get started on what you need to do. Give me a few minutes to prepare," he said, giving Wikwocket an aggrieved glare and getting back a ridiculously exaggerated innocent batting of eyelashes in return.


    Al was happy to see the survey crew setting up lanterns for lighting, hanging them from segmented wooden poles that they stood up for the purpose. With plenty of lighting to read by, Al went through the ritual meditation to conjure up the... magic invisible cart, concentrating it in space more than time so that it''d hold more weight. Once the shimmering transparent disk of magical force formed in the air, Al coaxed Gruntle in from the steps where he waited to avoid Cleodora, and got him to help load dead goblins and debris to be taken outside. When Cleodora came over with the broom and dustpan to sweep dirt and dust up to be carried out as well, Gruntle made sure to keep the floating disk between her and himself. Through Livia, the ghost apologized for the desperate seizure of Gruntle''s mortal body, but insisted it was necessary because she needed to get out to clean. Gruntle, unpersuaded, continued to avoid her, and led the way back up the steps when Al finally went up himself to dump the rubbish in the least-vegetated ruins of a different building''s foundation by dismissing the magical disk.


    When they returned, they found work well underway. Wikwocket was leading the survey crew into one of the changing rooms to continue their measurements and observations, with Livia and the ghost of Cleodora following to ask and answer questions. Rachel sat in a meditative pose in front of the statue of Munditio as Bote stood nearby watching her quietly.


    "You were right," Rachel said after a moment, "Munditio is not here, this is simply a statue, not a consecrated representation. If Munditio was ever here, he has abandoned this place now. That will make my work much less complicated."


    "I was not certain myself," Bote replied, "but it seemed likely. I would not expect a place still inhabited by divinity to have fallen to such a state."-


    "What''s going to happen now?" Al found himself wondering aloud.


    "I will first prepare this room to be consecrated to our goddess, Balnea Infernala," Rachel answered, as she stood back up. "Once this room becomes a part of her holy earthly dwelling, she will prevent any unworthy from entering. From what you provided us, this seems to be the only real entrance here, so the rest of this place should be protected from intrusion by anything substantial. Once that''s established, the consecration of the rest of the site should go more quickly."


    "Any idea what''s going to happen to Cleodora?" Al asked, looking towards the open door to the changing room where Wikwocket''s voice describing the taste of giant-rat meat could be heard.


    "Even less now. I''ve never been in the presence of the undead before, and never wanted to, but she''s not what I would have expected from what I''ve read. I expected the obsession, but she''s not mindless or malevolent like I would have guessed. I''d assume she''d be destroyed or banished to wherever her soul belongs, but now I''m not entirely sure. We may find out in an hour so once I finish the consecration."


    Rachel set down her pack and unpacked a collection of tiny bronze incense burners, a set of white candles in wide bowls, and a pot of silver pigment. She looked around the room, judging its readiness. She spotted the femur-bone at the feet of Munditio, and stepped forward to pick it up.


    She stepped back quickly again as her fingers touched the bone, when Cleodora appeared immediately there accompanied by a startled "where did she go?" from Livia in the next room. Livia returned, rushing over to find out what had happened, and then translated her quick discussion with Cleodora for the others.


    "That''s part of her, and she says she wants to leave it here. I tried to explain that you''re consecrating this room and that it might harm her, but she insists that she doesn''t want to abandon it. In fact she''s asking me if she can help you."


    Rachel squinted suspiciously. "I don''t meet a lot of elves or ghosts. Is she plotting something?"


    "I don''t think she is," Livia answered hesitantly.


    "I also doubt this is a scheme," Bote agreed. "She has defied her natural death all this time with the single-minded purpose of this place''s care and restoration. Balnea Infernala offers that. I believe Cleodora is sincere."


    Rachel considered for a moment, then nodded. "All right, if the goddess will allow it. Tell Cleodora to follow my direction, and she can place the candles and incense. Everyone else will need to leave the room until we''re done."


    "Is it all right if I watch?" Al asked.


    Bote gave him a just enough of a smirk to suggest teasing. "Ah, perhaps your trials kindle an interest in the service of the divine plans?"


    "No! I mean, no offense meant or anything, but I still would rather stay away from the attention of gods. I''m just curious how the consecration ritual works."


    Gruntle gladly went with Wikwocket *away* from Cleodora to continue escorting the survey crew as they made their way around the Lavatio taking measurements and observations. That left Al, Bote, and Livia to watch the ritual from the changing-room doorway. Al''s eyes had trouble following what was happening in the room at first, lit only by a bit of sunlight that made its way in from the entrance. Through Livia, Cleodora was asked to fetch clean water, which was poured into the bowls around the candles. Cleodora distributed the candles in their bowls and the incense burners around the room according to Rachel''s directions, and Rachel began the ritual.


    One by one, Rachel lit each candle and incense-stick, and used her fingers to mark a swirling pattern around each with the silver pigment. Without interruption, she repeated chant that sounded more like flowing, splashing water than speech. Al noticed the broad similarities with the wizardry rituals he was familiar with, particularly the repeating patterns that helped to focus one''s intent. The difference seemed to be Rachel''s attention, which in contrast to the way wizards approached it was hardly there at all, as if she was in a trance. Al guessed that this was because it was the goddess herself whose attention was required, and the priestess was serving as a tool for the purpose. The process was slow and repetitive, but continued smoothly, and Al noticed how the golden glow of the candle-light reflected from the bowls of water seemed to brighten and the thin wisps of white incense-smoke seemed to sparkle each time the process completed around them.


    Al had begun to get tired of standing by the time the last candle and incense-burner was brought into the ritual and Rachel returned to the center of the room to invoke the goddess.


    "Balnea Infernala, we beseech you to accept and bless this home we have prepared for your holy presence!"


    Cleodora vanished as golden flames erupted from the femur-bone, consuming it in a moment and leaving no trace that it had been there. Despite no obvious change in the room, Al thought it felt warmer and more welcoming than it had before. He turned to look back, wondering if the ghost was gone, only to cry out startled to find her right behind him, looking over his shoulder. At least she didn''t seem hurt or angry. If anything, Al thought her translucent face seemed wistful. She reached towards the doorway into the room, but then seemed to change her mind and pulled her spectral hand back, and spoke.


    "She''s asking which room is next," Livia translated.

 0106 - Unfinished Business

    His academic curiosity satisfied, Al decided it was time to move on to what he''d really wanted to come for.


    "Thanks for letting me watch that," he told Rachel, "but I think I should hurry up and get to work trying to copy down that arcane formation we found on that last room, before you get around to consecrating it. Uh... you wouldn''t happen to have an extra candle or two that I could borrow, do you? I seem to be down to my last torch. I can pay for replacements when we get back to Hell''s Bathtub."


    Al tried not to look embarrassed at his oversight as Rachel offered him several candles from her pack with a smirk.


    "Thank you," Al said as casually as he could manage. "Uh, some of us should probably stay with the crew here while they work in case of any unexpected danger, but I wouldn''t mind having someone with me for backup for the same reason. Anybody want to come with me instead of waiting here with Cleodora and ..."


    Gruntle was already moving, taking a wide path around where Cleodora''s spirit hovered to stand next to Al.


    "Well...okay then," Al said, surprised but realizing in hindsight that he probably shouldn''t be. "We''ll head straight there, so you''ll all know where to find us if you need us."


    Al commanded one of the candles to light itself and stuffed the others into a pocket in his robes. Then he turned to head down the hallway, and Gruntle moved ahead to take his customary position in front without being asked. Originally this had been a matter of keeping a dangerous demonic bestial thing where Al could watch him. Al realized now that this wasn''t something he worried about anymore, as irrational as it seemed. In just a few weeks, this had somehow become normal. He watched the back of the tall gnoll stalking quietly ahead, hunting anything that might be a threat, or maybe just edible and too slow to get away.


    Why do I even trust him? I''m not even sure why he''s a ''him'' rather than an ''it''. I really don''t even know what''s going on in his obviously inhuman mind. He can''t be as simple as he seems, can he? What really motivates him?


    "Hey, Gruntle," Al asked, "What do you want out of all of this?"


    The gnoll stopped and turned to look back. He was silent for a long moment of consideration before he answered.


    "Fight. Win. Eat. Rest," he grumbled, head tilted as if confused by the question.


    "Right, obviously," Al returned, "but I don''t mean right now, I mean bigger things, in the future."


    Gruntle''s head slowly tilted the other way. Then, he grunted in agreement.


    "Fight bigger things. Kill. Eat them. Rest."


    "Really? You don''t want wealth, or power or something?"


    With a questioning noise, Gruntle''s head tilted further to the side.


    "Wealth is for eating and rest. Power is for fighting and killing and making safe for rest."


    "Don''t you want, I don''t know, love or respect or friendship or honor or anything like that?"


    "Got a clan."


    "That''s really all you want?"


    Grunt. "You?"


    "Oh! Uh...," Al stuttered at the unexpected interest, "It''s... probably kind of complicated."


    Gruntle huffed and turned stiffly back to continue down the hall.


    "I mean," Al continued as he followed, "I guess what I''m mostly after is learning. Experience and knowledge."


    "Why?"


    "It''s practical. For example, I want to learn more about demons so if we ever run into them again we''ll be better able to defend ourselves from them. Also, valuable knowledge and experience will get us better jobs with better pay."


    Al wondered why Gruntle seemed to relax after he said this.


    "Knowledge for shaman stuff to kill demons and get gold for eating and rest," Gruntle interpreted, neatly fitting Al''s statement into a comprehensible gnollish worldview as he continued on, taking the stairs leading to the room they''d found the drunken goblins in. They found it in pristine condition other than a slight lingering odor of brandy and goblin, with the chairs meticulously arranged at their tables and all of the staining and broken glass cleaned up.


    "It''s more than that!" Al objected, "It''s for understanding the fundamental nature of reality! Like right now, we''re going to study the arcane pattern someone put around the door that seemed to be keeping that spider-thing and the zombies inside. Whoever made that understood something profound about supernatural reality, so if I study it, eventually I''ll understand it, too."


    "Why?"


    "What do you mean why? It''s practical information! That kind of knowledge could be useful!"


    "Why?" repeated the gnoll, like the world''s most violently dangerous toddler.


    "Well, obviously if there are secrets to controlling the undead locked away in that pattern, if we are ever threatened by undead things again they might help us protect ourselves from them."


    "Hunting knowledge for shaman stuff to make safer to fight them," Gruntle simplified as they left the room and headed down the hallway towards the privies.


    "Not just that, there''ll be more useful knowledge in there besides that, I just won''t know what it will be until I understand it all myself."


    "Don''t know how good knowledge you hunt tastes until you kill and eat it," Gruntle restated.


    "Is literally everything about violence, food, and sleep for you?"


    "Nah. Just important things."


    The shuffling, scrabbling sound from the privy-holes interrupted the discussion and Gruntle swiftly turned with a vicious grin to meet it, flail in hand. Al''s own reflexes barely got a warding spell up in time to deflect the leaping spider off course, just as large as the last ones they''d fought here the first time. It dodged away from Al''s reflexive kick only to be splattered across the floor - and Al - by the heavy flail of a violence-crazed gnoll. Al groaned in disgust but then stifled it as more noise came from the holes. He rushed closer and looked down. Seeing and hearing movement down in the darkness besides flowing water, he pulled as much of the arcane concept of fire as he could through his mind and sent a burst of magical flame down to fill the space. A terrible burnt smell and a few splashes came from inside, and then there was just the sound of running water again.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Gruntle calmed down reluctantly, huffing at how little violence had been available. Al waited for his heart rate to settle and watched down the now smoke-filled hole for any further threat.


    "I guess we know how they''re getting in here now, at least," Al muttered. He set the candle on the floor and took a few minutes to magic the bits of dead giant spider away from his clothes while Gruntle poked his head hopefully into the toilet-holes looking for anything else that might need killing.


    "Anything else in there?" he asked when he finished cleaning himself up, and got another annoyed huff back in reply as Gruntle stood back up. "Well, feel free to kill any more that show up, it''s obvious they keep coming in through there. I''m going to conjure up a spirit to hold the light for me and then I can get to work in the next room."


    In the time it took for Al to go through the slow, ritualized conjuration of his invisible helper, Gruntle had poked his nose into every obvious place in the room and then in every adjoining room, hoping to find something that needed killing. Disappointed, the gnoll settled himself down next to the open door of the steamy caldarium to wait lazily.


    With the doors left open since the last time they''d been here, the caldarium was bearably warm instead of uncomfortably hot, though still humid. Al led his candle-bearing spirit inside and took out his paper and inks to begin the work of copying the spiraling pattern of symbols that had held the magic before being broken by their opening of the door. Al tuned out the regular hissing sound of water splashing against the magically-heated stone as he carefully drew out the shape of the overall pattern and then copied down the individual patterns of repeating symbol-motifs in greater detail for later review.


    He shook his head and sighed when Wikwocket''s voice became audible through the open doorway to the gallery as she dramatized their initial meeting of Cleodora in the room with the baths for the surveyors, but didn''t let it distract him. By the time he heard Wikwocket in the bar-room later describing their fight with the goblins while the surveyors worked, Al had managed to satisfy himself that his copies of the pattern and the symbols that made it up were as good as he could make them. He turned his attention to the physical properties of the carved and painted markings themselves. The carving was smooth with no obvious sign of tool-marks, and painted with a deep black substance containing fine silvery flakes.


    Maybe I''ve been spending too much time around a gnoll,, he thought, as he looked back to make sure nobody was watching and then leaned close to sniff at the carved pattern. The faint scent was more like an aromatic medicinal balm than ink or paint. He took his knife from his belt and shaved away a few pieces of the painted carved wood for later analysis, pressing them between the pages in his book of wizardry notes.


    "...and then down at the end of this hallway," came Wikwocket''s voice as she drew nearer, "well, spiders in the privies isn''t a special thing, but you should hope you don''t have to deal with any like we found! Horrible things as big as I am, able to leap all the way across the room to sink venomous fangs into you! Our magical sword hero fried most of them with a blast of magic fire from his fingers, you can still smell the smoke even now! Hey, that one looks freshly smashed, gross! No fair having excitement without me!"


    "Came from down there," Gruntle said. "Shaman burned the rest. No more now."


    "I told him that''d be useful magic to learn! Speaking of which," Wikwocket said, walking into the caldarium, "hey, Al, have you unlocked the mystical secrets of necromancy in here yet so you can get me a pet dead guy?"


    <hr>


    No further dangers presented themselves the rest of the day. The surveyors finished making their more precise maps and estimates of the repairs required. Rachel, Livia, Cleodora, and Bote caught up to them some time later as Al, Wikwocket, Gruntle, and the workers rested in the bar-room.


    "If we stay overnight, we will probably finish the consecration of the whole site today," Rachel said, "we brought supplies to stay here comfortably enough, and once every way in is a part of Balnea Infernala''s domain we should be safe enough, especially if Larry and Sally are here for protection. Would you be willing to escort the surveyors back? If you leave soon, you should be back in Hell''s Bathtub in time for dinner."


    "I did what I needed to do," Al answered, "so as long as nobody else has anything they still need to do or wants to camp out here overnight for some reason, I don''t think any of us would object to being back in time for a real dinner."


    "I already got to retell our whole exciting adventure here for the surveyors, I''m good!" Wikwocket agreed.


    "I have witnessed what I ought to," Bote chimed in, "so there is no longer a need for me to stay either."


    Gruntle was already subtly shuffling back towards the stairs, still avoiding Cleodora. The ghost was busying herself inspecting the room for cleanliness, with her face a mask of determination, still occasionally reminding herself aloud that she was Cleodora and that she was cleaning.


    "How are things going with her?" Al asked Rachel and Livia with a not towards Cleodora.


    "It''s strange," Livia answered, "she either can''t or doesn''t want to go into the spaces that have been consecrated so far. Each time, the bone of hers that had been left there burns away to nothing in holy fire. But, still, she insists on continuing to help. I feel a little bad about what might happen when Balnea Infernala claims the last part of this place, I hope it doesn''t hurt Cleodora."


    "I think maybe once the whole of the Lavatio is under divine protection, she knows it will be restored. That''s ultimately what keeps her here, isn''t it? So, she''ll be able to move on to her rest once it''s done."


    "That is plausible," Bote admitted, "but I am not certain it is so simple. Still, I feel she understands the situation fully and is committed to seeing it through regardless. Probably things will work out."


    "Well, then, we should probably start heading back. The sooner we leave, the more daylight we''ll have to travel in," Al said, standing and putting his notes back in his pack.


    Cleodora drifted down the hallway towards the privies. The exclamation of annoyance at finding a new mess that needed to be cleaned up spurred Gruntle to grab his pack and rush down the stairs out of the room.


    <hr>


    The trip back was pleasantly uneventful for everyone but Gruntle, who was a bit disappointed in there not being any need for violence. The guard at the gate gave only a cursory look over the paperwork the surveyors carried since it was obvious who they were, and they were all let back in. The surveyors thanked the adventurers for their help and left to report their findings to the magistrate. The adventurers in turn left to report their hunger to the food-vendors on the street. The evening passed peacefully, and slumber came easily.


    Until sometime after midnight.


    "I am Cleodora. I clean," a familiar voice called out happily, startling Al into an unpleasantly rapid wakefulness as he sat up quickly to see the room flickering with golden light. He heard Gruntle under the bed quietly pulling himself deeper into the shadows. Wikwocket yawned and blinked in confusion.


    "What...how are you here? Is this a dream? I can understand what you''re saying now," Al asked.


    "The goddess gifts me language. The goddess validates my purpose, and makes it holy," Cleodora said, her shining golden face euphoric. Al realized, though, that most of the glow lighting the room wasn''t coming from Cleodora herself, but from his pack which appeared to be engulfed in golden flames. A moment of panic over his valuable wizardry research and books passed once he realized the flames didn''t seem to be doing any harm.


    "Your bones. I forgot, I still have some of your bones in my pack," Al groaned.


    "That is good, it let me find you so that I can thank you all. Something wonderful happens. Visit my Lavatio again sometime. Until then, be well, and thank you."


    Cleodora and the golden flames disappeared, plunging the room back into darkness.

 0107 - Southwall Beckons

    Al commanded the candle on the nightstand to light itself, then got out of bed and inspected his pack. No harm seemed to have come to it, and the contents inside were unblemished, at least to the extent that they had been before. No trace remained of Cleodora''s bones.


    "Normally I''d complain about interrupting my sleep," Wikwocket yawned, "but it sounds like we did something heroic! The restless spirit came from beyond death to thank us for our glorious deeds before passing on, contented and grateful!"


    Al shook his head and closed his pack back up. "I wouldn''t have minded missing the drama. I guess she''s gone now, though."


    A gnollish head poked out from under the bed to look around. Satisfied that it was safe, Gruntle grunted and curled back up in the shadows to go back to sleep.


    "A transition to her destined existence, at least. I don''t know that I would describe this as gone, necessarily," Bote corrected sleepily.


    "Either way, at least that''s one less thing that someone''s going to come back and ask us to deal with again later."


    "And one more accomplishment for the story of the Gnoll Party!" Wikwocket added, to Al''s mild disgust.


    "Speaking of gnolls, I think Gruntle has the right idea here. I''m going back to sleep," Al said, returning to bed and blowing out the candle.


    <hr>


    Al awoke feeling warm, comfortable, and refreshed. Even the vague, fading memories of his dreams felt simple and comfortable for once and not weird at all. He waited a short while, lying still to enjoy the lately-infrequent sense of peace before forcing himself to sit up and consider the tasks and challenges in the immediate future. Get paid, find out what Cyrus might have arranged, get Wikwocket''s jug of goblin-filth - Al refused to have any share in ownership of that. He thought they should probably arrange a way to get messages to Darla Fitzwayne as well.


    Then they just needed to get on the way without attracting more attention so the trip to Southwall would hopefully not have unnecessary excitement. Al already anticipated more than enough difficulty trying to get a gnoll into the city when they arrived.


    This is going to be a problem anywhere we go, isn''t it. Maybe there''s some sort of royal certificate of this-gnoll-isn''t-bad-don''t-kill-him or something that we could get? Or, you know, we just live hiding in the woods between jobs. Otherwise, nobody''s going to know Gruntle''s not there to kill everyone.


    Al grimaced to himself at the logical conclusion of that thought.


    I really don''t like the idea that becoming famous might solve that, because there''s no way that doesn''t replace the problem with other problems.


    The terrible roar of Wikwocket''s snoring pulled Al out of his pondering and into awareness of hunger. He got up out of bed as quietly as he could and pulled his robes on.


    I suppose it''s only fair that I go get the food sometimes.


    Al tiptoed to the door, pleased with how little sound he managed to make. He reached for the latch but hesitated. The only sound in the room was Wikwocket, but...


    "Let me guess, you''re hungry too?" Al asked as he turned back to see Gruntle looming right behind him.


    Grunt.


    Al lifted the latch and headed out, shadowed by a hungry beast.


    Another familiar, more conventional beast met them with happy barking as they reached the street. Darling the mastiff pulled Charlene back heedless of Charlene''s repeated insistence on "Politely!"


    Al complained wordlessly as he tried to deter having his face licked by the overly-friendly dog.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Sorry, she really likes you," Charlene apologized, pulling back on the leash. Her effort combined with Al''s pushing away got Darling off of him, only to have her turn her friendliness on Gruntle.


    "Better friendly than unfriendly, I suppose," Al said, wiping dog-slobber from his face with his sleeve. "I suppose it''s good that we ran into you anyway. We''re going to be back on the road soon and I wanted to find out where we can contact Lady Fitzwayne afterwards. Is she always here?"


    "She stays here as often as she can for her health and comfort, but she does split her time between here and the Fitzwayne estate in Meadowgold. Darling, please, that''s quite enough of the sniffing!"


    "We''ll be headed for Southwall, if we need to send a message should we just have it delivered to 12 Milkstone Lane here for now?"


    "That, or you can drop it off at the offices of the Southwall cattle market, the Fitzwayne family runs that as well, and they''ll know how to find her."


    "All right, thank you. I still don''t know how long it might take us to find something that might help her with her problem, but we''ll be working on it. I''ll try to get some sort of message to her once we have some idea where we''re going to be staying and for how long. Gruntle! Don''t stick your nose there!"


    "She did first," Gruntle argued, standing back upright.


    Charlene tugged firmly on the leash, coaxing Darling back to her side.


    "Lady Fitzwayne will be happy to hear from you, I know she feels very hopeful since you agreed to help her. I''ll make sure she knows to expect your messages, thank you. And now, Darling, we''re going to be badly off-schedule if we don''t get moving again," she said. Darling whined a complaint, but kept pace with Charlene as they walked away. Darling spared them one last look over her shoulder and a single bark before she was led around a corner, back in the direction of Milkstone Lane.


    "Either she goes for a walk every morning, or they''re stalking us," Al joked.


    "Nah," Gruntle disagreed, "too noisy for stalking."


    The cheerful meat-on-a-stick vendor sported a fine new red coat, no doubt paid for with the profits from his increase in carnivorous customer patronage. He laughed and smiled as he sold Al and Gruntle a load of skewered breakfast. Gruntle didn''t wait to start eating, so Al didn''t either. He did make sure they saved enough for the others once they returned, though.


    They found Wikwocket sitting in bed yawning and Bote reading from a sheet of paper.


    "You return just in time to hear the good news. It seems our path aligns with the Ineffable Plans. Cyrus reports that the penal arena has as much interest in Gruntle''s services as he had hoped," Bote explained, holding out the paper for Al to take. "He has provided us with a letter of introduction to provide for the guards when we arrive in Southwall."


    Bote pointed to the nightstand next to their bed, where a roll of wax-sealed parchment waited next to a pair of long, worn grey stockings that appeared to have an uneven stripe pattern on them.


    Al traded a handful of the remaining skewered meat-sticks for the paper. "Do I want to know why you''ve got someone else''s old stockings?" He asked. Bote laughed.


    "Yes, you do. They are from the magistrate. It seems she had no paper on hand when she called for Stephen to bring us our messages. Stephen suggested she probably wanted an excuse to get new stockings."


    Al picked one of them up and looked more closely. The stripes turned out to be writing. The ink was blurred somewhat from soaking into the cloth, but the letters were large enough to be legible.


    "Congratulation to...," Al read aloud, pausing here to sigh and glance accusingly at the ceiling before continuing, "...The Gnoll Party for their part in the dramatic story of Saint Cleodora, and also on your earnings."


    "Saint Cleodora? Did we do that?" Wikwocket marveled.


    Bote''s head shook. "Strictly speaking, no. Certainly our presence will have been the paving stones of the path that led to this, however."


    "Oh, nice metaphor!" Wikwocket praised.


    "Yeah, really great." Al picked up the other sock. "Oh! Well, this is good news. It''s a promissory...stocking. It''s our bonus. Looks like she added another two-hundred and fifty gold coins for marketing promotion, too, whatever that means."


    "Marketing is dumb merchant jargon that means we''re famous. We have fame and fortune now! This place is obviously good luck," Wikwocket cheered. "and we should come here more often!"


    "Good food," Gruntle agreed.


    "This does seem to be a popular place for private meetings, if we can develop a good enough reputation we might end up with people wanting to meet us here. I don''t think we can just keep hanging around here right now, though."


    "Oh, I know, we need to keep growing our stories for more fame and fortune! Can''t do that just staying in one place, everybody knows legendary heroes are wanderers!"


    "I was thinking we could sneak out of town in the middle of the night tonight, so nobody tries to follow us and cause trouble. Does that sound reasonable?"


    Wikwocket considered this.


    "And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the mysterious heroes vanished in the night. Legend says they will reappear in times of need... Yeah, we can work with that!"


    "Bote? Gruntle?"


    "We''re going where I can hit people until they stop moving?" Gruntle asked.


    "Uh...yes, according to Cyrus," Al answered, then hastened to add, "not everyone there, but they''ll tell us which ones."


    "Good."


    "Yes, I think we are needed elsewhere soon," Bote agreed.


    "All right then, one last day here. If anybody wants another bath or something, get it today. I''ll see about collecting our pay and getting our stuff together, then I just have a couple of other things to do and I''ll be ready to go if you all are."

 0108 - Last Day in Hells Bathtub

    Wikwocket opted to take this last opportunity to make a public spectacle of herself, and easily persuaded Gruntle to join her. "One last performance, just to make sure everyone remembers us!" she insisted.


    "I feel like we probably shouldn''t be attracting more attention, but it''s probably too late for that anyway," Al grumbled.


    "Hey, if you want people to be more comfortable around the gnoll party, more attention of this kind will help!"


    "I don''t know, I''ve been wondering if maybe we don''t want people getting too comfortable. There seems to be a lot of justifiable hatred out there over gnolls running around brutally murdering people. Maybe it''d be better if people who might be after some kind of misguided revenge were reluctant to mess with us," Al argued.


    "How are we supposed to get wealthier and more famous if nobody wants to get near us to offer us work?"


    "Well, I mean, if we have a reputation for getting things done, people will still contact us and hire us to do things, right?"


    "But what sort of tasks would people who fear us be likely to hire us for?" Bote asked, "Would those be the sorts of jobs we want to focus on?"


    Anyone who''s afraid of us is probably worried about gnollish murderous violence... so they''ll come to us wanting to pay us to do gnollish murderous violence to someone, won''t they, Al realized.


    "That''s... yes, I suppose that''s a good point. I''m just feeling uncomfortable with how quickly the amount of attention we get has been increasing lately. There are still a lot of people that seem very unhappy to see a gnoll running around."


    "They''re jerks anyway!" Wikwocket insisted, "Besides, there are also a lot of people who think it''s exotic or funny. Those people are possible allies who''ll tell everyone how great we are!"


    "Well... just try not to overdo it," Al conceded, unable to come up with a good counterargument but still feeling uncomfortable. "I assume I don''t need to remind you not to tell people we''re leaving in the middle of the night tonight?"


    "And ruin the surprise? No, obviously not! Come on, Gruntle, let''s make sure they aren''t going to forget us!"


    They were through the door and rushing down the hall before Al could object. Somewhere in the distance, someone''s startled shout and Wikwocket''s "excuse us!" in apology echoed back.


    "At least the exertion should calm their restlessness," Bote reassured Al. "What do you plan to do to calm your own restlessness today?"


    "I''ve got plenty to do to keep me occupied. Actually, you might be able to help me with one of them. There''s an oath I have to swear to in order to get into the place in Southwall that used to be a library. The instructions include a list of places that would be acceptable to swear the oath, and one of them is a temple or shrine dedicated to Indicina."


    "Ah, I assume the oath includes the keeping of secrets then?"


    "Uh, yes."


    "In that case, yes, I can help you with this. We have temples in nearly any prominent population center, though they aren''t always obvious. If you are ready now, I can take you to the one here in Hell''s Bathtub."


    <hr>


    Al followed Bote out to the main road and to the left turn at the aptly-named Holy Street. Numerous small temples and shrines lined the street. Bote led Al to a two-story stone building, where a statue of an elven woman holding an open codex and and quill pen stood at the doorway.


    "Literatura, goddess of formal writing, documentation, and books," Bote explained in passing as they went inside. Bote led Al past rows of bookshelves, pausing to give the eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture to the temple caretaker, who replied with a hand-motion suggesting the writing of a word in the air with an invisible stylus.


    "Is there a shrine to Indicina in here because of the writing, since Indicina is the messenger god?" Al wondered aloud.


    "Partly, I suppose, but mostly because the temple of Literatura had space available for us to use," Bote replied as they turned down one of the aisles of books and headed towards a door in the wall. Bote opened it, and the smell of a musty basement found Al''s nostrils. Stone steps led down to a small room lit by the steady glow of some magical illumination. Bote gestured for Al to descend, and then closed the door behind them and followed Al down.


    The room at the bottom was a small, simple rectangular space, with a set of shelves along the opposite wall. A few wax-sealed scrolls and envelopes rested on them, each with paper tags on strings attached with another glob of wax.


    "This space is consecrated to Indicina," Bote explained. "Mostly, messages are brought here for redistribution, but Indicina''s presence here also makes this a suitable place to swear an oath. I will return upstairs to ensure nobody interrupts you, so come out when you are finished."


    "Wait! How do I actually do this?" Al said, looking around at the complete lack of obvious religious iconography. The only indication that there was any sort of supernatural presence was the magical lighting.


    "Do you know and understand the oath that you intend to swear here?"


    "Yes, I have the wording of it written on the paper I have with me, and I''ve read through it."


    "Do you intend to honor this oath?"


    "What? Yes, obviously, I wouldn''t be swearing to it if I didn''t."


    "Good, simply keep that in mind as you speak the oath. You may shout or whisper as you feel appropriate, but also keep in mind that Indicina hears you as you speak. That should be sufficient."


    Bote went back up the stairs, closing the door again as they left, leaving Al feeling foolish and out of place.


    "Uh... hello," he said to the empty air, "I''m supposed to swear this oath so, uh, if you''ll listen so you know I swore it... uh, that''d be great. Thanks." He took the paper from a pocket in his robes, unfolded it, and read through the text of the oath. He''d gone over it more than once looking for tricks or unpleasant loopholes, but hadn''t found anything especially burdensome. He promised not to share any knowledge of the interior of the former library with anyone who hadn''t sworn the oath, he promised to bring a sacrificial donation of a book any time he entered the former library, he promised not to do harm to other oath-takers he might meet inside the former library, and he promised to always act with the benefit of the former library in mind whenever it was relevant. That part was the second most worrisome portion of the oath. Al had gone over that several times trying to find some trick to it, but it seemed to rely entirely on his intentions rather than some absolute judgement of whether his actions were ultimately beneficial or not.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    He reflexively hesitated for a moment before the final most-worrisome oath, to accept any "fair, proportional, and just punishment" in response to violations of the oath. The oath didn''t specify who or what would be judging what constitutes a violation of the oath or what sort of punishments would be fair, proportional, and just, or even exactly to who or what the oath was directed.


    I''m swearing the oath to Indicina, who has heard and will convey my swearing of the oath to the appropriate entities, as well as any violations of the oath and recommended punishments for them, Al thought. Then, he wondered where the thought had come from. It felt strange, like it was a thought that had been put there. Ineffably.


    "Oh. Right. Uh, thank you for listening."


    I''m welcome.


    Al shook his head and rushed back up the stairs, wondering if perhaps Bote''s thoughts were like that all the time.


    <hr>


    The next order of business was to collect their pay. Al and Bote returned to their room to gather up the worn stocking and napkin that the magistrate had given them, and then found Stephen to guide them down to the underground space where the treasury workers kept watch over the vault. The publicly accessible area was just a small space in front of a stone wall. An iron-barred window in the wall separated them from the attendants on the other side, where there seemed to be an office with several desks, shelves of records, and on the far wall, a heavy door that appeared to be cast from a single piece of iron. The only out-of-place feature there seemed to be a small fountain of steaming hot water in the floor a short way behind the window. The window-attendant accepted their unorthodox cloth documents with no hesitation which suggested to Al that this wasn''t the first time the magistrate had done this sort of thing. Al watch, puzzled, as the attendant used a pair of tongs to hold the napkin and stocking in the stream of steaming hot water for a few moments before examining them.


    "Balnea Infernala will know if there is any fraud taking place," the attendant explained. He seemed satisfied that the writing was no less legible after its soaking. "How much of this do you want in coin?"


    "As opposed to what?" Al asked.


    "This is a fairly substantial amount of coinage to carry around. Depending on where you''re headed when you leave, you may prefer to take some of this as a promissory note for one of the banks we keep accounts with. For example, we have a substantial sum deposited at Bank of Southwall in order for our agents there to purchase supplies for us. You might find it more convenient to carry a note and collect coin after you arrive, rather than being responsible for such a large sum in coin for the entire trip."


    "I don''t imagine it''d be all that heavy if we split it up between us all to carry," Al considered.


    "Yes, but coins can be lost or stolen and there would be no recourse. A divinely-guaranteed promissory note provides some protection from fraud and theft. Of course, if you lose it, you would need to return here and it would take some time to replace it while we confirm the original hasn''t been redeemed, but in my opinion this is still substantially safer," the attendant suggested.


    "The terms of our agreement with Notamimic Manor do not absolve us of returning the agreed-upon share to them if any of our earnings are lost," Bote added.


    "Hmmm. Yeah. Hey, Stephen, how much is our bill so far?"


    "Forty-three gold as of right now," Stephen answered immediately.


    "Ouch. But I guess we can afford that now. All right, how about we take one hundred coins for each of the four of us, plus an additional fifty or so to cover our bills, and we can cash in for the rest when we get to Southwall."


    <hr>


    Al felt awkward with his very heavy coinpurse, stuffed with the weight of three hundred gold coins until he could hand over Wikwocket''s and Gruntle''s shares to them. Bote and their hundred gold coins followed Al as he went back outside and headed for the apothecary. He traded a few gold coins for a small wooden box that jug of poisonous goblin swamp-juice would fit into, which was then filled with molten wax to submerge it completely. Another sixty gold coins bought him a fine, sturdy codex of blank vellum sheets suitable for wizardry use.


    "I suppose this means your job went well?" the shopkeeper asked with a smile as she took Al''s money and handed over his purchases.


    "Yes, very well I think."


    "Do feel free to spend as much of your earnings here as you''d like, we appreciate your business."


    <hr>


    Al spent a few more gold coins buying meat pies to feed everyone that evening and on the road when they left. He was prepared to return to the room for the remainder of the day to read, but Bote had one more thing they felt needed to be done first.


    "It would be rude to neglect Haunch. Good manners dictate that we visit him to see how he is doing before we show up to drag him away overnight."


    "He''s a donkey. Why would he care?"


    "Perhaps he does not, but he has worked hard for us since joining us, and it is only fair that we afford him proper consideration."


    They found their donkey looking contented in his large stall, well-groomed and eating oats from a bucket.


    "I see they have been taking good care of you," Bote said to the donkey, who answered with a soft, low grunting sound. "I''m afraid we will need to move on later tonight, but please do not be upset. You must be getting bored in here anyway, and I promise we will continue to treat you well."


    Haunch simply snorted. Bote reached up to pat his neck gently before turning to leave.


    "I''m pretty sure donkeys don''t really understand what you''re saying, why did you want to talk to him?"


    "Do you intend to give Gruntle one hundred gold coins?" Bote asked for some reason.


    "What? Well, yes, but what does that have to do with donkeys?"


    "Do you believe Gruntle truly understands the value of one hundred gold coins?"


    "I doubt it, but he''s earned it anyway. Ah. I see your point," Al conceded. He turned back to wave at the donkey before they left. "Thanks, Haunch," he called out.


    Haunch said nothing in reply, being a donkey, but watched them leave as he chewed another mouthful of oats.


    <hr>


    They returned to their room. Al found Stephen and arranged to have someone wake them up a few hours before dawn so they could leave inconspicuously. Then, Al got out his books and dove into studying. He was several hours into his reading and notes on the conjuration of fully-manifest spirits into the waking world when Wikwocket and Gruntle returned to the room, staggering in as if exhausted. Wikwocket fell onto her bed clutching her stomach while Gruntle slowly crawled underneath Al''s bed.


    "There are meat pies if you want to eat before sleeping," Al pointed out. Wikwocket groaned.


    "No, I think we''ve had enough to eat for now," she said. "We made a lot of food-sellers happy today."


    "I haven''t given you your share of the money we took out today yet, how did you pay for that much food?"


    "We didn''t!" Wikwocket answered with a grin. "We got a crowd going by inviting them to throw food at Gruntle. By the end of it, they were buying things from the food-carts and throwing it at both of us. It was a great time, but I don''t think we''re going to need to eat again for a little while. Besides, those meat pies are probably cold by now."


    "There''s nothing wrong with cold meat pie," Al argued.


    "Still not as good as hot ones. Oh, I know, you can use magic fire to heat them back up again, right?"


    "Uh... that''s probably not a good idea, unless you want to turn them into charcoal. The spells conjure up a lot of magic fire."


    "You can''t just make a little magic fire instead of a lot?"


    "That''s just not how the magic works! There''s an intent to make a lot of fire behind making the magic work, if I wanted to make a less intense amount of fire I''d have to... hmmm...".


    "I''m sure our magical sword hero can figure it out! You work on that, I''m going to take a nice long nap while I digest all of this food."


    Al was very annoyed when the academic challenge of reducing the magic fire from his fingers to a simpler, more controlled effect distracted him from his spirit-binding research. Everyone else was asleep when he finally decided to stop thinking about it. He allowed himself to command his candle to extinguish itself rather than blowing it out, and then went to sleep dreaming of small fires.

 0109 - Expected Departure, Unexpected Arrival

    Fire wasn''t especially complicated. Many novice wizards'' first successful working of spellcasting was that silly "shower of sparks" trick, and sparks are merely very tiny fires. If one reaches that degree of fundamental understanding of the concept, convincing something like a candle or campfire that it is aflame or extinguished is a small step. It had been a much bigger challenge to create a large amount of burning flame from nothing, and then imposing the degree of control required to constrain the burning into discrete bolts of flaming magical violence had been the most difficult working of magic Al had successfully done so far.


    A single, controlled bit of magical fire wouldn''t need anything he didn''t already understand. Perhaps something like the angry, hateful, destructive little bursts of flame that kept popping out of the ground around Al, here in the bleak wasteland he stood in. He wasn''t sure how he''d gotten here or exactly where here was, but he somehow knew that somewhere further ahead in the distance, very bad things waited, so he stayed where he was and watched the deep red, sulfur-scented miniature explosions of fire flaring into existence and disappearing. Despite the unsettling scenery, this would have been almost meditative if it weren''t for the distraction of something''s attention on Al. There was nothing to see in the barren terrain aside from the sporadic eruptions of flame, but in the same way that Al knew something bad was out there on the horizon, he also knew something small, fearful, angry, and hungry was watching him.


    Some sort of spirit? Al wondered. Wait, is this...


    Another interruption of his attention manifested itself in the form of a rapid series of the fiery bursts from the ground, each one closer to him than the last and approaching quickly.


    POP! POP! POP! POP! Knock knock knock knock...


    Dragged back to consciousness in the waking world again by the gentle knocking on the door, Al reluctantly opened his eyes. "Wha...?" he managed to say.


    "The time that you''d asked to be awakened has come," Stephen''s voice said from the other side of the door.


    "Perhaps give us some time to properly awaken ourselves, but we should be ready to leave soon," Bote''s voice said from across the room.


    "Shall I return in half an hour?" Stephen''s voice suggested.


    "Yeah," Al said sleepily, "Thanks." He groaned and sat up as as the monster under his bed slid out and stood up.


    "Don''t wanna," Wikwocket mumbled from the tangle of blankets she was sleeping in.


    "If we are to leave with appropriate secrecy to disappear mysteriously, now would be the best time," Bote countered.


    "Yeah, yeah," Wikwocket muttered, wrestling the blankets away from her like a constrictor snake.


    "We''ve still got meat pies if you want to eat before we leave," Al yawned, waving towards the small pile of them. A pair of fuzzy, stubby-clawed hands immediately grabbed a few.


    "They''re probably cold," Wikwocket complained. Al picked one up, and performed a small magic trick to make it warm before handing it over.


    "Not bad," Wikwocket said, taking a bite, "but that''s just warm, not hot. How about putting a little fire on them?"


    His dream half-remembered in his sleepy state, Al found himself beginning a complex gesture and mumbling newly-familiar arcane syllables. He realized what he was doing as the angry little ball of flame began to form in his hand. It dissipated with a quiet POP as he closed his fist and disrupted the magic-working.


    "I''m not going to risk burning the place down just to try to overcook your food," complained Al.


    "It''s too early to give you a hard time for it, so just imagine I made fun of you while I eat my warm pie."


    Al made use of his food-warming magic trick on a pie for himself and ate it while made sure he had everything packed. He wiped the grease from his hands with a cleaning-cloth, magicked the grease off of the cloth, and packed it away as well. By the time he finished suiting up for travel and conjuring up what he was now resigned to thinking of as the magic invisible cart to carry their belongings, Stephen returned. To settle their forty-seven gold coin bill, Al gave him forty-nine of the fifty coins he''d reserved for the purpose. Two gold coins still seemed like a large amount for a gratuity to Al, but he felt Hell''s Bathtub had been good to them, and Stephen had personally been very helpful It seemed prudent to be generous while they could afford to.


    "Thank you," Stephen said, "I hope you''ll return again regularly." He considered something for a moment, and continued, "You wanted to leave discreetly, yes? If you''ll follow me, there''s a service-tunnel that has an exit near the back of the stables. It''s meant for staff only, but nobody will object if you''re with me."


    After a brief pause to rearrange their gear atop the magic invisible cart so that it''d fit through the door, Stephen led them down several hallways and through another door to a shallow downward slope to a lamp-lit passageway. They passed a number of side-passages before turning down one, which eventually led to an upward slope that took them up to a small warehouse.


    "It wouldn''t do to obstruct guest hallways with deliveries of supplies, so it''s important that we have an alternative way to take shipments from here into the main building," Stephen explained. He opened the warehouse door, revealing the back of the stables.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "The stablehand on duty should have your donkey and cart ready to go by now," he continued, opening the rear door of the stables for them. "On behalf of Hell''s Bathtub, thank you for your custom and your assistance. I encourage you to ask for me by name when you visit us again. You''ve been a delightfully unusual group of guests. Safe travels to you all."


    He gave them a smile that seemed genuinely friendly as he held the door open for them to enter. The door closed behind them.


    Haunch was already hitched to their cart and lazily waiting as he chewed on the contents of a feedbag. He gave Al a disinterested glance as he saw them, but perked up when Gruntle followed Al inside.


    "You''re weird, you know," Al jokingly told the donkey as Gruntle helped him load their belongings from their magical cart to their normal one, "normal donkeys don''t seem to like gnolls much." A feedbag-muffled snort was all the reply he got. Al gave the stablehand the last gold coin from the party-expense fund he''d set aside. The boy removed the now-empty feedbag from the donkey and then looked it over.


    "This one looks like it''s getting pretty worn out and ought to be replaced," he said with a grin as he carried it over to a barrel of oats. He scooped a few handsfull of oats into it and brought it back to offer it to Al.


    "He already had meat pie, I don''t think he''s still hungry," quipped Wikwocket. Al rolled his eyes and accepted the "worn out" feedbag, putting it on the cart to give to Haunch later.


    "Thank you, Haunch seems like he''s been very well cared for while we''ve been here," Al said.


    "Oh, no, sir, thank you, he''s been no trouble at all. Safe travels!" the happy stableboy answered, and opened the main stable doors for them.


    The night was dark and chilly, but not terribly cold. Nobody else was out on the street as they walked to the northern gate. The guard on duty yawned and opened it for them.


    "How far is it to the next place to spend the night before we get to Southwall?" Al asked the guard. She yawned again before answering.


    "On foot, probably about eight to ten hours of travel to Wayfarer''s Rest. The Golden Penance Inn is a nice place to stay but, uh, you probably want to have your big friend there turn back into a normal person before you get there. They might not let them stay like that, and anyone who''s camping in the woods near there to save money may not even be that polite. Also if you weren''t aware, unauthorized shapechanging magic is illegal in Southwall."


    "Thank you, yes, we''ve heard about that. Uh, anything else on the road here that we ought to know about?"


    "I won''t ask you why you''re traveling at night, but be careful. People have been saying there are rumors of goblins around."


    Al tried to ignore Gruntle''s murderously eager grin.


    "I hate goblins," Al said. "Thanks for the warning, we''ll keep watch for them."


    With a last exchange of polite nods with the guard, The Gnoll Party passed through the gate and beyond the boundaries of Hell''s Bathtub, following the road through sparse pine forest. The air immediately went from "chilly" to "cold" as they left the boundaries of Hell''s Bathtub, and Al gladly picked up the pace to keep up with Gruntle''s rush to the front.


    "You seemed like you were pretty comfortable in Hell''s Bathtub, but I guess you were ready to leave too," Al said to him.


    "Going to hit people until they stop moving," Gruntle explained, looking ahead into the darkness as he strode down the road.


    "I hope that works out. Hopefully this letter of introduction will keep the local militia from panicking and trying to kill us all."


    "You can be scary sometimes," Wikwocket interjected from her place on the cart their donkey was pulling, "but you usually don''t scare people so much that they want to kill you."


    "I don''t, no, but a gnoll definitely could. It sounds like we have most of the day to come up with some way to avoid panic when Gruntle shows up with us, we should be reaching Wayfarer''s Rest before the next sunset if nothing goes wrong."


    "Maybe he could wear a disguise!" Wikwocket suggested, getting a firm rejection from the gnoll in the form of a forceful huff.


    "Awww, it''d be fun! We could get you a big floppy hat to hide your head, and a huge set of hooded robes to cover your fuzzy body!"


    "I do not believe our gnoll wants to wear any more than he absolutely must, if you will recall," Bote countered.


    "Well, then, we could tie a rope around his neck, then everyone will assume we''ve captured him, right?"


    "Hmmm... ," Al considered carefully. "That might work. Seems possibly risky but if we don''t come up with anything else before we arrive, we could test that and see how people react in Wayfarer''s Rest. If it works, we can take that approach at Southwall, and if not we''ll have another day of travel to think of something else. It''s probably a good idea to see what other ideas we can come up with, it''s not like we''re going to be at our next stop soon"


    The sun appeared in the sky and the air warmed up. Or, at least, there was light visible coming through the featureless grey sky, illuminating the sparsely scattered thorny bushes dotting the otherwise bleak landscape. This alarmed Al greatly, since the sun hadn''t risen, the entire atmosphere around them had just changed. Somewhere off in the distance, pained screeches of some sort of animals fighting echoed.


    Gruntle showed interest in the unexpected change, but no worry. Al drew Purgatio from its sheathe and watched for danger. The gleam of the sword seemed out of place for the setting.


    "What just happened?" asked Wikwocket, taking out BiteySue and her still-nameless dagger.


    "I don''t know yet. It definitely doesn''t seem like we''re where we started any more, but I don''t know where we are."


    "Home," Gruntle said. His ears twitched, and without a further word he began to lope away.


    "Wait! Gruntle, where are you going?"


    "Hunting call."


    Al thought it was odd that their donkey wasn''t making a lot of noise, though the poor creature seemed very concerned and confused as it pulled the cart to follow Gruntle. Al hurried to keep up, sparing a glance at Bote who was falling a little behind.


    "My endurance is fine," they said breathlessly as they ran, "but my legs are normal-sized against those of you excessively tall people!"


    "Gruntle! Wait for us!" Al called ahead as he ran forward, but Gruntle seemed focused on whatever he was hearing. Al thought he could hear it, too, now. Later, he would struggle to remember exactly what it was that he heard, but for now he had to agree it was an obvious call of some sort.


    Gruntle dropped from view. Al and Haunch, with Wikwocket on the cart, caught up to where they''d last seen him and found a wide tunnel sloping into the ground. The indescribable, intriguing sound that they all seemed to be chasing came from somewhere at the other end. The tunnel was short and sloped back up to somewhere dark. Heedless of possible danger, they all rushed back up.


    The calling sound disappeared as they reached ground-level again, and Al froze at what he saw.


    There was no tunnel now, just a wide patch of grass behind a wooden building, barely visible in the starlight showing through the pine trees. They were encircled by unidentifiable flesh and wet blood, arranged in a clearly intentional pattern. Somewhere not too far away in the darkness, Al could hear screaming.


    A thin man with severely stained face, hands, and clothing made excited predatory animal noises as Gruntle listened from there inside the gruesome enclosure where they had appeared.


    Gnollish? Al thought.


    If it was, Al couldn''t tell, but the man''s crazed demeanor seemed to suggest he was demanding that Gruntle do something violent, pointing to the mangled body-parts incorporated in the arcane circle. In the starlight, Al thought he could see the man''s face looking towards them in the circle, at first with a sort of manic happiness, but changing immediately to shock.


    The man pointed angrily at Al, Haunch, and Wikwocket, and made an urgent, angry pattern of bestial noises.


    While still not comprehensible to Al as speech, it seemed to be a clear mandate for something murderous.


    Starlight reflected a faint amber glow from Gruntle''s eyes as he turned to face them.

 0110 - Summoned

    The feeling that Al shouldn''t look away as he met the gnoll''s eyes prevented him from acting on the unexpected certainty that the snarling, barking, growling man should be killed. He did his best not to flinch as Gruntle unhooked his flail from his belt and shook his shield down from his shoulder to his hand, a questioning series of barks and snarls coming from his throat. He didn''t look away.


    "You wouldn''t...," Al heard Wikwocket whisper.


    The crazed man grunted and loudly repeated with an angry urgency the noises Gruntle had made, baring his stained teeth. He stepped forward towards Al and stood next to Gruntle, drawing a pair of stained daggers from somewhere. Gruntle grunted and raised his flail, his pupils dilating wide. Violence exploded all at once.


    Haunch brayed in alarm as the man lunged forward with manic laughter to stab at Al at the same moment as Gruntle broke eye-contact with Al and his flail descended. Al hastily conjured a protective barrier to defend himself and tried to get Purgatio''s point aimed to skewer the dagger-wielding maniac, stepping back in hope of avoiding Gruntle''s strike. Al heard Wikwocket leaping down from the cart and rushing forward from behind him. The wild man''s daggers skidded off of the short-lived magical barrier around Al as the man rushed in past the point of Al''s sword. The man''s fervent expression changed to shock and confusion as Gruntle''s flail caught him in the back of the head, knocking him forward into Al. Wikwocket dodged out from behind Al and plunged BiteySue''s point between the man''s ribs, shouting a growling-barking vocalization. Her dagger slashed across the man''s right arm.


    A sudden sound of someone panting heavily started suddenly as Bote appeared.


    "Where did...," the dwarf began, but realizing there was a fight in progress they switched to reciting a short prayer invoking divine punishment on their attacker, who ignored their smouldering flesh from the divine fire and instead stepped back away from Al and Wikwocket. He wheeled angrily on Gruntle. The clearly insane man dodged around Gruntle''s shield and leapt up to bite into Gruntle''s upper arm, clamping his teeth onto flesh and slashing at the gnoll''s chest with his daggers. Bolts of abstract magical violence struck the man as Gruntle bit him back. The gnoll''s large, jagged teeth crunched into the man''s neck and collarbone, and the man''s crazed laughter halted, one last exhalation escaping as a wet, quiet growl. Wikwocket gave the dangling body another stab, just to be sure. Gruntle turned to look around eagerly for more violence, but the dead man''s teeth remained clamped to Gruntle''s arm as tightly as Gruntle''s much deadlier jaws continued to bite down on the corpse''s neck.


    "What''s going on here?" Al demanded to know,"I can''t see in this darkness!"


    Bote stepped up and gently touched the flat of Purgatio''s blade with two fingers, intoning a short prayer for enlightenment. Purgatio lit up with a silvery-white light. Al almost wished it hadn''t, because now he could see the gruesomeness. The circle they were standing in had been made with blood, bone, and flesh. The man dangling dead from Gruntle''s mouth wore clothes that seemed to have been well-tailored, but not ostentatious. The once-clean white shirt and black trousers had probably been more expensive than a common person would usually wear, at least they were before being slashed, punctured, and grossly blood-stained. The man was slender and seemed less muscular than Al would have expected for someone so eager for physical violence, and he appeared to have several fresh injuries beyond the ones they''d just inflicted on him. Only some of the blood seemed to be his own. The daggers the man''s hands, and the lower half of the man''s face were stained with what Al assumed was goblin blood.


    Gruntle huffed as he worked to pry the dead man''s jaws off of his arm. "Hunting call," he said in answer to Al''s question.


    "Hunting what? This guy?"


    "Goblins."


    Gruntle pointed to the gruesome pattern of blood and body-parts arranged around them. In the divine light shining from Purgatio, Al could now see the green skin still on some of the larger parts. Seeing the human-sized bite marks still oozing blood in places on the severed green-skinned arms made Al feel a little queasy. Al held his glowing sword up to look around. They appeared to be at the back of a large wooden building - probably a barn or stables judging by the sounds of terrified horses coming from inside. The grasses growing here had been randomly trampled and spattered with more blood.


    "Where are we and how did we get here, who was that man, and why did he sound like a gnoll?" Al asked. Indistinct but obviously distressed shouts rang out from somewhere beyond the other side of the building. "Never mind, explain later, we''d better make sure there aren''t more of them. Come on!"


    Al rushed around the building towards its front. He let pass without comment the brief wetly-ripping, crunching noise followed by the sound of a body flopping to the ground happening behind him.


    The barn doors were open. A few agitated horses loudly expressed their fears inside, becoming even more frantic when Al and his companions looked in. Al could see two more small green bloodied bodies laying crumpled in awkward poses on the blood-spattered straw floor as they passed by. The growing chorus of shouts and unpleasantly familiar harsh, malicious, high-pitched laughter of goblins from a larger building across a small courtyard compelled Al to keep moving.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The building had two stories, and gave the impression of an inn. A raised patio to the left with a lit oil lantern mounted on the pole in the middle invited late travelers to the front door. From what Al could see in the dim light, the building appeared to be well-kept and had a generous number of glass-paned windows. The one to the left of the wide main doors was broken, blood dripping from the jagged lower edges to suggest someone hadn''t been careful enough climbing through. The front doors hung loosely open and the shouting, fighting, and evil goblin laughter echoed hollowly from further inside.


    Al rushed to the side of the broken window and leaned over to peek quickly inside to see what immediate danger they might have to worry about. The window seemed to have been broken from outside and shards of glass were scattered on the floor amid the wide space of tables and chairs beyond. A low fire still remained in a fireplace near the center of the large room, providing enough light to see that some of the furniture had been shoved out of place and overturned, but no movement was visible besides the shifting shadows cast by the fireplace flames - until Gruntle and Wikwocket rushed through the front door and through the room towards the sounds of struggle. Al grumbled and rushed in after them, followed by Bote. Unable to follow, Haunch brayed nervously as he was left alone.


    They had to pause for a moment of decision near the opposite end of the building, where goblins, screaming, and a muffled pleading voice came from somewhere beyond an open door that seemed to lead to a kitchen, and more struggling and shouting coming from up a set of stairs leading to the upper story.


    "Which one do we deal with first?" Al asked, urgently looking from the stairs to the kitchen door.


    "Both!" Wikwocket answered confidently, "We''ll take the ones in there, you two go up and see what''s happening upstairs! We''ll catch up if we finish first!"


    Gruntle grunted, and the gnoll and gnome sprinted into the kitchen and out of sight before Al could object.


    "I suppose we''re committed, then," Bote observed, nodding towards the stairs. Accepting his fate, Al ran quickly up. As he ascended, he saw that the doorway of the room immediately across from the stairs was open and crowded with goblins, stabbing with short swords and spears at a pair of wounded burly men swinging iron truncheons while an apprehensive middle-aged man behind them watched from the back of the room. Almost without thinking, Al launched a ball of angry fire at the back of the first goblin he saw. The small explosion of flame as it hit the goblin''s back engulfed it and knocked its crispy body forward into the others. The ones not in the front line of the fight spun and charged Al with spears. His clumsy defense with Purgatio and the chainmail shirt kept him from the worst of the harm, but he couldn''t avoid being stabbed in the hip and leg. Bote stomping up the steps behind him to provide reinforcements seemed to break their resolve, and they fled down the hall, where Al could see a trio of goblins with small axes chopping away at another door, too focused on whatever victim or treasure they thought was inside to care.


    With conflict less uneven, the two defenders in the room beat one of the remaining goblins to death and began pushing the remaining three back. With the others down the hall taking a defensive stance around the door-choppers, Al, Bote, and the two room defenders were able to take down two more before the others broke away and dodged past them to flee down the stairs.


    "Are you all right?" Al called to the occupants of the room as he turned to face the goblins down the hall.


    In answer, the two bleeding men hastily grabbed the corpses of the goblins and tossed them out into the hall. "Fine. Thank you," one of them answered as the other slammed the door shut.


    "At least they were grateful," said Bote. "What shall we do about these? While they don''t seem especially skilled in combat, it seems unnecessarily risky to simply rush in."


    "Yeah, and this is a wooden building, so I don''t think I can engulf them all in flames without setting the whole building ablaze. Maybe we could..."


    A deafening roar and the explosion of the door outward into splinters interrupted Al and blasted all seven of the goblins outside back against the opposite wall. Only three stood unsteadily back up and fled further down the hall and into the open door of a room at the end. A dense puff of thick black smoke smelling of burnt alchemical substances billowed into the hallway through what little was left of the door.


    Dumbfounded by the unexpected events, Al found himself unsure what to do as a gruff, somewhat feminine voice shouted something angry in a language that sounded similar to the goblin''s speech. A bright red hand holding a work of obvious mechanical alchemy - a flared hollow metal tube sticking out of a mechanism on the end of a crossbow-like handgrip - poked out into the hallway. The rest of the hand''s owner followed, starting with a quick head looking out into the hallway for danger, pulling back immediately, then slowly re-emerging to stare at Al and Bote before stepping the rest of the way out. For a moment, Al thought they were about to end up fighting another demon. Certainly, the bright red skin, completely black eyes, small horns, taloned feet, and sharp triangular teeth indicated obvious demonic ancestry, but the distinctly feminine nightgown draped over the stout woman''s body didn''t seem like anything a real demon would wear at all. "Who the hell are you?" she asked, lifting the device in her hand to point upwards away from them.


    "Uh, I''m Al, this is Bote, we, uh, we heard the commotion and thought people probably needed help."


    "I''m Serena. Did you kill all of them?" she asked, looking at the assorted goblin bodies in the hallway. "If I''d known someone else was going to kill ''em all, I wouldn''t have wasted supplies loading up to blast them myself! Ah, who am I kidding, yes I would! Nice to have a legitimate excuse to break things!"


    She laughed at her own little joke rather more raucously than necessary, Al thought.


    Breaking glass sounded from the open door at the end of the hallway. Serena turned and ran to the door and pointed the device inside. The shriek of a startled goblin was cut off by another loud explosion, shooting fire and smoke into the room.


    "Is that a tiny cannon?" Al asked in wonder.


    "That''s right!" she answered proudly.


    Gnollish bark-laughter echoed up the stairs from elsewhere in the building.


    "Are there gnolls here, too?" Serena asked, alarmed. She shifted the still smoking device to her other hand, then reached down the front of her nightgown to retrieve another one.


    "No!" Al quickly answered. "I mean, yes, but it''s only one, he''s not with the goblins he''s... look, we need to get back downstairs, just... if you see a gnoll, don''t attack him, he''s with us. Come on, Bote, we''d better catch up to them." He gave an awkward wave to Serena as he hurried back down the stairs. Bote followed with a polite "Pleasure meeting you, Serena".


    "The next time I see you, you will explain!" Serena yelled after them.

 0111 - Conjured Goblin Disposal

    Wikwocket was not a fan of early morning activity, especially when it''s technically still "night".


    Even so, she had to admit that the day was turning out to be completely worth it for the excitement and mystery.


    Who was that guy? He magicked us here, right? What was going on with the sky getting light when that strange sound started calling me? Why did that guy seem so surprised to see us? Was he really asking Gruntle to kill us? Why did he even think that would work? And what''s with all the goblins? That guy wanted them killed, too, right? So much happening! It''s like being rewarded for getting out of bed!


    She hurried after her gnollish clanmate towards the calls for help and evil goblin laughter, through the cooking area with its stewpot still bubbling over a fire. The table of food and cooking implements in the food-preparation area beyond were in complete disarray - the table overturned, bowls and platters of food atrewn across the floor. Small bare footprints were stamped in mashed turnips in the direction of the commotion, beyond a pantry door. Gruntle stalked nearly silent to the side of the open doorway. He stretched up to his full height so he could sneak a quick look down into the room from the upper corner of the doorway, then drew back. He gave a quiet growling-grumbling sound that Wikwocket had come to think of as meaning dangerous, but not enough to be afraid of as she caught up and stood against the wall on the other side of Gruntle. She answered with an acknowledging grunt and raised BiteySue and her dagger.


    Gruntle passed his f''lail to his shield-holding hand so that he could unbuckle his collar, his excited grin widened into a frightening display of teeth. Wikwocket hardly noticed her own marginally-less-scary mirroring the gnoll''s in her excitement as she listened to the sounds in the next room - goblinish laughter interrupted by small groans of effort, coinciding with the humanish screaming and pleading becoming clear, then muffled again with the sound of a door slamming shut.


    Gruntle tucked his collar into his belt, and his eyes went black as he took his flail back up and charged into the room with maniacal barking laughter, Wikwocket following close behind him,


    A small crowd of goblins inside the pantry cackled and strained as they collectively tried to pry open a trapdoor in the floor. A terrified middle-aged man visible through the partially open trapdoor clung to a handle underneath tried with all of his strength to pull it closed again. He finally succeeded when two of the goblins lost their grip as one was smashed and brok''en by a gnoll''s flail and his startled neighbor''s neck and shoulder crunched in gnollish jaws. One of the others failed to get their hands loose in time and screeched horribly as their fingers were crushed and stuck in the trapdoor.


    The other five let go in time and took up weapons, several of which seemed to be very nice kitchen knives.


    One raised a meatcleaver to chop at the unexpected gnoll just as Wikwocket stepped out from behind Gruntle and skewered the goblin through the chest. Another with a vegetable-chopping knife dodged back just in time to turn the slash from Wikwocket''s dagger from a fatal slash across the throat into an ugly but non-lethal cut across its face. It shrieked in pain and fear, and with desperate alacrity it dodged and sprinted past them both and away through the kitchen.


    The two goblins still fighting threw themselves at the monstrous beast who''d appeared without warning to ruin their fun, one swinging a heavy iron meat tenderizer, the other slashing with a viciously sharp paring knife. Whatever pain Gruntle should have felt from the long but shallow slash across his hip and the bleeding indentations at the side of his lower ribs from the meat-tenderizing hammer didn''t slow the gnoll down in his ecstatic mania of violence. Seeing the demonic, bestial thing that was assaulting them hardly noticed the smashing of the spiky metal meat-tenderizer into his side, the goblin swinging it dodged away from Gruntle''s impending flail-strike and made a wildly-dodging run for the door, pausing for only the tiniest moment on the way to snatch up the fine meat-cleaver dropped by his dead former compatriot. Wikwocket''s attempt to catch the goblin with the point of BiteySue as it fled past was confounded by the goblin''s unpredictable changes of motion. It fled the pantry, but at least had the decency to do it without too much annoying screaming.


    The last freely-moving goblin had the good sense to recognize its predicament, and it, too, attempted escape, but by now Wikwocket was starting to get a sense of the malicious little creatures'' habits and was ready this time. She managed to correctly guess which side of Gruntle it would try to rush past and moved to meat it with her rapier and dagger.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The goblin fell to the floor gurgling with two new holes in its body.


    Throughout the brief violence, the sound of the pantry had been dominated by the duet of panicked screaming from the goblin whose fingers were still firmly held by the trapdoor and the person clinging to it underneath trying to shut it by the force of his weight. The stuck goblin''s screams somehow became louder and it tried more frantically to pull free, heedless of what would happen to its fingers as the full attention of the gnoll turned on it.


    The goblin pulled free of the trapdoor, leaving its fingers behind, as the heavy flail swung around and smashed into the goblin''s chest hard enough to rip the body free from the fingers. Its screaming stopped, and that of the people below the trapdoor was muffled as the trapdoor closed again.


    Wikwocket admired the carnage they''d just caused. For a good cause, though - we''re rescuing people from evil goblins! Heroic! she thought as she looked for more potentially lurking goblins.


    Finding none, Gruntle took a deep breath, then let it out slowly with a complaining grumble. His pupils returned to their normal size and he slid his shield back up to his shoulder, hung his flail back from the hook on his belt, and buckled his collar back around his neck.


    Wikwocket tried to lift the trapdoor, but it wouldn''t budge.


    "Hey, I think we got them all down here, are you all unharmed down there?" she finally gave in and shouted at the door. The yelling of the people underneath may have kept them from hearing her.


    Gruntle helpfully grabbed the ring on the trapdoor and yanked it upward, startling the screaming man hanging from the bottom. Gruntle leaned down to look. The mans screams got even louder for a moment before cutting off as the man''s eyes rolled back and he went limp, letting go of the trapdoor and falling to the floor. Someone else''s scream from the cellar below called out.


    "Cedric! What happened? Cedric! Wake up!"


    "Hey, I think my big friend just startled him, he''s probably fine," Wikwocket called down, leaning over to look down. she could see at least three people wearing kitchen aprons down below, gathered around the limp body of Cedric. "Is everyone all right down there?"


    "As all right as we can be after these murderous little green menaces came charging in, stealing and ruining things and trying to kill us. Are they gone?"


    "We think so, but we need to go check upstairs, our friends our up there looking for the rest of the goblins. Don''t worry, we''re mysterious adventurer heroes, we''ll get rid of them!"


    "Thank you," yet another voice of someone hiding in the cellar called out to them. "Who are you, anyway?"


    "We''re..."


    A loud boom from somewhere upstairs vibrated the walls and floor, shaking down dust from the ceiling. Gruntle looked up, and loped back out through the kitchen.


    "We''d better go check on that! You can call us the gnoll party! You might want to stay down there for a little while just in case there are more sneaking around, but I''m sure we can get rid of the last of them one way or another pretty quickly! We''re professionals! Farewell, brave kitchen-workers, may we all meet again under better circumstances!"


    She rushed as quickly as her short gnomish legs could carry her after Gruntle. Al and Bote nearly ran into them at the bottom of the stairs as they descended.


    "Did you get them all?" Wikwocket asked excitedly.


    "I think they''re all gone one way or another, but I heard the woman we met up there setting off another of the devices she had, so maybe she found another one after we left. The ones that were still alive that we knew of were all trying to escape out of a window in the room in the far corner up there."


    "Should we go up and help her look for more?" Wikwocket asked. "Them maybe we should go around and introduce ourselves!


    "I don''t know, it seems to me that standing near someone willing to point and aim tiny hand-held cannons in their own hands might be dangerous for everyone. I''m also not sure we should introduce ourselves, we don''t even know where we are yet, and I don''t know if it''s a good idea to try to explain how we got here and what happened to the crazy man whose summoning ritual brought us here. I wish I knew what he was up to , but now he''s dead and we may never know."


    "How are we going to become famous and influential unless people get to know us?"


    "Both approaches have merit," Bote suggested, "Having just rescued a number of people from a goblin raid, it may be worthwhile to speak to the locals and perhaps get some insight into where we are. On the other hand, it may be difficult to explain the presence of an official gnoll, and the savaged and blood state of the man who seems to have been responsible for bringing us here. I think we will need to defer to our leader to make this decision."


    Bote grinned through their beard, showing a hint of good-natured malice.


    "Why do I have to be the leader, anyway?" Al complained.


    "Because you did not refuse in time, and now it is too late."

 0112 - Follow the Leader

    "If I have to play leader then you can all follow me back outside to see if there are any more out there and then go give the crazy guy who summoned us here a closer look before anybody else finds him," Al grumbled, marching quickly towards the front door.


    "Right away, mister leader!" Wikwocket answered, following.


    "Mister leader, sir," Bote corrected with a smile so wide Al could almost hear it.


    Ignoring this, Al rushed outside to look for more goblins. He immediately spotted one. It had been caught in the act of trying to loot their cart and a portion of the load was scattered nearby. Haunch the Donkey brayed in distress as he saw Al returning. The donkey had a long slash down his shoulder and foreleg. There was a lot of blood, but much of it appeared to have been the goblin''s. Although it still clung stubbornly to the strap of one of the packs that it had tried to drag away, it wasn''t really still in the act of looting as it was obviously dead. The dropped meat cleaver lay in the dirt near the remains that had been tenderized to death by donkey hooves far more effectively than the stolen meat-tenderizing hammer tucked in the goblin''s belt ever could.


    Gruntle looked over the scene, and grunted once in approval. Bote and Wikwocket hurried to help their injured donkey, so Al didn''t feel terribly guilty for pausing to look over the scene to make sure nothing was missing - especially his own pack with his wizardry notes and supplies. He couldn''t exactly go down to Ye Olde Wizard Shoppe and buy another copy of his personal research. The goblin appeared to have grabbed Wikwocket''s pack, possibly simply because it was smaller and would have been easier for a goblin to carry. The other three packs were on the ground nearby, either cast aside by the goblin or thrown off while their donkey fought with it. Al picked them up and set them back on the cart while Bote tended to Haunch''s wound and Wikwocket lavished praise on the donkey for his bravery.


    "You''re one of us for real now, Haunch! You''re a mighty goblin-slaying battle-donkey, aren''t you! Hey! We should get you some kind of armor! Hey, Al, they make armor for horses, right?"


    "It''s called barding, but yes," Al answered, trying to imagine their small donkey covered with elaborate metal plating. "It can get pretty expensive and heavy, and I don''t think he''d like wearing it for very long."


    "Barding?" Wikwocket repeated, skeptically. "I was thinking it''d be for protecting him, not for him to..."


    "I don''t know why it''s called that, but it''s got nothing to do with bards," Al swiftly interrupted, annoyed that his mind was now infected with the imagined sight of their donkey with a lute strapped to his back, trotting around trying to seduce everything. "Full barding probably isn''t practical, but I''m sure we could find someone who could make something for him. First, though, is he all right? Can he walk? I think we should hurry up and get back to where we arrived before people start coming out looking for us."


    "Haunch''s injury seemed to have been a painful slice, but not a deep one nor life threatening," Bote answered, tying off the simple bandage they''d wrapped around the donkey''s leg, shoulder, and neck to cover the wound. "I would not recommend hard running but I think he will be fine to pull our cart at a reasonable pace if not over-exerted."


    "Good, let''s get going. I haven''t heard anybody moving around inside yet, so hopefully we''ve still got a few minutes before people risk coming out to see if the goblins are gone," insisted Al, heading back towards the stables without waiting for a reply. "And, now that we have a moment, I''ve got questions. Gruntle, who was that guy?"


    "Hunt caller," Gruntle answered.


    "What''s a hunt caller?"


    "Calls hunts."


    Al groaned and rubbed his forehead.


    "You don''t really understand what happened, either, do you?"


    "Nah. Maybe shaman stuff."


    "He was talking to you like a gnoll, right? What was he saying?"


    "Hunt goblins, because they got in the way. Then you were here and he wanted outsiders killed."


    "For a moment," Al said carefully, "I thought you might."


    "I did."


    "I didn''t get much of it, but it seemed like he was mad at the goblins for interfering with something else he meant to do," Wikwocket added, "He really didn''t expect anyone not gnoll-shaped to appear. Did you see the look on his face? That was pretty funny!"


    "Since when do you speak gnollish?"


    "I don''t think anybody really speaks gnollish," Wikwocket explained, "I think it''s more like an artistic performance, you know? There are some sounds that are like words but a lot of it is body-language and tone to communicate. You''re the smart one, didn''t you already figure that out?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "I''ve been a little distracted with other things these last few weeks, as you may have noticed."


    In hindsight, he''d known that already. He''d read as much in Melissa''s treatise, and he was starting to realize how much of Gruntle''s non-verbal speech he was beginning to understand. Al felt a small relief as he realized he would not need to try to find a way to get Gruntle to sit still for extended what''s the gnollish word for... sessions to create a dictionary.


    The horses in the barn resumed their agitated snorting and stomping in their stalls as the gnoll party returned.


    "Will you stop that? We''re not here to eat you!" Al grumbled at them in annoyance as they passed by the open barn doors. Neither that nor Gruntle''s annoyed huff showed any evidence of calming them.


    The one Gruntle referred to as the hunt-caller lay discarded on the ground where Gruntle had dropped him near the corner of the barn. A wide strip of flesh was obviously bitten out of the man''s neck and shoulder, exposing broken pieces of vertebrae and even more blood seeping into the man''s clothes.


    "I assume nobody has seen him before?" Al asked, rolling the body over onto its back with a shove from his boot.


    "Wait, I''ve seen that guy before!" Wikwocket announced.


    "Really? Where?"


    "Right around the corner from here, a little while ago! He wanted to kill us!"


    She grinned back at Al''s glare.


    "But before that?" Al asked.


    "Nope, no idea who he is. Want me to see if he''s got anything on him that helps?"


    "Well, I don''t want to touch that bloody mess if I don''t have to, thank you for volunteering. I want to look over that circle he made before somebody finds us while you do that."


    Al stepped around the corner of the barn while Wikwocket rolled up her sleeves eagerly.


    The brief but intense struggle had smeared, stomped, and kicked aside large parts of the pattern that had been drawn in blood, flesh, and bone where they had arrived, but the portion that was still recognizable showed writing in that same infernal script they''d found in Wulfcynn Keep. Al wasn''t sure if making it out of goblin parts was important or just an aesthetic choice by the crazy man, but the overall shape of the pattern reminded him in parts of the magic he''d learned from studying Am die Auswelte Sachen und die W?nde Dazwischen, the shapes and patterns seeming to almost cut into reality. Al studied the markings for a while, but could get no more insight from it before a licking sound distracted him. Leaning back around the corner of the barn to look, he was disgusted to see Wikwocket holding up her bloodstained hands to be licked clean by a gnoll.


    "What are you doing?"


    "What, did you want me to wipe the blood all over my nice clothes?" she asked, nodding down to indicate what she was wearing as if they weren''t bespattered with goblin blood already.


    Al threw up his hands in defeat and shot a half-serious pleading glance at the sky.


    "Fine, fine, did you find anything?"


    "Not much, but he was pretty loaded!" Wikwocket replied, proudly jingling a leather coin purse in one gnoll-slobbered hand. "I haven''t opened it up to count it yet but it''s heavy! He''s wearing some plain silver rings on his fingers, too."


    "If you''re done using our gnoll as the most disgusting instrument of hygiene available, I wanted to see if he could understand any of this writing that''s left over here."


    Wikwocket chuckled avariciously as she got the coinpurse open, while Al beckoned Gruntle over to look at the symbols that were still legible.


    "Part of a name," the gnoll interpreted.


    "But you can''t tell me whose name it is?"


    "Nah."


    "Does it at least look familiar?"


    "Nah. Only part of a name."


    "Does it look anything like this?" interrupted Wikwocket. "It was folded up in the coinpurse with the money."


    She held up an unfolded sheet of paper. The sketched diagram on the paper had been made from short scratched lines of what Al hoped was just dark brown ink. The rough sketch looked to Al as if it had been copied hastily from something that the artist had seen but didn''t fully understand, having numerous places where the short scratches of hopefully-not-dried-blood showed evidence of attempts at corrections made to achieve the final pattern. It did appear to match what was still visible of the arcane circle that seemed to have been involved in bringing them here.


    "Grandma," Gruntle said, pointing to the infernal script incorporated into the pattern around the outer portion of the circle.


    "That''s the name of your mother''s mother?" Al asked in surprise. He got only a confused head-tilt in reply. "You do mean grandmother, right, you''re not saying grandma is what this name sounds like?"


    "Aunt Melissa made me learn about... an... sess... tree. Didn''t understand, but this is an-sess-tor. Aunt Melissa said this was like grandma for gnolls. That''s grandma''s name, some shaman stuff, and call for grandma and cubs to come."


    Al gave the sketch closer scrutiny. Being just a simple sketch it lacked the nuance that it would have had if it had been a proper record in a wizard''s research notes using proper alchemical inks for the purpose, but the shapes did seem to suggest a cutting into the boundaries of reality, with a metaphysical directionality to it that might have meant it was aimed somewhere or seeking something.


    "It''s...a summoning circle that invokes the gnoll-demon to summon gnolls, maybe?" Al guessed, looking to Gruntle for confirmation.


    "Don''t know. Shaman stuff."


    "I wish I had some more time to study this but we should hurry up and decide what to do about the dead guy and what''s left of his summoning circle. It might be easier for us all if we get rid of the evidence somehow and get out of here, rather than try to explain why something that looks like a demon-summoning ritual brought us here."


    "We can''t just leave before we find out what the people here thought of the mysteriously-appearing heroes that saved them from the goblins!" Wikwocket objected.


    "These people just survived being attacked by goblins. I didn''t see any casualties other than some injuries a couple of one of the guests'' bodyguards suffered, so hopefully nobody''s died, but I don''t think having a gnoll show up immediately afterwards is going to make them feel better!" Al insisted. "And," he added, "if they''re hiding in their rooms, they''re not going to want to tell you anything anyway."


    Wikwocket gave this some thought.


    "I suppose you''re right," she finally admitted.


    "Right, so do we drag the body off and bury it, or burn it, or just risk leaving it here so we can get further away and assume nobody will associate it with us?"


    "No, no, wait," Wikwocket interrupted. "Don''t be too hasty! I think I have a good compromise!"

 0113 - Poor Cedric

    "You know, scholars think that gnomes are descended from fae who stayed in the mortal world too long," commented Al.


    "I have also heard this," Bote agreed, "though I wonder what has brought this to your thoughts at this time."


    "Mostly, I''m wondering what sort of latent mind-affecting magic Wikwocket inherited, because I refuse to believe I agreed to all of this without supernatural forces clouding my mind."


    Al let go of the mostly-naked corpse''s pants and let the corpse''s leg fall limply to the ground.


    "Hey, Al, we should check the guy for tattoos!" he said, mocking Wikwocket''s voice bitterly. "For someone that''s so keen on doing heroic things, stripping the clothes off of dead people seems like an awfully un-heroic thing to suggest."


    "Perhaps this is why her suggestion involved going somewhere else while you are engaged in the undignified investigation," Bote offered as the two of them looked down at the disrobed body. "It is a reasonable suggestion, since it is not uncommon for someone to be marked secretly to symbolize fealty, or membership in a group."


    Whoever the dead man had been in life, his skinny body seemed less suitable for fighting or other dangerous activity than for sitting on a couch looking bored while servants dealt with anything that required effort. He was a natural human as far as Al could tell, and no tattoos or other intentional markings were to be found. There was a surprising quantity of scars, though, a majority on the arms and hands but several more on his body and legs. There was even a scar across the top of the man''s head, made a bit less obvious by combing of the hair to obscure it. Al guessed that the man had been only a bit older than himself, perhaps a quarter-century old.


    "I''m not so sure, she''s always seemed eager to loot the bodies, and that''s not exactly heroic either."


    "I think perhaps she was more eager to find out what she could overhear from the occupants of the establishment from which we have driven the goblins. I''m sure the mystery of where we are and what happened is of interest to her, along with what they may be saying about us of course."


    "I''m still not very comfortable with this. The last time we agreed to let her go off spying by herself she nearly got herself eaten by this..."


    Al looked around for the gnoll he was about to point to. He groaned, scrutinizing the small clearing in the pine forest where they''d concealed themselves. Besides Al, Bote, and the mysterious dead man, there was only Haunch the donkey with their cart, looking back in the direction Wikwocket had left several minutes ago.


    "Where did he go this time?!"


    <hr>


    Wikwocket watched from the edge of the woods nearest the back of the inn, waiting for a good moment to approach. Three people where sticking close together as they walked trepidatiously around the building looking for any lurking little green threats. One held a lantern, and the other two were holding the cleaver and meat-tenderizing hammer that one of the goblins had tried to escape with before Haunch stomped it to death. The one with the hammer was the middle-aged man who had been hanging onto the bottom of the trapdoor, and she recognized the one with the cleaver as the one she''d spoken to briefly. Happily, they all appeared unhurt, though still frightened as they talked to each other in what they seemed to think were quiet tones.


    "I think they''re really gone, you saw all the dead ones in the pantry and upstairs, and then that one out front. The gnomish lady and her friends must have gotten rid of them all."


    "The goblins, maybe, but what about the gnolls? Got to be a lot harder to scare off gnolls than goblins!"


    "Cedric, we already told you, that gnomish lady said it was just her big friend that startled you, and they probably just call themselves the gnoll party because the big guy is scary and good at fighting. Nobody else thinks they saw actual gnolls."


    "That crazy demon-woman said she heard one!"


    "Really, Cedric! You can''t call them that any more, especially when they''re guests! Besides, she also said the goblins made her door explode. I''m not sure you can believe everything she says."


    "Oh, yeah? Well, if that''s the case, why did you agree not to make her pay for the door?"


    "Because she agreed not to blame us for the goblins! We do a lot of good business here, the last thing we need is angry people telling everyone that it''s not safe to stay at the Golden Penance Inn any more because of goblin raids! That''s one less guest we have to try to convince not to start warning people away!"


    "We''d better have a really friggin'' great breakfast this morning. It''s a miracle we didn''t find any dead or dying guests."


    "What about that Smith kid, or whatever his real name is? His room was completely torn up and we have no idea what happened to him."


    "He already paid us, so good riddance to him. Never seen him before so he''s not a regular customer, and the scrawny little weirdo is kind of creepy, so not finding him means I don''t have to talk to him again. He''s probably fine, it''s not like we found any blood except where the demon-woman..."


    "Cedric!"


    "...said the goblin made the window explode. Pretty sure that''s the goblin she''s talking about over there. And there. And there... ," Cedric said, pointing out one large and several small chunks on the ground near the corner of the building.


    Their voices faded as they rounded the corner, speculating about what they could possibly make for the morning meal that would make up for the unpleasantness of the night. Wikwocket was tensed to move closer when she noticed Gruntle''s arrival. Gruntle himself wasn''t obvious, but the silencing of the nearby crickets was a subtle sign. She grinned and grunted quietly to acknowledge that she''d noticed, and got an answering grunt from some nearby bushes. She dashed for the back wall of the inn. Gruntle couldn''t move as quietly as she could, but she still wasn''t sure she''d have noticed him following her if she hadn''t known he was there. They crouched below the kitchen window with the most light coming out of it, and Wikwocket grabbed the edge of the sill to pull herself up to peek inside. An older woman that Wikwocket had seen down in the cellar nervously puttered around the stewpot, occasionally looking up and around to make sure nothing was sneaking up on her. Wikwocket quietly dropped back to the ground and pressed against the wall as the woman''s gaze swept towards the window. The light from inside dimmed as the woman came to the window to look out towards the forest. She squeaked as a voice startled her.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    "You see anything?" Cedric''s voice asked.


    "No, no. Just nerves," the woman answered. "For a moment I thought I saw another one, but there''s nothing out there."


    "Gnolls probably ate ''em."


    "Cedric!"


    "I tell you I saw one! Right there in the pantry! It almost bit my head off!"


    "All we saw was that brave gnomish woman who saved us, how could there have been a gnoll up there with her?"


    "She killed those goblins, maybe she killed it, too."


    Wikwocket''s quiet snort of suppressed hilarity went unheard by the arguing couple inside.


    "We would have noticed a dead gnoll, Cedric."


    "Maybe it killed her!"


    "We didn''t find a dead gnome, either, Cedric."


    "They eat people! Probably ate her!"


    "Cedric, it''s been a terrible night, and your wild fantasies..."


    "I know what I saw! If gnolls didn''t eat ''em, why isn''t this gnome of yours and her supposed friends here right now demanding some kind of reward? Never mind, you get the pans out, I''ll drag those dead goblins out of the pantry and go down in the cellar for the good bacon and the breakfast brandy we''ve been saving. None of this is going to matter if customers stop showing up."


    The window brightened up again as the woman moved away. Wikwocket pulled herself back up for a quick look and saw Cedric and the woman share a brief hug before moving over to the food-preparation room next door. Wikwocket dropped back down again and looked up towards the corner of the building where the broken-out window on the second floor was. She got Gruntle''s attention, and with some gesturing and quiet animalistic noises, managed to suggest that Gruntle stay hidden where he is as a lookout while she climbed up to take a look. His replying grunt told her he at least agreed to whatever he thought she meant.


    Good enough, Wikwocket thought, uncoiling her small grappling hook and its colorful yarn "rope" from inside her left sleeve. She stuck close to the wall as she moved, pausing at each ground-floor window to discreetly check inside. She saw the woman setting the table back upright and picking up the things that had been spilled on the floor. Cedric was dragging a dead goblin out of the pantry and back towards the room with the stewpot. Wikwocket giggled quietly as the question of whether or not goblin stew would be good - she assumed not, but the idea was delightfully absurd.


    The last window on the ground floor showed shelves of pots, pans, and dishes. Nobody occupied the room at the moment, so Wikwocket stepped away from the wall, avoiding bits of goblin and shards of glass, and swung her grappling hook up to the broken window on the second floor. She ascended quickly, pulling the line up behind her, just so that nobody would see it if they happened to look outside. It took some finesse to avoid the shards of broken glass still in the window frame but a few moments later Wikwocket stood in the abused guest-room.


    The door to the room had been shut again and seemed undamaged. The shards of broken glass in the window frame and surrounding wall were speckled with soot-like splatters and small holes, and there was still a lingering smoky alchemical smell in the air. The straw that had been stuffed in the mattress was partly scattered across the floor and partly still hanging out of the slashes in the mattress. The feather pillows had been similarly vandalized and goose-down mingled with the straw on the floor. The bed itself had been pulled out away from the wall, leaving a broken chamberpot on the floor where the bed had been. One leg was broken off of the night-table which lay on its side on the floor. The fireplace was cold, a stack of fresh logs still waiting unburnt in it.


    Wikwocket tucked her hook and yarn-rope back up her sleeve and freed her rapier from its wooden home on her back. She held it ready while she went silently to listen at the door. Hearing nothing of concern, she quietly lifted the latch to peek out into the hallway outside. The low flames from a fireplace down the hall provided enough light to clearly see the smears of blood where small bodies had been dragged away towards the far end of the hallway, where Wikwocket presumed the stairs were. Sounds of furniture being set back up echoed from somewhere downstairs. On the wall opposite the room Wikwocket was in, the wall and third door down the hall had large splinters of wood embedded in them and more of the soot-marks.


    If that''s Al''s latest magic-fire-fingers trick, I''m impressed!.


    Wikwocket slowly closed the door again and returned to her investigation of the abused room. She jabbed the bedframe, mattress, nightstand, and the logs on the fire with the sharp point of her rapier and was a little disappointed but not surprised that none of them turned out to be disguised monsters. Neither were the blankets, which she spread out and shook but found nothing covered by or tangled up in them.


    Whoever was in here was either traveling light, or only had things that were small enough for goblins to run off with, Wikwocket speculated.


    The scream outside and sound of a slamming door roused her from her investigation and she rushed to the window.


    <hr>


    The gratifying amount of violence the day had started with took the edge off of the urges and allowed Gruntle to enjoy this scouting expedition more patiently. The rest of his clan seemed to be treating the non-goblins here as clan, and the place smelled pleasantly of food and drink, so this was obviously a play-raid for entertainment and practice rather than a real impending slaughter. Play-raids were enjoyable, but it was difficult to concentrate on them when the urges to rip and smash and bite were too distracting.


    The gnoll crouched low against the wall, away from the window and next to the back door where their pretend-prey wouldn''t easily spot him until it was too late for them. He waited patiently by gnollish standards, listening to the sound of someone repeatedly dragging something into the room beyond, walking away, and then returning to drag something in again. Getting ready to make food sounds came from inside as well, as someone set up the food-making weaponry. Gruntle began to drool at the thought.


    Gruntle heard a groan of effort, then heavy footsteps came to the door. It swung open inward, and Cedric staggered out with a dead goblin over his shoulder. He threw it as far as he could away from him out onto the ground outside, then turned to go back in for the next one.


    He screamed to find himself face-to-face with a hungrily drooling gnoll, the amber glow of its eyes focused upon him and teeth gleaming in the light from the open door. He ran back inside to slam the door shut and bar it.


    <hr>


    Poor Cedric, Wikwocket thought with a giggle, recognizing the scream. Time to go!


    With only another moment''s delay to avoid the shards of broken glass, Wikwocket dropped back down from the window to the ground and beckoned for Gruntle to follow as she hurried directly back towards the barn they''d started from rather than heading back for the woods immediately, so as not to be seen by anyone looking out of the windows from the kitchen.


    "What did you do?" she asked Gruntle as they sped past the back of the barn where the blood-smeared grass was - they''d completely defaced the remains of the pattern the crazy man had made before they retreated into the nearby pine woods for cover.


    "Looked at ''em," Gruntle answered.


    "He''s going to be ranting about gnolls for a long time now! Al and Bote could probably hear that scream from all the way over there!" Wikwocket said with a laugh. "Hopefully Al won''t be too mad at us."


    Gruntle''s footfalls faltered, so Wikwocket stopped as well to look back. She couldn''t help but laugh again when she realized why he was crouched down and looking ahead pensively.


    "He''s not going to do anything to us, don''t worry!" she said. Al was right, seeing a gigantic demonic beast acting afraid of him really is absurd! "We just need to make sure he''s in a good mood. Oh, I have an idea! You know what''d be really funny?"

 0114 - Dead Body Dilemma

    A terrible predator stalked the woods. In its jaws, its prey''s body dangled limply. It quietly slunk out of the trees towards its next quarry.


    Al heaved a long-suffering sigh.


    "Very funny," he said, not sounding amused at all.


    Wikwocket''s limp body laughed and looked up at the head of the gnoll that was carrying her by her collar in its teeth. "See?" she said, "I told you it''d be funny!"


    "I was being sarcastic," Al explained.


    "I know, and that was funny, too!"


    "You didn''t kill someone while you were gone, did you?"


    "Not unless his heart gave up from fright, that''s the second time tonight that the poor guy got startled by a gnoll! I''m pretty sure he''s fine since he was still screaming pretty vigorously when we left. So, does that dead guy have a full-body tattoo with a terrible curse that corrupts his soul and gave him an insane and uncontrollable craving for buttered eggs?"


    "...No. Where do you come up with this stuff?"


    Wikwocket tapped the side of her head. "It''s all up here! So, what kind of tattoo does he have?"


    "He doesn''t have any tattoos."


    "Really? Did you check everywhere?"


    "Yes," Al insisted with a hint of disgust. "Not much to find other than damaged clothing which, by the way, smells awful, plenty of bloodstains, and a lot more scarring than I would have expected. How about you, did you manage to find out anything useful while you were off causing trouble, like where we''ve been dragged off to and how long it''s going to take for us to get back to where we were trying to go?"


    "We did! It sounds like we kept anyone from dying here...well, anyone else," answered Wikwocket, nodding to the nearly-naked dead person on the ground, "The people who run the inn here were cleaning up and getting ready for morning and we overheard them talking. You remember that place the guard recommended when we left? We''re here!"


    "That''s... unexpectedly convenient," Al said, "That''s worrying enough, but I''d be even more worried if it seemed like he was expecting us in particular to show up. He looked shocked to see us."


    "One might suspect that our presence at the time and place to be subjected to the effects of the conjuration," Bote suggested, "is simply a part of the divine plans."


    "Sure, but don''t you believe everything is part of the divine plans?" Al countered.


    "No, not everything. There is some room for the choices of free souls, perhaps so that the world not be so predictable as to be boring to the gods."


    "You hear that Al?" Wikwocket added, still dangling by her shirt from Gruntle''s jaws, "I''m practically holy entertainment!"


    "I feel like maybe we''re losing focus on the more immediate problem," Al complained, "This guy seems to have done some sort of demonic summoning spell, and we appeared. He tried to get us brutally killed so we brutally killed him instead, and now we have a dead naked demonic-summoning-guy with nasty new injuries and old scars all over him and a big bite taken out of his neck while at least one of us very obviously seems like the sort of bestial monstrosity that did the biting! Now the people here probably think we''re a marauding clan of gnolls stalking them after they just got done getting attacked by goblins, and if someone comes out here investigating there are going to be awkward and possibly incriminating questions for us! So, what are we going to do with this body?"


    "E... ," Gruntle began to say, opening his jaws to speak and dropping Wikwocket to the ground. He was cut off on the very first syllable.


    "We are not going to eat the rest of him!" insisted Al. Gruntle huffed, but desisted.


    "All right, I''m just having fun with you. Don''t worry Al, we''ll help you figure something out!" Wikwocket promised. She reached behind her neck to feel her shirt-collar. "Oh, by the way, somehow my shirt seems to have gotten a hole in it, could you fix that? Please?"


    Al took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, then slowly exhaled.


    "Fine, let''s hear your ideas," he said. He stepped forward and reached down to magic the cloth in Wikwocket''s shirt-collar back together. Wikwocket looked down at the mysterious dead man.


    "No tattoos, but a lot of scarring on his hands and arms, and some on his legs and body. He''s got those silver rings on his fingers but they''re not marked either, just scratched up a bit because he doesn''t polish them. He had that coin purse with one hundred and eighty-seven gold coins, two hundred and fifty-three silver coins, and eight copper coins, three more silver rings, and that piece of paper with the magic drawing on it," Wikwocket remembered aloud, "Oh, and those two daggers, which didn''t look like a matched set, and his clothes. Did you find anything else?"


    "Nothing," Al answered, tugging the shirt-collar lightly to check that it was properly repaired. "He did seem a lot sturdier than I would have expected from looking at him. I don''t think he had much chance against all of us, especially when Gruntle surprised him by turning on him, but he put up a lot more of a fight than he should have been able to. Actually, now that we''re talking about it, his daggers are a little odd, too."


    Al went to the pile of the man''s clothing on the ground next to the corpse and picked up the two daggers from where they rested atop it. He handed them to Wikwocket.


    "Do these look odd to you?" he asked. Wikwocket gave them a close look, turning them over in her hands.


    "The metal looks funny. It''s rough and not quite the color I''d expect. Hey, is that silver?"


    "I think so," Al affirmed, "I''m not sure but it looks like silver that''s been plated on the surface of the daggers by an alchemical process. It''d be a thin layer that would wear away pretty quickly. Maybe he was carrying all of that silver intending to take it to an alchemist to renew the silver plating at some point?"


    "Silver''s a werewolf thing, isn''t it? Do you think he was some kind of werewolf hunter? Oh! Maybe he''s working for a vampire, hunting down a rival werewolf in revenge for trying to seduce his zombie lover!"


    "That seems unlikely and kind of disgusting. Besides, if this was some sort of werewolf hunter, he doesn''t seem like he''d survive long, and why and how would someone who hunts werewolves be conjuring gnolls?"


    "Maybe they''re natural competitors! You know, fighting over who gets to eat the tastiest people! Do you know anything about werewolves, Gruntle?"This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The gnoll considered for a long moment.


    "They don''t know what they are," he finally said.


    "That... could be true," Al admitted, unsure if the observation was unexpectedly profound or just misinterpretation. "Still, this guy doesn''t look like someone who could fight a werewolf and not be torn apart, even more so than he already is with all of the scarring."


    Bote joined in with their own observations.


    "In my experience as a healer, I believe the scarring we see happened repeatedly over a period of time, rather than being the result of a single event. Some of the scars look at least a year or two old. The large amount of them on the arms and hands might imply defensive injuries, unless he had a habit of inserting his arms into the cage of a wild beast. I am no tailor, but to me the damage to the man''s clothing seems recent and I would guess they were largely intact until he found himself fighting goblins tonight, and then gnolls, of course."


    "That might be the only clothing he had, too," Wikwocket added, "While we were scouting things out, I got into the room that I think he was renting. We heard the innkeepers talking and it sounded like he probably checked in under a fake name. Maybe the goblins got in and stole everything, but he didn''t seem to have anything there - no spare clothes, no luggage, no rune-covered box containing the bones of an ancient murderer. Just the furniture, all ransacked."


    "It smells like the only clothing he had, too," Al complained. "Kind of strange for someone carrying that much money. His shoes looked fairly new, too, and well-made."


    "You didn''t find anything else hidden in his clothes that I missed? There''d need to be something else if he magicked us here,right? He''d need to have a big book of weird magic stuff if he was some kind of wizard, wouldn''t he?"


    "If he was a student of wizardry I''d expect it, yes."


    "Are you sure you searched everywhere? I''ve heard that sometimes criminals who are worried about being captured will hide things by stuffing them up..."


    "I am not going to search that hard," Al said firmly, "but if you want to I won''t stop you. I doubt he''s hiding wizardry research notes inside his body, though. If he''s an actual wizard, the amount of study and practice he''d need to be able to forcibly conjure people over long distances is very substantial and his research notes would be... well, they wouldn''t fit. I suppose he might have had to run away from somewhere in too much of a hurry to collect a book of spells before leaving, but if that was the case why would he be carrying so much money? If he had time to grab a bunch of money you''d think a wizard would have their most important research ready to grab just as quickly. I know I would. All he had was that diagram, and that looked like something sketched in a hurry rather than a proper arcane formation."


    "How did he magic us here, then?"


    "Well, if he actually was a wizard it''s possible the summoning spell is something he''d rehearsed before he had to leave. Once you go through the meditations to get your mind to hold onto the concepts for a particular work of magic, it tends to persist for a while as long as you don''t try to rehearse something too different. I suppose it''s also possible that he''s one of those people with some sort of innate talent for magic but this seems like a weirdly specific thing to have a natural sorcerous talent for."


    Al fidgeted uncomfortably as he continued.


    "There''s also a possibility that he was given this magic by someone or something."


    "Oh! Now we''re getting somewhere! Demon-cultists getting killed by what they summoned is classic!"


    "If that''s what''s happening here, and now we''re involved with it because of this summoning-magic, I''m not at all comfortable with the idea that we may have the direct attention of a demon. Especially one powerful enough to have magic to give away and who might very well be directly responsible for gnolls and might be especially interested in us because of it."


    "Aw, we might get to meet Gruntle''s grandma! All grandparents care about their grandchildren, maybe we''ll get milk and cookies for taking such good care of him! Or blood and souls or whatever demon-grandparents give their grandchildren."


    Gruntle looked worriedly around at the sound of the strangled growl-whine of frustration that Al made.


    "Please don''t even joke about that," Al pleaded, "we''ve got enough urgently stressful things to deal with already. Demons don''t really do nice things. I don''t think a demon of bestial violence is going to pat us on the head and thank us, no matter how well we treat our gnoll."


    Al thought about this for a moment.


    "Right?" he finally asked Gruntle.


    "Don''t know. Never met her," the gnoll answered.


    "Right, well, I think we''re getting away from the most immediate problem again," Al said, gesturing emphatically with both hands towards the dead possible-demon-cultist. "I think we should get moving before anyone finds us, so what are we going to do with the dead body?"


    He glared at Gruntle to dissuade any possible suggestions of cannibalism.


    "How quickly could you learn how to turn him into a zombie so we could take him with us as our pet dead-guy?" Wikwocket asked.


    "I am not going to do that even if I could. Necromancy has got to be at least as dangerous as demon-magic anyway. We could just leave him here but then anyone who comes looking will find him easily. We could spend some time trying to dig a grave for him but that would probably take us too long, especially if the ground is still half-frozen."


    "You could burn him to ashes with magic fire!" Wikwocket suggested.


    "You mean make it obvious that we''re trying to destroy evidence by leaving charred bones with bite marks on them?"


    Wikwocket laughed. "I think you worry more than you need to, Al!"


    "Perhaps Wikwocket''s suggestion would be best," Bote offered, to Al''s horror.


    "There is no way I could figure out how to do corpse-animation magic immediately even if I was willing to, and I''m very surprised to hear that suggested by a holy person."


    "No, no, not that part, I refer simply to the part of her suggestion that we take him with us. If you are concerned about arousing suspicions, perhaps it would be best to deliver him with a truthful explanation to the authorities. Or, at least, as much of the truth as you can be comfortable giving. Our slaying of him was legitimately in our own defense against a violent and suspicious person. Given our speculations about his nature and origins, it is not impossible that he is being sought for by agents of the law."


    "That means there might be a reward!" Wikwocket added with gleeful avarice.


    "Oh, hello there, Southwall city guards! We''d like to bring a murderous demonic beast into the city if you don''t mind. Also, we made this rotting dead guy, will you give us any money for him?" Al said sarcastically. He hadn''t expected Wikwocket to find that so funny, and he looked worriedly back through the woods in the direction of the inn half-expecting to hear the sounds of torch-and-pitchfork-carrying locals coming to investigate the laughter. After a few moments, the mirth became contagious and he relented, chuckling along with her.


    "I guess that was a little funny," he admitted.


    "Don''t sell yourself short, you''re getting better at this!" Wikwocket laughed.


    "Not on purpose, and I kind of hate that so far this seems to be the most practical idea. I still don''t like the idea of carrying a rotting dead guy with us all day though," Al said. Then he sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "I guess we should go ahead and load him on the cart, it sounds like we''re not going to come up with a better idea here. I suppose we can always find somewhere else to get rid of him on the way if we change our minds."


    "If you agree, then, I shall invoke the Authority of divinity and perform the appropriate rites upon the deceased. We should then be spared the rotting, at least, and perhaps our attention to the treatment of the dead will reflect well upon us when we present him to the guards."


    "Hmmm, I hadn''t thought of that," Al admitted. "That''s a good thought, go ahead."


    While Bote arranged the dead man into a more traditional pose for a prepared corpse, putting its clothes back on and rolling it onto its back with its legs straight and arms crossed over the chest. Al considered whether he should have tried to magic the man''s blood-soaked and body-odor-reeking clothing clean first. He reluctantly decided against it in the interest of not looking like he was trying to destroy evidence. Bote''s ritual prayer over the body seemed to be a formal and verbose request for the corpse to have a continuing part to play in the ineffable divine plans. Al and Wikwocket worked to make space on the cart as the prayer continued.


    "Divinity agrees that he still has use," Bote announced as the the prayer ended. The corpse of the crazed, violent, and possibly demon-worshipping man looked incongruously serene and peaceful after the ritual preparation. It was pale, cold, and already stiff, which made it a bit easier for Al to get it arranged on the cart with Gruntle''s help. No further blood dripped from the corpse''s injuries, either. Even the clothing didn''t seem to stink quite so badly.


    "And... he''s not going to rot, then?" Al asked.


    "Divinity willing, it will be many days before that becomes a concern again," Bote assured him.


    Al unpacked his bedroll and covered the corpse with it.


    "We can at least avoid displaying a dead man as we travel," he explained. He looked up, and located the faint hint of the approaching dawn through the trees. "North is that way, and I think the road should be over there. Let''s get out of here before there''s enough light for people to notice us and ask questions or make accusations."

 0115 - The Rest of the Road to Southwall

    It took a little while to find a route through the trees that the cart could be pulled through, but Al wanted to avoid getting near the barn and agitating the horses there again and risk getting noticed. He supposed he could have sent Gruntle on ahead through the woods and the rest of them gone back to the road the way the came in to met up with the gnoll later, but who knows what might happen while Gruntle was unsupervised?


    Two shallow sets of wheel-ruts marked the wide road, suggesting an investment in allowing traffic in both directions unhindered, but not in large volume unless someone was paying even more to smooth the road out periodically with laborers or magic. The sliver of light on the horizon told them which direction was east. They turned left and headed north, Wikwocket sitting atop their possessions on the cart and Gruntle walking ahead of the donkey to keep an eye, ear, and nose on the road ahead. Al and Bote walked behind, partly to guard the rear, partly to make it easier for Bote to avoid getting run into by the cart given their dwarven-length stride, but mostly just to watch for anything falling off of their cart. Although the road appeared to be very well-maintained by rural standards, the uneven ruts that the cart''s wheels naturally slotted themselves into jostled the cargo. Wikwocket giggled as a dip in the road bounced her around in her improvised seat atop her pack.


    "Has anyone mentioned that you are easily amused?" Al called ahead to her.


    "Aw, thanks, Al!" she called back with, as far as Al could tell, complete sincerity.


    "You''re welcome?" Al replied, unsure how to respond.


    A series of small bumps in the road jostled the cart some more, and Al found himself tripping over the magically-preserved, bedroll-covered dead body as it fell off of the cart in front of him in the pre-dawn darkness. Gruntle stopped and turned at the noise, causing Haunch to stop as well. Wikwocket hopped down from the cart and went to see if she could help while Al got back to his feet.


    "Wow, he''s really stubborn!" she laughed, rolling the stiff, face-down body back over. "He''s properly dead and he''s still attacking you!"


    "Unfortunately I don''t think killing him more would help at all," Al grumbled. He and Bote lifted the stiff body back up onto the cart.


    "Maybe if we move him to the middle of the cart and pile the rest of the stuff on him, we can keep him from bouncing around," Al suggested. They unpacked the cart, shifted the dead man to the middle of it, covered the body with Al''s bedroll again, and then piled their possessions on and around him. With the packs and the heavy lead-lined chest piled up, Al hoped the body would remain stable as long as they didn''t hit any bumps large enough to move the whole load. The arrangement also made it less obvious that there was something the size and shape of a dead body on the cart.


    "All right, I think that should hold him," Al said as he scrutinized the pile on the cart.


    "That was definitely a faster way to bury him than digging a hole in the ground!" Wikwocket giggled.


    "Uh... yes, I suppose it is," Al sighed. "Now that that''s done, and we''re away from people for now, we should probably talk about how we''re going to make the rest of the trip. It''s probably going to take most of the day to get there so I think we should avoid causing any delays, like scared villagers rushing out with spears and farm-tools to defend themselves from being eaten by gnolls. Or frightened merchants or nobles running off to bring the militia to put down the gnoll threat. Or... let''s just say maybe Gruntle should..."


    Al considered the best way to explain.


    "... scout ahead and spy on anyone else who might be on the road, staying hidden so they don''t know they''re being stalked."


    A gnollish grunt signaled acceptance.


    "Ooo! Clandestine activity!" Wikwocket enthused, "I can go with him in case he needs backup! That way when we run into a caravan of suspicious fortune-tellers who are secretly werewolves, one of us can keep watch on them while the other comes back to warn you!"


    "I was hoping you''d say that. Well, not exactly that but... yes, that''s a good idea. If we can get to Southwall without causing any panic I think we''ll have a better chance of getting the guards there to talk to us."


    "There''s plenty of cover to hide in off the road, they''ll never know we''re there! Come on, Gruntle!"


    Gnome and gnoll hurried off the road and into the pine trees. Al breathed a sigh of relief.


    "You have become more trusting of allowing Gruntle out of your sight since we began," Bote told Al as the two of them moved ahead of the cart. Bote reached up and patted Haunch''s neck. The donkey calmly followed as they resumed their walk along the road.


    "I suppose I have, a little," Al admitted, "It''s good that he gets along so weirdly well with Wikwocket. I''m still nervous about what kind of influence she might have on him though. She''s very... cheerfully impulsive."


    "That is the Wikwocket-nature," said Bote, "which is likely natural for her gnomish ancestry and culture. What do you know of the nature of the fae?"


    "Not too much, mostly just folklore. The... uh... fair folk," Al answered, looking around with superstitious caution, "come from realms in the Near Dreamlands. The folklore tends to describe each of them as having a sort of theme to their personalities that tends to be exaggerated compared to people here in the waking world. They have a reputation for being persuasive and are often outright magical, but they''re usually constrained by certain rules that they adhere to, and they get upset if someone violates those rules."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "That sounds somewhat like what I know of demons, wouldn''t you agree?"


    "I don''t think of it that way, but I guess there are some similarities. Demons are like personifications of harmful malicious concepts, though, they usually seem to have simple personalities and desires. Stories of the fair folk make them seem more like people, just more exaggerated."


    "What would you have if you could remove, let us say, the covetousness from a demon of envy?"


    Al considered the philosophical question.


    "Not much of anything, I imagine," he answered, "that''s basically what the demon is made of, so if you remove it you don''t really even have a demon anymore."


    "If gnomes are truly descended from a playful variety of fae, then it is likely necessary for them to be aggressively cheerful, in order to remain what they are."


    "I understand that," Al agreed, "and I''d certainly rather be around someone who''s constantly cheerful than someone who''s constantly unhappy. It does get to be a bit much to keep up with for me sometimes though."


    "There is always some effort involved when diferent cultures combine and work together. Your people tend to consider gnomes to be frivolous, and my people to be overly serious and lacking humor. Of course, all of us feel the elves to lack any appreciation for urgency or short-term consequence. I find that many individuals do not properly fit the assumptions, but there is some truth to the impressions of cultures as a whole. To accept these differences has some mental cost to achieve. Personally, I feel the robustness and versatility of the result is worth the cost."


    "I can''t say I really disagree. It makes me wonder what gnomes and dwarves and elves think of humanity."


    "We all believe that you complain a great deal."


    "That seems harsh and a little... I''m doing it right now, aren''t I..."


    Bote laughed."Yes, but at least you are aware of it. This isn''t necessarily a bad habit, to complain is to openly draw attention to possible problems. This may ensure that problems are noticed and potentially resolved. It can sometimes be, as you say, a bit much at times but this small burden is worth the effort, I believe."


    "Well, I appreciate that."


    "It is only fair. Besides, you are not so a bit much as many of your people are. You make an effort to adapt to the extreme variance of cultures and personalities in our strange little clan. Not many among any of our respective peoples could adapt well enough to accommodate a gnoll. This is an important virtue for anyone who leads an adventuring team."


    "Which, I might point out, I hadn''t actually intended to do."


    "All the better, as you have this role because you are deemed qualified, rather than because you coveted authority."


    Al gave an exasperated sigh and pleaded in melodramatic silence with the slowly-brightening heavens to take pity upon him.


    "Still, it''d be nice if Wikwocket took things more seriously once in a while. It''s hard to understand how she can always be cheerful, even when it seems inappropriate. I worry that if she keeps feeling like there are no consequences for her recklessness, it''s going to end up hurting her or us."


    "She may be driven to joy and wonder, but you appear to have overlooked some painful lessons she has experienced since we began traveling together. For example, she was in a state of profound shock and sorrow when we nearly lost Gruntle to the mandibles of that monstrous burrowing insect in Aemilia''s tomb, for example."


    "I remember her looking very happy even then, despite the tears, though."


    "That was after we were able to rescue him from death in time. Did you not also feel relief and joy to know that he would live?. Perhaps you were too distracted to notice at the time, but I believe she has been more protective of our gnollish friend since then."


    "I suppose that''s true. I just remember being angry."


    Al grimaced, a little embarrassed.


    "I guess I wasn''t really paying attention."


    "And, thus, the student was enlightened," Bote said.


    <hr>


    They saw no approaching traffic on the road until midday. Al was startled when a familiar voice called out from some bushes along the side of the road.


    "Pssst! Al!," Wikwocket announced from her hiding place, "there are about five people on horses just down the road, trotting your way! They look like they''re wearing some kind of uniforms, but I can''t quite tell what the heraldry on their tabards is without getting closer. They look like they''re in a hurry, but don''t worry, if they decide to cause problems we''re close enough to help! I''ll go back and watch what''s happening with Gruntle!"


    A quiet rustle was all the indication that Wikwocket had left again.


    A few minutes later, the five riders came into view. As they drew closer, Al could see the motif on the front of their uniforms - a white background, with a pair of black rings at the center top and a stylized segment of fortified wall at the bottom. As they approached at a trot, Al realized the rings were actually meant to be shackles.


    "Just act natural," Al suggested, "probably best if we don''t draw attention to ourselves."


    "Are you suggesting that there are times you believe I am acting unnaturally?" Bote replied.


    The five riders slowed before they passed. A burly man in the lead stared suspiciously at Al''s face for an uncomfortable few seconds, then at the jumble of possessions on their simple cart. He seemed to dismiss Al as unimportant then and spurred his horse back into a trot. The others did the same, and they soon passed out of sight to the south.


    "Did those uniforms mean they were from Southwall''s city guard?" Al wondered. "I''m glad they didn''t seem to be looking for us."


    "They were certainly looking for someone," Bote agreed. "They did not appear impressed by our transportation. Perhaps they are seeking someone more obviously wealthy."


    "I hope they find whoever it is, and leave us alone. Hopefully there won''t be any excitement before we can have a civilized discussion with the guards at the city when we arrive."


    <hr>


    Wikwocket and Gruntle reappeared in the early afternoon. The blood around Gruntle''s muzzle and Wikwocket''s hands were worrying until Al noticed the skinned rabbits Gruntle was carrying.


    "Gruntle already ate some, but we thought it''d be a good time to take a rest to eat. Hey, Al, can you try cooking these with your magic fire?"


    Even the small, more controlled bursts of fire he was now able to conjure so easily were unsuited to proper cooking. The tiny explosions of flame upon impact with the rabbits scattered small bits of charred flesh when they hit, but they did leave enough meat merely cooked to provide some meat.


    Wikwocket and Gruntle returned to the cover off-road as they resumed their travels. Soon after, the two of them returned again to report that they were nearly in sight of the city walls. Gruntle willingly went along with Wikwocket''s idea of tucking the end of a rope under his collar, just as they''d done back at Notamimic Manor. He even let them take away his shield and flail to add to the impression that Gruntle wasn''t a threat, though looking at his teeth, Al wasn''t sure how much good that would do.


    As the city walls came into view, an alarm bell began to ring from beyond the gate.

 0116 - Guards Dont Get Paid Enough to Deal with This Kind Of Thing

    BONG-BONG! BONG-BONG! BONG-BONG!


    A streak of yellow smoke shot into the sky above the wall, ending in a flash of golden light and a larger cloud of the smoke.


    "Whoa!" Wikwocket breathed, "I love fireworks! Is that for us?"


    "I sure hope not," said Al, "Let''s just stay out in the open and keep walking, and try not to look threatening."


    "No problem! Come, beast!" Wikwocket giggled, tugging on the rope tucked under Gruntle''s collar - gently, so that she wouldn''t pull it loose. Gruntle obligingly dropped to all fours, walking on the palms of his short-fingered hands. Something about Gruntle''s toothy grin seemed unusual to Al, until he finally realized the gnoll seemed unexpectedly amused, which up to that point hadn''t been an emotional state he could associate with such a creature, despite having seen it once on their first meeting.


    That''s just weird. If he starts giggling, it will probably break my mind completely.


    The gates to the city were barely visible at this distance, but Al could just make out the frantic activity happening in front of them as they opened. A small crowd of figures emerged from the opened gates and milled about in front. Some of them went back inside and more came out a few minutes later on horses. The indistinct sound of orders being shouted faintly carried over the distance. A cluster of at least a dozen riders arranged themselves into a wide wedge formation and set out towards them, banners raised above them on long poles. The glint of metal at the ends suggested lances. At least they were moving at a trot rather than a gallop, so Al didn''t think they were being reckless or panicked despite the alarm bells still ringing out from the city.


    And that''s a good thing, since at this point there''s no way this fuss isn''t about us. Why, though? There are only four of us, what kind of threat could we be?


    Al reached in to retrieve the letter of introduction from the inner pockets of his robe so he''d have it ready when the guards got close enough.


    "All right, just keep walking towards them at a steady pace, and don''t do anything sudden. Just do what they say and don''t scare them," Al said, watching the approaching riders.


    "Don''t worry, we''ll be on our best behavior mister magical sword hero, sir!" Wikwocket promised with an awkward salute.


    "Might be better if you were on someone else''s best behavior," Al muttered, getting a laugh from Wikwocket in return.


    The riders spread out as they drew nearer. The rider at the front called a halt some distance away and raised something to their face. A looking-glass? Al guessed. The rider lowered it, then raised it again, then scanned across the entire field from left to right. The rider lowered the looking-glass again and turned back to shout angrily behind them. One of the riders wheeled around and galloped back in the direction of the city. The rest resumed their approach at a slower walk. By the time the two groups had closed the distance enough to hear each other, the bells in the city had ceased, and a rider could be seen galloping back. The horses began to fidget nervously.


    "Halt!" the man at the head of the riders called out, pulling back gently on the reins of his own worried horse. "Is that an actual gnoll?".


    He and the rest of the riders stopped, and the ones surrounding him lowered their lances. Al was relieved to see the tips dipped below where they were pointing at them, though they could be quickly brought into position if the order was given to charge.


    Al wasn''t consciously aware of it, but the year of behavioral conditioning in the militia made him stop and stand at attention before answering. He groaned inwardly as he spotted Wikwocket in his peripheral vision sloppily saluting with her left hand as she stopped, still holding the other end of Gruntle''s simulated leash in her right.


    "Yes he is, sir," Al called back. Al thought the man seemed to relax, just a little.


    "Where are the rest of them?" the man asked.


    "This is the only one I''m aware of, sir."


    "That seems unlikely. We have reason to believe there are more of them."


    Before Al could answer, several of the riders moved their horses aside for another to get through. The horse they''d seen galloping back from the city was carrying two riders wearing the same shackles-and-wall heraldry as the others. The man in front brought the horse to a stop and dismounted to help the woman behind him do the same. The dark-haired young woman had some severe scarring across her face and moved with some difficulty as if still suffering from old injuries. Across her uniform, she had a belt slung over her shoulder with several large leather pouches strung along it.


    "I''ll save the questions about how you managed to capture one alive and how you keep it docile for later," the riders'' leader said. "I assume you''re some sort of wizard. For now, are you certain you have it safely under control?"


    "As long as nobody provokes him at least, sir."


    The man gave Al an intensely scrutinizing stare. "Are you militia?" he finally asked.


    "Not currently, sir."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Then you can quit calling me sir, I work for a living."


    The man looked back - but not so far that he couldn''t keep an eye on Gruntle, Al noticed - to speak to the woman who was now walking forward with the aid of a cane in one hand as the other hand unbuckled one of the pouches and reached inside.


    "Well, Diana," the man said, "the wizard here says this one they''ve somehow captured alive is the only one they''ve seen, and I certainly don''t see any more of them. Any chance your little invention isn''t working right?"


    Diana pulled a short-necked ball-shaped glass bottle from the pouch and held it up in the late-afternoon sunlight. A clear pink liquid inside roiled vigorously as if boiling, causing the tuft of hair or fur and the sharp tooth inside to bounce around in the flow.


    "If something was wrong with it," she answered in a scratchy voice, "it would work less well, not too well. This much reaction is too strong to be less than at least a scouting party of ordinary gnolls, not just one. There''s never just one gnoll."


    "He''s... not exactly an ordinary gnoll," Al tried to explain. "I''ve noticed some changes in him during the time we''ve been traveling together." A scattering of startled and disbelieving noises came from various of the assembled city guards. Diana took a worried, stumbling step back away from them and the captain''s face showed disbelief that he''d heard correctly.


    "Did you say traveling together?" the captain asked, incredulous. "You didn''t capture it here? You don''t expect me to believe you''ve been walking around with a gnoll for days, with nothing more than a rope tied around its neck to keep it under control, do you?"


    "It''s been a few weeks now, actually," Al admitted. The captain didn''t seem to believe him.


    "And why exactly hasn''t it eaten you yet?"


    Wikwocket giggled in anticipation as Gruntle looked up to meet the captain''s eyes and opened his jaws. He ignored the lances that raised up to point in his direction as he spoke.


    "Our... potent clan shaman...," Gruntle began with some mental effort.


    "It talks!" the startled captain exclaimed.


    "... would be... vexed... if someone is... in-a-propriately... consumed... without permission," Gruntle finished.


    Wikwocket''s laughter and the barking noise that seemed to pass as laughter for Gruntle echoed out, agitating the horses while Al held up his hands in a desperate plea for calm.


    "It''s all right, it''s all right, don''t worry, he just thinks he''s funny!"


    "Would anyone like to explain to me exactly what kind of farce I''m in the middle of here?" the captain demanded, watching the gnome and the gnoll bump fists.


    "Uh, sir, if I may," one of the other riders offered as he tried to get his horse calmed down, "I heard a rumor that someone transformed into a gnoll has been staying at Hell''s Bathtub. Maybe that''s him?"


    "Well?" the captain directed at Al.


    "He is the one they''re talking about, yes, but..."


    "Are you aware that shapechanging magic is illegal in Southwall?" the captain said sternly. He nodded at Diana.


    "Yes, sir, I do. It''s a little complicated to explain," Al replied, as Diana put her alchemical gnoll-detector back in its pouch, then opened another one. With a triumphant smirk, she held out another round glass bottle, this one filled with colorless clear liquid, with a layer of tiny glittering flakes of some substance settled into the bottom. She held it out towards Gruntle.


    The triumphant smirk slipped when the contents of the bottle just sat there undisturbed. Diana hobbled closer on her cane and the smirk faded completely as she got closer and saw no change. She shuffled her way backwards again, and shook her head at the captain.


    "You see, when we got to Hell''s Bathtub," Al said, "everyone just assumed since I was a wizard that I''d transformed him into that, and I thought it would avoid causing a panic if we just went along with it. I don''t think we could have gotten him a bath otherwise."


    The captain closed his eyes tightly for a moment. "That just brings up more things that need explanation than I want to deal with right now. How about you just explain why you''re bringing it here to my city?"


    "Someone we met in Hell''s Bathtub said the steward of the penal arena was interested in hiring him. I have this letter," Al answered, holding out the letter. The guard captain took it, broke the wax seal, and unrolled it to read it without waiting for permission.


    "Date on this says it was written yesterday," said the captain without looking up from his reading. "How did you get here so fast?"


    "Um... I''m a wizard, and there was magic involved," Al hedged.


    "Right, of course. Oh. it''s him." The captain rolled the letter back up. "Cyrus?"


    "Yes, that''s right," Al answered. "You know him?"


    "Not personally, but I know he seems to get himself involved with some strange things from time to time. A legitimate merchant otherwise as far as I know."


    He handed the letter off to one of the other riders.


    "You, take this to Patrick, and meet us back at the gate to tell us what he says. You five there, with me, we''re escorting these people and their gnoll prisoner to the city. The rest of you can head back and get back to the manhunt."


    All but six of the riders trotted back towards the city. The captain and the five others he''d chosen formed up as closely as they could ahead, behind, and to the sides of the party and their donkey-pulled cart. The horses were well-trained, but still clearly uncomfortable being anywhere near a gnoll. The captain''s efforts to stay close enough to talk normally became too much effort, and he finally handed the reins of his horse off to another rider and hopped off to approach Al on foot.


    "How about you explain a little more about what''s going on here. We''ll walk in the back so I can keep an eye on your dangerous beast there."


    Al laughed. "Sorry, not laughing at you, it''s just... that''s exactly the way I felt, too, when we set out. I''m not exactly sure why or how I got over that, but it''s like he''s just one of us now, as weird as that sounds."


    "Us? How can you consider a thing like... He''s loose!" the captain shouted, seeing Gruntle pluck the end of the rope out from under his collar and hand it back to Wikwocket. Startled riders hurried to get some distance and then wheel around to point lances in their direction.


    "Wait! Wait! We just did that so nobody would panic, he was never actually tied up to begin with!" Al quickly explained.


    "You brought an unrestrained live actual gnoll to my city?"


    "Please, he''s been among other people before, there''s no need for panic! He''s actually well-known in Silveroak and Henhaven!"


    "Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? Do you have any other crazy things to tell me?"


    "Actually... ," Wikwocket began.


    Oh, no...


    "...We made a dead guy! Will you give us any money for him?"

 0117 - Cook Apprentice Before Eating

    Adding what seemed to be a disturbingly cheerful murder confession to the tension over the possibility of a frenzied gnoll biting people wasn''t, in hindsight, a particularly good idea. Al felt some gratitude that the absurdity at least seemed to have momentarily pushed the guard-captain far enough past familiar situations to make him hesitate.


    "We were attacked by a madman on the way here," Al rushed to explain before anyone decided precautionary violence was the right reaction, "We were bringing his body here to make a report."


    "And collect a reward if there is one!" Wikwocket added, "We think he was hunting werewolves without a license!"


    "We don''t think that, it''s just you," Al said, but was interrupted by the guard captain.


    "Hunting werewolves?" the captain asked far less skeptically than Al would have expected. The captain drew his short sword from its sheathe and held it down at his side. "Why do you think that?"


    "He had a lot of silver on him! He probably has all those silver rings so he could punch werewolves!"


    "Show me," the captain demanded.


    "Yes, s....captain," Al answered quickly. Careful not to make any sudden movements in front of the tense guards, he moved the packs off of the corpse and flipped back the bedroll to reveal the peaceful corpse''s face.


    "Charlie Smitherton!" the captain exclaimed, "Well, I guess just Charlie now that he''s supposedly been disowned. A squad headed out this morning to Wayfarer''s Rest to see if he''d fled the city in that direction and warn the people there to watch out for him. He''s a dangerous fugitive, or at least he was."


    "Wow, I didn''t realize unlicensed werewolf-hunting was such a big deal!" Wikwocket exclaimed.


    "He wasn''t hunting werewolves," the captain said, looking down at the revealed body. "I see something took a big chunk out of his neck and shoulder. Looks an awful lot like a bite wound, but I''m guessing a werewolf didn''t do that, either."


    He looked up at Gruntle, who was crouched down next to Wikwocket, waiting. Al groaned quietly as Gruntle unhelpfully drooled slightly at the mention of neck-biting.


    "No s...captain, that was Gruntle, he was defending us."


    "The gnoll? You have a gnoll named Gruntle?" the incredulous guard-captain asked, getting a grunt of confirmation from the gnoll. "And it defended you?"


    "He did, yes. He''s honestly been unexpectedly helpful in surviving what we''ve been through since we set out."


    The captain said nothing for several moments, silently staring at Al.


    "I feel like there''s a lot going on here that I''m not being told," he finally said.


    "I am sure we will happily tell you all of the details," Bote chimed in, scratching their beard thoughtfully, "but perhaps it would be better in a more formal setting, where appropriate records of the report can be made. I expect that would be less stressful for everyone here, including your guards who are still wondering if they will be asked to charge and run us all through with lances."


    The captain looked around at his guards, who still held their lances ready and did their best to keep their nervous horses under control. Then he looked back to the gnoll. Wikwocket smiled and waved, leaning with exaggerated friendliness against Gruntle.


    With the point of his sword, the captain flipped the bedroll back over the corpse and with some reluctance re-sheathed it. He signaled the mounted guards to resume their escort. They raised their lances and took up their positions, and the march to the city gates resumed.


    "This is only the second time, ever, that I''ve heard of someone capturing and keeping a live gnoll," he said to Al they the walked.


    "Actually, captain, this is probably still only the first time. The retired adventurers who raised him convinced us to take him with us in exchange for some investment to get our own adventuring going."


    "Figured you had to be adventurers. No offense, but you don''t look wealthy enough to be regular Hell''s Bathtub clientele, what were you doing down there?"


    "Well, when we finished the job we were on south of there, Gruntle really needed a bath. We didn''t want to go back through Turnipseed and we saw the sign for Hell''s Bathtub so..."


    "Back to Turnipseed? You went to Turnipseed in the first place?"


    "They had work for us and we... didn''t really know about Turnipseed at the time. It was our second job, after we saved the village of Henhaven from something that was murdering them."


    "The backwoods baron out there has his keep near there, doesn''t he? I heard he was kind of a weird reclusive shut-in."


    "He didn''t seem that way to me, he seemed quite friendly for a noble. Apparently he hadn''t been at his keep for a while, and some caretaker was supposed to be maintaining it while baron Wulfcynn was gone. Um, it turned out that he was the one murdering the villagers, that''s a whole story of its own. Wikwocket tells it better than I can."


    "So far the only part of this that makes sense is the part where you would rather walk through the Bloodless Swamp than go back to Turnipseed. How did you even expect to sneak a gnoll in?"


    "Well, like I said before, everyone seemed to assume he was some rich merchant or noble that was paying me to make him look like that, so once everyone got over the initial shock they just had him take the oath to the goddess with the rest of us and we went in. That was probably the weirdest few days of my life so far."


    "A gnoll. Took an oath to a goddess."


    "Yes, he wrote his given name in the book and everything."


    "A gnoll. Took an oath to a goddess. In writing?"The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Yeah, that part surprised me, too. He''s not good at it, but apparently he can read and write some."


    "Adventuring sounds tiresomely full of surprises."


    "It really is, sometimes," Al agreed.


    "Still, I imagine it has its perks. Danger-loving adventurers with a gnoll must be able to get some nice discounts from shops."


    "Why is that?"


    The captain gave Al a knowing look. "Sure would be a shame if my buddy the gnoll thought we were being overcharged, he might get upset."


    "I honestly don''t think he cares, as long as he has plenty to eat and a comfortable place to rest. Wait... do you mean we should extort discounts? I don''t want to do anything like that!"


    The captain studied Al''s face for a moment, then nodded. "Good. See that you don''t. Southwall may be the edge of civilization here, but my city is civilized and I intend to keep it that way."


    Sounds like I passed a test, Al realized.


    "So," he asked the captain, "what exactly did Charlie do that''s got everyone looking for him?"


    "Animal fights, and running an unlicensed gambling establishment."


    "That''s pretty horrible. I take it Southwall is strict about getting its share of tax revenue from gambling?"


    "Yes, but that''s not the part that''s the big problem. Intentionally causing animal fights is very illegal here, and organized animal fights are extremely illegal."


    "Not that I disapprove, really, but why?"


    "Werewolves."


    "Uh..."


    "You don''t know about the werewolves? You ever been to our arena before?"


    "No, it''s not the sort of thing I usually do for entertainment. I know criminals get made to fight there as punishment for crimes."


    "We administer a lot of different punishments there for public spectacle. It brings in money for the city, keeps the citizens amused, and reminds them that criminal behavior has a cost. We used to sometimes condemn a criminal to fight something like a bear or hungry wolves. The crowd loved it, it was very popular. Then, the murders started. Ugly ones, people ripped apart, half-eaten, blood and gore everywhere."


    "Werewolf?"


    "That''s right. High priority case since a lot of the victims were city government. A lot of good guards were killed or injured before we figured out what we were up against. A druid-priest told us it was retribution for unnaturally forcing animals to fight, but we finally found out it was one of the arena animal-wranglers that was doing it, after we finally caught up to him with some silver-tipped spears and saw who he turned back into when he died. We thought it''d be over, but then the murders started up again. Always seemed to be going after people in city government, but they didn''t seem to care who else they killed along the way. Turned out to be an accountant for the city who liked attending the events with the criminals fighting animals. Swore she didn''t know she was doing it but transformed right in front of us and tried to rip her way out. Caught Diana pretty bad before we put the werewolf down. Townsfolk didn''t like it, but we outlawed animal fights and the murders stopped. That''s probably why the warden is interested in your gnoll."


    "The warden?"


    "Patrick, steward of the arena. He''s also the warden for the prison attached to it. A gnoll isn''t a natural animal, so the nature-gods shouldn''t object if we make it fight condemned criminals, and the bloodthirsty crowd will love it."


    "I don''t think we''ll need to make him do it. The only thing I worry about is if we can get him to stop. Sometimes the punishment isn''t supposed to end in death, right?"


    "I''ll let Patrick figure that out if he''s interested," the captain said, watching the gnoll lope ahead of the donkey and cart. "How do you intend to keep it under control when it''s not eating criminals?"


    "It really hasn''t been as much of a problem as you might think. He really is pretty well known in Silveroak."


    "Don''t be offended if I have trouble believing that, if that''s really a gnoll."


    "Well, since I''m apparently our mighty clan shaman he seems to have some respect for me. I''m a lot less worried about him now than I was a few weeks ago."


    "That''s good, because if we let it into the city, you all are responsible for anybody it eats."


    Al sighed. "I''m getting used to that."


    The rest of the march to the city gates was spent in silence, the captain suspiciously watching the gnoll walking ahead of the donkey. The captain called a halt as they arrived. They waited for word from inside.


    "Why isn''t the donkey afraid of him?" the captain finally asked.


    "He was out in a chicken yard to protect them from predators, we think. Maybe after a while he got the idea that he can just stomp or kick any predator that bothers him. I mean, he kicked Gruntle. It was supposed to be a fist-fight but obviously donkeys don''t have fists."


    "There was no lasting enmity," Bote added, "In fact, it was Gruntle to have Haunch his name not long afterwards."


    "Stop," the captain insisted, pressing his fingers into his temples to assuage the growing headache. "Forget I asked. There''s more crazy in that answer than I can cope with at this point."


    "I swear we''re not making that up," Al promised.


    "I believe you, but that only makes it worse."


    The gate swung open far enough for the rider that had been sent to find the steward of the arena to emerge. He hastened out to make his report.


    "Patrick insists that we immediately bring them to him. He says he''s got a place for them to stay and everything there. He was very excited."


    "Great," the captain replied with profound resignation. "All right, if anybody asks, we''re taking them for questioning on suspicion of unauthorized shapechanging magic. Hopefully that''ll keep people from unnecessary panic. You adventurers, stay with us and don''t do anything violent. Or weird. We''ve got a way to go to get to where the arena is, then you''re Patrick''s problem."


    The captain followed up with some more orders for his riders, who reorganized themselves in front and behind the adventurers and their cart-pulling donkey. The gate opened wide, and the march resumed down the wide main road from the gate to the city center. The curious onlookers peeking out of windows and doorways were everywhere, making Al feel like they were some sort of spectacle. The faces he could see were variously worried, disbelieving, overwhelmed by wonder, or some combination of those.


    "Hey, is there normally this much smoke here?" Wikwocket asked, pointing ahead. While there were plenty of chimneys crammed together in the crowded city, the amount of dark billowing smoke beginning to rise above the rooftops seemed excessive.


    "Bucket brigade will take care of it, stay in line," insisted the captain, trying unsuccessfully to hasten everyone ahead before the frantic cries for help and the running footsteps reached them. A wild-eyed, middle-aged man wearing thick gloves and an apron rounded the corner at a run. He screamed and fell painfully on his butt when he nearly ran into the gnoll and the guards watching him.


    "What did you burn this time, Ebeneezer," asked the captain in a tone that suggested this wasn''t an entirely uncommon circumstance.


    "Nothing! Please, I just went out to get some supplies, I saw the smoke just now when I got back! Please, you must help me!"


    "Bucket brigade will take care of it, just be patient. I''m sure they''re on their way already, we''re a little busy here."


    "No! You don''t understand! My apprentice is still in there! And also my irreplaceable alchemical formulae! Please! I''ll give you anything... you buy... from the store... at a twenty-five percent discount?" Ebeneezer offered, his urgent concerns at war with his merchant instincts.


    "You hear that Al? This sounds like a call for some magical-sword-heroism! Come on!" Wikwocket demanded, then sprinted past the guards before they could react. Gruntle''s swift rush to follow her startled the horses enough to prevent the riders from bringing their lances to bear before the two disappeared around the corner, headed towards the smoke.


    "Get back here!" the captain shouted.


    "Uh, I''ll go get them, don''t worry," Al said With an apologetic grimace, and hurried after the gnome and gnoll.


    "I''m afraid it really can''t be helped," Bote explained. "I promise you their intentions are good. Wikwocket cannot resist this chance to rush into danger to rescue someone, you see. I should probably follow as well, would you be so kind as to keep Haunch safe for us while we adventure a bit for the greater good?"


    "Just...just go," the captain said, one eye twitching.


    "Thank you. We will endeavor not to make you regret indulging us."


    Bote give the respectful eye-ear-nose-mouth gesture of their religious order and jogged after the others.


    "Quit screwing around!" shouted the captain at the riders who were still trying to get their horses to calm down. "Surround the building! I don''t care what Patrick wants, of the apprentice gets eaten we''re putting that thing down!"


    "Wait...what?!" Ebeneezer exclaimed.

 0118 - Firefighting

    The street was lined with a variety of small shops, many of them in two-story buildings where a proprietor might live or display the more exotic of their wares for select customers. A small crowd had gathered around in front of one such building - as is tradition in such cases - to stand in the way of traffic. Several of them pointing up at the upstairs where grey smoke escaped from a partly-open window, but did nothing to actually help. Every one of the spectators screamed and ran as they noticed the bestial monster running towards them behind the overlooked gnome.


    "Nice crowd control!" Wikwocket laughed.


    "Hey!" Al shouted as he ran to catch up, "You can''t just run off like that around the guards, you''ll get us thrown out of the city, or worse!"


    "There''s no time for that, this situation obviously requires decisive heroic action!"


    Wikwocket pointed to the smoke from the upstairs window.


    "The longer we take, the more will burn! Hurry!" She shouted, hurrying to the front of the building to look through the large window of the shop. The window was one large pane of glass, with the words "The Elixir Emporium" etched and then gilded in artistic lettering across the middle of it. Wikwocket took advantage of the view to look inside and assess the situation.


    "How does it look?" Al asked as he caught up and peered inside as well. In addition to the sight of a gnoll not bothering to look before barging through the door into the shop, they saw the wreckage of the storefront inside. Broken glass, spilled powders, puddles of colorful liquids, scattered papers, and even a few loose coins seemed to litter every surface, including the unmoving body lying face-down on the floor.


    "At least there doesn''t seem to be any obviously poisonous fumes in there," Al grumbled as he watched Gruntle sniff the air curiously and carelessly walk further inside. The gnoll yelped quietly and stopped to pick a piece of glass out of his foot. "No smoke here yet, either."


    "Well, let''s go save that guy if he''s not dead already and then hurry up and get that fire upstairs put out!" Wikwocket declared. This time, Al managed to get in front of her before she sprinted ahead.


    "Wait! I agree, but carefully, if this is an alchemical lab on fire, we''re not going to be able to save anyone if we get ourselves burned, blown up, poisoned, or dissolved into pink slime! And we can''t just drag the body out of the building, either if he''s alive he might be injured, and dragging him might make it worse."


    "See, that''s why you''re the leader! Good work taking charge, I graciously defer to your leadership!" Wikwocket said with apparent sincerity. Al cut his exasperated growl short as Bote caught up to them.


    "I believe we may have upset the captain''s hope of an orderly prisoner transport, but he will keep Haunch safe for us," the dwarf declared.


    "Good timing, we may need your medical skills. There''s someone dead or unconscious inside, can you find out if we can move him out of here?"


    "That is probably why I am here, if rescue is in the ineffable plans," Bote answered, moving to enter the building. "Also, good work taking charge so decisively."


    Al ignored Wikwocket''s giggle at his annoyed huff and followed Bote inside to inspect the victim, who appeared to be a middle-aged balding man. Bote knelt down. "Are you hurt badly?" the dwarf asked, gently shaking the man''s shoulder. A pained groan was the only answer.


    "It appears he is at least still alive. I will tend to him, so the rest of you can proceed quickly to keep this building from burning down around us."


    Al hastily examined the shop. The man lay on the floor in front of the counter. The shelves behind the counter had a mix of colorful intact bottles, broken glass, and dripping fluids. A narrow set of stairs led along one wall up to the second story of the building, and Al hastened to climb them. Wikwocket hurried up behind him, but the shoeless Gruntle had decided to step more cautiously through the broken glass and was left behind.


    The top of the stairs turned right into a short hallway. Al cautiously put his hand on the nearest of the two doors, and feeling no heat he pushed it open.


    Apprentice''s room, Al guessed, seeing the small cot in the narrow room. The books on the nightstand looked too small to be technical books of magic or alchemy. There was nobody inside, nor any fire, so Al deferred any investigation to check the door at the end of the hall. He could smell smoke now, but the door didn''t feel much warmer than the hallway. He risked pushing it open. Although there was a lock built into this door, it was unlocked and opened easily.


    Smoke billowed out from the room into the hall. Directly across the room, the top of a desk was burning. It probably hadn''t been burning for long since most of the room was intact, but the flames had spread to the curtains drawn across the windows and up the wall. Spotting a bed on the opposite end of the room, Al rushed to pull the blanket off, hoping to smother the fire with it. He shook off the tiny scraps of a destroyed sheet of paper that had been on top of the blanket and, coughing at the thick smoke, set to work trying to put out the fire without setting the blanket alight.


    "I have a great idea!" Wikwocket announced, following Al into the room and seeing what he was doing. She quickly took off her pack and dug into it.


    "Will you... just help me... put out this fire!" Al yelled between coughs.


    "That''s what I''m doing!" Wikwocket insisted, pulling a small bottle from her pack and holding it up triumphantly. Then, she hurried over to the bed, pulled the stopper from the bottle, and dumped the thick greasy substance all over one of the pillows. She smeared it more or less evenly over the cloth. By this point, Al was coughing too hard to complain about the delay as he desperately tried to sandwich burning curtain cloth between the sides of the blanket while slapping at the spots where the fire threatened to spread to the blanket itself. Wikwocket could tell that he wanted to complain, though.


    "Ready! Here I come!" Wikwocket shouted, though she was beginning to cough as well. She ran, leapt into the air, and brought the pillow down firmly on the patch of spreading fire across the top of the desk. A few burning droplets of something spattered away from the impact, but when Wikwocket pulled the pillow away, the pillow-shaped space underneath burned no more.


    "It works!"


    Coughing and laughing joyously, Wikwocket gave the remaining flames a vigorous beating with the pillow. Al stepped back and sat down on the floor to get down below the smoke and catch his breath, until Wikwocket pointed out that she couldn''t reach the ceiling to get the last of the fire. She handed the pillow over to Al, who was glad nobody else was watching as he jumped awkwardly up and down to slap at the fire spreading across the ceiling with the pillow. Once the fire was out, Al coughed his way back over to the window. He pushed the burnt remains of the curtains aside and opened the window to let the smoke out, leaning out himself the get some fresh air.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Once the fresh air allowed the coughing fit to die down and his eyes to stop watering, Al noticed the guards on horseback, now stationed at each corner of the building while the captain, Ebeneezer, and even Haunch the donkey looked expectantly up at the window Al was leaning out of.


    "Got the fire out!" Al called down to them.


    "What about my formula book, is it okay?" Ebeneezer called back worriedly.


    "I don''t know yet, where was it?"


    "It should be in that room, in my safe! Oh, and what about Eric?"


    "Who?"


    "Eric! My apprentice! Lazy good-for-nothing kid probably caused the fire, but I don''t want him to get hurt!"


    "Is he a middle-aged balding man?"


    "What? No! Teenaged kid, about this tall. Probably more like this tall if he''d stand up straight! He''s probably hiding deeper downstairs, avoiding the chores he''s supposed to be doing down there!"


    Al waved down and ducked back into the room to look around. With the smoke mostly cleared out and nothing distractingly on fire, Al felt more comfortable investigating. Much like the shop downstairs, papers and a few pieces of broken glass were scattered on the floor. Al guessed the glass had come from the oil lamp that he could now see was broken across the top of the desk. Next to the bed, a safe lay open. A thick codex was inside among a few other papers. Al opened it and found page after page of dense diagrams of alchemical and arcane symbols. He closed the book and returned to the window.


    "Is this your formula book?"


    "Yes! Thank the gods it''s safe!" Ebeneezer cried out, falling to his knees in gratitude. Al sighed, stepped away from the window, and gave the ceiling an accusing look.


    "We run into danger to put out the fire and he thanks you," Al grumbled to the imaginary god he liked to complain to.


    Wikwocket stood in front of the safe, holding one of the sheets of paper from inside.


    "Are these magic words or something?" she asked, holding the page out for Al to inspect. He leaned closer to look, and the magical concepts represented by the symbols on the page seemed to eagerly offer to leap into his eyeballs and gallop through his brain. He squinted his eyes shut and looked away, blinking, to avoid the temptation to find out what would happen if he let them.


    "I think that''s some kind of spell scroll," he said. "Ebeneezer is probably a real alchemist and uses magic-work in his alchemical processes."


    "So, it is magic words!"


    "In a very real sense, yes. It''s kind of an advanced form of wizardry, where someone actually embeds the magical concepts and even the intent of the spell-work into the symbolism written on the page, forming what dwarvish magic-workers would call a gestalt and... you''re not understanding any of this, are you?"


    "Nope! Try again!"


    "It''s like a magic spell stuck to the paper, so anyone who knows how to work magic can finish casting it easily, sometimes even if it''s too complex for them to work the magic on their own."


    Wikwocket turned the page around and stared closely at it.


    "It''s not working, it just makes my eyeballs itch!"


    "You have to know how to do actual magic-working to be able to try it," Al explained. "I still say you''re smart enough, if you spent a few years studying..."


    "Boring!" Wikwocket countered, tossing the spell-scroll back into the safe.


    "It takes some expensive supplies to make those along with the magical experience. Either Ebeneezer is a competent wizard himself or he makes a lot of money on alchemy to pay someone who is."


    He put the book on top of the stack of unrolled spell-scrolls, then gathered up the papers that were scattered on the floor to put them in the safe as well. On the way back to close the safe, he noticed the bits of paper he''d shaken off of the blanket scattered on the floor. They didn''t appear to have been torn up. The pieces were all oddly shaped, with neatly curving or straight edges that looked more dissolved than burnt.


    "Look at this," he said, pointing them out to Wikwocket, "I think this might have been one of those spell-scrolls. When you cast the spell from the paper, it usually destroys it completely, but the edges of these pieces could have been parts of the same kind of symbol-system whoever crafted the other ones was using. The spell-pattern is gone but maybe if someone didn''t quite do the working correctly it wouldn''t take the whole paper with it."


    "Sounds like you''ve seen them before, are they fun?"


    "They can be," Al admitted. "I got to demonstrate one once during my schooling, so I have some idea of how it''s supposed to work."


    "Did you blast something with a bolt of lightning?" Wikwocket asked excitedly.


    "No, it was magic to make someone''s speech understandable to everyone. We had a visiting lecturer who only spoke Elvish. However that spell worked, it''s still beyond what I can comprehend on my own, even now I think. I felt dizzy for an hour after I let the spell run through my mind like that. When I did it, the paper it was written on completely disintegrated, but they said the effectiveness of the magic was exactly what it should have been, all of us there understood the lecture, and the lecturer understood all of our questions even though none of us spoke Elvish."


    Al shut the safe. The key was still in the lock, so he turned it and then put the key in the desk drawer so that it at least wasn''t obvious.


    The sound of sniffing coming from the hall announced the arrival of their gnoll.


    "Gruntle? Where have you been?" Al asked.


    "Helping Bote move a body."


    "Someone died?"


    "Nah. Bote said con... con... hit on the head and shouldn''t walk around yet."


    "Concussion?"


    Grunt.


    Gruntle returned to sniffing at the open door to the apprentice''s room.


    "What do you smell?"


    "Body smell."


    Alarmed, Al hurried over and sniffed the air himself, expecting to detect the odor of rotting flesh. Instead, besides the lingering smell of smoke there was only a sort of dirty socks funk.


    "You mean body odor?"


    Gruntle tilted his head, puzzled. "Odor means smell."


    The cramped room had only the small cot, a nightstand, a trunk at the foot of the cot, and a small stand that reminded Al of something designed to display a musical instrument - he''d seen some professional traveling musicians using something like it to hold their stringed instruments when they weren''t playing them.


    The nightstand held a small stack of books. The bottom one appeared to be a legitimate - if basic - textbook on alchemical principals, judging by the "Simple Alchemical Practice" title on the spine. The others were smaller and looked less valuable. The topmost had a cover stamped by a sloppy woodcutting depicting a muscular half-dressed man and an equally muscular half-dressed woman, both holding improbably large swords over their heads. "Cursed Blade of the Dark Vampire" was the title on the spine. Al shook his head. Trashy adventure novels.


    A sheet of paper was sitting on the unmade bed. It was a list of chores:


    <blockquote>


    <ul>


    <li>Dust Master''s Room</li>


    <li>Sweep the Storefront</li>


    <li>Organize Stockroom</li>


    <li>Fertilize Garden</li>


    <li>Dust and Sweep Hazardous Chemical Room and Laboratory</li>


    <li>Replace Rats Water Bottles</li>


    </ul>


    </blockquote>


    A sloppy checkmark had been made with a charcoal stylus next to each item.


    "Maybe the chores got done after all," Al mumbled. Out of curiosity, he opened the trunk, then immediately closed it again when the smell of unwashed clothing escaped.


    "Normally I''d suggest searching under the bed in case there''s anything important hidden there, but it looks and smells like it''s just garbage," Wikwocket said, crouched down to look underneath. She stood back up and noticed the books on the nightstand.


    "Oh! I remember that one! Dark Blood Throne of the Shadow Witch was hilarious!"


    "It was?"


    "Yes! I mean, probably not on purpose, but it was!"


    "I''ll take your word for that. Come one, let''s go see if the guy we found on the floor knows what''s going on, then we can go look for the apprentice. Given how badly this place has been trashed, there''s a chance he''s been hurt or in danger."

 0119 - This Is Why You Dont Mix Potions

    Al and Wikwocket left Gruntle behind at the bottom of the stairs as the gnoll slowed down substantially to avoid stepping on shards of broken glass on the floor.


    Bote knelt next to the unconscious man, now lying on his back on the road outside the Elixir Emporium, as Ebeneezer and the guard captain stood nearby watching.


    "My book?" Ebeneezer asked anxiously the moment Al exited the building.


    "I put it back in your safe and locked it up. Uh, I didn''t know what you normally do with the key, I put it in your desk drawer for now," Al answered.


    "And is Eric all right?"


    "We''re not sure, we haven''t found him yet. So far everything looks like it''s been smashed up, does he get violent?"


    Ebeneezer scoffed. "That sounds like effort, so I doubt Eric would bother. Wait, is there someone violent in there? Eric could be in trouble! Look, just because he''s a lazy layabout doesn''t mean I want any serious harm to come to him, I''m sort of responsible for him. You''ve got to find him!"


    "Have you been able to get any useful information from this guy?" Al asked Bote, "Probably not I suppose, if he''s still unconscious."


    "I believe he is not grievously harmed," the dwarf answered. "It may be safe to try to wake him up. Hmmm, I have an idea."


    Bote took off their pack and rummaged inside for the silver flask of Earthshine. The dwarf shook it to judge how much was left. "Hmm, more than I thought I still had."


    Bote unscrewed the cap and held the open flask near the unconscious man''s nose. He began to cough and turned his head away. His eyes opened.


    "What... what happened? Who are you?" the man rasped out between coughs.


    "We were hoping you could tell us what happened, we found you in the shop unconscious," Al answered.


    "Right. Right. I was going to an alchemist''s shop. I heard he might have some hair tonic that actually worked."


    "I most certainly do!" Ebeneezer interrupted, reflexively starting a sales pitch, "Ebeneezer''s Healthy Heaps of Hair Ointment is guaranteed to ..."


    "If there''s any still intact in there. Sorry, if there''s someone dangerous in there we kind of need to know in a hurry," Al interrupted, "What happened in there?"


    "I don''t really remember," the man answered, "I just went inside, and the next thing I know I''m lying out here. No... wait... I think someone was hitting me with a broom."


    "A broom? Did you see what they looked like?"


    "No, sorry, I don''t remember seeing anyone."


    "If there''s some nut attacking people in there Eric is in danger!" Ebeneezer insisted, switching tracks from sales-pitch back to pleading for help with dizzying speed. "Please, if you save him, I''ll give you any... one... item from my stock?"


    "I mean, we were going to..."


    "Each?" Ebeneezer tried, possibly thinking Al was holding out for a bigger reward.


    "Okay, okay!" Al said, hurrying to keep Wikwocket from charging back inside to be heroic. "Let''s go, at least we know we might have to defend ourselves from a broom, I guess that''s something."


    "Please try not to move around too much until you''re sure you''re feeling better," Bote advised the broom-attack victim. "I can check on you when we come back."


    "Where might someone be hiding in there?" Al asked Ebeneezer, "We''ll go search for him."


    "There''s a trapdoor down to the lower levels by the back wall behind the counter, Eric is supposed to be down there taking care of chores by now. It''s not a safe place for some nut to be swinging a broom around, I have a lot of valuable and dangerous supplies down there! Who knows what might happen if things end up getting spilled and mixed up together? Hurry!"


    "We''re going, we''re going!"


    The man they''d carried out groaned a little, carefully sitting up as the adventurers headed back inside.


    "Ow," the man said, "So, you do have a hair.. Look out! Is that a gnoll???"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Yes, he''s a gnoll," an exasperated Al answered, "Come on, Gruntle, we''re going back in to see if we can save the apprentice from whoever is trashing the place."


    "...Is he talking to the gnoll?"


    "Adventurers," the guard captain answered, expecting this to explain everything.


    The man stared in silence as Al tried to sweep broken glass out of the way with his boot to make it easier for the bare-paw-footed gnoll to follow.


    "Adventurers are weird," he finally said.


    <hr>


    Just as Ebeneezer had described, a trapdoor in the floor at the back wall lifted to reveal a short, steep set of steps and the peculiar odors of alchemical supplies. A glow like dim sunlight illuminated the room below, allowing Al to see that there was a varicolored puddle of liquid slowly growing on the floor near the bottom step. Al leaned down to listen for a moment but heard nothing but dripping fluids.


    "Anybody down there?" he called out, but got no answer. He carefully descended the steps, and found himself in a storeroom.


    Shelving covered the walls of the room. The storeroom extended perhaps ten paces away to the left, but with only a couple of paces to the shelves in front of the steps. There did appear to be a doorway-sized gap in the shelves at the far end of the room, so perhaps the shelves in front of the steps had been built out halfway across the room to increase the storage space.


    The light in the room came from glass bottles of a glowing substance, set in holders in the wall, as well as some of the puddles of liquid on the floor mingling with still more broken glass shards. The contents of the shelves hadn''t been completely destroyed, but quite a lot seemed to have been haphazardly knocked over or broken. Al eyed the puddles of mixing liquids with concern as a gnoll stepped up close behind him at the bottom of the stairs. Al looked up to see Gruntle looming over him, also looking concerned at the floor. Al looked back and down at the gnoll''s feet. A single small spot of blood was on each step behind him, left behind by the paw-foot that Gruntle had picked the piece of glass from earlier.


    "You know," Al said, "in a place like this, I''ll bet we could find someone who could make you some shoes or sandals or something to protect your feet, if we can find somebody that isn''t going to scream and run away."


    Gruntle huffed. "Gets in the way."


    Al shook his head and, with a sigh, began the tedious work of sweeping glass shards aside with his booted feet, hoping that none of the liquids on the floor were corrosive enough to destroy his boots.


    "Wow, someone is really trying to wreck this place!" Wikwocket said, squeezing past Gruntle at the bottom of the stairs. "You''d think someone who''s a maniac with a broom would at least sweep up after themselves!"


    "I''d have settled for them leaving the broom here for us to use, really," Al grumbled as he slowly footswept his way along the shelves.


    "Destructive people are rarely considerate," Bote agreed.


    "Yeah. Come on, it looks like this goes around and back on the other side."


    "Wait a moment, you missed some spots!" Wikwocket said.


    "I''m not trying to clean the place up, I just wanted to clear some spaces where Gruntle can step safely. Wait, why are you still lugging that pillow around?"


    "Sir Fluffington bravely fought the fire with us, I wouldn''t abandon him!"


    Wikwocket swept her foot through a small puddle of fluid and glass shards that Al had missed, kicking the wet glass shards out of the way towards the shelving. Gruntle followed her cautiously along, and around the end of the shelves bisecting the storeroom. The other side was in no better shape, but there was at least a door at the opposite end of the shelving. Al groaned and swept another puddle of glass shards out of the way.


    "If we all help, we''ll make it to the other end in no time!" Wikwocket offered and hurried up to join Al in kicking the sharp obstacles out of the way. Bote with their heavy dwarven boots added to the effort.


    "See? Teamwork!" Wikwocket said, kicking some more wet glass out of the way into the slowly-growing puddle along the shelves. The puddle flashed and flickered with pale green light.


    Gloop... SCHLORP!


    "What did you do?" Al called out in horror as the glowing, flashing puddle congealed and expanded.


    "The same thing you are!" Wikwocket insisted, redoubling her efforts to clear the path away from whatever was happening. Al abandoned sweeping the path and rushed the rest of the way to the door. It opened easily to reveal stone steps heading down.


    "Hurry up! Let''s get out of here and hope whatever''s happenening stops by the time we head back up!" Al yelled, holding the door open. Bote and Wikwocket ran to join him.


    Gruntle considered the remaining stretch of foot-stabbing obstacles and took a careful step.


    "Is it following us?" Al shouted as he watched the glowing tarry mass of mysterious alchemical substances and sharp glass shards stretch slowly down the hall directly towards them.


    "Gruntle! Jump!" Wikwocket called out. Gruntle looked back at the stuff, and yelped to see a wad of it stretch itself swiftly out at him. He yelped again when the spiky pseudopod nicked his leg as he leapt away. The gnoll flew through the doorway, knocking Al back. Wikwocket slammed the door shut while Bote helped Al and the gnoll disentangle themselves and get back up in the dimly alchemically-lit stairway.


    "That was close!" Wikwocket laughed, "It almost caught up to us!"


    She stopped laughing when the sounds of glass sliding against glass and a flickering green glow came from the bottom of the door. A small blob of shining glass-spiked tarry mass bulged out through the gap.


    "Down the steps!" Al urged, backing away from the door. Gruntle surprised him by hurrying to take that advice rather than trying to bite or smash the... substance... that was following them.


    "Save us, magical sword hero!" Wikwocket called as she followed the gnoll, with Bote right behind her. "Burn it with magic fire!"


    Al backed down the steps as quickly as he could without stumbling, keeping his eye on the stuff that oozed under the door.


    "Are you crazy more than usual?" he asked, "We have no idea how whatever that is made of is going to react to fire!"


    A thick, flickering, glass-spiked spout of the unnatural alchemical mass spurted out at Al. His reflexively conjured warding spell manifested itself just a moment too late. The burning sensation of the slashes across the side of his head stoked a momentary fire of irrational rage in him. All thoughts of caution evaporated and he let rush through his mind as much fiery intent as he could. Wikwocket cheered as three bolts of magical violence manifested themselves, burst into flame, and launched themselves at the belligerent blob. They struck deep, causing an almost blinding flash of light.


    The entire thing exploded in greenish-blue flame.


    Bubbling and hissing within the flames, it continued stretching down the steps towards them.


    "Run!" Al shouted, and did so himself.

 0120 - The Mush Room

    At least the bright blue-green flames lit the stone stairs well enough to avoid tripping as they fled. Al was distressed to find no door at the bottom to slow the flaming mass down. It flowed slowly but relentlessly down after them.


    "Please tell me there''s something down here that might help us!" Al yelled. Wikwocket was already past the bottom of the steps and out of sight in the next room.


    "Mushrooms!" she called back. "Oh, and a water pump!"


    A soft green glow from a sphere embedded in the stone ceiling lit the room Al found himself sprinting into. Two long raised beds of dark soil cut across the room with rather large mushrooms growing in them. Al ignored the landing for another set of steps downward across the room and ran for the far corner where Wikwocket and Gruntle stood next to a water pump with a watering can hanging from it. Bote was already running the long way around the garden beds in the same direction.


    "Pump! Wet the floor!" Al called as he vaulted the first garden bed, barely clearing the mushrooms. Wikwocket grabbed the pump-handle and pulled down and was rewarded with a splash of water. Al vaulted the second garden bed, caught his foot having misjudged the height of the mushrooms, and landed flat in the water on the floor.


    "Do you have a plan?" Bote asked, somewhat out of breath. The dwarf added to the efforts at the pump, drenching the floor, and Al, who sputtered and rolled over.


    "Soak as much as we can, at least try to keep it from burning the place down, maybe it''ll dissolve! The solution to pollution is dilution," he quoted from his limited alchemical education as he stood up. The mushrooms in the garden bed were larger than he thought.


    A few were much larger. More than two feet tall, in fact, and still growing. Limbs sprouted from their sides as he watched, and pairs of smooth, shiny black lumps grew on the stalk below each mushroom cap.


    If that was a face, those would be eyes...


    The opening of an unmistakable mouth full of teeth like sharpened wooden stakes beneath each pair of eyes confirmed Al''s pessimistic assumption. Al heard Gruntle''s eager bark-laughter as five dwarf-sized violent mushrooms pulled themselves from the soil and charged recklessly at the adventurers, silhouetted against the blue-green flames of the alchemical mass that was now flowing across the floor towards them.


    Al scrambled up to his feet against the wall and tried to get Purgatio out in time to defend himself. <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title="One animate mushroom takes 10HP bludgeoning damage from a raging


    flail-wielding Gruntle, leaving 8HP.">Gruntle didn''t hesitate to throw himself at the attackers, perhaps happy to have a - relatively - conventional threat to attack. He''d dropped his shield into place in his hand and taken up the flail with practiced ease. He smashed down onto the cap of the nearest angry fungus, breaking off a chunk and leaving a bruised dent in its head. Undeterred, it opened wide to bite and got a mouthful of wooden shield.


    Bote began a familiar prayer for the favorable attention of divinity while <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title=">Wikwocket''s 4th-level two-points-of-ability-increase went to Dex and Cha. With


    BiteySue she has a +5 to hit and does 1d8+4 damage (avg 9) + 2d6


    sneak-attack damage (avg 7). Mushroom takes 16HP, not enough to kill it


    but pretty deadly. Technically, the pillow isn''t a "simple melee weapon"


    so she shouldn''t be able to attack with it as a bonus action, but it''s


    funny and doesn''t really do any harm. On a critical hit, I''d impose


    disadvantage for attack rolls on the one struck until the end of their


    next turn due to the distraction of getting hit in the face with an


    oiled-up fireproof pillow.">Wikwocket dodged away behind Gruntle to skewer one of the mushroom-creatures ganging up on Al, and hit it with a pillow.


    "Get them, Sir Fluffington!"


    <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title="It doesn''t take much for Al''s inexpert but magic-sword-aided strike to do the necessary 2-3 more points necessary to kill the


    animated mushroom-thing. Al took an average of 6-7 Bludgeoning + 2-3 slashing damage (avg 9 total) from the alchemical mass'' glass-spiked pseudopod last installment. He takes another 6 or so piercing damage now for a total of 15. He''s at half HP now. Brittle wizards shouldn''t be playing "tank". Al''s standing nearest to the middle of the group of mushroom-things


    that just sprouted together so the first few gang up on him, while the other two go for the largest target i.e. Gruntle.">Mushroom-juice spurted as Purgatio chopped deep into Wikwocket''s foe, who fell in two pieces to the floor. Another lunged and sank its fungal teeth into Al''s hip when Al moved to get away from a third.


    "Ow! Why are they ganging up on me?"


    "You''re the magical sword hero!" Wikwocket explained as she maneuvered to try to stab another enemy.


    "And you were standing the closest after you tripped over them," Bote suggested, breathing heavily from their exertions at the pump.


    Continuing the quiet prayer, Bote watched the fighting with concern and worked the water pump to further soak the floor ahead of the slow but inexorable approach of the flaming alchemical mass. The wooden frame and mushrooms of the first raised garden bed began to smoulder as the blob oozed over it. <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title="The fungus-thing takes 1d6+2 bludgeoning + 1d4 slashing + 1d4 fire


    damage = avg 11HP or so combined damage. the pseudopod sticks and the glass shards dig in as the blob successfully initiates a


    grapple against the angry mushroom. Your Friend the DM is benevolently assuming Al rolled well enough for


    all three "Scorching Rays" that Al launched at the mass last installment to hit, so the blob took an average of 2d6x3 damage, or about 21 HP. It will also burn at 2-3HP (1d4) per round until it''s extinguished or dies. It will have taken the blob two rounds to get to the bottom of the stairs, then one more to get barely within reach of the furthest mushroom-thing attacking Al from atop the garden-bed, so it''ll have taken about 8HP total additional damage from burning up to this point. It had 22HP remaining.">A spiky fiery wad of the stuff stretched out and smacked into the back of the nearest mushroom-thing. The fungus shrieked angrily, the glass-shards gouging its fungal flesh as it spun to bite down on the glowing, flaming, tarry tentacle sticking to it.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title="The Reactive Radiance is triggered by the bite. Only the mushroom-thing that''s biting the pseudopod is close enough to be affected by the radiant damage. Only Bote is far enough away to avoid the risk of being blinded by the flash, though. The three surviving mushroom-things have only about a 35% chance each of making their DC14 Dex saves to avoid the blindness. Al''s got about a 40% chance. Wikwocket''s quick reflexes gives her a 60% chance, and Gruntle''s very likely to succeed, between his own reflexes and the Barbarian-class


    "Danger Sense" giving him Advantage on the roll. Poor Al.">A flash of bright blue-green light spread in an instant from the bitten spot throughout the whole mass. Even the surviving mushroom-things squealed at the blinding light. The one with its wood-like teeth sunk into the mass hissed, bubbled, and shriveled, then was still.


    <span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px" title="The as-yet-uninjured one fighting Gruntle avoided the flash of light, but the other two mushroom-things still standing (or dangling from a shield) were also blinded. Al takes the Dodge action and tries to move away. Wikwocket''s moving back and forth through his space as she sets up her attacks, so we give him a DC 10 Dex save to avoid stumbling over her, at disadvantage because he''s blinded. He''s sitting rather than


    lying down but in rules terminology he''s "prone" now. Since he''s dodging, the mushroom-thing would''ve been at disadvantage to hit him even if it wasn''t also blinded. It misses as it throws itself at where it thinks it remembers Al was. Gruntle finishes off the first mushroom-thing he smashed and as a bonus "Rampage" action as a gnoll he


    chomps into the other one, successfully hitting for 1d8+3+2=about 10HP,


    leaving the mushroom-thing with 8.">Al could see nothing but blue-green spots and blackness. Uncertain what else to do, he backed away as best he could, stumbling over Wikwocket and ending up sitting on the floor in the water again. He felt a movement of air and heard fungal teeth snapping near where he''d been standing. This was drowned out by the sound of Gruntle''s noisy enthusiasm as the half-smashed mushroom-thing that was biting his shield was shaken loose and smashed again. Al heard Gruntle''s teeth sink into another with a sound like someone biting an apple.


    Al heard a sound like a blade shoved into a melon and the soft thump of a pillow against the stumbling mushroom-thing that was after him. Al scrambled further back without bothering to stand, following the wall beside him, as the loud bubbling hiss and the feel of heat announced the flaming mass flowing over the nearer garden-bed and into the water on the floor. Wikwocket''s shout of "Al! Look out! Yikes! Wikwocket, look out too!" encouraged Al back a bit further, pressed against the wall to avoid the splashing sound of Gruntle''s footsteps. The SCHLORP! of a glob of the alchemical mass stretching out to strike something and the dying shriek of a mushroom thing reached Al''s ears. He blinked hard until the bright spots quit hiding things from his sight.


    "Al, look out again!" Wikwocket shouted


    One bright spot remained in his clearing vision, and it reached out for him. This time, his conjured protective ward deflected the reaching goo in time. The fiery wad of sticky glass hissed and bubbled in the water on the floor. Wikwocket''s small, swift silhouette rushed in to bury BiteySue''s point deep into the main mass of the blob, holding the pillow behind her. The blade sank in more easily than expected, and sparkling blue-green liquid sprayed out as Wikwocket pulled back. The fire sputtered and went out, leaving only the fading glow of the thing''s alchemical innards spreading across the floor and the dim glow of the light-source mounted in the ceiling.


    One last fungal shriek cut off with another apple-biting sound as Gruntle dealt with the last of the mushroom things. Al groaned. The apparent end of the immediate danger let him notice how much he hurt. Wild-eyed and panting eagerly, the gnoll looked for something else to fight. He brought his flail down on the slowly dissolving lump of goo and glass, only succeeding in giving himself a few small superficial cuts from the bits of glass that flew out.


    Gruntle took a deep, slow breath and then let it out, slumping with relief.


    "It appears to be safe to stop pumping the water now," Bote observed, "You probably want to stand up before whatever was in that thing gets into your injuries."


    Al put a hand to the side of his face and winced at the sharp pain, then winced again to see the blood. His trousers were getting bloodstained from the numerous small painful holes in his hip as well.


    "If you would like to have some visible scars with which to impress someone, now is a perfect opportunity," Bote said, examining Al''s injuries.


    "I''d rather not."


    "It would be a small miracle if you healed without scars."


    Al shot an accusing glance at the ceiling at Bote''s little joke. "Yes, please."


    A small crunching sound caught Al''s attention.


    "Hey, these are pretty good! They taste like mushrooms but they''re crunchy!" Wikwocket announced.


    "Hey! Aren''t most mushrooms poisonous?"


    "Doesn''t seem to be hurting Gruntle any!"


    Louder crunching came from Gruntle, who tore another chunk out of the dead mushroom-thing whose teeth were still clamped to his leg and bit down.


    "Hopefully the ineffable plans include you being able to miraculously cure poison if necessary?" Al asked Bote. "Those things weren''t normal. I think it''s a fair bet that mushrooms aren''t supposed to attack people."


    "Looks like somebody put something on them that made them do that, take a look at this!" Wikwocket said, pulling a printed cloth bag off of the floor next to the garden-bed. She turned the front around and held it up so Al could see what it said.


    "Magic Grow Fertilizer, your plants will look so great your neighbors will claim it''s magic," Al read. He squinted to look at the smaller print at the bottom of the bag.


    "Over-fertilization may cause excessive growth, aggression and sentience. Magic Grow is not liable for any damages caused due to improper use of this product. Why would you even use something this dangerous? Come on, we''d better get going before whoever''s doing this does something worse."


    "I would think you should let me treat your injuries first. Scars or no scars, you are not in good shape to face further dangers at the moment."


    "Yeah, we can''t have our magical sword hero dying on us! You wait here, we''ll scout down to the next floor! Come on, Gruntle!" Wikwocket promised. Still chewing on a chunk of crunchy mushroom, Gruntle took a step to follow. The bit of the dead mushroom''s mouth still attached to his leg got in the way, though, so he paused to rip them out before continuing.


    "What about him?" Al argued. Bote gave the lightly bleeding toothmarks in Gruntles leg a perfunctory look.


    "Superficial. He is rather sturdier than we are in that regard."


    "See?" Wikwocket said. "We''ll be fine! Catch up when you''re ready!"


    She and Gruntle headed down the stairs.


    "Now then," Bote said, "you are certain about the scars?"

 0121 - Occupational Hazards

    Bote reached up to place a hand on the bloody slashes across the side of Al''s head and requested divine repair of Al''s flesh. The reference to him as an instrument of the Ineffable Plans made Al feel uncomfortable, but the burning pain subsided immediately and was replaced by a fading warmth.


    "That''s much better, thanks. The spot where that mushroom-thing''s sharp wooden teeth bit me feels a bit better, too, but it still kind of hurts."


    "Perhaps that is meant to be a reminder that one does not need to literally stand at the front of danger to act as a leader," Bote suggested.


    "It''s not like I wanted to be standing next to angry violent mushrooms when they popped up. What did you expect me to do, hide behind the rest of you and throw things at them?"


    "In a manner of speaking, perhaps. When there is danger, every one of us can swing a stick or blade at it but only one of us has the experience and education to throw magic at it. None of us can replace you should you become incapacitated."


    "What about you? You throw magic around."


    "I do not. I am simply a conduit for the maintenance of the ineffable divine plans. I am certain you understand the difference. Even so, you will have noticed that my place is also not nearest to danger when it is not divinely ordained."


    "Sure, but I can''t just hide behind everyone else while they do all the..."


    Wikwocket''s startled cry from down the stairs interrupted him.


    "Wah!? Sir Fluffington! Once more we must ask...," Wikwocket began, but was unable to continue due to a sudden fit of coughing. A gnollish yelp and the truly terrible sounds of Gruntle coughing joined in. A door thudded shut and stumbling footsteps came quickly back up. Dense puffs of smoke the color of dried blood followed Gruntle and then Wikwocket as they staggered back into the room. Al found himself also coughing a bit as the traces of caustic fumes irritated his throat.


    "More cough fire! cough, cough Got to hurry but cough," Wikwocket tried to explain.


    "Bad... smoke," Gruntle added through coughs that sounded like he might vomit up one of his own lungs.


    Bote took a deep breath and sneezed.


    "That does not smell good at all. Is something poisonous burning?"


    "Worse! cough, cough Angry potions! cough Door says volatile chemicals on it! cough" Wikwocket answered.


    "Wait, there''s volatile chemicals down there? On fire?" an alarmed Al asked.


    "That''s cough what the door that''s on fire says anyway! Nothing Sir Fluffington can''t cough can''t handle, but someone has to carry him into battle!"


    "You want to fight poisonous burning chemicals that might explode at any moment?"


    "cough When you say it like cough that, yes! Hurry!"


    "There may be a blessing for this," Bote offered, setting a hand on Wikwocket''s shoulder. Bote called for divine protection from impurities, and Wikwocket gasped.


    "It''s a miracle!" Wikwocket said, taking a deep breath. "Thank whoever did that and let''s go beat a fire to death!"


    She ran back down the stairs without waiting for an answer with her fireproof pillow held high. The sounds of the door opening again and the crackle of flames came moments later. A few more wisps of red-brown smoke arrived to make the air unpleasant.


    "I will go and assist," Bote said, setting down their pack and hastily digging out a cloth bandage strip. The dwarf wetted it down with earthshine from the silver flask and tied it over mouth and nose. "The two of you who are less resilient to poisons at the moment should wait here for now I think."


    "But..."


    "A leader should know when to delegate."


    "I didn''t even want to be the leader!" Al objected, but Bote proceeded down the stairs out of sight. Gnomish battle-cries and soft thudding noises came back up the stairs.


    The distressing sounds of a sick gnoll banished Al''s annoyance. Gruntle crouched on the floor, bent forward and coughing wetly.


    "Are you going to be all right?" he asked worriedly.


    With a horrible SPLAT, Gruntle coughed a fist-sized wad of brown phlegm onto the floor, then inhaled deeply and grunted.


    "What''s down there?" Al asked.


    "Fire. Smoke. Wikwocket. Bote. Broken things." Gruntle answered, unhelpfully. He looked towards the downward steps, ears twitching as he listened to the battle against combustion. Al could hear some coughing and sneezing, but not so much as Wikwocket''s initial reaction would have predicted.


    "Oof! I do not require Sir Fluffington''s services unless I am on fire," came Bote''s voice from downstairs amid the pillow-impact sounds.


    "This is very persistent fire, cough I won''t let it get you!"


    Al sighed with annoyance.


    "Do you ever feel useless?" he asked rhetorically.


    Gruntle huffed in response.


    "Yeah, I suppose not. You wouldn''t rather be fighting the fire instead of waiting up here?"


    "Doesn''t smash, can''t bite it, doesn''t taste good."


    "You really aren''t complicated at all, are you?"


    "Nah."


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The sounds of crackling flames slowly but inevitably disappeared under the relentless soft thumps of the pillow.


    "Brave Sir Fluffington, cough your sacrifice shall never be forgotten!" Wikwocket cried out.


    "Alas, I fear no miracle can save him now," Bote agreed, failing to keep from sounding amused.


    "No! There is cough yet one through whose powers Sir Fluffington may survive! Come, we must beseech him for mercy!"


    Swift gnomish footsteps came most of the way back up the stairs, paused for a moment, then marched the last few steps up at a solemn pace. Wikwocket carried the badly torn pillow in her arms like a small stricken hero that bled singed feathers instead of blood. She knelt in front of Al and gently set the pillow on the floor. Her exaggerated expression of melodramatic grief almost got an audible laugh from Al, who kept his expression neutral through force of will. A smirk did creep onto his face upon seeing Bote''s own mirth at the drama as the dwarf caught up, though.


    "Please, magical sword hero! Sir Fluffington was mortally stricken defending us! Use your magical sword hero powers to save him, we beg of you!" she pleaded, looking up at Al.


    The moment stretched longer than she expected as Al tried to decide how to respond.


    There''s no good way to just get her to stop being herself, is there?


    Al found himself feeling actual guilt as a hint of genuine worry began to invade Wikwocket''s expression.


    "Very well," he said, examining the half-destroyed pillow, "my vast magical powers may be able to spare his life, but he may never walk again."


    He knelt and stuffed a few of the singed feathers back into the largest tear, then magicked the sides of the hole back together.


    Wikwocket laughed, then coughed.


    "You''re a good one, Al," she said and stood back up.


    "Yes, well, I think Sir Fluffington should rest here while we keep looking for the apprentice, who, I should remind you, is probably endangered right now himself. We still have to deal with whoever or whatever is trying to hard to destroy this place, preferably before they finish destroying everything."


    "I expect the culprit is more intent on property damage than harm to people. The destruction so far has been consistent and must have taken some time, though the process has not been methodical. The room below appears to have contained some of the more dangerous supplies, and just as in the room above, it appears someone has knocked much of it onto the floor. Sir Fluffington was able to subdue the resulting fires after some vigorous battle. If you do not inhale too deeply or remain in the room for long, the fumes should be reduced to a tolerable level within a few minutes."


    "What do you mean by consistent but not methodical?"


    "The intent seems to be to cause damage everywhere, but the amount of the damage doesn''t seem to be of importance."


    "Maybe the apprentice is possessed by evil spirits and he''s the one doing this as part of some dark ritual to summon a terrible demon of molten cheese to destroy the city!" Wikwocket suggested.


    "...cheese?" Al asked.


    "Hopefully, I''m getting a bit hungry from all of this heroing!"


    It sounded like there''s probably food waiting for us where we were headed before this little emergency, so once we''re finished here..."


    Gruntle perked up and headed for the stairs. He paused to carefully sniff the air, sneezed wetly, then proceeded down.


    "See, that''s why you''re the leader! You''ve got a knack for motivating people!" said Wikwocket.


    "Now I just need to motivate myself."


    "Think about what Gruntle might do unsupervised in a room with dangerous chemicals!" Wikwocket suggested.


    <hr>


    Al coughed at the lingering fumes as he hurried down the stairs. He found Gruntle with a hand clamped over his nose in a room blackened with extensive burn-marks and littered in several places with broken clay and glass. The gnoll was listening at a door across the room. In the nearer wall, Al spotted the scorched, heavy wooden door with a metal sign nailed to it. Despite the fire damage, the phrase "Highly Volatile Chemicals" was still readable.


    "The doors are closed," Al said, as much to himself as to Wikwocket and Bote, who had followed him down the steps. "Why would someone who''s trying to destroy the place bother to close the doors behind them?"


    "Maybe it''s a very polite vandal. Or maybe it''s for privacy, to protect their secret room-destroying techniques!"


    Gruntle ignored the conversation and continued listening intently to the door.


    "Do you hear something?" Al asked him, and got a grunt of affirmation.


    "Things breaking. Sweeping. Food. Music?"


    "Right there behind the door?" Al asked, lowering his voice.


    "Nah. Further away."


    "Wait. Food?"


    "Squeaks like food."


    "Rats?"


    Grunt.


    Al shook his head. "Sounds like we''ve almost caught up to whoever''s causing all of this. If we''re quiet, we might be able to sneak up on them."


    "I''ll check the door!" Wikwocket volunteered. She gave the door and the latch a quick inspection for obvious traps, then quietly reached up and lifted the latch. She pushed the door open slowly. She peeked through the opening and gasped.


    "Ooo! Pretty!"


    She pushed the door open further to sounds of small objects bouncing off of the other side. Shelves of partly-broken alchemical apparatus lined the walls, and a long workbench with more alchemical equipment ran down the middle of the room and around a corner.


    The entire room sparkled brightly as the alchemical lighting embedded in the ceiling glittered through the shards of glass that spun and floated lazily in the air.


    "What the...," Al wondered as he stared.


    Wikwocket reached out to a nearby piece of glass that didn''t appear to be spinning too rapidly. She carefully chose a moment to put a finger on a less-sharp surface and push. The floating bit of glass seemed to be resisting, but Wikwocket was able to push it away. It kept no momentum and simply continued to spin in place where it was when Wikwocket pulled her hand back.


    "There''s no way Sir Fluffington would survive this one, so it''s a good thing we''re letting him rest upstairs!" Wikwocket said.


    "I''m not sure we can survive this," Al said, "We''ll be cut to shreds if we try to just stroll through here."


    "This is some kind of magic, right? Can you un-magic them so they stop floating around?"


    "No. I know that sort of thing is possible but it''s not something I can do."


    "Well, that makes sense, you''re a magical sword hero, not an un-magical sword hero!"


    "That''s not... no, never mind, you''re exactly right. That still means we don''t have any good way to protect ourselves if we want to go through here."


    "Maybe if we had a giant umbrella we could hold out in front of us!"


    "I have no idea where you think we can find an umbrella made of something that wouldn''t be as shredded by this as we are."


    "What about a big shield? Something made of metal or thick wood that we could stay behind as we push through?"


    "Where are we going to find something that big in here?"


    The sound of a door latch being lifted in the room behind them made Al turn to look, and then to feel panic to see Gruntle opening the Highly Volatile Chemicals door. Al relaxed a little when Gruntle took no interest in the bottles and jars that were carefully arranged on shelves inside the door. Instead, the gnoll seemed more interested in the door itself. Gruntle stuck his stubby fingers behind the door near the hinges and jerked violently back. Wood cracked, and after several tries the door pulled loose from its hinges.


    When no explosion happened, Al looked up from the floor where he had dropped prone and covered his head. Gruntle turned and proudly held up the door. Al got back to his feet.


    "Yes, I suppose that should work," he admitted.


    With some tricky maneuvering, they managed to get the loose door through the doorway to the next room without dropping it or getting anyone''s hands slashed by flying glass. They crowded together behind the door as Gruntle held it up and pushed it slowly across the floor. Floating glass pressed back against the door as they went, but gave way to their combined strength as they pushed.


    Al examined what remained of whatever process had been in progress before someone came in and violently interrupted it. Halfway through the room, Al spotted an open notebook next to some freshly-broken glass and metal tubing. He leaned as far int he direction of the writing as he dared without exposing his head to danger.


    "Elixir of Flight," he read aloud from the heading. "Huh. I guess whatever flight-magic Ebeneezer was working on affects inanimate materials as well as living people who drink it."


    "You can make a potion that would let me fly?" Wikwocket asked eagerly.


    "Well, I can''t, but I''ve heard of such things before."


    "I want some!"


    "That... doesn''t surprise me."


    It took several minutes of cautious travel to make their way through the apparent alchemical laboratory. At the far end, they found another door, once again leading further downwards. Once opened, Al could also hear some of the sounds from below - a broom swept incessantly. After a few seconds, a sound like a breaking glass bottle.


    "Whoever it is, we''ve got them now!"

 0122 - The Culprits

    Gruntle''s flail clattered as he took it from his belt.


    "What are you doing?" Al asked.


    "Killing?"


    "We don''t even know who this is! We might not need to hurt anyone!"


    Gruntle huffed, then yawned.


    "Sure, but if we''re obviously prepared to do more violence than whoever is down there, it''ll give us a negotiating advantage, right?" Wikwocket argued, unclipping BiteySue and drawing her ghost-stabbing dagger.


    Bote shrugged, and hefted their hammer.


    Al sighed with resignation and pulled Purgatio from its sheath. "Fine, but can we at least keep things calm unless we have to fight?"


    "Don''t worry, we''re paragons of subtlety! Come on, Gruntle!"


    Al had to admit they were at least quiet as they descended the steps to the next door. Wikwocket got down on the ground to try to peek under the door while Gruntle pressed his ears close to listen. Al wondered if that actually helped in this situation - even Al could hear the vigorous sweeping sounds. Another breaking-glass sound came through the door as Al went down the steps as quietly as he could.


    "I can see a broom. Whoever''s using it is working really hard at it," Wikwocket described from the floor. "I can''t see who it is, though."


    Gruntle grinned and crouched to barge through the door, but Wikwocket stood up and shook her head.


    "This isn''t a situation for us to just charge in and start fighting immediately," she said gently. She gave Al a wink, and calmly lifted the door''s latch. She took a deep breath.


    She kicked the door open. "Hold it right there, vandal!" she shouted.


    Al tried to make sense of what he saw. The room beyond was an experimental laboratory of some sort. A table with potion-bottles occupied the center of the room, and a row of rat-cages sat on shelves across the opposite wall. A desk with a collection of papers and writing supplies was in the corner. From somewhere beyond a door in another wall, someone was loudly playing a lute.


    That much was reasonably familiar, but there was also a robed figure with a broom and feather-duster. The robed figure was just tossing a glass water-bottle to the floor and upending one of the potion bottles into a cage as the door opened. The broom whirled madly about the room stirring up dust and the feather duster flew across the desk, knocking papers to the floor and spilling a bottle of ink. It took Al a moment to realize the "robed figure" was also headless.


    And footless. And handless and bodiless as well, Al saw as it rotated in the air to "face" the adventurers.


    The flying robe, broom, and feather duster shot through the air towards the intruding adventurers and were met by the the gnoll who rushed in with flail already swinging. Bote was already beginning a short and now-familiar prayer for favorable divine attention for


    The feather duster zipped swiftly across the room and bounced off of the gnoll''s head. With an angry snarl, Gruntle swung and his flail swatted the aggressive feather-duster tumbling across the room before it could right itself. The broom spun to smack Gruntle in the head, only to bounce off of his deftly-moved shield. Thus occupied, the flying empty robes flowed behind him and wrapped its sleeves tightly around his neck.


    "Hey, Al, they''re all flammable!" shouted Wikwocket, rushing around her gnollish buddy to stab at the murderous clothing that was trying to strangle him.


    "I can''t just throw fire everywhere! You''re too close!" Al complained back. Despite this, he decided he''d be more effective taking Wikwocket''s advice, conjuring a small ball of fire at the one foe that was not immediately next to anyone he didn''t want to burn. He wasn''t sure if he was helping or not as the burst of flame turned the feather duster into an angry fiery comet which arced away from its gnoll-targeting flightpath to aim for himself instead. The amount of magic-working he''d been doing all day was beginning to fray Al''s mind at the edges,but his trusty magical barrier popped into existence at his command and bounced the burning feather-duster away in a graceful arc traced by glowing embers and smoke.


    A bright spark and a loud crack! like miniature thunder came from one of the rat-cages across the room with a recently-emptied potion-bottle stuck through its bars. The flash of lightning burst through the bars, leaving a hole for a sparking rat to crawl out through. Al suppressed his habitual urge to look accusingly up at the ceiling as he needed his attention to defend himself. He swung Purgatio at the burning feather-duster as it shot at him again, but it swiftly dodged around his inexpert swordsmanship and punched him hard in the chest. Al gritted his teeth and slapped at the shower of embers that sprinkled his robes around the soot-mark of the impact.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Gruntle dropped his flail and grabbed the strangling robes. He tore them away from his neck and held them away from him as his other hand punched his shield at the broom as it swung again at his head. At Bote''s invocation, a flash of divine radiance shone down from the ceiling onto the broom to evaporate a bit of the unnatural animating magic from it, while Wikwocket stabbed BiteySue through the fabric of the robe and slashed downward, leaving a long vicious cut.


    Flashes of tiny lightning came from another of the cages and one more rodent squeezed themselves through the twisted metal bars. The rat that was already loose squeaked a bolt of lightning of its own in the direction of the desk that it was scurrying under. The effect seemed to startle it as it jumped back for a moment, but it resumed its rush to safety and disappeared under the desk.


    Very little remained of actual feathers as they burned up, but the feather-duster circled around and past Al''s guard to strike him again in the chest. It seemed to almost be taunting him as it dodged precisely around Al''s sword-swing. Gruntle sunk his teeth into the cloth of the struggling robe as it twisted and reached down to wrap its sleeves around Wikwocket''s neck. The gnoll ripped away a wide strip of cloth like a predator tearing meat away from a kill, but this gave the broom an opportunity to smack him in the side of the head. Her eyes bulging as the cloth sleeves strangled her with unnatural strength, Wikwocket stabbed BiteySue into the armpit of the robe and slashed sideways, cutting the sleeve open entirely. More punishing radiance shone down on the broom from the cieling.


    A series of tiny bolts of lightning flashed, one from underneath the desk, one from the corner of the shelf where an escaped rat was looking nervously at the fight across the room, and a third from yet another cage. Gruntle and Wikwocket both yelped, and dodged desperately as the crossfire of lightning from the two rats danced around their feet and bodies. Wikwocket took a gasping breath of air as the robes they were fighting released her. The now shredded and cloth twitched violently as the lightning arced through it as well and then slumped to the floor in a smouldering heap. The rat on the shelf scurried for cover behind the cages, where yet another was making a bid for freedom through scorched and bent metal bars. Al growled in exasperation at the increasingly absurd and dangerous situation but could spare no attention to anything but defending himself. He grasped Purgatio in both hands and concentrated on the smoking feather-duster as it aimed for him again.


    As if to mock him one last time, the charred wooden handle of the feather-duster bounced harmlessly off the middle of Al''s chest, nothing more than lightly-smoking stubs left of the feathers. He chopped down onto the wooden handle, splitting it in two just to be certain it was "dead".


    The broom swung again at the gnoll, who turned his head to clamp his teeth deeply into the handle where the bristles were fastened. Wood splintered as teeth sank in. A clump of bristles remained clamped in Gruntle''s teeth as the broom pulled itself loose again.


    More lightning flashed around the room. A bolt from somewhere behind the cages ripped through the entire row, and several more frightened, squeaking rats fled their cages and scurried into corners and under the shelves and desk. The commotion startled one who had leapt onto the top of the desk, who squeaked a bolt of lightning in Al''s direction. It passed through him and continued to Bote, who yelled at the unexpected pain. Al had to agree with Bote, lightning hurt.


    This needs to end, before we get killed, Al thought. With one last great mental effort, he threw as much intent as he could concentrate on into abstract magical violence. Four shimmering shafts manifested themselves around him and struck the supernaturally-animated broom. It shuddered and fell to the floor with a clatter, and Al retreated back out into the staircase with Bote.


    "Get out of there before those rats fry us all!" Al called out. Wikwocket hastened to take Al''s advice, but Gruntle hesitated.


    "Snacks," he complained, looking around the room where skittering and squeaking of hiding rats could be heard.


    "Later, come on!"


    With a disappointed huff, Gruntle picked his flail back up from the floor and loped to the stairway with the others. Al pulled the door shut, and for a moment they all just stood there panting for breath. Aside from some quiet squeaking and the muffled sounds of a loudly-playing lute somewhere beyond, no further sound came from the laboratory behind the door.


    "Did we win?" Wikwocket finally asked. A startled squeak and a crack of lightning answered her, shaking the wooden door as it was struck from the other side.


    "The robes were replacing the water bottles with potion bottles," Al observed.


    "There are potions that make you spit lightning?" Wikwocket asked in wonder. "I want some!"


    "Apparently," Al answered, dreading that Wikwocket was aware of this now. "The real question is why, though."


    "Wasn''t replacing the rats'' water bottles one of the chores on that list? Maybe they were trying to help!"


    "Maybe, but why attack us if they were trying to help?"


    "Maybe they don''t like being interrupted?"


    "Maybe. So, what do we do about this? Hopefully they didn''t beat the apprentice to death before going on their helpful rampage of cleaning, but it''s probably best that we find him quickly. I''m about done, though. My whole body feels numb and tingly from the lightning and I don''t think I can manage any more serious magic-work. Anybody have any great ideas for how we get through the rat-cage room and through the next door without rats running around zapping us?"


    "Snacks," Gruntle suggested, pointing at the door.


    "What about the lightning," Al reminded him.


    "Spicy snacks," Gruntle insisted, and pushed the door open again. Frightened squeaking and scurrying erupted around the room as the always-hungry gnoll rushed back inside. Al winced and waited for more lightning. He was surprised and relieved when no more appeared. He peeked inside to see Gruntle hanging his flail back on his belt and shifting his shield back to his shoulder, then diving to reach quickly under the desk. He stood backup clutching a rat which struggled and bit his hand.


    He bit it back, and swallowed both halves of it.


    Al stepped back into the room and regarded the other door. It was clad completely in iron and looked heavy. The words INCINERATOR and CAUTION: FIRE IS HOT were engraved on the metal.


    The incessant loud playing of a lute continued from somewhere on the otherside. Listening carefully, Al thought he could hear some crackling flames as well. He crossed the room and carefully put his hand near, and then on, the door. It was warm, but not hot.


    "Someone else can open this one while I stand out of the way," Al declared.

 0123 - March Towards Reckoning

    Gruntle took a step towards the door.


    "Someone subtle can open the door instead of me," Al clarified insistently. "I don''t think someone who''s sitting around loudly playing a lute is planning for violence."


    "Unless it''s an evil bard!" Wikwocket argued.


    "An... evil bard?


    "They do have a reputation for immorality," Bote said, "though I believe the stories are exaggerated, often by the bards themselves."


    "Always scheming to seduce everything!"


    "Can we not talk about bards right now? I want to just get done with this and get on with the rest of whatever nonsense we''re going to have to deal with next. Maybe just a nice dinner and somewhere comfortable to rest for a while?" Al asked, glaring up at the ceiling.


    "Is this about your great-grandmother?"


    Al huffed angrily. "This is not the time to talk about this. What''s so funny?"


    Wikwocket stifled her laughter. "Nothing! So, you want me to quietly open the door and see what diabolical plotting is going on in there?"


    "Yes. Please."


    Wikwocket saluted sloppily. "Yes, sir, mister magical sword hero sir!"


    "Please stop that."


    "Shh! I''m about to do something quiet!"


    Wikwocket gave the door a precautionary examination, but there wasn''t much to find. There was no lock or signs of any sort of mechanism. There wasn''t even a latch, just a handle for pulling the heavy door shut. Wikwocket pushed. Despite its bulk and heft, the slow silent movement of the heavy door was testament to the quality of its engineering. The loud playing of a lute poured through the narrow opening along with the sound and flickering light of crackling flames.


    Wikwocket crouched and carefully leaned to peek around the door. She stared a moment, then gave Al a bemused look and motioned for him to come look as well.


    Al approached, and leaned over to see.


    Just beyond the door, an uncomfortably hot fire burned in an open oven-like structure in a corner, smelling of odd chemicals. He leaned further in to look around the door into the rest of the room at whatever Wikwocket saw.


    A lute spun lazily in mid-air near the far wall with its strings vibrating as it played itself. Lounging on his belly on the floor in front of it, a robed figure faced it idly kicking his feet in the air as he read a book and bit into an apple.


    "Eric?" Al asked. The figure gasped and turned to sit up with such force that the apple and his copy of Dark Crown of the Dark Demon Prince of Darkness went flying and bounced off of the wall.


    "Master! All the chores are done so... hey! Who are you? You''re not supposed to be in here! I told them not to let anyone but me and the master be down here! You''d better leave, right now!"


    "You are Eric, Ebeneezer''s apprentice, right?" Al asked insistently.


    "So what if I am? How did you even get down here? This is private property!"


    "Ebeneezer asked us to put out the fires and rescue you, that''s how we got down here," Al answered testily.


    "What fires? I don''t need rescuing!"


    "Do you have any idea how close you were to having Ebeneezer''s flying cleaning supplies come in here and beat you to death?"


    "Those aren''t Ebeneezer''s!" Eric shouted, "I made them! I tell them what to do and they do it!"


    "You?" Al asked, incredulous.


    "Yes, me! With one of Ebeneezer''s spell-scrolls! He kept saying I couldn''t do it, but I just proved I can! He''ll have to let me learn real magic now!"


    "You''ll be lucky if he doesn''t throw you out."


    "It was just one spell-scroll."


    "No, it was a bunch of magically-animated flying objects going on a rampage breaking things and starting fires!"


    "I never told them to do anything like that!"


    "It would seem," Bote said, leaning around the door to look inside and join the conversation, "that your magically-created servants were enthusiastically obedient to your commands, but not very careful."


    "Wh...what?" Eric said, his bravado wavering.


    "You asked them to do your chores." Al stated. He looked down at Wikwocket. "See, this is why I try to avoid going straight to working magic to solve all of my problems."


    "Yes? And?"


    "And they did, very badly. They were knocking things over and breaking things and starting fires through the whole building! If we hadn''t gotten here when we did, the room with the dangerous chemicals would be a smouldering hole in the ground buried under the rubble of the rest of this place!"


    "You can thank Sir Fluffington on our way out... if he survives his injuries!" Wikwocket added, dramatically putting her hand over her heart.


    "Someone... died?" Eric squeaked.


    "No, not as far as we know, but a customer did get beaten unconscious by a broom."


    "No. Oh no," Eric said in a small voice, sagging. "Ebeneezer''s going to kill me!"


    He went from deep despair to panic a moment later when Gruntle - feeling left out - pushed past the others to see what was happening in the room.


    "Gnoll! GNOLL!" Eric screamed, and span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px;" title="Despite the sameness of the "mechanical" effects, I like the idea that everyone''s working of magic is somewhat personalized, so Eric''s "Fire Bolt" looks a little different than Al''s, but shares enough arcane similarity for Al to recognize what it is.">with a short complex gesture and vocalization that seemed somewhat familiar to Al, Eric launched a spurt of fire at Gruntle''s head. The gnoll yelped and ducked, then snarled and took up his flail. Al hurried in after him and got between him and Eric.


    "Stop provoking him! He''s with us!"


    "That''s a gnoll!"


    "Yes, we know! Stop! Gruntle, don''t smash him! There''s no way we''re getting dinner if we kill him!"


    "Could be dinner," Gruntle growled.


    "It talks!?!"


    Al''s exasperated sigh nearly drowned out the roaring fire of the incinerator.


    "Yes, he talks."


    He glared up at the imaginary ceiling-god again. "I swear, the next person that says that I''m going to... well... I don''t know. But I''m getting tired of hearing it."


    "Gnolls don''t talk! They''re monsters!"


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    "Yes they do. What do you even know about gnolls?"


    "Lots! I read all about them in Rampage of the Dark Beast!"


    "How did you even survive learning to conjure magic fire?"


    "Wasn''t that hard," Eric mumbled sullenly. "You know, shapechanging magic is illegal. I could tell the guards and you''d get in trouble."


    "Nobody''s using shapechanging magic."


    "I don''t believe you."


    "Well, then, let''s get going so you can report us to the guards, they''re waiting outside for us."


    Eric''s moment of defiance burned itself out. "I am so dead," he muttered.


    "You''d better not be, Ebeneezer asked us to bring you back alive!" Wikwocket said.


    "Can I just stay down here for a while?" Eric pleaded.


    "No. Come on, let''s go. If your legs don''t work, I''ll ask Gruntle here to carry you...Put that flail away, we are not going to beat to death the person we''re here to rescue!"


    The gnoll hesitated for an uncomfortably long moment, but then slowly hung the flail back on his belt without looking away from Eric.


    Eric stood and hung his head in defeat as Al beckoned for him to follow, and lead the others back to the rat-cage room.


    "Perhaps bring your hovering musical instrument," Bote suggested on the way out, "though it may be best if it was silent for now."


    Eric looked dejectedly to the floating lute. Its strings immediately stilled, and it floated along behind as Eric shuffled out after the others. He gasped in horror at the state of the room and the sounds of scurrying rodents.


    "Ebeneezer''s rats!" he shouted. He spoke some arcane syllables and made another complicated gesture. "Quick, before they wake up, help me catch..."


    The next thing Al was aware of was Wikwocket''s clearly overacted cry of anguish, Eric pleading for mercy, and Bote hastily negotiating with Gruntle. Also, the floor against Al''s back.


    "Our valiant magical sword hero has fallen!" Wikwocket wailed, though as Al opened his eyes to see her standing over him, she was grinning.


    "Asleep," Bote insisted, voice raised to be heard over Gruntle''s extended growl, "He has fallen asleep, and is unharmed, and will be very unhappy if you harm the subject of our rescue mission."


    "I''m sorry! I''m sorry! I thought it would only affect the rats!"


    "I''m fine, I''m fine," Al said, trying to work out what had happened. "Did you just work some kind of sleeping-spell?"


    span class="fiction-tooltip" style="text-decoration: none; letter-spacing: -1px;" title="The standard Sleep? spell has an odd mechanism that''s only used by one or two other spells - there is no "saving throw", it just automatically affects everything in the area based on the total number of hit-points the creatures in the area have, starting with the ones with the lowest HP. There were about ten - well, nine after Gruntle ate on - ordinary 1HP rats loose in the room. An average casting of "Sleep" at 1st-level will affect a total of about 22-23 HP worth of creatures. Al is down to about 3HP after all the fighting since his last healing, so after the 9HP worth of rats is put to sleep, Al''s next. Gruntle will have the next-lowest HP since he''s been right in front of the violence, but he has more than 10HP, so the remaining HP worth of effect of an average roll wouldn''t be enough to affect him.">"Just to put Ebeneezer''s rats to sleep so we can catch them and get them back into cages! I didn''t expect the magic to affect anyone else!"


    "I''m very tired. You have no idea what we went through to get down here to find you," Al groaned, and sat up. He felt relieved to hear Gruntle''s growling cease, though his bared teeth continued to threaten. Rather than frightened, Eric looked so sad and defeated that Al felt a twinge of sympathy.


    "All right, fine, we can help you catch some rats, but then we''re leaving."


    They found most of them, and gently moved sleeping rodents into a few of the intact cages.


    CRUNCH


    "Stop eating them!"


    "Snacks," insisted Gruntle.


    <hr>


    Al picked up the badly abused broom as they left, anticipating more broken glass on the way back up.


    "What''s with the door?" asked Eric as they moved to the stairs, in a tone that suggested he was afraid to find out. The door in question leaned against the wall on the landing where Gruntle had discarded it, glittering with embedded shards of glass.


    "Something caused an ongoing explosion upstairs, there''s a lot of flying glass. Gruntle, you might want to grab that again."


    "The master was making a flying potion."


    "Well, apparently it works."


    The glass still hung in the air, though the magic seemed to be fading since there was now less of it near the ceiling and more down low near the floor. The path they''d made through the room remained clear but Gruntle held the door up and pushed it across the floor anyway. The floor was wet, and a few drops of water still dripped from the ceiling to splash off off the glass on the way to the floor.


    Gruntle sneezed as they got near the fading smell of caustic smoke.


    "Something''s burning!" Eric shouted in alarm.


    "Not anymore, thanks to the brave and selfless actions of Sir Fluffington!" Wikwocket said proudly.


    "Is he the customer who got hit?" Eric asked.


    "Um, no," Al answered. "Look, I find it''s easiest to just play along."


    Gruntle carried the door into the next room, and paused to examine the closet he''d ripped it from. After a moment, he pushed the door back into its place in the frame and headed for the next set of stairs.


    The gnoll sneezed mightily as he left the room. The unsecured "Danger: Volatile Chemicals" door Gruntle had replaced tipped back into the room and slammed heavily to the floor, sending Eric scrambling to steady a wobbling jar of Ebeneezer''s Explosive Extract on the shelf inside.


    "There''s no way that''s a real gnoll," he gasped.


    <hr>


    "Sir Fluffington! We''ve come back!" Wikwocket called out as they reached the mushroom gardens. She rushed to the pillow and lifted one end gently as though cradling someone''s head. "Speak to me, Sir Fluffington! Al, he''s so cold!"


    Eric looked on with the stricken expression of someone far outside of a normal situation.


    "Told you," Al said to him quietly, and knelt by the pillow. "Sir Fluffington, it''s not your time to pass on, the world still needs you."


    Al spent a few moments magicking the last few rips in the fireproof pillow back together.


    "You can work magic, too?" Eric asked in surprise.


    "Yes. You think I''m wearing these robes as some kind of fashion choice?"


    "But, I see chainmail, and you''ve got a sword!"


    "There''s no actual law against wizards having a sword, and anyway a dead elf insisted that I take it." Al stood, and conjured a small ball of fire to throw at "Sir Fluffington". The pillow twitched from the tiny explosion, but suffered no harm from the fire.


    "Warmth returns to Sir Fluffington''s body!" Wikwocket announced, then laughed and stood up, throwing the pillow over her shoulder. "Good work, magical sword hero..."


    "Please stop calling me that."


    "...the not your time to pass on line was great, but you need to put more emotion into it to really make the audience feel it!"


    "What are you people?" Eric asked.


    "We''re heroic adventurers!" Wikwocket answered.


    "I''ve read a lot about adventurers, and you''re nothing like any I''ve ever heard of."


    "No, I''m sure we''re not," Al agreed. He began sweeping the patch of glass out of the way so Gruntle wouldn''t step on it.


    "How is there so much broken glass in here?" Eric asked.


    "When the alchemical mixture came to life and chased after us, it brought the broken glass with it."


    Eric stared skeptically at Al. "No, seriously, what happened in here?"


    Al stared back. "You really want to know what happened? Somebody decided to resort to some admittedly-impressive magic to avoid doing a little work, and they conjured up some spirits and stuck them into inanimate objects and told them something like hey, do the things on this little list, and be quick about it, and don''t let anyone bother me, so they quickly rushed around dusting and sweeping and organizing with no real understanding of what they were doing and beating people unconscious so they wouldn''t bother you and they knocked a whole bunch of who-knows-what off of the shelves in the stockroom upstairs which all mixed together into a sticky glowing flammable mass full of glass shards that chased us down the stairs to here where your magical slaves had fertilized the garden by dumping an entire bag of Magic Grow in one place and we ended up having a fight to the death with giant violent mushrooms and a flaming sharp alchemical blob..."


    "I didn''t tell them to break things or dump all of the fertilizer!" Eric objected as Al paused in his rant to inhale.


    "You didn''t tell them not to, either! And I guess the spirits were as lazy as you were!"


    Al''s voice trailed off as a tangential thought occurred to him. "Oh...," he muttered to himself. "Of course they were. That''s why it works. So, when I..."


    Al dragged his attention back to the world outside of his head.


    "Never mind, just some research I''ve been working on. Oh, quit moping!" Al said to Eric, who had virtually deflated until he looked absolutely miserable as Al had berated him. "I''m reasonably sure murder''s illegal here and the guard''s right outside, so probably the worst that''ll happen to you is getting kicked out. If you can do that," Al said, pointing to the lute that was still obediently floating along behind Eric, "even with a spell-scroll, you''ve got plenty of skill to work for a living with somewhere."


    CRUNCH


    "Hey, Al, the mushrooms are still fresh, try some!" Wikwocket announced as she chewed.


    "Those things were trying to kill us just a few minutes ago!"


    "All the more reason to eat them!"


    Gruntle gave an emphatic grunt of agreement and broke off a piece of one of their fungal foes for himself.


    "Please tell me those aren''t poisonous," Al said to Eric.


    "Well, they weren''t, at least, they''re medicinal."


    "What kind of medicinal?"


    "Master makes hair-tonic with them."


    Al froze, and watched Wikwocket and Gruntle for a few moments expecting them to be buried in suddenly-sprouted hair. He was relieved when nothing of the sort appeared to be happening.


    "How about we keep moving before somebody does anything else inadvisable?"


    <hr>


    Most of the glass shards on the stockroom floor had been picked up by the malicious blob of alchemical goo, along with most of the puddles of liquid, so the trip back around the shelves presented substantially less of a hazard. Eric stared morosely at the half-emptied shelves. The nearest shelf as they came up the stairs actually had nothing but large pieces of broken glass, piled up as if someone had gathered the biggest pieces and put them there. Without the distraction of immediate danger, Al could see that some sort of order had been imposed on what still remained intact. Past the shelves of broken glass Al found a set of shelves with all round glass bottles. The next set of shelves were all clay pots and jugs. The next had containers with wooden stoppers. The next was containers that were tall and narrow.


    "You didn''t tell them how to organize the stockroom, did you."


    "...no...," Eric mumbled guiltily. "You might as well kill me now before Ebeneezer does."


    Gruntle huffed as Al''s immediate shout of "No!" interrupted before the grinning gnoll could so much as take a step in Eric''s direction. Eric watched Gruntle over his shoulder as he hastened to obey Al''s emphatic gestures towards the steps up to the shop

 0124 - To Prison

    Eric hurried to push the trap door at the top of the steps open. He risked a glance away from the threatening gnoll behind him and froze as he saw the state of the shop. He turned around and took a hesitant step back down, before stopping again at Gruntle''s growl.


    "Can''t I just... I mean, it''s... I should go back down there and start cleaning up, it''s going to take a long time," Eric pleaded.


    "No," Al answered, "We''ve got somewhere else we''re supposed to be, I want to be done with this!"


    "Yeah! We said we''d bring you back alive!" Wikwocket agreed, "The alive part''s done, we just need to do the bring you back part now!"


    "But, I see Ebeneezer outside and he doesn''t look happy, and there are a bunch of city guard who don''t look happy either!"


    "Yes, and the longer we keep them waiting, the less happy they''re going to get."


    Eric looked desperately from down towards the gnoll who seemed to be looming menacingly up to the partly-opened trapdoor and back.


    He scrambled up through the trapdoor as quickly as he could and let it fall shut behind him. Al could hear him yelling "Gnoll! There''s a gnoll!" as Eric''s footsteps ran across the floor above.


    Al gave Gruntle a sympathetic look.


    "Sometimes, I regret that I don''t let you..."


    He cut off the thought. Better not plant that idea in his head!


    "Hey, you always seemed to... respect magic-work. Doesn''t Eric being able to work ...shaman stuff worry you?"


    Gruntle grunted. "Not our shaman. Dangerous. Threatens clan."


    "Oh. Uh, technically he''s sort of part of our extended clan, so you really shouldn''t kill him."


    Gruntle huffed in disbelief.


    "Maybe I''d better go out first."


    Al squeezed up the steps past Gruntle and lifted the trapdoor again. Stepping up into the shop, he spotted Eric outside with the guard-captain and Ebeneezer. He frantically pointed in Al''s direction as he spun a slightly-embellished story of being chased by a murderous gnoll. Al shook his head and applied the broom to the task of sweeping a glass-free path to the door.


    "There it is!" Eric shouted, ducking behind Ebeneezer for cover as Gruntle came up the steps behind Al. "See? There''s a gnoll!"


    "Yes. We know," the guard-captain said with the stoic tone of someone who''d clearly rather not be dealing with this situation.


    "Never mind that, what have you done to my shop?" Ebeneezer demanded to know.


    "Nothing! It wasn''t me!"


    "Don''t you dare try to blame the gnoll for this, the place was already on fire when they volunteered to run in to save your lazy butt!"


    "No, it was...," Eric began, and then tried to change the subject of the conversation. "It can''t be a real gnoll, right? It doesn''t act right, I''ve read Rampage of the Dark Beast twice and Grim Fangs of Darkness, so I know what gnolls are supposed to be like! Isn''t shape-changing magic illegal?"


    "They admit to no shape-changing magic, and we have not yet been able to prove any is in use," stated the guard-captain. "We were taking them for further inquiries when they insisted on rushing into a burning building to help."


    "Don''t change the subject, boy!" Ebeneezer insisted with a glare.


    "Well... the magic didn''t work exactly like it was supposed to," Eric admitted.


    "What magic?"


    "I... borrowed the spell-scroll in your safe that makes things come to life."


    "Why? I told you you wouldn''t be able to do anything with it!"


    "I can and I did!" Eric insisted defiantly, pointing to the lute still obediently hovering behind him. "I told you I could do it if you''d let me try!"


    For just a moment, Al thought he saw a surprised proud smile beginning to form on Ebeneezer''s face, but it was crowded out by anger.


    "Do you know how much that cost? That wasn''t one that I can make, I had to buy it! With money! And what do you mean it didn''t work like it was supposed to?"


    "Well, when I told the broom and the duster and my old robes what to do, they... worked too hard?"


    "There''s a lot of breakage and you''ve lost some inventory, but the building still looks structurally sound and it''s not a total loss," Al explained, hoping to speed the conversation along as he emerged from the front door and set the broom aside.


    "Are you going to kick me out?" asked Eric quietly, hanging his head.


    "Oh, you''re not getting out that easily. I taught you that magic trick for fixing things for a reason. You''re going to fix everything, one piece at a time!"


    "But that''ll take forever!"


    "What are you complaining about?" Wikwocket asked as she followed Gruntle out through the door. "If I knew how to do magic I''d do it all day!"


    "You hear that?" Ebeneezer said, "Why can''t you have that attitude?"


    "I may have a suggestion," Bote offered, following the others out of the building. The dwarf motioned Ebeneezer over and whispered conspiratorially into his ear as he leaned down.


    "It may be that both of you would be less unhappy if you were to set him a more difficult task for atonement," Bote suggested.


    "Like what?"


    "You mentioned that the spell-scroll was costly, for example."


    "Yes, but he can''t..."


    A maliciously satisfied grin replaced the anger.


    "That''s an excellent idea. Okay, boy, how about you replace what you took from my safe, then?"


    "You hardly pay me, there''s no way I can buy a new one!"


    "That''s right, and I don''t want you to buy one. You''re going to make one for me."


    "I can''t do that, either!"


    "No, not yet. You''d better learn fast. In the meantime, you''ll learn how to make simpler ones to practice on, and maybe we can sell enough of them to pay for replacing my supplies!"


    "Really? You''ll teach me?" Eric asked, hopeful and surprised.


    "Best chance to get my investment back," grumbled Ebeneezer.


    "And they all lived happily for a while, The End!" Wikwocket said, "I love happy endings! Speaking of which, you said we could each have something from your shop, right?"


    "Is there even anything left worth taking after this?"


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "Lots! We saw potions for flying, potions for sneezing lightning, potions that come to life as a glowing fiery mass that chases you down the stairs trying to hug you to death in an embrace of sharp glass..."


    "What?"


    "Uh, the stuff spilled in the stockroom had some sort of reaction and coagulated into something. It was unmistakably chasing after us, almost as if it was alive," Al explained.


    "My cavern-jelly concentrate! Eric, do you have any idea how hard it is to gather that and keep it viable?"


    "Hey!" Wikwocket complained, "You''re interrupting my dramatic hero requesting an unexpected reward here!"


    "Uh... what is it that you wanted?" Ebeneezer asked. His brief glance towards the captain of the city guard seemed to remind him that an officer of the law had been there to hear his promise.


    "I want Sir Fluffington released from his duties to join us on our quests!"


    "Who?"


    Ebeneezer squinted at what Wikwocket was holding up.


    "Is that my pillow?"


    "Not anymore! He''s ours now! He has been unable to walk since his heroic battles to vanquish the rampaging fires to save us all!"


    "Uh, she...," Al began to explain, but Ebeneezer waved him off.


    "No, no, I get it, we have our own local gnomish clan here in Southwall. I hereby release my pillow..."


    "Sir Fluffington," Wikwocket corrected.


    "Right, of course. I hereby release Sir Fluffington from my service."


    "Well, I''m satisfied!" Wikwocket announced. "What do you want, Al?"


    "I want to get where we''re going and get some food and rest. Although... Eric demonstrated a sleeping-spell a little while ago. Would you mind teaching that one to me?"


    "Just that?"


    "Yes, I think that would be useful. But maybe not today. I''m not sure we''ve got time, or that I can concentrate on much right now."


    "Consider it done!" Ebeneezer answered, pleased that this was another reward that wouldn''t actually cost him any substantial amount. "Come back when you feel ready, and the secret of Ebeneezer''s Exhaustion Enchantment will be yours! And what about you, my kind dwarven benefactor? You appear to be a holy person, so I imagine your divine faith provides for your needs, but surely there is some reward you desire from Ebeneezer''s Elixir Emporium?"


    Bote gave the matter a moment of thought.


    "Do you have a chest, lockbox, or safe with a substantial amount of gold in it?"


    Ebeneezer''s optimistic smile wavered and he began to sweat. "Y-yes?" he answered reluctantly.


    "Then you must have a very successful business here, and the discount you have offered us in perpetuity will not be a substantial burden. For me, that will be enough. I am certain we will have need to purchase supplies, once you are operating again."


    Ebeneezer sagged in relief. "Allow me to express my gratitude for keeping this disaster from getting worse, and for not being greedy the way adventurers are said to be, and we look forward to seeing you again. I hope your business this evening goes well!"


    "Wait, what about Gruntle''s reward?" asked Wikwocket. Ebeneezer followed her gaze in disbelief.


    "The gnoll?"


    "Yes! What do you want, Gruntle?"


    "Snacks."


    "Yes, he talks," Al answered preemptively.


    <hr>


    Gruntle pulled the stopper out of the small, round glass bottle full of dark red-brown liquid. The gnoll sniffed hungrily as a scent like an oven full of broiling meat filled the air.


    Ebeneezer had said something about an experiment and gone inside. After some cries of anguish and cursing as he saw the state of his stockroom, he had re-emerged with the bottle and handed it to the gnoll. Gruntle poured the meager contents of the bottle of Ebeneezer''s Carnivore Concentrate into his mouth. An extended groan of contentment came from the gnoll, and Wikwocket caught the empty bottle and stopper as the gnoll dropped them.


    "I can''t decide whether to be pleased or angry with you people," the guard-captain told Al once everything had been settled and the escorted march to their destination resumed. A small crowd was already gathering to see the fire, active guard activity, adventurer heroics, invading monsters, or whatever combination of these things the rapidly-spreading rumors were suggesting. They talked excitedly amongst themselves as they parted to let the guards through on their honor-guard and/or prisoner-escort duties.


    "Oh, sorry about running off like that, we didn''t mean..."


    "Not that. Well, I''m not happy about that either, but that''s not the issue. I really thought your alleged gnoll would have at least tried to kill or eat Eric or someone else before that was over, so I''m pleasantly surprised that didn''t happen. On the other hand, I owe Carl five silvers now. I hate losing a bet."


    "I... talked him out of it."


    "You realize this doesn''t really support your claim that that''s a real gnoll."


    "Understandable," Al sighed. "I swear he is, though."


    The guard-captain leaned closer.


    "If you''ve discovered a way to perform a transformation that we can''t detect," he told Al quietly, "the city council will certainly offer a pardon and an official variance in exchange for information about how you did it."


    "No, honestly, the only magic I currently know how to work that involves anything like transmutation are some small tricks involving minor alterations of inanimate objects. I have no idea how to work any sort of physical transformation of something with an animating spirit."


    "If that''s so, why don''t you explain just how it is that you have an alleged gnoll that doesn''t act like a gnoll. We''re taking a longer route to the prison to keep curious crowds from guessing where we''ll be, so you''ve got plenty of time."


    "Well, to begin with, I''m starting to realize that much of his behavior does make sense when you consider the fundamental ethology of gnolls..."


    Al proceeded to explain his developing personal theory of gnollish motivations and behavior, based on Melissa''s research and his own observations of Gruntle. His impromptu lecture lasted longer than he expected, because Wikwocket kept interrupting to make Al explain things without academic jargon. The guard-captain seemed to appreciate this, at least.


    "So, as you can see, it''s not Gruntle''s behavior that''s un-gnollish, it''s just the context and environment that it''s being expressed in. Most of it can still be explained in terms of demonic urges to violence, gnollish clan social structure and hierarchy, clan defense, or simple animal instincts for food, comfort, and safety," Al concluded.


    "Nothing to be alarmed about! Go about your business!" the guard-captain shouted for at least the dozenth time thus far at people leaning out of windows or stepping into the street for a closer look at their procession. "You talk like they''re people," the guard captain said, returning his attention to Al.


    "Gruntle is, at least. By strict definition they all are, really, but I know what you mean. I''m beginning to think it might be possible for there to be more gnoll people the way you mean it, under the right circumstances."


    "I think one gnoll-person is probably more than enough. Nothing to be alarmed about! Go about your business!"


    <hr>


    The arena walls rose as tall as a three-story building, enclosing an ovoid area that appeared large enough for a militia-training camp. The guards led them around past a few gates of iron bars, through which Al could see several tiers of stone bench seats for spectators along the inside walls. At the far side of the arena a squat, square building of plain stone sat against the outside of the arena walls. The man pacing impatiently in front of a heavy iron-bound door in the building looked up at the sound of the approaching horses and waved excitedly. He ran towards them, reaching into a pocket for something.


    The man looked to be a bit shorter than Al, but of much heavier build. Almost dwarven, though the clean-shaven face and bald head suggested against dwarven influence on his ancestry. He wore the same tabard as the guards over a sturdy leather jacket and pants. A heavy truncheon bounced hanging from the side of the man''s belt as he ran.


    "Will, you finally got here! And look at what you''ve brought me!" the man announced, hardly slowing as he passed the guards and headed straight for Gruntle. "Magnificent! You must be Gruntle! Sausage!"


    The man held up a fat link of sausage, and laughed with child-like enthusiasm as the gnoll leaned down, sniffed at it, and pulled it from his hand in his teeth. The sausage disappeared with minimal chewing.


    "Oh, look at those teeth! Do you want to lick the grease?" said the man, holding his hand up.


    "He''s not a dog," objected Al, and then groaned as Gruntle began to lick the man''s hand. "Evidently he has the same lack of understanding of shame as a dog, though."


    "Cyrus'' letter suggested bringing a food-offering. Wonderful!"


    Gruntle made a startled questioning sound as the man grabbed one of his hands and inspected his short claws.


    "Claws look a little small, but I''m sure we can make something for that. Have you ever killed anyone with your claws before?"


    "Don''t remember," answered Gruntle.


    Al was relieved when the man seemed only slightly surprised to hear the gnoll talk. "Well, no matter, those teeth are certainly lethal, and you look plenty strong!"


    Gruntle gave a small confused whine and looked to Al for guidance in this entirely unfamiliar social situation as the man reached up to gently squeeze the muscles around the gnoll''s neck, arms, back, and haunch.


    "If you''re done feeling up your new exhibit," the guard-captain interjected, "how about you sign the paperwork so I can turn them over to you and get back to work."


    "I''m not feeling him up, just admiring. He''ll be a great draw for the audience, just look at him! I wouldn''t be surprised if we double our intake! Yes, yes, let me sign and we can discuss the arrangements with Gruntle and, let''s see, you must be Al, and Wikwocket, and Bote."


    "And this is Haunch," Bote said, patting the donkey gently on the neck.


    "Of course, of course. Must be a very brave donkey to be standing so close to a gnoll," said the man standing close enough to grope a gnoll.


    He took the piece of paper from the captain and accepted a pen and small inkwell. Gruntle appeared even more confused as the man stepped behind the gnoll and used the gnoll''s back as a surface against which to sign his name on the paper. The man handed the paper back to the captain, who rolled it up and tucked it away inside his tabard.


    "All right, they''re your problem now."


    The captain turned to address the adventurers.


    "We''ll be back to collect Charlie later. There is, in fact, a reward, so don''t lose him. Don''t eat anybody in the meantime. That goes for all of you."


    "Thanks, Will!" the gnoll-admirer called out as the captain led their escort back the way they came. "Now, then, come in! We''ve got the biggest cell all set up for you!"


    "Cell?" Al asked, hesitating.


    "That''s all we have here. Don''t worry, I''ll give you the key, you''re not prisoners. We''ve got it all set up nice, better than any inn you might find in town. Very luxurious, you''ll love it!"

 0125 - Meet the Neighbors

    "A luxurious... prison cell?" Al asked, skeptically.


    "Yes, very! Not every prisoner is a common criminal, so no matter what degrading spectacle they might be sentenced to some families are wealthy enough to cause problems if we don''t treat their criminal members well enough. I''ve had some additional comforts added for Gruntle here, too, got to keep our celebrity-to-be happy! Come! Come! You must be hungry after your long trip, let''s discuss our arrangements over dinner!"


    Gruntle licked his muzzle and stepped forward as the man pulled a ring of heavy iron keys from his belt and turned to unlock the door.


    "We shouldn''t just...," Al began to object, only to have to move aside to avoid being stepped on by the advancing donkey who was trying to follow.


    "Wait, what are we going to do with Haunch?" Al asked, "And our cart with all of our possessions?"


    "Oh, I can get some of the guards to bring your stuff in and find space in the stables for your donkey, no need to keep our dinner waiting!"


    "Now hold on! We''re not even sure who you are or exactly what''s going on here! All I know for sure is a captain of the city guard just dumped us at a prison and now you''re eager to get us into a prison cell!"


    "Oh, right! Will isn''t big on social introductions, he''s more the lie down and put your hands behind your head, criminal scum! sort of person. I''m Patrick Stonebreaker, steward of the Southwall penal arena and warden of its prison. I''m sure Cyrus must have explained how much I wanted to meet your unique and possibly very lucrative gnoll here!"


    "Just how lucrative do you mean," asked Wikwocket, rubbing her hands together.


    "Depends on how good of a show he can put on! If he can really pull in the crowds like I expect, your percentage of the admission fees could amount to quite a lot!"


    "Well, what are we waiting for? Let''s eat!"


    "Haven''t you been insisting that I have to be the leader here?" Al complained.


    "Oh! Of course, I''m sorry, sir! You should go in first!"


    Bote examined the door.


    "It appears wide enough. Haunch seems to want to accompany us," said the dwarf.


    "He''s a donkey," Al reminded them.


    "Yeah, but he fought goblins with us! Doesn''t that make him one of us?" Wikwocket objected. "He should get to eat with us!"


    Patrick laughed delightedly.


    "Ha ha! You folks are great! If your gnoll is as entertaining as the rest of you we''re all going to be rich! Al here has a point, though. Donkeys tend to..."


    As if on cue, Haunch''s tail lifted and a small pile of used hay and oats was deposited on the road behind him.


    "And now he will not need to," Bote said.


    Al squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead, feeling resigned. "Fine, whatever, we''ve just spent the entire day dealing with long-distance travel, violence, and danger almost nonstop and I just want to sit down and relax for a while. If Haunch wants to hang out with us, let him."


    Patrick laughed again. "Really? Ha! Hey, if it smooths negotiations, I''m all for it. All right, let me get the door open and I''ll show you to your lodgings."


    He inserted one of the heavy keys into the door''s keyhole and turned it several times, then pushed the door open. Gruntle immediately ducked in behind him through the door into the wide bare stone room beyond. Al stood aside and watched Haunch walk in immediately following. He shook his head and shoved the cart sideways hard to keep the wheel nearest him catching against the door frame. He looked back at Bote and Wikwocket who were waiting patiently.


    "Well?"


    "We''re waiting for you to lead us in, magical sword hero, sir!" Wikwocket answered, sloppily saluting.


    With an exhausted sigh, Al turned and uttered a half-hearted "forward, march" and passed through the door. The square room beyond was composed entirely of stone, with walls a good ten paces long. It contained simple iron lamps one two walls another door in the far wall, everyone who had just entered, and nothing else.


    Once everyone was inside, Patrick pushed the door shut again and re-locked it.


    "This doesn''t seem as luxurious as you made it sound," Wikwocket objected, to Patrick''s amusement.


    "This is just the intake room, we only unlock one door at a time so when someone gets loose who isn''t supposed to, it''s not too easy for them to escape."


    "When someone gets loose?" Al questioned.


    "It happens, we get some resourceful prisoners sometimes. Follow me!" Patrick answered, crossing the room and turning another of his keys in the far door. He pushed that one open as well. The halls beyond were easily wide enough to accomodate the cart. The exit from the intake room opened into a small open room connecting to a perpendicular hallway, with another hallway straight ahead. Regularly-spaced doors lined the hallways, some made of iron bars, others of iron-bound wood with hinged shutters that could be opened to look inside without opening the doors. Patrick motioned everyone out, then closed and re-locked the door behind them.


    "This way! You missed the official afternoon tour but I can show you around a bit on the way," he said, leading straight ahead.


    "Official tour?" Al asked.


    "By appointment, but for five silvers each we have one of the guards show people around. Reminds people there''s a penalty for criminal behavior and gives them a chance to see actual criminals in a safe environment. Some of them are very disturbed and deranged. It''s great fun and brings in some revenue! Now, the ones here nearest the door are the ones we don''t expect to be here long but aren''t sentenced to something in the arena, mostly minor crimes like drunken disorderly behavior or minor theft. Of course, some are more interesting."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He stopped and opened the shutter in a door to his right.


    "Hello, Gladys! Just stopping by for a visit! Got anything to say today?"


    "Finally, someone who will listen!" a rough but feminine voice answered from within. "I''m telling you, the bread is possessed by spirits of the dead! They must be freed to return to their rest! You''ve got to gather the guard and help me destroy the bread!"


    "Now, don''t you worry yourself, the city guard will take care of it. We can''t be having innocent civilians such as yourself putting themselves in danger for things like this, you know."


    "When are you going to let me out of here this time?"


    "As soon as it''s safe for you, don''t worry. You just get some rest."


    Patrick closed the shutter in the door before Gladys could object.


    "Poor woman has fits, hears things, causes problems. She doesn''t mean any harm but we can''t just let her run around lighting visiting bakers'' stocks on fire or whatever she feels compelled to do to save us all from whatever otherworldly danger she''s imagining at the time. How would you feel if you dragged a cartload of bread to trade here from Ebonflow and some nut burned it all when you got here?"


    "That would depend upon whether or not my bread was actually possessed by spirits of the dead," Bote answered.


    "Ha ha! Good one!" Patrick laughed, continuing down the hall to the next door, which was simply an iron frame with iron bars on a hinge. This gave everyone in the hallway a clear view of the occupant. Too tall for a gnome but too short for an adult human, with bare hairy feet and dressed in filthy scavenged rags, he sat on the floor apparently deep in conversation with a handful of rats.


    "What do you want this time, can''t you see I''m in a meeting?" the irate halfling asked with a scowl as he scratched at his wildly unkempt hair.


    "What I want is for you to get legal so we don''t have to keep doing this," Patrick answered. "You know there''s a variance available for legitimate druid-priests."


    "I''m not going to shackle myself to your oppressive laws! What are you looking at?"


    "Oh, uh, nothing, just curious," Al answered, looking away.


    "Not you! Him! My council is not for eating!" the halfling barked, pointing at the drooling gnoll behind Al.


    "Don''t worry, we''ve got a proper feast for the big guy here. You know, you''d eat a lot better than the garbage you scavenge if you''d get legal."


    "You want me to cooperate? You can start by telling her to quit staring at me!" the halfling complained, pointing to what appeared to be a mural of a stern elven woman on the wall behind him.


    "Don''t want you tempted to repeat your crime while you''re serving time for it already. Don''t mind us, we''re just passing by, we''ll let you get back to your... meeting." Patrick said, pointedly ignoring the halfling''s rude gesture and continuing down the hallway.


    "This place looked pretty clean, but you''ve got rats infesting the place?" Al asked.


    "Nope, just Kwingus'' cell. We still don''t know how they keep getting in there. Probably something to do with him being a druid. He''s in here for unauthorized shape-changing, we keep catching him transforming into a rat or racoon or stray dog. We really ought to be harder on him but the city guard''s a bit cautious about making the other druid-priests mad."


    "And the painting of the elf on the wall?"


    "A representation of Respublica, whose divine gaze prevents the use of magic to disturb public order," Bote explained.


    "Yes, exactly, otherwise he''ll rack up another violation of the law in the process of transforming into something that fits through the bars. Oh, here''s Edgar''s cell," Patrick said as their tour continued. He pointed to another wooden door with a closed inspection window. "You probably don''t really want to look at that one. Inappropriate public lewdness."


    "Oh, let me see!" Wikwocket insisted. Al watched paralyzed with scandal as she jumped up to grab the handle of the viewing-window and swung on it to open it. She lifted herself up further to look inside.


    "Hmm? Well, hey there, little lady," Al heard a voice from within say, "What do you think of this?"


    Wikwocket''s answer was uproarious laughter.


    "Hey, Al! You should see this! It''s hilarious!"


    "Uh, no, thank you," Al answered.


    "Hey!" objected the voice in the cell. This only served to make Wikwocket laugh even harder. "Its not funny!"


    "No, really, Al, he''s so proud of it, check this out!"


    "I don''t think that will be necessary," Al insisted, looking away. He saw Patrick trying to restrain his own amusement.


    "Stop laughing! It''s normal!" the voice inside shouted in angry desperation, followed by a scream as Gruntle stuck his head up to the window next to Wikwocket to see what all the fuss was about.


    "Oh, messy! Good thing you''re not wearing pants, right?"


    Haunch apparently felt left out, and he brayed loudly.


    Unable to contain his mirth any longer, Patrick burst out in laughter alongside Wikwocket, and reached to swing the shutter closed.


    "Ha ha! Okay, we''d better stop staring or he''s going to want to charge admission!" he declared. Wikwocket let go and dropped to the floor so that Patrick could shutter the viewing-window.


    "Was it really that funny?" Al asked skeptically as Wikwocket''s amusement calmed down to a chuckle.


    "No, not really, assuming you''ve seen naked people before. The thing is, being able to shock an audience is a useful skill, but if that''s all you''ve got you''re a bad performer. Hopefully this''ll encourage him to broaden his approach a bit," she answered.


    "Oh, I hope not," Patrick said, "he''s enough of a public nuisance already. Come on, food''s going to get cold if we take too long!"


    The tour continued past a series of petty criminals - small-time pickpockets, shoplifters, trespassers, a cell crammed with drunks sprawled in uncomfortable-looking positions sleeping off their inebriation, and a litterer. Gruntle sniffed the air and drooled as Patrick directed them down a side-hall towards a wide door, bound in gold. Or, more likely, gilded iron, Al decided as they got closer. Still, it certainly presented a higher-class appearance than the doors they''d passed on the way. Patrick selected a gold-plated key on his keyring and turned it in the gilded lock in the door. Al found himself feeling impatient as the smell of roast meats, bread, pastries, and spices reached him, and his stomach rumbled.


    "We''ve put a lot of thought and effort into making these accommodations as luxurious and comfortable for a gnoll as we could, based on what we know about them, I''m sure you''ll all love it! Behold!" Patrick announced, and pulled the door open.


    The second and subsequent features of the room that Al noticed were the fine comforts that Patrick had been hinting at. The room was at least fifteen paces square, well-lit by oil lamps mounted on the walls. Four large cots with thick mattresses, heavy woven blankets, and fluffy pillows waited along one wall. In a far corner, a heavy curtain was drawn back to show a gilded privy. In the center of the room was a wide oval table laden with plates of food and pitchers of drink, surrounded by padded chairs. A writing-desk and a couch occupied the wall opposite the beds. An actual plush carpet had been rolled out over the stone flooring.


    These details were noticed after Al managed to tear his disbelieving eyes away from the... artwork. The walls held framed paintings of gnolls, as the artist imagined them to be. About half of the portraits were at least plausibly realistic, depicting a reasonable approximation of actual gnolls menacing the viewer, or in the act of eating someone, or in a few cases posed in comically humanish "heroic" stances.


    The other half were unnaturally curvaceous and showing off very unlikely breasts.


    "We didn''t have time to commission a sculptor, but the painters worked very hard on these. Don''t they look great?" Patrick said with admiration.


    So that''s what the gnollish "I have no idea what I''m looking at and am slightly horrified" facial expression looks like, Al thought as he saw Gruntle''s reaction.


    "I, uh, don''t think those are accurate," Al said diplomatically.


    "Yeah, nobody seems to know exactly what gnoll women look like. Are they supposed to have four of them or something?"


    "From what I''ve seen of the research, gnoll, um, women look very much like any other gnoll, except they might be a bit larger."


    "They got the preference for lack of clothes right, though!" Wikwocket admitted.


    Gruntle''s head slowly tilted to one side as he stared at the confusing portraits.


    "Oh, sorry about that, then. Let me get those out of there," Patrick said, quickly rushing inside to take down the fanciful gnoll women paintings and hurrying to set them out in the hallway. "I''ll take them with me when I leave. Let''s forget about those and get you all fed, I''ll go get one of the guards on duty to bring some oats for your donkey and then I''ll tell you all about the amazing opportunity that I''ve asked you to come here for while we eat!"

 0126 - Performance Negotiation

    Gruntle wasted no time in getting to the table, pushing a chair aside to crouch at the nearest set of plates and silverware, and reaching for the biggest piece of meat in sight. Seeing the donkey follow closely behind dragging the cart into the room, combined with the smell of the food and the realization of just how hungry he felt, broke Al''s resistance. Without another word, he trudged into the room and sat heavily down onto the chair next to Gruntle. He picked up a fork and used it to drag a thick slice of roasted beef onto his plate. "Why fight it? Come on in," he called back to Wikwocket and Bote. He firmly but gently pushed a curious donkey''s head away and selected a knife to cut the meat with.


    "By your command, magical sword hero!" Wikwocket cheered. She marched into the room with comically exaggerated precision. Bote entered and patted Haunch''s neck before reaching to unhitch the donkey from the cart.


    "I''ll arrange some oats for your hungry donkey before he does something unnatural," Patrick said as Haunch seemed to be taking a lot more interest than expected in the platter of venison that Gruntle had been picking from. "Make yourselves comfortable, I''ll be right back!"


    "We''ll be here!" Wikwocket called back with a wave and jumped up onto a chair. She grabbed a fork and speared a few pieces of cheese and meat to put on her plate, but leaned out to listen as Patrick picked up the paintings in the hall and walked away.


    "All right, what''s our negotiation strategy here?" she asked the others as the footsteps faded away down the hallway. She laughed at the nearly identical questioning noises both Al and Gruntle made around the food stuffed in their mouths. "I know his type. He''s like a theater owner, he''s going to want to get us to give him as much crowd-attracting spectacle as possible and pay us as little as he can get away with. We''ll need a good strategy if we''re going to get him to pay us what he should!"


    "I just wanted to make sure we had a way to keep Gruntle safe from people while we were here. And keep people safe from him, obviously," Al said as he searched the pitchers on the table for one that didn''t have something strongly alcoholic in it.


    "That kind of attitude is how you end up being a starving exploited artist!"


    "This is kind of the opposite of starving," Al pointed out as he pulled a piece of bread from a nearby loaf and used a spoon to spread a generous amount of butter on it.


    Wikwocket reached out and tore a drumstick from a roasted chicken on the table. She took a bite and then used it to point at Al for emphasis.


    "That''s how they get you!" she said as she chewed. "Hey, this is good! But the point is they do this to soften you up so you don''t negotiate hard and you end up not even getting paid enough to live properly. You''ve got to push back to get what you''re worth!"


    "He''s not hiring me," Al said, "and I suspect Gruntle doesn''t really care as long as he''s fed and has an outlet for his urges."


    "In a manner of speaking, he is hiring you," Bote corrected, "as the leader of the people who are the owners of the exotic gnoll spectacle he wants to make use of. Only people can make business deals, and obviously gnolls are monsters, not people."


    Al stopped eating in surprise. "I really didn''t think you felt that way."


    "I do not. However, Patrick and most others we meet will. They have only known gnolls as violent murderous beasts. To them, we are seen as something like keepers of a tamed dangerous animal."


    "And that''s why this negotiation is so important!" Wikwocket added. "This is our chance to introduce Gruntle to the public and show them he''s not only a dangerous violent beast that kills people!"


    Al turned that thought over in his head.


    "You remember that Patrick wants him to kill and maim people in front of the public, right?"


    "And they''ll love it! It''s violence for the public, for the good of society and so on! That has value that should be compensated for!" said Wikwocket. "And the more pay there is, the more there''ll be the perception of value, and once we''re well-known it''ll mean more pay in future jobs!"


    "I know it is still uncomfortable for you, but if things go well, some celebrity for Gruntle should make his presence in populated places less of a concern," Bote said. "Of course, we could instead camp in hidden places away from towns like common bandits, and rely on notoriety to get jobs to seek us out."


    "Ooo, that could be fun!" Wikwocket agreed. "But, building up a reputation that way would take a lot longer, and we''d miss out on a lot of experiences you can only have in towns and cities. We wouldn''t get to eat like this very often."


    "I wasn''t suggesting that," Al said. "It''s just... you''re right, I am uncomfortable with it. I agree with you that having Gruntle become more well-known will probably cause fewer problems than trying to keep him hidden. I just worry about new problems that might come with it."


    "Like being mobbed by admirers or being invited to too many fancy dinners at once and having to turn some of them down!"


    "Or being tracked down by survivors of a gnoll raid looking for revenge, or being constantly watched by the local guards, and things like that."


    "Exactly! So we need to make sure Gruntle''s public debut leads to as much popularity as possible! We''re not just negotiating about money here, it''s also about working conditions and perks! So, what do we want?"


    "I want to be able to do some research without worrying about something happening to Gruntle... or Gruntle happening to something, either way."


    Wikwocket shook her head and poured herself some wine from a decanter on the table. "What about you, Gruntle, what do you want? You''re the one that''s going to be doing all the violent work!"


    Gruntle crunched through the meaty bone in his mouth and chewed a few times before swallowing and answering with a grunt of agreement.


    "Do the violence," he clarified, then grabbed another piece of meat from a platter. Haunch snorted as it was pulled away before the donkey could bite into it himself.


    "Maybe just let me do the talking then. Some people just have no ambition," Wikwocket said, sipping the wine. "Hey, this is good, too! We''ll include regular meals like this in the terms!"


    "Entschuldigung, bitte," said a dwarvish voice from the doorway, "I do not know why but I have been asked to bring you..."


    Al turned to look. The dwarf in the doorway wore an open-faced helmet and a traditional breastplate covered by a tabard with the shackles-and-wall heraldry on it, and held a feedbag in one hand. The long tight braids of their beard swung as they looked around at the spectacle at the table.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Is that a gnoll?" the dwarf asked, watching the murderous demonic creature and a donkey trying to eat ham from the same bone.


    "That''s right!" Wikwocket answered, "Is that Haunch''s oats?"


    "This is for a donkey? You have a gnoll and a donkey in here?"


    "Alles in Ordnung," Bote reassured the guard, not very successfully.


    "I will simply leave this here for you then," the dwarvish guard said, setting the feedbag on the floor next to the door and then backing away into the hallway.


    The door swung shut.


    "Hey! What...?"


    Al stood at the sound of a key turning in the lock. Heavy booted dwarven footsteps hurried away before Al reached the door. He pushed. The door was locked. Al sighed and pressed his forehead against the door.


    "I really don''t have the energy right now, but if they''ve just locked us in a prison cell I''m going to be very angry after I''ve gotten some rest." He turned back to the table. He felt no surprise to see Gruntle obliviously continuing his feast. Wikwocket looked thoughtful.


    "Just for that, I''m asking for bigger blankets and a silk pillowcase for Sir Fluffington."


    <hr>


    Haunch resisted the feedbag at first, but settled into contentedly eating oats once Al got it over the donkey''s head. Al had just enough time to sit back down and resume eating before the indistinct sound of a conversation down the hallway started. Patrick''s recognizable laughter followed.


    "Herr Direktor, you should really inform us of such things!" complained a dwarven voice, which only increased the laughter. Footsteps approached, a key turned in the lock from outside, and Patrick pulled the door open again.


    "My apologies!" a still-laughing Patrick said, "I didn''t expect her to actually lock you in! How are you enjoying the feast?"


    "It''s good," Al admitted, "but I like it better when I''m not locked in with it."


    "And you owe us bigger blankets and a pillowcase!" Wikwocket added defiantly.


    "Straight to the negotiations, eh? I like your enthusiasm! All right then, let''s get to it!"


    Patrick approached the nearest unoccupied chair, spun it around, and straddled the seat.


    "As I''m sure you''re aware, I want to hire the use of your gnoll for the public punishment of criminals. I''m told he''ll like doing that sort of thing, so I''m doing you a favor, really."


    "We appreciate that, but Gruntle''s no ordinary gnoll, he''s a professional gnoll!" Wikwocket replied. "You''re not going to find that anywhere else, and that''s premium value that deserves a premium wage! There''s plenty of adventuring work he could be doing right now, you know!"


    "I can''t imagine there''s much of that inside the city, though," Patrick countered, his smile widening and taking on a slightly predatory edge.


    "There is if you know where to look, why, we literally just took care of a job on the way here! Gruntle helped us save a whole neighborhood from exploding, burning down, and being eaten by slime-potion monsters!"


    Patrick cast a skeptical glance towards Al and Bote.


    "That''s a bit of an exaggeration," Al said.


    "But not untrue, strictly speaking. Had we not happened by at the right time, things could have been quite tragic for the surrounding area.


    "See? So, we''ve got to make it worth his time! What''s your opening offer?"


    "A very generous one, of course, appropriate to the uniqueness of your services. A full two percent of the admission fees on days that we use your gnoll, and free room and board here in this luxurious room."


    "Oh, I see," Wikwocket commented, "you like negotiation and you want this one to go on for a long time, if you''re starting with that. A crowd-pleasing artist such as Gruntle will bring in plenty of spectators and their money! I''m sure you know in-demand talent in those situations are customarily offered at least thirty percent!"


    "That only happens for proven, well-established performers, as I''m sure you know. We haven''t actually seen how well your gnoll will do out there yet. I do see how much it will cost to feed you all, though," Patrick said with a wave towards the half-emptied platters of food on the table. "This is also the most comfortable place you''ll find to stay in here, if not the only place. You''ll have a hard time finding somewhere that will let you bring a donkey into your room, and none that''ll even open their doors if you show up with a gnoll. I like you, though. How about seven percent?"


    "Be honest, are you or your audience really going to be satisfied with just seven percent worth of the exciting show you could be getting? I''ve seen Gruntle fight a bear, and he once bit a demon!"


    Al listened as Wikwocket retold the stories of some of Gruntle''s fights from the last few weeks in gruesome detail. He held back the occasional urge to speak up about some of the embellishments, thinking nervously about how much trouble they could run into if the negotiations fell through and they had to leave. Even at night, the long walk back from the middle of the city to the gates held plenty of opportunity for disturbance of the peace, misunderstandings leading to violence, accusations of keeping a dangerous creature in the city without a permit, or any number of other situations that could escalate badly before they could get beyond the city walls. Fortunately, Patrick seemed to enjoy the stories whether he believed them or not. The haggling progressed closer to agreement.


    "How soon could you have him ready for his first punishment of a criminal?" Patrick asked as the stories wound down.


    "He''s practically ready now!" Wikwocket promised. "Give him a night to rest up and digest this fine food and he''ll be ready to provide all the violence you could want!"


    Gruntle grunted in agreement around a hefty beef leg-bone that he was gnawing on.


    "Excellent! Glad to hear it! Fact is, we''ve got someone who''d be perfect for his debut whose punishment we''ve been putting off because nobody had come up with a really fitting one yet."


    "Now, wait a minute," Al interrupted, "there''s one possible problem. Gruntle is very good at the killing, but we''re still not sure if he can reliably stop himself if he''s supposed to leave someone alive."


    "Oh, that won''t be a problem. Puppycrusher is very sentenced to death," Patrick assured him.


    "Puppycrusher?"


    "Jonathan Curminder. Animal abuse, animal-fighting, unlicensed gambling. I see some truly depraved people in here, and even I think he''s terrible. You know about the werewolves, right?"


    "We''ve heard, yes. Sounds like this person was a major part of the problem?"


    "Very much so. He did most of the really dirty work, colluding with one of the nobles'' kids to deal with bribes and such. Guard''s still looking for that one."


    "You mean Charlie Smitherton?"


    "Yeah, he got away during the raid where they captured Puppycrusher. Heard any news?"


    "You might say that, we ran into him on the way here from Hell''s Bathtub. We''ve got him on the cart there."


    "Alive?" Patrick asked hopefully, taking a step towards the cart.


    "Very much not, no. We didn''t have any idea who he was when we encountered him, and he was immediately violent when we did."


    "Do not worry," Bote said, "by divine grace, his remains will be free of corruption until the captain returns to collect him."


    "That''s a shame, though, the crowd gets especially excited when the upper-class gets punished. Would have been great to have them both ripped apart by a gnoll."


    "Charlie actually was, Gruntle got him."


    Patrick brightened up.


    "Hey, if Will doesn''t have any complaints, we can mention that when we announce your gnoll! That''ll stir some conversation! Assuming we''re agreed on the terms and can sign a contract?"


    "I think we''re just about there. You''ve been nice to us, so I''ll cut you a break and accept your last offer and bigger blankets, and a silk pillowcase for Sir Fluffington!" Wikwocket answered.


    "A pleasure doing business with you!" Patrick said with complete sincerity as far as Al could tell. He rose from his chair, and clasped hands with Wikwocket to informally finalize the deal. "I''ve got a template of the contract in my pocket, we can fill in the numbers and additional clauses and sign it, and I can leave you all to rest up for tomorrow."


    He released Wikwocket''s hand and strode around the table towards Gruntle.


    "And you, you beautiful beast," Patrick said with a slightly manic grin, reaching out to gently squeeze the muscles around Gruntle''s jaw, "You are going to be magnificent!"


    Gruntle froze stiff, and gave a small, confused whine and pleading gaze in Al''s direction.


    Al wondered how it was that the man''s hand was still attached to his arm.


    <hr>


    The little pig-flavored people of his new clan sometimes said strange, incomprehensible things. One such thing Gruntle had heard more than once is the complaint that social things are complicated. They really aren''t, though. When interpreting a new situation involving other clan-members, either someone is meek towards you and acknowledges your dangerousness and superiority, adopting a submissive attitude, or they are excessively bold and challenging your dominance. The former should be allowed and encouraged to continue in order to provide a good example to others, and the latter should be immediately put in their place, to discourage others from getting ideas - unless of course the other is obviously more dangerous in which case you submit in order to live until you have a good opportunity to knock them down in the future.


    Patrick''s unhesitating handling felt a great deal like a dominance challenge, but it was being done in a context of clearly praising and acknowledging Gruntle''s superior dangerousness.


    What are you supposed to do when someone is too boldly submissive?


    Instinct failed to provide an answer. Maybe social things are complicated, sometimes.