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“Gnome, if you see that sorry bastard, Yonn, let me know.” That was the third time the big warrior told Glenn that.
Ron assigned Glenn to accompany Derek to the alchemist to see if there was anything available to protect someone from intense heat, like that found in the furnace at Sterjin’s Glass. In the meantime Ron and Kirby were arranging for supplies for the wagons, and doing a little last minute recon of Sterjin’s.
Rather than being a sunny and dry morning, with building heat, it was a partly cloudy morning with building heat, and dust in the streets. Glenn thought about wearing a handkerchief across his face, but figured that might draw attention to him, maybe even as someone planning to rob some place.
The streets were busy and Glenn wasn’t likely to recognize anyone while trying to keep pace with Derek’s long strides. Ahead of them a pair of donkeys pulled a cart stacked with cages holding chickens and roosters. Combined with the din of the busy streets, Glenn decided to risk a conversation.
“So those two guys you and Gurk jumped, they just believed you?”
Derek shifted the sack he carried over his shoulder. “They were looking for information and weren’t too bright.”
Glenn scratched his sideburn, feeling it damp with sweat. “You said they were higher rank than you?”
Derek turned his head left and right, then glanced over his shoulder. The big warrior was probably looking for Yonn, or Slarg, more than to make sure he and Glenn weren’t being followed.
“Higher rank, but like I said, dumber.” Derek picked up the pace to get around the poultry cart. “Plus, even your half-goblin pal can be pretty intimidating.” Derek stood up straight. “Not as much as me.”
After they got ahead of the cart, Derek slowed down. “I saw that one of them had a dagger with a dark paste rubbed on it. Twisted it out of his hand before either of them could do anything. I licked the blade and just glared at them while doing it. Made’em think we were tougher than them.
“Remembered what you said about the tooth neutralizing poison.” The big warrior slapped Glenn across the back, not as hard as usual. “That was smart thinking.”
“They just wanted to ask questions about the guard captain. One of them had a magic bead that glowed green when someone tells the truth and red when someone lies. The knife guy asked if we knew what happened to Nickson. I shrugged and said he left, saying he was going to see about hiring more mercenaries, since we lost a couple fighting a manticore.
“Bead glowed green.” Derek grinned. “See, magical gems and beads like that don’t follow words only. They pick up whether the statement is true or false. So as far as the bead was concerned, I told the truth—which I did. But they missed the shrug. They were watching to see what the bead showed. And I actually did tell the truth, overall—assuming you and the thief told the whole truth.”
Derek gave a crooked grin, signaling he was joking. “Then the bead guy asks your buddy thief what he knows about Nickson’s disappearance. So Gurk tells him that he’d heard the dude had a gambling problem. Green glow again, and I said to the dumb thief holding the bead, ‘You want to know what I know?’ The bead guy said, ‘Yes.’ So I tell him people that ain’t good at gambling disappear all the time. Green again, and the bead’s magic was used up.”
Glenn wasn’t sure he followed it all, or that Derek had the explanation right, but didn’t question him.
Derek glanced around then smiled down at Glenn. “Those two were too dumb to ask good questions and stop us from making statements that’d use up the magic.” Derek tapped a finger to his temple. “A GM pulled that trick on us once.”
Glenn was going to ask if they’d asked dumb questions too, when learning the lesson. But thought better of it. He knew what the big warrior meant. Wrecking Derek’s good mood wasn’t worth it.
Something caught Derek’s eye. “There it is, up ahead.” He picked up the pace, going around a creaking wagon piled full of coal. “Oh, and your buddy Gurk said these guys might be tight with the local guild, so just follow my lead.”
Wonderful, Glenn thought. Could’ve told me that, say, any time before thirty seconds until arrival?
The exterior of Brombar’s Mixtures and Elixirs impressed Glenn. A three-story granite building with several pipes extending far above the structure’s slate roof. He’d seen them from a distance a couple of times, and now knew what they belonged to. A good landmark to gauge where he was within the city—besides the stench. The glass windows framed in steel, with thick steel bars in front of them made sure nothing but light got in. The entry door set into an alcove looked pretty stout. When Derek pushed it open, he mumbled to himself, “Ironwood.”
The interior, on the other hand, was anything but impressive. Well lit, with magical light supplementing the natural sunlight. But the air was hot and stuffy, and filled with stuff that made Glenn’s gnomish nose feel like little ants were running around in his nostrils. Other than that, a red oak table, whose top was scratched and marred by divots and stains, sat in the center of the front area. Behind it sat a man in a padded chair reading a leather-bound tome. The only thing adorning the wall behind him was another door. From its looks, probably ironwood. There was a metal slot cut into it. Closed.
Derek moved to take one of the two three-legged stools across from the man. Once seated he popped the filled sack down on the floor next to him. Glenn thought about climbing onto the other stool, but decided against it. Instead he slid it aside and stood next to the seated warrior.
The man looked up from his reading, placed a thin copper bookmark in the pages before closing the book and setting it on the corner of the table.
The guy was a salesman, if Glenn ever saw one. A waxed, handlebar mustache, slicked back hair and a broad, insincere smile. His silk shirt was white with silver buttons and his breeches were dark blue. He wore high boots with silver buckles. As far as Glenn could tell, he wasn’t armed.
In a bored-sounding voice, he asked, “May I be of assistance?”
Derek looked around, as if realizing for the first time how empty the ten by twenty-foot room was. “You don’t look much like any alchemists I’ve ever met.” He pointed. “Shouldn’t you be grinding up unicorn horns or heating some glass vials over a candle?”
Ron insisted that Derek do the main talking, but that Glenn should be ready to step in and help the deal along. It made sense since, at least game-wise, Derek had bartered a lot more than Glenn, and knew what kinds of potions and other things alchemists in the game could make. Those would help with any “dice rolls” related to negotiations.
And they both knew that the establishment was tied in with the local thieves’ guild. Probably like Higslaff’s pawnshop was in Three Hills City.
Glenn kept a pleasant expression on his face, instead of showing annoyance at Derek’s intentional omission of that guild connection, until the very last minute.
The salesman rolled his eyes—certain to get Derek fired up—and said, “While I am well versed in chemicals and exotic components, and wield a really mean mortar and pestle, my specialty is in sales and service.”
Despite the condescending tone, Derek appeared to take it in stride. That wasn’t like him.
“Oh. Okay,” he said agreeably. “We got some stuff while adventuring you might be interested in.” He reached into the sack he’d been carrying and began placing the items on the table. “This all came from a manticore.”
First he placed a sack stuffed with black hair from the manticore’s mane, then a smaller sack holding eight claws on the table. From the bottom of his sack he pulled out a wooden crate. Placing it on the table and resting a hand over it, he said, “In there’s the tail with spikes and some teeth. You’ll want to be careful, because they probably got some dried poison on them.”
The salesman let out a long sighing breath. “The correct term would be venom.”
Derek knew the difference between poison and venom. Glenn was sure of that.
“Yeah, right. Venom. And we got two corked bottles of blood that my friend has in his sack.” The warrior signaled for Glenn to put them on the table.
“We drank the wine and washed them out with water before putting the blood in—just after I killed it with my sword.” Derek pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at his magical long sword’s hilt.
The salesman stood and examined the claws and black mane hair dismissively.
Glenn realized the man hadn’t given a name, and Derek omitted sharing his or Glenn’s. Seemed odd.
After examining the contents of the small wooden crate, the salesman uncorked one of the bottles. He waved a few fingers over the top to draw out the resulting odor of sour, rotting flesh. He scrunched up his nose and replaced the cork.
Pushing the bottle back to the center of the table, he said, “Manticores are uncommon creatures, and a challenge to slay.” He gestured at the table’s contents. “You harvested some parts that are useful in creating a number of potions and elixirs.” Then he sighed. “However, the method of harvest and preservation can be described as crude, at best.”
Derek scratched his head “Well, it was a desert, and we lost a couple henchmen killing the monster.”
Maintaining an uncaring tone, the salesman said, “A word of advice?”
“Yeah?”
“Should you ever be afforded the opportunity to harvest a manticore again, consider the tongue and heart.”
Derek nodded sharply, then said to Glenn standing next to him, “Remember that.”
“I will.” Glenn kept his voice upbeat with a happy gnome smile on his face. “Thank you for the advice, sir.”
The salesman sat back down in his seat. “Despite the quality and condition, I can take what you’ve brought today off your hands, depending on your asking price.”
“Oh,” Derek said. “We’re not looking for coin. We want to trade.”
Derek stood up from his stool, becoming animated, gesturing with his hands. “See, we were fighting some goblins in the Dark Heart Swamp, and found their treasure hoard.”
Derek looked at the apparently unimpressed man across from him. “Goblins are crafty and mean. Especially a shaman.
“See, their tribe used some old mine as a lair. They built a hole in a wall near the bottom, with treasure an arm’s length away.” Derek frowned. “One of our guys stuck his hand in to grab some of it. Rubies and stuff. A flame appeared. Burnt his arm to the bone in hardly a second.”
Glenn noted the mixture of truth and fiction in Derek’s tale.
The salesman steepled his fingers. “So you seek something to protect you against fire?”
“Yeah,” Derek said. “Exactly. Me and him want to go back, but neither of us wants to stick our arm in there—without protection.”
“Hmmmm,” the salesman said, tapping an index finger against his lips. “Mightn’t a Major Resist Heat Spell suffice for the task?”
Derek cocked his head, like that was a dumb question. “Neither me nor him,” he said, pointing to Glenn, “cast spells like that. So scrolls won’t work either.”
“You only need protection for one arm?”
“Right,” Derek said. “It’ll be mine.” He lifted his right arm. “All the way up to the shoulder. Maybe a little extra for my other arm, if something at the bottom needs two hands to pull out.”
“You are proposing a straight trade? Your harvested manticore parts for something alchemical that will protect your arm, or arms, from an intense flame.”
“An intense magical flame that’ll char to the bone in seconds.” Derek held up a hand, indicating he had more to say. “Oh, and it’ll have to last a little while because I’ll be feeling around for gems and pulling them out.”
“That is understandable,” the salesman said. “I believe we have something in stock to suit your need.”
The salesman swiftly departed the room through the ironwood door behind him. Was the slit there just for show? Or was someone behind, listening.
Glenn started to ask a question, but a sharp look from Derek made him pause. Still, he’d started to speak, so he finished with a different question. “Do you want to get goat ribs for lunch?”
Derek was about to explode until his mind processed the question. Catching himself, the big warrior played along, snarling, “You know I hate eating goat, gnome. Gives me the shits.”
Glenn’s eyes widened. He wanted to laugh, but held it back. “That’s what caused it all through the desert?”
Derek gave Glenn an unfriendly glare, saying there’d be payback, then returned to his pretend, easy-going personality. He adjusted his position on the stool. “You can eat goat ribs. I’ll get turnip and onion stew.”
The turnip and onion stew sounded tasty to Glenn’s gnomish taste buds, but he didn’t comment, and silence between the two adventurers reigned for the next few minutes.
Muffled noises from the busy street made it difficult for Glenn to be sure. It sounded like there was someone else besides him and Derek in the room, breathing. Glenn didn’t say anything to Derek because, if he was right, it’d be stupid to mention it. Or so he figured.
A moment later the mustached salesman returned, holding a stoppered glass vial twice the size of Derek’s thumb. An assistant followed him out, a youth of about ten years of age, with dark skin and alert eyes. His heavy linen attire was roughly stitched together and he pushed a small wooden cart.
The salesman moved directly to the table and returned to his soft chair. The assistant remained near the now closed door.
The salesman reached across the table and placed the vial in front of Derek. “This Lotion of Exceptional Fire Protection will ward your arm from intense magical heat, created by fire or even the likes of a branding iron, for no less than thirty minutes—once applied.”
Derek leaned down, squinted one eye and examined the vial’s milky blue contents. “Doesn’t look like much in there.” The warrior held up his muscular arm once again. “My arms ain’t scrawny.”
“Rest assured, there is a sufficient amount. It requires only a thin layer, and the protective lotion’s blue color helps to ensure complete coverage. That is obviously important, before you would insert your sword-arm where a magical fire is certain to be triggered.”
“How do you spread it on?”
“Apply it directly to the skin. No clothing or...” He examined Derek’s battered and repaired breastplate and mail sleeves. “Armor, being made of metal, an inorganic material, the protective lotion would not adhere—or stick well. Most clothing’s porosity is problematic. Complete saturation is necessary, as even pinprick-sized gaps in coverage would provide a channel for the assaulting heat to penetrate.
“Application is best accomplished with an accompanying individual’s assistance.” The salesman’s gaze shifted to Glenn for a fraction of a second. “Pour a small amount on the arm and spread it with a finger. Pour a little more and spread again. In tight spots, between fingers, for example, the assistant should apply a small amount to his finger and spread it across such areas.”
The mustached man waited a moment to see if Derek comprehended. Then he continued. “The protective lotion has a high viscosity, meaning that it won’t roll or drip off your arm onto the floor. Yet, it will spread to a very thin covering, which is all that is required. A thick application will not protect your limb, or limbs, any more than would a thin application.
“The assistant should use the same finger at all times while spreading until all areas to be exposed to the concerning heat are covered. This will ensure maximum coverage for your appendage—or should I say, your hand and arm.”
Derek snorted, holding back a laugh. Glenn refrained from rolling his eyes.
“What if the gnome misses a spot?” Derek asked. “Like where my fingernails meet the end of my finger.”
“The result would be painful, and allow damage due to the intense heat to occur. It would not be as severe, as with full exposure, but it could inhibit your ability to successfully feel and grasp small items.”
Derek nodded understanding. “Will my grip be slippery, like I got hog’s grease on me? What about the hair on my arms? Will it get burnt off?”
“Your grip will be minimally impaired, as if your hand is damp with water.” The man smoothed his handlebar mustache with his fingers, in thought. “It is likely the hair follicles will be coated in the process, and thus, protected.”
The big warrior glanced down at the quiet yet attentive gnome. “What if my assistant gets some splashed in his eye? Will it blind him?”
The salesman looked over at Glenn, even more dismissive than he’d been of the manticore items. The gnome continued to stand to the right of his seated partner.
“Your assistant would see the world tainted blue, through that eye, for the duration of the lotion’s protective effect. But he would otherwise remain unimpaired.”
“So, like his eye would be safe from the heat of a red-hot poker? But if he closed his eye, it’d burn his eyelid?”
“Except for the pressing force of the poker directly against the eye, yes,” the salesman said. “I believe you have a clear understanding.”
Glenn cleared his throat, then asked, “If it takes me three minutes to apply the Lotion of Exceptional Fire Protection, the area I applied it first would elapse in being protected three minutes sooner than the last place? Like his fingers first, than say, his bicep, done last?”
“That is correct,” the salesman said, nodding once. “Exposure to oxygen in the air is what limits the duration.”
“So, if I had a bucket of this lotion stuff,” Derek said, “a red dragon could breathe fire on me and I’d be okay?”
“Indeed, but those flames would melt your sword. And if you inhaled at the wrong moment, the heat drawn in would sear your lungs.”
“Because I couldn’t put any on my sword, and even if I wiped some of the lotion up my nostrils, the dragon could just bite my dumb, unarmored ass.”
“That would be an expected result.”
Derek asked, “If the gnome got it in his eye and he cried tears, would it wash the lotion stuff out?”
“It would not. The lotion will adhere to the eyeball itself.”
The big warrior offered Glenn a goofy grin, much like Mardin’s. “Just joking about the crying.”
After a few seconds of silence, presented with no additional questions, the salesman clasped his hands together. “So, my warrior friend, we have a deal?”
Friend, Glenn thought. The slimy sales guy was getting the better end of the deal. Or was dead certain he was.
“Not yet,” Derek said, his normal, unpleasant disposition emerging. “I want to test it.”
The salesman leaned back a fraction of a second, noting the change in Derek’s voice and bearing. “I can provide a mundane flame—”
Derek cut the salesman off, not moving his eyes from the man. “Gnome, get out your candle.”
Glenn hopped to retrieving his everlast candle from deep within his satchel, and placed it on the table.
Derek glared directly at the salesman whose gaze flickered over to his right, then forward again, while the big warrior asked, “It can be opened and closed right, without losing effectiveness—due to oxygen in the air?”
The salesman instantly regained his composure. Glenn guessed Derek either failed, or the salesman succeeded, against some sort of intimidation roll. He sometimes forgot how the game world worked.
“Indeed,” the salesman said. “And the glass vial will resist normal strikes, and the stopper requires effort to pull out, as you will see.” He gestured to the vial. “Please, test the product produced from our labor and arcane knowledge.”
Derek shook the vial, pulled the stopper, and used it to liberally apply the cloudy-blue, viscous liquid to his little finger.
It did spread easily, and left a clear blue tint to the warrior’s finger.
“Gnome, open your candle.”
Glenn did, and Derek held his finger several inches above the pinkish flame, and slowly lowered it.
After twenty seconds of raising and lowering, Derek said, “It works.” He held up an index finger to forestall the words on the salesman’s lips. “I want three more vials of this.”
The salesman responded with a negative hand gesture. “The deal was for one.”
“No,” Derek said. Brute anger tinged his voice. Still, he remained seated. “It was for enough to cover and fully protect one arm, possibly both, so I can grab the treasure from a flame trap in a mine overrun with goblins.”
Derek glanced down at his little finger resting on the table next to the everlast candle. “Dainty painting will take half the blue stuff’s effective time.” He placed both hands on the table. “No way in hell there’ll be time in a dungeon to daintily paint your lotion on my arms. It’ll have to be done quick and dirty.”
“One vial,” the salesman said, “or no deal.”
Derek showed a wicked grin. Glenn thought it would’ve been more effective with his tooth missing.
The big warrior leaned forward. “I know the value of manticore venom,” Derek said, his voice going low. “Even poorly harvested venom. So if it ain’t four vials, it’s no deal.”
He continued his intense gaze at the unflustered salesman. “And if your invisa-guard just out of sword’s reach to my left tries to stop us from leaving with our manticore stuff, or you won’t open the remotely locked front door, it’s going to get messy.”
The salesman steepled his fingers again. “Are you making threats, warrior?”
Glenn was pretty impressed. Derek looked pretty menacing, and the salesman was unarmed. Of course he might be a magic user with spells, and the invisible guard might be pretty high-level tough.
“No, I’m just telling you that if it ain’t four vials of your protection lotion for our manticore parts, you’re going to allow us to leave with our poorly harvested parts and go elsewhere.”
“There are no other alchemists in Riven Rock.”
“We’re just passing through Riven Rock. There are plenty of other cities with plenty of other alchemists. That goblin treasure ain’t going nowhere.”
The salesman ran a thumb and forefinger along his thin, extended mustache. Leaning forward he said, “Two vials.”
“Three,” Derek countered. “And a fancy padded box to put them in, so they don’t get busted during travel.”
Twenty minutes later Glenn was at a table in a half-brick, half-wooden restaurant called the Good to the Last Scrape or, to its regulars, The Scrape. Turnip and onion soup, as opposed to stew, wasn’t quite as tasty as Glenn imagined. But it was filling. And only made him sweat a little more, with the hot day. A breeze would help, but not likely to do much with such small windows.
Derek hunched over his wooden bowl of turnip and onion soup, laughing to himself as he ate.
The woman who worked the counter across the room was busy washing wooden bowls and copper spoons. Three men at a round table near her were drinking cheap beer and playing a card game that sounded a lot like Go Fish. Except they said, “Go dig.”
Anxious about what lay ahead, Glenn whispered to Derek, “You think they’ll send someone to follow us?”
Derek looked up. “Naw, they’re figuring we’re leaving town.”
“What if...” Glenn paused and looked around conspiratorially. “They talk to Yonn?”
Derek shrugged and scooped a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “That sniveling asshole? He heard me tell a few tales about fighting goblins in the swamp, and about a shaman and that big saber-toothed cat. They’ll figure that’s where we’re going—if they even dig that far.”
“You don’t think they—”
“No, gnome, now shut up and eat.”
Since Derek wanted him to shut up and eat, Glenn said, “This city doesn’t have guards always showing up, like Three Hills City. But there isn’t more...crime.”
Derek looked up from his bowl. “You mean like dudes being killed in the street and stuffed behind some building?”
Glenn scowled and shot a glance to see if anyone at the card table was listening.
Derek rolled his eyes. He leaned closer. “Riven Rock’s divided up into wards, with like nine groups that are in charge of them, like thirty or so. Localized folks, or hired guards watch the areas. The thieves’ guild watches some. Only one wardian with more territory than them is some earth wizard. The wardians answer to some sort of Council of Three.”
Derek leaned back and shrugged. “Don’t make sense why it works.” Then a dark look crossed his face. “Other than the asshole GM who thought it up said it does.”
“How’d you find out?” Glenn asked. “About the wardians?”
Derek gave Glenn an incredulous look. “I asked Krogman.”
“Oh,” Glenn said.
“Just finish eating, gnome.” Derek started laughing to himself again.
“What’s so funny?” Glenn took a quick bite of turnip. “What are you laughing about?”
“Same thing as a few minutes ago.”
Glenn wiped a sleeve across his mustache, in case food was stuck in it.
Derek looked down at his bowl then up with a feral grin. “Imagining the look on Breasty Mariposa Barbie’s face when you tell her she’ll have to get naked for the mission.”
The big warrior turned red stifling a roaring laugh. He held up a finger, signaling there was more. “And...you, gnome, get to tell her she’s gonna have to let someone help slather that blue stuff over every tiny inch of her naked, fairy body.”
Glenn scowled. “Well, there’s no chance she’ll pick you.”
“You got that, gnome. Probably be you.” He pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned forward. “With her nineteen point five Appearance Score, and your stubby fingers spreading slippery blue lotion over every curvy inch, how’s that gonna work out?”