Chapter Four: Heals and Pots

The very next morning Zuglah arrived to find an enormous, round wooden and canvas tent set up under the tree. There was an awning, rugs and more than one long table. There was even a stone hearth. Caldwell waved him over.

“I know, it’s a bit much. But just the bare essentials I promise.”

It turned out that what he had brought was a fully functional laboratory. It seemed that Caldwell wanted to make some potions. When he told Zuglah his plan, the Troll began to get very excited. Caldwell was going to show him how to make Minor Healing Potions, and Minor Mana Pots. Then, they were going to process the chicken pistules into a liquid called Canary’s Tears. This was the suspension liquid that Caldwell had used to turn jump into leap. They were going to use it to turn healing potions into regeneration potions. And they were going to turn those into something called platinum.

It all sounded fantastical to Zuglah. He was chagrined to find out that there were many other magical plants in the field, only the Hag had not been interested in healing draughts or stoneskin. She only wanted the most habit-forming potions and tonics.

The Mana Pots were not difficult to make, but time consuming. They prepared a large cauldron of the brew and set it upon the special cauldron spot cut out of the hearth. From there, it was a matter of not letting the fire go out for two days and nights. In the end, they were left with fifty two Mana Pots.

Zuglah had no idea where the jars and vials and pots all came from exactly, except that they were from the tent. He would ask what container to use for this potion or that one, and Caldwell would absentmindedly say “Oh, check that cabinet over there.” Or he would wave and mutter, “Perhaps one of those chests.” Sure enough, one of those chests would have exactly fifty two empty, clean mana pots, just waiting to be used.

They made strength potions and speed potions. Potions for intelligence, and resistance to poison. They also made poison. And when they were finished, the potions themselves went right back into those selfsame chests and cabinets. There were also places for the ingredients themselves to be stored, chests designed for drying and those for keeping moist. There were aquariums and terrariums, empty cages and even what seemed to be a makeshift corral. It was an ideal potion making operation.

The next day, Caldwell took him to the Adventurer’s Guild to sell some Mana Pots. It was never “Mana Potions,” nor was it ever “Healing Pots.” It seemed important to Caldwell that he not embarrass him, so Zuglah paid strict attention. “Heals and Pots.”

“And never throw them anything stronger, either. These two potions will give anyone a significant advantage, it’s not your job to provide more, it's the Cleric’s. Let them buy their own.” He left the “Preferably from us,” part unsaid. He opened the portal.

The Adventurer’s guild was a large hall with many offices and meeting chambers on the ground floor, and higher up, the council. Caldwell entered something called the Procurement Office.

As soon as he entered the room, Zuglah knew that he was about to meet a new creature. The entire room smelled like dry granite when the first rain drops struck. It was a unique, and quite pleasant odour. He inhaled, deeply.

“Caldwell, what’s wrong with your troll? Oi, you! With the blue face. Smell something you like?”

Zuglah smiled in amazement. “I apologize. I’ve never met a Dwarf before. You smell like a quarry.”

The man seemed mollified, which was a good thing. He barely stood taller than Zuglah’s waist, but he was built like a bull. He had massive shoulders and arms, and a chest that could hold a yard of sailcloth. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.” He stuck out his hand. Zuglah clasped it. His fingers were like stone.

“The name is Dunstan. I’m the quartermaster of this particular chapter. Anything you need, I’m the one to get it.” He had a ledger opened on his desk. He walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down. He put on a pair of brass framed spectacles, and looked at them expectantly.

Caldwell produced a small ledger that Zuglah had seen him writing in. He opened it to a page and placed it on the desk. When he slid it closer to Dunstan, the Dwarf pinned it with a thick, stubby finger that looked like it could poke a hole in wood. He ran the finger down the list and whistled. “How much of it can I have?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Caldwell shrugged. “All of it, unless my partner here objects.”

Dunstan peered up at Zuglah from over the top of his glasses. “Well, partner?” He asked. “You got any objections to me taking this load off your hands?” Zuglah did not object in the least.

They went into another door, and they were met with a tailor. He gave Zuglah a large package containing a number of tunics and doublets, some sets of small clothes, some boots and a pair of shoes. He had never owned shoes before. He had never had footwear that had been specifically made for large Trollish feet before, either. Now he had both.

It turned out that “all of it,” had amounted to twenty heals and twenty pots. It had been more than enough to cover all of the clothing that they purchased for Zuglah, as well as some camp supplies, alchemy ingredients and various odds and ends. There was still a significant credit on their account when they left. Which they did not do by portal.

They stepped out of the Adventurer’s Guild and into chaos. There were sounds everywhere, and no time to react to them before the next. The smells, both good and foul, were overwhelming. And the people. Hundreds of them. Everywhere he looked were more people. Some were huge, covered in thick brown hide and wearing horns as casually as he had ears. And a tail! He saw two cat people, covered head to toe in a fine fur. He saw his first High Elf and his first three Gnomes ever, both things he had been looking forward to. He wished he could talk to them all. He had so many questions.

**********

Caldwell stood aside, patiently waiting. He let Zuglah take it all in. He didn’t tell him to stop staring, or to pick his jaw up. He followed behind his new student and let him wander about. The Adventurer’s Guild was located in the heart of Bakerton’s market district so it was a grand place to start.

It was a little known fact that a Troll can last as long as several months without eating. Also true was the fact that they could eat as much as was available at any given time without getting full. Zuglah ate everything in sight.

He overpaid everywhere and his enthusiasm was infectious. He had vendors chasing him down the bazaar with candied apples that he hadn’t tried, or the perfect cup of brandy to wash down some dumpling or other savory delight. Truth be told, Caldwell would have felt a little jealous or perhaps left out because of all the attention Zuglah was getting, except that Zuglah always shared.

It was fascinating to see how people responded to his genuine enthusiasm. He was a Troll, of all things, one of the most hated and feared peoples on the planet. But they shined on him.

If you had told the two hundred year old Kaeet woman when she got to work this morning that she would be laughing and chasing a troll around the market with one of her fish sandwiches, she would have clawed your eyes out. Yet Caldwell had seen that and more. Her tail lashed when he left her stall for the last time.

There was an almost festive air to his shopping, and all of the stall owners beamed at him.

Zuglah Glun was finally able to tear himself away from the food vendors. He must have been quite hungry, but he never showed any signs. He was such a polite young Troll.

Caldwell led the way now, moving back to his purpose for coming. He strode past pubs and taverns, smithy and stable alike. He sought a specialty shop on a side street and across a couple of alleys. Every time they crossed one of the foul-smelling service alleys, Zuglah would pinch his nose and make a noise. Trolls were fastidious creatures, he had learned.

It was a specialty shop, small and dank. There were several bells attached to the front door due to the advanced age of the shopkeepers and the severe lack of business traffic. But commerce or not, it would always be here. It had been arranged.

Even with the bells, Caldwell had to go into the back and wake Fender and Betsy. They had both fallen asleep! He waved a hand, smiling in satisfaction as a dozen lamps sprang into service. Zuglah was not the only one who had been practicing his cantrips lately.

Fender surprised him by emerging first, carrying a tray with the tea. He set it down on the small sitting-room table, then took one of the two chairs for himself. “Got yourself a student, do you Caldwell?” He took the other chair and poured tea for both of them. He would have poured one for Zuglah as well, but Fender hadn’t brought enough cups.

Zuglah was happy to meet Fender and his wife. Betsy had no trouble at all finding him a decent robe that would work for school. Caldwell and Betsy agreed that the black and green suited him best, because it had blue accents that matched his hair spectacularly.

“Now,” he said, yawning. He stretched as he said, “Let’s see something with a hood. Red bolts on the shoulders. Not black, midnight blue.”

Betsy whistled. “I’m going to have to conjure that.”

“Mind you get the arms right. He’s a Troll after all.”

Betsy snorted. “I hadn’t noticed. I thought you were the last one.” She held Zuglah’s arms out to the side and ran her wand across his frame. Without a word, she shuffled into the back.

The Troll looked at him, suspicious. “What are the fancy ones for?”

“You’ll see. I’m not going to spoil the surprise.”

If he thought that the Bakerton Market was a wonder, he was going to flop over and have a fit when he saw Taida Marr.