With head held high, the warm glow of pride almost illuminating his path, Grugg stepped out of his rented room. Although he would have to admit, the clothes did fit him well. Sure, the odd layers of fabric smothering him were an unusual feeling, but he found them a lot less restrictive in movement than he had expected. Testing them out, he exaggerated the movements of his footsteps across the small garden of the tavern, waving his legs in the air. Until his foot caught an exceptionally moist bit of mud, splattering over his feet and the cuff of his deep burgundy trousers.
[Perhaps we should find some boots for you, too.]
A grunt was the only response. The cyclops was not unused to a bit of dirt here and there; living in the mountain it was expected. To have his brand new garments, made by the enthused Claudia, soiled already did sit awkwardly on his mind, though. Boots, however, scared him. He had gone barefoot his whole life, even shirking the use of ‘sandals’ that his tribe would wear. To have his hardened soles locked away in a leather prison, unable to feet the earth beneath him, was almost unpalatable.
Trudging the rest of the way back round to the tavern entrance, he couldn’t help but notice the eyes of those in nearby passing. This time they were different; confused, curious, and amused looks had replaced those of fear, distrust, and admonishment. Was it really just a change of clothing that could sway their opinions so easily? Putting those thoughts aside, he entered through the complaining door of the tavern once more.
Unsurprisingly, it had not bloomed with activity in the short period he had been away getting dressed - the one graying patron still sitting bleary-eyed trying not to become part of the furniture. The tavern-keeper, however, regarded him with a cocked eyebrow and a surprised look in his eye.
“Ay, you scrub up well there, my friend. Impressive outfit.”
Grugg nodded at the compliment and leaned up against the counter in an attempt at subtlety. He squinted at the man with a furrowed brow. “Uhhh, line?”
“Line?” he questioned, trying to lean back away from the imposing figure of the cyclops casting a shadow across him.
[It was requesting a 'room with the best view of the twilight'.]
“Slept well, but uh, tonight would like room with best view of twi-lights,” Grugg repeated, drumming his thick fingers on the hard wooded surface.
A wave of panic darted over the usually composed face of the tavern-keeprt as his eyes darted down to the now readily apparent and beautifully polished badge emblazoned on the waistcoat of the cyclops. The clicks of the gears turning behind his eyes were almost audible in the otherwise silent tavern.
“I’m sorry, sir; I do not know what- errp!”
His attempt at denial was interrupted as Grugg loomed closer to the man, his single blue eye radiating electric energy even through his shadowed face. The countertop creaked in submission as the implied threat crept forward as brazenly as the cyclops did.
“Grugg very hungry,” the words snuck out of Grugg's mouth like a venomous snake. “… for the truth.”
Sweat dripped down the man's brow as he backed into the wall behind the counter, trying to recoil away from the suddenly visually demonic creature before him.
“Y-yes, okay, I will make sure to-”
“And food,” Grugg added.
“I will make the necessary arrangements, and I could also cook you some food?”
The Detective nodded at the man, standing back straight up from the counter as the Jacob hurried out the back to the kitchen. He hadn’t even asked what Grugg wanted, but in fairness, he wasn’t much of a picky eater; it couldn’t be as bad as the pine nuts.
[On reflection, trying to infiltrate this illegal fighting ring whilst in uniform might have been a bad call.]
“You certainly are full of surprises,” a familiar voice came from the side of the tavern.
Grugg turned to observe the figure sitting at the table, previously a bedraggled and alcohol-dense old man. Now somebody else sat in the same place: tall, muscular, and with a monochrome outfit.
“Nice trick, Lady,” he slowly clapped. Peony Valoth just rolled her eyes in response, but the cyclops was definitely impressed that she could turn into an old man. “Or, is old man normal self?” he finished his train of thought aloud with a discerning glare and chin rub.
“Care to join me at my table? It is rude to talk across a room.” The pleasantries escaped through her clenched teeth as she gestured to the empty chair opposite.
[Try not to aggravate her further. She might have some valuable information for us.]
The chair squealed as the weight of the cyclops caused it to grind on the floor until he settled. He was pretty used to the complaints of human wooden furniture, but the Goliath winced as the high-pitched screech invaded their eyes briefly.
“So, I hear that you-”
“Did Lady leave something on Grugg’s bed?” He folded his arms and leaned back on the chair, the back of which threatened to snap off and escape from the pressure.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Just what is it you are accusing me of, Detective?” A coy response with ample amounts of emphasis added to the new title, which the cyclops didn’t catch. A thin eyebrow raised; her poker face was top-notch.
“Nothing Grugg has evidence for. Yet. Only suspicions.”
[Very good. Stick to the facts until we have more information.]
“Interesting; let me know how that works out for you. Now, if I could speak without being interrupted?” She held out her hands in a gesture to see if there would be any opposition, to which she received a shrug in response. “I hear you managed to get one of the Nightshade underlings arrested. Perhaps I had underestimated you, thinking you were a simple cave troll looking to poke his nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“No, trolls are different.”
She waved a gloved hand in an effort to quiet him. “Now you are apparently a Detective in Helpart. I can hardly believe it, but I have reliable sources. The Nightshades are not a primary concern of mine, nor my employer's. However, the group has saturated this small town, and it is hard to get leads for my own case without tripping over ‘shade business.”
The tavern-keeper returned through the kitchen door, a large plate of various cooked meats and vegetables leaving a trail of wispy steam behind as he brought it to the table.
“Ah, Lady Valoth, what an unexpected-”
“Two ales, please. Large ones,” she waved him off as Grugg eyed up the variety of drool-worthy food now before him.
[Focus Grugg, she is going to share information with us.]
He barely managed to tear his eye away from a particularly juicy morsel of rabbit meat to address the Investigator. “So Lady help Grugg, Grugg help Lady?”. He picked up the food and slipped it into his toothy maw as he relented to making eye contact with the woman.
“In a manner of speaking… how much did the Captain tell you?”
“Buncha weak ones follow area boss, then biggest criminal lives somewhere else.” His rough explanation was accompanied by the politest amount of gorging he could manage.
“Something like that. There are five gang leaders that operate in the Helpart area, and they all report to one person. That one person reports to the Nightshade leader, but they don’t reside in Helpart, nor any of the surrounding towns.”
“That’s what Grugg said,” he shrugged, mouth full of potatoes.
“Quite. Well, I know of each of the five Helpart gang leaders - and I will share what I know if you give me something in return.”
[We already know of two of the leaders - Frank and Don Kean; the Captain didn’t mention any others.]
“Already arrest Stinky Shadow. Next up is Spy man keep sneaking around watching Grugg.”
“That is true; you have already dealt with the smuggler and ex-bandit. So it is not too surprising that you know of the spymaster; he has been getting sloppy as of late. But what of the other three?” Lady Valoth picked up a drumstick from the plate and dangled it in front of the cyclops like a ticking clock pendulum. The tavern-keeper placed down two large flagons of ale and hurried away.
[Let’s find out what she wants; even if we decline, we already have some new information.]
“Okay. What does Lady want from Grugg?” He went to take the drumstick from her hand, but she snatched it away at the last second.
“I want that hat.”
“No.” There was no pause, no deliberating, just the briefest and sternest of responses.
“It means that much to you?” Now it was her turn to cross her arms, her black leather armor-turned-dress creaking from the movement.
It certainly did mean a lot to Grugg. Mainly because it was the conduit to his now friend. It also had done a stellar job of keeping the rain out of his eye on this miserable day. There was also the point that he didn’t think it could even be removed from his head.
“Can have it if Lady kill Grugg, maybe.” He shrugged, continuing to eat the last scraps of his meal.
“Is that permission?”
“Is a challenge.” He looked up at her slightly from his meal, a glint of the candlelight catching in his electric-blue eye.
A wry smile cracked along her otherwise stoic porcelain visage; her head cocked slightly. She stood and downed her mug of ale in one go. Placing it down on the table, she turned to leave the tavern.
“Good luck, Detective. I do hope you reconsider.”
Grugg followed her with his eye and caught a look at the symbol on her armor that Gregor had mentioned—a single eye with three swords crossed behind it.
“Nice eye,” he called out as she reached the tavern door.
“You too.” The door closed behind her a bit more hastily than expected.
[At least we know a few more Nightshade leaders are in the area. There is so much crime rife in this town it would be unlikely that my poisoned death story did not have something to do with the group.]
Grugg said nothing, but downed his mug of ale. It tasted okay. He didn’t really have alcohol back up the mountain, but it reminded him of something his tribe used to make. A tinge of homesickness followed, along with the remnants of the tart beverage. A strange feeling sunk over him, a weight in the pit of his stomach that said he didn’t belong here, in this strange town, in these peculiar clothes. What was he even doing?
“Two more large ales,” he raised his empty mug to the tavern-keeper, who nodded in return.
[What did you want to do next, Grugg? We could go find some good boots for you or drop by Claudia and pay her for your outfit. She seems pretty keen on you. We may have time to see if my contact is at the library, too, before it gets too late.]
The man left the two new ales on the table, removing the almost totally cleared plate. Grugg wondered if retreating back to the mountain was an option, maybe just lying on his cold, uncomfortable bed for the night. Not having to worry about investigating or socializing with people and all the responsibilities. He downed an ale, a throbbing in his head threatening to become a headache. He winced as the wizard spoke.
[Are you okay? If there is anything you want to say, please do.]
Guilt spiraled around the ball of self-doubt that had been forming in his stomach, like a ball of twine becoming unraveled. He owed the wizard a lot; he had promised to help him and had received help in return. Friendship had come easy to them despite their differences, and now what? Was he going to give up on all that excitement about the crime he could punch, with helping Bart be more than a hat? He did not touch the second mug of ale. Instead, he stood up, adjusting his burgundy jacket.
“Alright, let’s go get Grugg some boo-”
A crash as the tavern door flung open. The figure of a short humanoid staggered inside, blood dripping loudly across the wooden floorboards. Gore smeared up their tattered clothing and grayish fur.
The red glint of Gregor’s eyes, half obscured by swollen bruises, met Grugg’s shocked stare for a brief two seconds. Then the ratman collapsed to the floor.