Grugg kneeled down and prodded the ratman onto his side. He was no doctor, but Gregor did not look too great. Mostly on account of the amount of blood that was not in his body; instead the crimson life energy was pooling around his small, unmoving form. It was hard to make out where the blood had actually come from, and it looked like a pack of boars had trampled and gored him in the street.
[Oh Gods, what has happened?]
The wizard’s voice panicked in his ears. His own internal voice was panicked too. Blood stuck to his finger from where he had prodded his prone assistant. Looking down at the red smear that brought back ill-kept memories, he shook his head to try to clear his mind.
“Hells, I’ll go find the apothecary.” The tavern-keeper, pale as a ghost, ran for the door past the ratman, a slow creak eerily playing out through the room as it slowly closed behind him.
[There’s no time for that. Quickly Grugg, take him to our room - there might be a chance.]
He didn’t need telling twice; as gently as he could, he scooped Gregor up in his arms, blood now soaking through his jacket and waistcoat into his linen undershirt. His footsteps were heavy and deliberate, making a good pace whilst keeping his cargo securely held. Out the door, around the side, and then across the garden, barging through the barn house door. He laid his assailed assistant down on the bed and waited restlessly for further instruction.
[In my luggage there should be a number of rolled-up parchments; I have a Heal spell there. I’m… I’m unsure if you can cast it, but we should try.]
Grugg had already flung open the luggage and started digging around. The various knick-knacks and assorted bits of the wizard’s previous life became a blur as his eye watered before, finally - a group of papers sprung out of their loose roll.
[It’s the one with the red circle.]
That was simple enough to do; the rest were other colors and shapes. Standing, he held the scroll at arm's length, pointing it towards the motionless ratman. The arcane symbols and loopy font of the scroll remained inert, their meaning as elusive to him as the ability to make out any of the specific words.
[Hold it there, Grugg. You’re doing great - just focus as hard as you can.]
Veins bulged out from his head as he strained, willing the scroll to do something. As the sweat soaked his linen shirt, the futility of it drove him to anger.
“Stupid magic, just work,” he growled, frustration driving a quick stream from his single eye.
And then, a buzzing feeling. Starting from his shoulder, a weird energy unlike he had ever felt before was bubbling under his skin, through his very bones. It was a vibrating, electric sensation that moved ever further down his arm in line with his pulse. His elbow felt it, and then his forearm tingled, too. Once it reached down to his wrist, there was a sudden flare of energy, and the magic scroll lit up in a brief arcane pulse.
The scroll disintegrated, small pieces burning up to ash in the air, as a green glow surrounded Gregor.
[We did it! The scroll worked!]
Grugg panted from the exertion. Despite just standing and focusing, he found himself physically exhausted. The electric feeling down his arm had stopped, but had left a numb sensation. Sitting beside the ratman on the bed, he tried to catch his breath.
“Took you long enough, ser Detective.”
A wide, tired grin spread across the cyclops's face as he looked down at his assistant. Gregor still looked terrible; even with most of his wounds now closed up, he had lost a lot of blood, which had matted and dried throughout his fur and clothes. The Heal spell had spared him from a potentially fatal end, but he would still need a lot of time to recover naturally from the trauma of injuries sustained.
[Unfortunately, that was the only Heal I had packed. That took a lot of effort, but I was able to channel myself through you to the scroll. I hope that wasn’t unpleasant for you.]
Grugg looked down at his hand and wiggled his fingers against the numb sensation. It did make sense that he didn’t cast the scroll himself, but he was still a bit disappointed in himself. Scrolls were devised to allow those without the magic ability to cast certain enchantments or spells—usually the weaker stuff, at least. Depending on your experience with the arcane, it could still fail on occasion. As Grugg had nothing but disdain for magic, it had probably worked against him - not to mention he couldn’t even read the Common scripture on it to recite.
Gregor tried to sit up against the headboard, letting out a hiss of agony as his body resented him for it, painfully. His clawed hands felt around his shredded clothing, and from an unseen pocket, he withdrew a bloodied notepad. The pencil that came with it was snapped in half, but if it bothered him, he did not show it.
“Who did this?” the cyclops asked, gesturing with his more able hand at some of the still fresh injuries.
“If I tell you, are you going to go and destroy them?”
“Yes. Gregor won’t be able to stop Grugg,” he nodded solemnly.
“Oh no, I just wanted to come to watch”. A wicked, albeit pained, grin spread across the ratman’s battered face.
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[Tell him he won’t be leaving bedrest for a long while, revenge arc or no.]
“Bart says stay put,” he scolded, trying to rub the blood out of his waistcoat. “No more magic healing for Gregor.”
The tip of Gregor's tail limply twirled in the air as he gazed up at the wizard’s hat, the scepticism still lingering in his beady eyes. He idly handed over the notepad to Grugg. “I do appreciate my life being saved… ser Hat.” It wasn’t the most sincere sounding thanks.
[He is most welcome.]
Grugg flipped through the first couple of pages of the notebook, a heavy scowl forming over his eye as he took in the weight of the words within.
“This one,” he pointed to the first page, “It just says Criminals, and then has numbers under it. Second just says BAD.” With heavy emphasis, underlined several times and all.
“Yeah, it was pretty bad.” Gregor folded his arms across his chest and looked away, wincing from the tender wounds aggrieved by his movement.
[The first one looks to be some kind of tally; there are two numbers noted by the number of lines. As for the bad, you’ll have to ask him.]
“Counting how many criminals Grugg got, how many criminals Gregor got?” The question was his cue to cross his own arms too, in reflection of his assistant, but instead of looking away, his electric-blue eye bore into the side of the ratman’s head.
“It was… the Shadow of Helpart.” The reply ignored the first part of the question.
“Stinky Frank got arrested?”
“He did, and I watched him leave soon after you, ser Grugg. Only, not all of him left."
[His shadow remained?]
“It terrified me to watch as the tavern emptied, but his shadow lay there across the floor still. My mistake was getting closer to investigate.”
“And shadow was the real bad guy, attacked Gregor.”
“In short, yes.” The ratman signed and relaxed his arms. “Much more dangerous than expected. It vanished before dealing the final blow; it was only by luck, and my sheer impressive will and knack for coming out on top, that enabled me to make it back here.”
[I bet the shadow returned to Frank. We need to warn the Captain.]
The door to the barn house flew open, and the tavern-keeper stood there drenched in sweat. Behind him, a small, hunched-over elderly woman stood looking flush herself. She took off her glasses and squinted at the odd scene before her. Pushing the bewildered man out of the way, she brought a case over to the bed.
“Now then, sweetie, what seems to be the problem?”
Gregor recoiled and wrinkled his whiskered nose up at the apothecary, trying unsuccessfully to lean away from her.
“Good luck, Gregor,” the cyclops grinned, the ratman shooting him a sour glare as the Detective stood to leave. He had important things to do, and his assistant was now in good hands. Certainly, less dirty hands, at least. Jacob lingered in the doorway and collared him as Grugg made his exit.
“What happened? Did you heal him?”
“Grugg looks after those who look after Grugg,” he patted the man on the shoulder as he set out into the now blossoming early evening.
----------------------------------------
[Sure, we need to find the Shadow and Frank, but what about when we do? You saw what he did to Gregor. Do you have a plan?]
Grugg had nothing like a plan. Any interpersonal issues that couldn’t be solved with a hefty right hook were new ground for him. And it had been such a long day. The streets and small humanoids along the way back to the Captain became a blur of unimportant background noise. There had never been a point in his life where he had felt so emotionally and mentally exhausted as he did right now. The only thing going was the ample amount of food he had eaten today. That and wanting to clobber the individual responsible for harming Gregor.
[Sorry, I am nervous. Sometimes I feel like I do little to help us out; there just hasn’t been enough time for me to… flourish.]
“Just be smart. Tell Grugg where to punch.” It wasn’t the most encouraging thing he could think of, but he was pretty tired of thinking, and the more of that he could delegate to Bart, the better.
[Right, first off, then, target acquisition information is required.]
Grugg flung the door of the Captain’s office open, the quiet protests of the administrator sitting at the front desk falling on deaf ears. Even the guards out front had eyed him wistfully but not dared to get in his way as he stormed into the building.
“Detective, that was a short- Gods man, what happened?” the Captain stood up from his desk where he had either been scouring over important documents or playing soldier with a couple of small figurines out of place on his desk. The sight of the cyclops, with blood-soaked clothes, dirt, and sweat running trails down him, he hadn’t realized how he must look to a casual observer.
“Where is Frank?” he panted, “Sir.” He couldn’t remember if the formality had been requested or not, but it seemed like the right thing to do; it might make his current appearance less ghastly.
“Should be down by the south of town. King’s men went off and said they’d send back prisoner carts. Typical, they couldn’t take them straight away. I had to send some of my men to keep watch. Why?” his eyebrow raised, and he casually slid a couple of ornaments away from the center of his desk where the paperwork was.
Grugg’s brain ran out of steam; how was he going to explain that the man’s shadow was alive and dangerous? He wasn’t even sure that made sense to himself, and he had a dead wizard living in his hat. As if by cue, Bart fed him some lines to repeat to Wanu.
“Frank planning escape has some kind of magic ability. Almost ass-ass-in-ated ass-istant.” Grugg pulled a face and shrugged sheepishly at the Captain for completely butchering the end of the sentence. Repeating verbatim was fine up until a point, and then his brain would run out of energy and just group whatever syllables he could muster together.
The half-orc grabbed a small round object from his desk and whispered a word into it, causing it to pulse a soft blue glow.
“Unit Alpha, this is an all-hands call to South Holding. Meet me en route. Potential Arcane Threat, be advised.” The stone pulsed along with his voice as though the sound waves were giving it power. After a brief pause, the stone lit back up and emitted an almost ghostly voice in return.
'Alpha reporting, request acknowledged. Heading to Grand Street now'
The Captain placed the dimming magical device in one of his leather pouches, seemingly satisfied with the response received from the mysterious round object.
[Message stone; very useful for medium-distance communication.]
Grugg was very jealous. Despite his previous disdain for all things magical, he did not realize there were so many fun things that the arcane arts could provide. Healing to save his friend, stones to talk across distances, and shadows that could murder people. It was doubtful that he could muster up the spirit to use magic himself, but perhaps in time, he could be a conduit for Bart.
“Right, Detective. Let’s put your deductions to the test, shall we?” a glint of light twinkled in the Captain’s eye as he grinned, drawing his sword from behind his desk.