Installment 19 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment019.png]

"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."

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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..."

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"...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."