Empirical Gnollage: Installment 69 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment069.png]
Haunch was moved to a nicer, well-attended stable, and a porter was arranged to bring their possessions. Al had to give in and ask about gratuities as he hadn't spent much time in places luxurious enough for such practices to be common. Based on the short conversation, he ended up offering a silver coin to the stablehand who would be taking care of their donkey, and another for the porter. The man who had come to fetch them introduced himself as Stephen and explained that he would be managing their experience during their stay, which turned out to mean he was a something like a combination of concierge and cashier.
As expected from its reputation, the rooms were a bit pricey but not out of reach, and with little discussion they agreed to a shared private room for sleeping. Then they got to the need for baths and associated services.
"As you can probably tell, the...," he began, and for some reason Baron Wulfcynn's description came to mind, "large, odd fellow here with us needs to be thoroughly washed, and we promised him he'd be served food and drink while he was bathed."
Stephen was unconcerned. "This is not especially unusual for us, we have a number of clients who enjoy being serviced in various ways while transformed into an exotic body. We have a few staff-members who are especially enthusiastic about that sort of service. Your large, odd fellow will be well cared-for. And for the rest of you?"
Bote requested a private bath with one attendant who was familiar with dwarven bathing practices. Al recalled that in dwarven culture, they preferred to have at least two people when bathing, so that the portions of one's own body that one can't reach or see can be checked for potential health problems and ensured to be properly cleaned. Al requested a small, simple private bath, with no attendants - he wanted to meditate a bit on some arcane matters. He did request to be as near as feasible to wherever Gruntle would be getting bathed, just in case he needed to intervene for some reason. Wikwocket opted for the mixed public bath.
Prices were agreed upon, and Stephen showed them to their room, which was nice enough to have a real lock built into the door. Each of them were given a key to it. Inside were four large cots with well-padded matresses and pillows, and abundant blankets. It wasn't a large room, but it was cozy rather than cramped. The porter arrived to deliver their possessions as Stephen explained where the privies were and how to find the baths they'd chosen.
"The attendants for your gnoll-shaped companion should be ready for him in a quarter-hour, as will Bote's attendant" Stephen informed them, "if you require anything else or have any questions, mention me to any staff-member and I will see to it."
As soon as Stephen had left and closed the door, Wikwocket opened the coinpurse she'd been handed, and fished out a few slightly-rusting iron coins, and a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the paper, and read what was on it.
"Apparently, someone named Cyrus Borge has accepted our request for a meeting," she explained, "The note says he'll meet us two hours after sunrise in private caldarium room number three tomorrow."
"About what?" Al asked.
"I have no idea, maybe he's mistaken us for someone else. There's no way I'm not going to go, though, this could be exciting! What are these iron coins for, do you think?" She held them out for inspection. They were worn down from age and natural corrosion, but they seemed to have a multi-pointed symmetrical pattern on them, perhaps originally a snowflake, or an insect.
"It's not something I've studied much, but I think iron is supposed to be repellent or harmful to the fae, maybe they're included to prevent one of the...um...fair folk from...uh...performing a delightful and entertaining trick by removing the note," Al speculated a little nervously. It was bad enough that he'd been spending the last several days worrying about how to potentially deal with demons, now he was worrying about which superstitions regarding the fae might be based in truth as well.
Wikwocket shrugged and put everything back in the coinpurse. "Hey, why does everyone keep looking at you and acting like you've got something to do with Gruntle being Gruntle?" she asked Al, "I expected a lot more screaming wherever he showed up here."
"I believe they think he's an ordinary person, and that I've used my amazing wizardly powers to transmute him into a gnoll temporarily, as if I have anywhere near enough experience to even understand how that would work. I'm guessing some of the nobility are into that sort of thing and like to have hired wizards transform them into something else when they come here."
"It would potentially also be a useful trick for maintaining anonymity or pseudonymity while meeting with others here," Bote pointed out.
"Wouldn't that just draw more attention to them?" Al asked.
"Possibly, but it might also draw attention away from who they are in reality, by having a more dramatic alternate identity to appear as."
"So," Wikwocket asked, "does that mean there is magic you could use to turn me into a huge dangerous monster?"
"Such magic exists, yes, but I would point out that you're already dangerous," Al countered with a grin.
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Al counted out some loose coins from their growing stash, for everyone to use for gratuities and small purchases. He dropped a gold coin and some silver and copper into Gruntle's hand. He wasn't sure he was up to explaining the nuances of tipping to a gnoll, so he just explained that a little of the money should be given to each person who does things for him. Then, it was time to grab a towel from the stack that had been left in the room for them, and take Gruntle to his appointment. As Al had asked, Stephen had arranged to get them into baths next to each other. Al's was small and private, while Gruntle's was larger, to make room for the gathered bath-attendants with their soap, brushes, and cleaning cloths, as well as trays of assorted meats, cheeses, and bottles of unremarkable wine. A bold, buxom, middle-aged woman in a thin toga appeared to be the supervisor or manager of the attendants. Her eyes opened wide in surprise as Al arrived to hand Gruntle off to them.
"Well, you're a new one," the woman told the gnoll, scrutinizing him with shameless intensity. "I've never worked on someone like you before." She turned to Al. "Very realistic, I'm impressed. Is he...complete?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows.
"Um....yes?" he answered hesitantly, "He's all gnoll, if that's what you mean."
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"How exotic!" She leaned in and gently rested her hand on Gruntle's sternum. "What sort of service do you want from us today?" she asked the gnoll, looking up into his inhuman face.
"He just needs to be cleaned up," Al interjected.
"Hungry," Gruntle added, looking down with some confusion at the woman who was now leaning against him.
"Oh, I'll bet you have quite an appetite," she crooned. "You know, for just one gold coin, I could make this special for you."
To Al's awkward horror, Gruntle opened the fist that held the coins Al had given him, and he picked out the gold coin and handed it to the woman, who smiled and dropped the coin somewhere down into the front of her plain robes. Then, she gently but firmly led Gruntle towards the pool of hot water in the middle of the room, where the other attendants were waiting with their bathing supplies.
"Okay, well, I'll come back to check up on how things are going later I'll be right next door if you need anything but hopefully you won't," Al blurted out, quickly turning away as he saw the staff-manager reaching for the buckle on the one minimal bit of clothing that Gruntle put up with wearing.
Al's discomfort only increased as he took a few steps towards the door of his own bath as Wikwocket was passing by, on her way to the mixed public bath. She was...Al's mind refused to accept the word naked because that implied vulnerability, while Wikwocket wore her own skin with the same kind of confidence a trained knight might have in a full suit of armor.
"Why...why don't you have clothes on?" he stammered.
"Are you messing with me? You don't wear your clothes in the bath, do you? Or is that a weird thing that wizards do? Anyway, Stephen said they'd wash them for me so I don't currently have them to wear, even if I was some sort of strange person that wore clothes in the bath."
"No, no, it's just...I...Uh, never mind. I'm just going to go and get cleaned up in here, so..."
"You sure you don't want to come with me? I'm about to put on a performance for everyone else in the bath. You could be part of the act!"
"No! No, I mean, I kind of need to think about...stuff. Fire. You know." Al could feel his cheeks reddening. Wikwocket was an athletic adult woman, but her being a three foot tall gnome just made this encounter feel very uncomfortable.
"Well, okay, I guess I can do your parts, too. Have fun in your boring lonely bath, I'm going to go give people some excitement!" she teased, and waved as she continued merrily on her way.
Seeing Bote further down the hall removing their half-ruined breastplate with the assistance of a dark-haired dwarf before opening the door into their bath, Al gave a polite wave to the two dwarves before hurrying into his own bath.
The steam rising from the long tub set into the floor smelled only faintly of natural sulfur. Light-grey crystallized minerals encrusted the edges of the tub. The pattern of ripples in the clean, clear water's surface showed a steady flow from one end of the tub to the other, presumably piped from the volcanically-heated water's source and then draining away to wherever they got rid of it. Wooden pegs had been set into the walls for the hanging of clothing, and there was a wooden stool to sit on when not in the tub. A bucket with a bit of soap and several towels was neatly placed next to the stool. With an appreciative groan of relief at finally getting to relax, Al disrobed - and dis-shirted and dis-trousered and so forth - and went through his practiced routine of cleaning his clothes with a magic trick. He hung them on the pegs when he was done. He filled the bucket from the hot tub of water, gave himself a decent scrubbing with the soap, and rinsed himself off. Finally, he slowly lowered himself into the tub, wincing at the moment of discomfort before acclimating to the temperature of the water and lying back to float peacefully.
He was still very tired, but he meditated as best he could on the mysteries of conjuring fire. He let his head lie back into the water until his ears were submerged.
Somewhere off in the distance beyond his walls, he heard Wikwocket's loud voice carried through the water. "Are you ready for excitement?" her water-muffled voice asked, to an answering chorus of assent from numerous voices. "All right, I'm doing it then!" Wikwocket promised.
Al tried not to imagine what sort of very distracting things might be happening over there.
Then Wikwocket's voice came through again as she began her performance.
> "Our story begins in the town of Bright Peaks
> with its wizardly scholars and students indentured
> where I happened to meet up with others who seek
> to be our own stories of greatest adventure!"
Oh. Right. Storytelling. Of course. he thought. He listened for a while as best he could - the water carried the sound further than it would have gotten through the walls, but muffled it at the same time. He wondered how long Wikwocket might have been composing this poetic epic of their not-especially-epic deeds so far. At least the parts he could understand seemed to be making them sound impressive. The sounds of her audience cheering, clapping, and providing good-natured heckling reached him through the water as well, so at least they were enjoying it.
Al sat up to get his ears out of the water so he could concentrate. Now, if the manifestation of the bolts of magical violence could be made to take on attributes similar to a torch or lantern that's meant to be on fire...
He did not at all enjoy the surge of panic when the chorus of feminine screaming erupted from the other side of the wall, where he'd left Gruntle. Al was immediately out of the tub and lunging for the door. Then, he rushed back to grab a towel to wrap around himself before hurrying out, consumed by worry over what sort of terrible thing the gnoll might have done - and how he was going to explain to Notamimic Manor what the goddess of Hell's Bathtub might have done to him for oathbreaking.
He saw the woman that Gruntle had given a gold coin to marching angrily away down the hall, barely dressed and dripping wet. "...Oblivious!..." he heard her muttering as she left. From here in the hall, without the wall in the way, the screaming sounded less like terror and more like hilarity. He cautiously pushed open the door, to find Gruntle lounging lazily in a steaming tub of water, looking confused as he lapped at a tankard of some sort of wine. The bath attendants who seemed to be helpless with laughter were gathered around him. Soap-suds drifted in the tub-water, and at least the gnoll looked cleaner now.
"Uh...is everything okay in here?" Al asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Gruntle's complaint about his scent no longer being so well hidden was drowned out by the loud amusement.
"Yes, fine..." one of the attendants managed to wheeze, as they all tried to restore their professional demeanors.
Al gave a concerned look down the hall, where the woman he assumed was the manager had gone around a corner and out of sight. "He didn't do anything...uh...inappropriate did he?"
"No!" someone managed to blurt out before the attendants lost all composure and were laughing too hard to speak. Al gave Gruntle a look of confusion, which the gnoll returned with one of his own, not understanding what was so funny, either. Al watched, getting uncomfortably cold and embarrassed standing in the hallway wearing nothing but a damp towel, until one of the bath attendants managed to calm herself enough to speak.
"Hey, stop it!" she told her colleagues in a somewhat strangled voice as she tried not to laugh, "We're supposed to be professionals!"
"Madame Marge is popular for her special services," the smirking attendant told Al, "and she kind of likes the exotic clients, so when your transmuted friend paid her, she took him into the bath and started with the touching and caressing, you know?"
She must have noticed Al's increasingly scandalized expression since she had to stifle another laugh. "No, no, see, he didn't do anything. Like, he didn't even seem to notice what she was doing! He just sat there, grumbling about us washing off the stink that he said was hiding his scent."
She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory.
"After a while Madame Marge got so annoyed she gave up subtlety and she just reached down and grabbed and..."
She paused to suppress another outbreak of laughter.
"...and he just looks down at her and he...and he says...he says, when do you make the special food?"
Having reached the limit of his tolerance for awkward situations, Al mumbled his gratefulness that nothing bad was happening and excused himself to return to his own bath as the laughter howled out behind him. He closed the door, dropped the damp towel, and settled back into the hot water with a long, aggrieved sigh.
He looked up at the ceiling.
"This had better not haunt my dreams," he told it.