Empirical Gnollage: Installment 101 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment101.png]
Al woke with a deep, long-suffering sigh. His memory of the dream-meeting was still fresh in his mind, as it always was when his mother made use of that particular magic. Or Melissa now, apparently, Al remembered as well. He quietly rolled over to look under his bed. Two points of amber appeared, looking back at him from the darkness, reflecting the dim light coming in under the door from the hallway.
"Just... checking. We're safe," Al said to the monster under his bed. The gnoll replied with a quiet grunt, and the shining amber eyes disappeared from view again as he went back to sleep.
Al sat up, and was unable to keep from laughing, though he managed to keep it down to a strangled wheezing in hopes of not disturbing the others. The restrained hilarity wound down and then restarted a few times before Al finally got it under control.
"You seem amused this morning," Bote's voice observed from their bed across the dark room.
"Oh, sorry, I was trying not to wake anybody up."
"I awakened in accordance with the ineffable plans before you did, you were not responsible for it," Bote assured him, "It did seem as though you were quietly complaining in your sleep before you awoke. Unpleasant dreams?"
Al had to think about that for a moment before answering. "Not exactly unpleasant, but maybe uncomfortable. Mom knows how to work magic that turns my sleep into a lucid dream with her in it. She mostly uses it to check up on me and occasionally nag me about things. Apparently, Melissa knows how to work the same kind of magic, and they were both in there, asking about what we've been doing and telling embarrassing stories about me."
"I can understand why this would be funny for the rest of us to hear, but why does it amuse you?"
"Oh, it's not that. It was something that Melissa told me. Why do you think Gruntle keeps sleeping under my bed?"
Bote was silent as they considered.
"I think perhaps he simply feels safest there," the dwarf answered. Al had to stifle another fit of laughter.
"That's what's so funny! I mean, look at me, he could probably bite me in half if..."
A yelp from under Al's bed alerted him to the fact that the subject of discussion was listening to the conversation. I will not start any sort of dominance dispute with you!, Al guessed it meant.
"You, however, command dangerous and incomprehensible supernatural forces to obey your will," Bote pointed out. A quiet grunt from under the bed agreed, leaving Al unsure what to say.
"It's just a little education and practice," he finally grumbled.
A yawn came from the bed where Wikwocket had been sleeping.
"Oh, no! It sounds like our magical sword hero is suffering a crisis of confidence!" she announced drowsily.
"Stop calling me that!"
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Wikwocket assured Al that any good hero will question themselves occasionally, even magical sword heroes. "It's how you know you're going through real hero trials, it happens in all the stories!"
He eventually gave up arguing and changed the subject to food, successfully appealing to Wikwocket's and Gruntle's baser instincts.
"I'm not sure how early it is, but I suspect we have a few hours before we're supposed to meet Lady FitzWayne. We should be able to get something to eat and check in with the apothecary before midday."
"Oh, yeah! I want to know what was in the goblin skull-juice!" Wikwocket agreed, wrinkling her nose and grimacing despite her enthusiasm.
The mid-morning sun and excited barking from down the street greeted them as they set out. "Politely, Darling," the well-dressed dog-walker insisted as the mastiff tugged insistently at the leash. "I think she likes you, she insisted on walking this way again this morning." She pulled back on the leash for decorum, and the mastiff sat, panting and looking from Al to Gruntle and back with her tail wagging.
"Wait...Darling?" Al asked as he looked back at the large, muscular dog that appeared more suited to guard duty or war than softer activities, "That's...not what I would have guessed someone would name a dog like this."
"You don't think so?" the dog-walker answered, "She is a Darling, though, happy and friendly. See?" She tugged once on the leash and stepped closer. Darling the mastiff walked with her at a heel. She sniffed at Al's hand and stared up at him with soulful eyes. Al scratched her gently behind her ears, earning him some happy panting. A gnollish head leaned down over Al's shoulder to sniff at the mastiff's face, to be sniffed in return.
"All right, Darling, we have somewhere to be," the dog-walker interrupted after allowing a few moments of animalistic indulgence, "Say goodbye."
Darling whined, but backed off. "Thank you again. Come, Darling," said the dog-walker. With one happy bark, the mastiff followed obediently as she was led away.
"Aw, I didn't get to pet the doggy this time," Wikwocket complained, as they continued on their way.
The cheerful meat-on-a-stick vendor gladly sold a collection of skewered meatballs and strips of herb-marinated mutton to them as they passed by on their way to the apothecary. They ate eagerly as they walked, and Al was grateful that they'd eaten all of it before they got to the apothecary. A faint, unpleasant odor of rotting garbage seemed to linger there. The door of the "STATIONER - APOTHECARY" yawned open, with a large stone holding it in place. A thin wisp of fragrant incense-smoke reached out into the street as if trying to escape the stench.
"I think maybe I should wait for you out here," Wikwocket offered as casually as she could, trying to hide her nausea. "You know, in case something happens."
"I thought you wanted to know what was in the jug, that's what we're here to find out, right?" Al countered, innocently, grateful for a small opportunity be the one doing the teasing. He took a theatrically-exaggerated deep breath through his nose. "Such a unique scent," he continued as Wikwocket's face turned pale. It wasn't actually any stronger than any other of the ordinarily-unpleasant smells Al had been near at various times in his life, but it was unmistakably the same horrible smell that Wikwocket had released from the jug in the Lavatio. Al relented at Wikwocket's distress as she tried not to remember it.
"All right then," he said, "I'll go in and ask. What about you, Gruntle, want to wait out here with her?"
The gnoll grunted. "Can't smell anything else if I get closer," he grumbled with his muzzle wrinkled in disgust. He moved back to crouch next to Wikwocket. Al opened his mouth to make a quip about how good the stuff would be for hiding scent, but his brain engaged in time to stop himself. He imagined what a flowery midden-heap might smell like up close and gagged.
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"Perhaps I should stay here with them as well, to discourage impulsive behavior," Bote suggested.
Al sighed with exasperation. "Fine, I'll go in, just don't let anything bad happen."
"Thank you for saving us, magical sword hero!" Wikwocket said as cheerfully as she could, then turned to walk further away from the odor. Al went through the door into the haze of incense-smoke.
"Ah, it's you," the apothecary said through a cloth mask covering her nose and mouth, "Allow me to thank you once again for your business."
"Sorry. We did try to warn you about the smell."
"I apologize for assuming you were exaggerating. I've had efforts going all night and this morning to deal with it. I've got a batch of something brewing that should neutralize it, if I can make enough of it."
"Were you able to find out what it's made of?"
"Yes, essentially. It seems to be a very complicated mixture, so at this point I can't definitively say I know everything that's in it, but a lot of it is familiar. It seems to be a concentrate of every poisonous, sickening, or caustic ingredient found natively in the Bloodless Swamp. I don't believe it's a very sophisticated combination. From what I've heard of goblins, I'd expect they probably just gathered every nasty thing they could and boiled it down to start with. What is sophisticated is the degree of concentration. This is far stronger than you could achieve by simple reduction over a fire. Much of the potency would boil off with the steam, and you'd probably sicken everything downwind if you tried to cook it down more than even a tenth of this potency."
"That's disturbing. I've never gotten the impression that goblins had the capacity for anything like proper alchemy. Do you think someone made it for them?"
"I couldn't tell you that, but I will say that for myself, I wouldn't want to do the work of concentrating this substance at all, and if someone could convince me to do it, I'd be asking for a very hefty fee. As it is, I'm going to ask for two gold coins for the analysis so far. I haven't needed to use much of my supplies to examine the tiny sample I've taken, but mitigating the fumes has required some uncommon reagents."
"I suppose that's fair," Al agreed. He took the coins from his coinpurse and set them on the counter. "What do you think we should do with the stuff? I don't suppose you're interested in buying it for alchemical purposes."
"No," replied the apothecary emphatically, "I definitely don't want to keep this anywhere near my shop any longer than I need to. I don't think there's anything in it that I can't get from the swamp myself or hire someone else to get for me. I've got the jug sealed by dipping it into molten wax a few times, so it shouldn't do any more harm for now. As a favor to you, I think I could safely destroy the stuff for a fee of a further two gold coins, or you're welcome to take it away with you if you promise not to ever bring it back. If you insist, for two more gold I'll try to analyze it in more detail, but although I think I can come up with a way to handle it more safely, I'll admit I'd rather not."
"Give us some time to think about it? We've got a meeting to get to soon," Al asked, hopefully.
"All right, but don't take too long, or I'll want a fee for holding onto it for you."
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Al explained to the others what he'd found out as he caught up to them where they were waiting, further upwind of the apothecary.
"So, it's poisonous goblin swamp juice," Wikwocket simplified. "Disgusting. It sounds like it would have been hard to make, who do you think did it?"
"I don't like any of the answers that come to mind," Al replied, "It's pretty disturbing to think that goblins might actually be colluding with someone, or that anyone would offer that kind of service to goblins, especially for what little I imagine goblins might pay. The idea that goblins might have enough patience to develop that kind of alchemical talent themselves is even more disturbing."
"Could it be," Bote speculated, "that someone who can make this substance is the instigator, and is trading with them or threatening them to make use of them?"
"I don't like that idea, either, I mean, what kind of deranged person would do that?" Al said with a horrified cringe. "Also, that jug it was in wasn't exactly proper alchemical glassware. Who would take a crude mixture like that, apply a sophisticated alchemical process to it, and then dump it into a badly-made clay jug? Aside from the sophistication of the process, that all sounds like goblins to me. "
"Does it actually have to be sophisticated?" Bote wondered, "Perhaps they might trade sophistication for wastefulness, brute force, and dangerous practices?"
"That seems in character for what I've seen of goblins. I imagine there'd be lot of dead ones if they took that approach though," Al said. He lifted his arm so that he could smell the sleeve of his robe, and grimaced. "Since we have some time, can we go back to the room for a bit so I can try to clean the smell off of me?"
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A visit to the room and then the privies to go through the magic tricks of cleaning his clothes got Al feeling as ready as he was going to be for the meeting with Lady FitzWayne. They found Stephen and got directions to Milkstone Lane, out along the eastern edge of Hell's Bathtub. As they walked to their appointment, Al began to notice the attention they were getting as they made their way across the village had less polite indifference than when they first arrived. Now it seemed most of the attention was more obviously curious, with a noteworthy minority that seemed displeased.
12 Milkstone Lane turned out to be a small but respectable manor, its property bounded by the fence surrounding Hell's Bathtub at the back, and by more wrought-iron fencing and a gate around the other sides. The gate was latched, but not locked, so the adventurers opened it and went in. They latched the gate shut behind them again and walked the cobbled path through the grass and a few oak trees. The knocker on the door was shaped like the head of a bull, with a ring in its nose. The door opened only a few seconds after they knocked, and a fastidiously-dressed, bald-headed butler with a white moustache greeted them. He seemed startled for a moment to see Gruntle, but he didn't let this slow down his duty.
"Ah, you are the party with the beast. Please come in, Lady FitzWayne has been expecting you," he told them calmly, pulling the door open wider so they could enter. He led the into the manor and down a hallway, knocking on the door there.
"Lady FitzWayne, your visitor has come with her beast and companions," the butler announced.
A barely-audible feminine voice answered back. "Please show them in, we're ready."
The butler pushed the door open. Behind a table laden with pastries, teacups, and wineglasses sat two women that startled Al.
"Lady Darla FitzWayne," the butler announced, "and her attendant, Charlene."
It took an effort of will for Al not to stare rudely at Lady FitzWayne. Al guessed she was probably young, but she was so pale and gaunt that he wasn't sure. She wore simple cream-colored dress and had a colorful wool shawl draped over her shoulders. Her light brown hair hung limp and straight around her narrow face. Her almost skeletal right arm and hand wore a curious ring with a polished white stone that flickered with a white light, She held up a small teacup, shaking with effort while the other hand remained under the shawl for warmth. Her smile was wan and soft, but her brown eyes seemed alert.
Charlene, on the other hand, turned out to be the woman they'd met walking the mastiff.
"I'm Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, thrillseeker, adventurer, and chaperone of the beast!" Wikwocket announced with a dramatic flourish. "Our beast is Gruntle, tenderizer and devourer of foes! And this is Bote Wissengräber, messenger of the ineffable gods! And, finally, our magical sword hero, Al!"
Al took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He was glad Wikwocket had no magic of her own, as he expected there'd have been some sort of embarrassingly flashy illusion of sound and sparkling lights as well if she did.
"Just Al is fine," he said.
"Thank you all for coming, and bringing your magnificent beast," Lady FitzWayne said, her soft voice not much louder than a whisper. "Please, sit, have some pastries. I've had our best wines brought up from the cellar, and a tea of herbs with honey. If your beast - Gruntle - would prefer, I can have meat brought up. Darling will be happy to share it."
"See, I told you she wasn't mad at us," Wikwocket whispered to Al, "she called him magnificent!"
Gruntle grunted and headed for the table. Lady FitzWayne watched Gruntle push aside a chair and crouch down, as the others took their seats.
"Yes, he would like meat," Al clarified, "Wait, sorry, you are Lady Darla FitzWayne. Is the dog named after you?"
"Darling is everything that I am not," Lady FitzWayne answered wistfully, still watching Gruntle. "Healthy, strong, swift, unafraid of the sun and the rain and the wind and the cold."
"I will bring some of Darling's meat," the butler interjected politely, and left them.
"Is she a magehound?" Al asked. Darla tore her gaze away from the gnoll to look at Al.
"Oh, you know about the breed my cousin and I have created? But, no. Darling is just an ordinary, beautiful, healthy, happy dog. Mastiffs were part of the ancestry of the magehound breed, though. Perhaps you'd like a magehound of your own?"
"Thanks, but I'm not sure I could take proper care of one right now, and I certainly can't afford to buy one."
"But you already take such good care of this handsome creature," Lady FitzWayne countered, her eyes wandering back to the gnoll. "I could procure a magehound for you. If that doesn't interest you, the FitzWaynes are not the most prestigious noble family but we have many connections to the merchant houses, we could make introductions for you," she continued, beginning to breath heavily.
"Lady FitzWayne, please don't overexcite yourself," Charlene said gently. Darla ignored her and pressed on.
"We have money, I could pay you. Land? Titles? Almost anything in my power to give, if you help me with the one thing I truly need to feel happy!"
"Wait, your message said you wanted to discuss Gruntle, what is it that you want?"
Lady FitzWayne looked longingly over the bestial, demonic creature, who looked back at her in confusion.
"I covet his body."