Tristan had Felicity store fifty of the leaf-covered jars inside her extradimensional storage space before reactivating his ring and sending the two back to the Mortal Realm. Repeating the Disguise Form spell, he left the building with Felicity hanging around his neck once more.
“Where we heading?” Felicity asked. “Hopefully some place I can get up to no good!”
Tristan kept walking into the busy marketplace, “One of the reasons I chose that inn,” he said as he began scanning for a specific building. It was mid-day, and people were selling foodstuffs out of various carts, along with beverages at very inflated prices. “Ah! There it is.” He pointed out a stone building with a sign hanging over the door. In very neat Standard Tongue script, it read The Pathfinder Company, and under that it was scrawled in every single language.
“What is it?” Felicity whispered as she tucked herself back into the recesses of his burlap hood.
“Mix of a mercenary company and adventuring outfit,” Tristan replied. “They have the only cross-world transit network, and they do not let anyone except their designated Pathfinders use it. They’re not sworn to a single kingdom. Think of it like a guild for folks who want to go on adventures.”
“Like your brother, according to apple-pie man.”
“Yes, like Bertram,” Tristan said with a nod. “They always need potions and elixirs. Selling them travel supplies in bulk, directly to the organization, is the best way to keep my identity somewhat discrete.”
“You could just use a different form.”
“What?” Tristan asked as he stopped in the middle of the crowd a few feet from the door.
“Yeah, duck into that alley towards the outhouses I can smell from here.” Tristan did so, and Felicity whispered in his ear as he walked. “When you use the Disguise Form spell, you need to visualize what you want to look like. You can change your appearance – remember, to sight, only at your current ability.”
Tristan got to the outhouses and had to pinch his nose as he walked over to one of the buildings. Kicking the door open, and closing it behind him, he rapidly incanted the spell and repeated the gesture from before. This time, he envisioned himself but with deep, brown skin and ruffled, black hair – a far cry from his actual silver hair and pale skin. Felicity gave him a thumbs-up as her paw-claw shifted to a person’s hand, and he left the outhouse with haste.
Taking a deep breath he opened the door to the Pathfinder Company lodge. The scent of heady beer, roasted meat, and spices danced through and wafted upon the air. He could hear dozens of conversations going on in the space, and stepping to the side, he observed the unique emblem that each of the company members wore. An amber icon, wrapped in brown and green leaves and twigs; all encased in some type of clear crystal that was then flattened down through some essence-weaving to easily be worn on clothing.
Tristan drew a handful of stares, but he ignored them and walked over to the crowded bar. Standing behind a row of people, he heard Felicity whisper, “I can’t risk any movement in here. I can smell the Elf heritage; there’s some of them here! No full-blooded Elves like you, though.”
“But I’m not a full-blooded Elf,” Tristan whispered back. Thankfully, the din of the crowd kept him from being heard.
“Effectively, you are. Way more than any of these people, for certain.” She kept wriggling around and he felt her slip into his armor, tickling him slightly as she worked her way around to the front of his torso, popping her head out of the breastplate. “There, now I can see and dip my head down when needed.”
“Just watch the claws,” Tristan said. “I don’t want my new smallclothes ripped up.” A seat at the bar opened up, and Tristan slid into it, flagging down the bartender. “Manifest that extradimensional storage space when I reach my hand into my cloak pocket.”
Felicity made an affirmative noise, and Tristan smiled as the barkeep came over. A Demihuman half-breed whose animalistic traits took after a boar. She was massive, with broad shoulders, tree trunks for legs, and a close-fitting top that left little to the imagination. Her voice was deep, but most definitely feminine. “Just so’s ya knows, there’s fees for non-Pathers.”
Tristan nodded, “I actually wanted to see if I could meet with your provisioner.”
“Eh, sellin?”
He reached into his pocket, and found to his satisfaction the bottom was not there. Reaching down further than should have been possible, he grabbed one of the earthenware bottles of clearcool elixir, pulled it out, and set it on the counter. “One vial of that, and you don’t have to eat or drink for a day.”
The barkeep raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “‘Ow am I gonna know if’in this is good?”
Tristan glanced back behind the bar and spotted a familiar item. Something his father had commissioned as soon as they ascended to nobility marrying his first wife. Well, proper nobility, not the ‘mock’ nobility of honorifics his grandfather was given. “That looks like an Investigator’s Phial. Pour this dose in there, and then you’ll see the truth of it.”
She snatched the vial from the countertop, ripped off the leaf and twine, took a sniff of the substance, which to Tristan’s delight brought a tiny smile to the corners of her lips. Pouring it into the vial, she walked down the bar to a stout Human with a scraggly beard, short, medium-length hair, and looked to be well into his cups. She said something to him that Tristan could not pick up due to the din in the space, but he saw the slight illumination of essence being infused into an item of artifice.
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She came back a few seconds later and nodded, pouring the contents into a cup and setting it on the countertop. “This stuff can o’ly be made ‘n the Fey Realm, says me friend.”
“That is why it is valuable,” Tristan replied. “I’m sure your provisioner would be interested in a bulk sale with an appropriate discount for taking the lot off my hands.”
“Wait here,” she said as she set her rag down on the bar and went through a back door leading to the kitchens. There was a clamor, some shouting, and then angry footsteps. A minute passed, and Tristan glanced around to room. Thankfully, he was not drawing extraneous attention. He made sure to grab the cup of clearcool elixir.
Just keep a low profile, he thought.
Felicity looked down the line of drinks. “Oh, this would be perfect!” she whispered up to him. “You could start a raucous brawl in here.”
“Only if things start to go sideways,” Tristan replied.
The woman re-entered the bar area, and she gestured to the back room, “‘E’s in the pantry.”
Tristan nodded and walked through the gap in the bar, entering an active kitchen, and following the few dangling signs that designated rooms. Turning to the pantry, he saw a Broxtar. Not a half-breed, but a full-blooded one. The man towered over Tristan, easily double his height, and he was hunched over as he took tallies of various goods in the pantry’s upper levels. Stairs went down, leading Tristan to believe they also had a cold cellar.
The grey-skinned man turned around, and his voice was a gravely baritone. “You got stock you’re interested in bulk selling?”
Tristan nodded and held up the glass, “Want a sample? Same cup your man inspected up front.”
The Broxter took the cup – which to him, only took his index finger and thumb – and took a sniff before sipping it. “Oh, that is tasty. And you say it’ll fill a man up for a day?”
Tristan nodded, “I’ve got forty-nine more doses. They keep for a good while, and they’re easy to transport. I only have these clay pots with leaf-covers, but if you transferred them to metal vials with stoppers – you’ve got yourself food and drink in one easy to carry package.”
The man chuckled, “Give me a moment, if you would please.” He pointed out the door and hooked his hand right, “Go to the supply office. I’ll be there in a moment. I just have to confer with our local drunkard mage.”
Tristan turned heel and followed the instructions, finding his way to a cramped office. He elected to stay standing near the door, and after seeing the Broxtar go to the bar, he came back a few seconds later and gestured inside before pausing. “Oh, well, it is a bit cramped with two. Why don’t we sit on the back porch?” He led the way out of the building where a few chairs were set up overlooking a small herb garden. Tristan took a chair opposite him. “Only able to make this from Fey Realm ingredients. How’d you come across that?”
Tristan put a finger up to his lips, “Family secret.”
The Broxtar frowned and stood up, “Cut the illusion.”
What? How’d he see-
Felicity groaned, “Your illusion lips aren’t exactly on your real lips, dummy.”
Tristan chided himself mentally, note to self: next time you do a Disguise Form spell, make sure that you imagine the fake form exactly the same proportions. “Well, you got me. I’m not really from the Gredo Expanse.”
“What are you?” The Broxtar asked as his hand gravitated towards a knife on his hip – a knife which was the size of a sword for Tristan.
“You know how they treat non-Humans and half-breeds in Bhant’s Hold,” Tristan said. “I’m just hiding my heritage is all.”
“So you’re an Elf.”
“Half-Elf,” Tristan clarified. “Just traveling covertly. Yes, these were freshly brewed last night in the Fey Realm. I still want to sell them in bulk.”
“Half-Elf essence-weaver,” the Broxtar said as he cleared his throat and took a seat. “I get it, Bhant is not kind to us. Believe me, I know. The only reason they don’t mess with me is because they know getting on the Pathfinder’s bad side is a rash idea.” He gestured, “So, let’s talk price, then. Clearcool elixir, from what my bar-mage said, does indeed do what you claim. And I know it’s not poisonous or laced with something untoward from the earlier test.”
I could try to play off my connections here, Tristan thought. Bertram joined up with them, maybe this guy heard of him. No, focus. Get the money first, then pry for information, second. “I have plenty more.” Tristan stood up and reached into his pocket over and over, each time pulling out another vial from Felicity’s extradimensional storage space. After he had lined up all forty-nine, the Broxtar looking quite confused at the seemingly endless pockets, Tristan sat back down. “And there you have them all.”
The Broxtar reached down, grabbed one, and lifted off the leafy cover. “Hmm. I can do one gold per each dose.”
“Five per dose,” Tristan countered. “They aren’t perishable as long as they are sealed, and look at the size required for storage purposes? They taste good, to boot.”
“Two gold.”
“Four,” Tristan countered.
“Two gold.”
I really need to make a good chunk from this. “Three gold and five electrum apiece.”
“Two gold and nine electrum.”
“Three gold.”
The Broxtar nodded, “I can make room for that.” He held out his hand, and Tristan reached out, shaking it, spotting the slight overlap where his illusion spell did not actually cover his hand. But even then, he was holding two of the man’s fingers. “Let’s go up to the office, do the paperwork, and I’ll get you your money.” He went inside the building and barked some commands for a few underlings to go fetch the supplies arrayed outside.
“I can make more,” Tristan said as he followed the man upstairs. “A good amount.”
“We’ll take this as a test run,” The man replied as he opened the door to an office with an ornate key, gesturing inside to a seat. Tristan complied and sat down, as the man went to a vault behind the desk and spun the dial. He counted out money from various pouches and then sealed them up in a larger pouch, setting it on the desk before grabbing paper, ink, and an ink-pen. “A receipt will do for now. If we decide on a more continuous arrangement, then we can consider a full contract and set prices.” He blew on the paper, handed both the paper and the bag to Tristan, then leaned back in the almost-too-small chair.
“Thank you,” Tristan said as he dropped the bag of coins into the extradimensional-space pocket. 147 gold, 20 electrum, 80 silver, 200 copper, he thought as he rattled off his current finances. I hope that’s enough to get me a higher Order divination. “Maybe you can answer a question about someone I know who recently joined.”
“Perhaps, as long as I’m not divulging information that I should not be.”
“Bertram Anorax, from that family of dragonslayers. He joined up recently, didn’t he?”
“Possibly. I don’t know every new sign-up. Why you want to know.”
“He’s an old friend,” Tristan replied as he stood up. “Thanks for the business.”
“If we want more, where can we find you?”
Good question, Tristan thought. For now…“The Raven’s Rook. Under the name Mr. Smith.”
“Well, good to do business, Mr. Smith. Call me Antony.”
Tristan left the building and made his way across the marketplace, heading up towards The Towers. “Time to get some answers,” he muttered.
Felicity nodded and her horns whacked him on the chin, “You’re doing great. But…if we have the chance to cause some mischief…”
“We can’t risk it,” Tristan replied. “Not now. Not when I’m so close to finding out who killed mother and the servants.”