Packing hadn't taken any time at all, really. There were only so many slots and pockets in his jacket and the same things were always useful such as paralysis poisons, explosives, eye irritants, caltrops. He hadn't been able to get his hands on any elemental shards though (the creatures they were broken off from being elusive and expensive) so hopefully the actual fighters could cover for his lack of heavy firepower.

Just in case there was any need to make more potions he'd put his portable hole in his pack and inside that his table and a few books for reading and writing. Having a portable room solved many space problems. He did get a tiny bit of joy at pulling an entire table and set of beakers, mortar, pestle and various instruments seemingly out of his pocket. A beloved gift from his alchemy teacher.

The planned spot wasn't too far away actually. Just a few days walking and even less by horse.

He had already been early and sat writing as he waited for the others. Time of day, people going, weather, general thoughts on the others. He saw Gwen arriving with a small pack slung over her shoulder.

At least she packed light...wait, what the hell is that?

Both forearms were covered in thick, plated armor, all of it blocks hammered and nailed together like excessively thick plate mail gloves. As clunky looking as it was at first glance it was masterfully crafted at second.

Regardless of how something looked you couldn't go wrong with dwarf craftsmanship.

“What is on your arms?”

He pointed at her with his pen and she popped up her arms, flexing through a few different poses.

“I'm a boxer. What else am I gonna fight with?”

She gasped when she saw him hard at work.

“Is that our book!?”

Her hands swiped air when she tried to grab it.

“Yes. I may not be working for the society but it's not a bad idea either way.”

“And what's that? Looks kinda familiar...”

A moment of hesitation and he offered it to her. Amazingly her gauntlets let her manipulate the small object, turning it over in her hands. It was just an iron rod, tiny ball bearing at the tip. She shook it near her ear to the tiny slosh of ink inside.

“What is this?”

He plucked it from her huge fingers.

“A pen. A friend gave it to me a long time ago.”

“Neat. Think I've seen one before somewhere.”

He plucked it from her fingers.

“I would be very surprised if you had. I've looked for twelve years but I haven't been able to buy another one anywhere. It's...very important to me.”

Gwen slapped him on the back and his fingers curled with the pain of being hit by giant metal gloves a bit too hard.

“I misjudged you. You actually do have feelings. You really are okay.”

“Hey!”

A cart rolled up, two horses pulling to a stop beside them. Wade sat up top with the reins, three others sprawled in the back with their lazing space staked out.

“Get in, ratlet. We're going.”

The back was already cramped as it was with the supplies and the personnel.

“I call front!”

Gwen pulled herself up the side of the wagon to sit beside Wade, the cart tipping for a second at having the two heaviest at the front before evening out.

“Hey, watch it! If you flip this cart or scare these horses, shortstack, I swear to Scrapper-”

“Stick it in your ear. I spent years being dragged to the Garefasht temple. Y'know, the goddess of making and fixing things? She owes me at least enough to keep a cart upright.”

Wade stared her down but it hardly worked as the young dwarf kept her head turning, hands drumming on her knees with nervous energy as she sucked in her first proper breath of adventure air.

I can see this is going to be fun...

Clarke sat on the edge of the cart, taking brief note of the others. The man and woman, both human, seemed disinterested in everything and were at ease and weather worn. A young lizardfolk sat beside Clarke, scales still the light green of just hitting adulthood. His eyes flicked to Clarke, away when Clarke nodded at him. His dull little claws clicked over one another near constantly with his thumb twiddling. Probably his first adventure and nerves had him rattled.

Clarke took out the book and the notes, making fresh entries.

He'd do his very damnedest to keep Gwen alive but the final summary of his orders from Whilaway struck an angry chord in him.

At all costs, you must return with the item, even at the expense of the others. Use them as you see fit.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

What was wanted were any notes, journals, anything with writing but also included was a detailed drawing of a small magical device about the size of a thumb, smooth like a water washed stone.

He leaned against the supplies and went limp, letting the cart rattle his bones as they rolled out into the country.

Two days.

--------------------------------------------------------------

One more day...

The day had been...uncomfortably uneventful.

Gwen had kept her neck spinning the whole way as excitement occasionally had her fist pumping the air for seemingly no reason and hissing “yes!” at no one in particular.

The young lizardfolk sitting by Clarke would flinch every time this happened in the relative quiet of the out of doors and fields rolling by. His claws clicked against each other with every nervous twiddle of his thumbs or every time he'd count out the arrows in his quiver.

“Make those yourself?”

Clarke had asked. Hoping to calm him a bit. The design was very lizardfolkish. Dark wood and feathers from swamp birds. Getting them was a hard task in Deraforda.

“Oh, uh, yes! I make bows, arrows and...for work, you know. I'm a fletcher. Feathers the Fletcher...cause arrows are...y'know...”

Clarke had nodded, even thrown in a forced smile but that had been everything the lizardfolk could get out without throwing up from nerves. If Clarke were a betting man he'd put the boy down as the first to die.

The quiet man in the robe was a wizard from what Clarke could see. Seeing was all the information he could obtain since his entire vocabulary seemed to comprise 'hrmph' for no and 'rmmm' for yes. He'd flip constantly through his spell book, scritching symbols and notes across the yellow pages.

Louise was probably the warmest one. Her white robes signified her as a sister of the order of White Sisters, a famous religion dedicated to the principles of healing. She confirmed it by every word coming out of her mouth relating back to the order or their laws.

Clarke was glad when night fell and they could get off the uncomfortable rumbling island and away from each other. His back popped several times as he wrung himself out and got to helping Feathers get the campsite down, mostly by themselves. Gwen was some help but Wade watched them, claiming supervisory responsibilities.

Even if the party's social skills were low enough to have any one of them jailed just for walking down the street they more than made up for it with the speed with which the camp was erected.

It was quiet aside from the crackling of the tiny fire like, a light in the dark like the many so high overhead in the night sky.

After dinner Gwen had hung a kettle over the fire and periodically wafted the smell her way until she somehow knew to take it down with her bare hands.

“Alright, who wants to join the wonderful world of koffee?”

Everyone present winced at the smell of lightly burning skin but she didn't seem to feel it, instead pouring some out into mugs, small amounts for tasting.

She handed the first to Clarke who stonewalled the cup.

“No.”

It passed to the others who all cautiously accepted the cups following Clarke's reaction.

Sip.

The sister spat into the fire almost immediately, coughing wildly.

“Oh Goddess, my tongue is DEFILED!”

Feathers blinked, taking another sip. The famous weak taste buds of the lizardfolk spoke for him.

“Not bad. A bit weak but nice.”

“Not bad!?”

Louise screeched.

The wizard stared down into the cup, mouth hanging open and pupils open like hungry little mouths. It was the most words he'd said strung together the whole trip as he held the cup out for a full portion.

“...I can feel everything..”

Wade finished his cup but didn't say much. He managed to nod approvingly and pour himself another cup, pouring in a little something from a flask he produced.

Gwen looked pleased even with the unfavorable reactions, cradling her own cup. The wizard spoke, his teeth chattering a little.

“Was this your dwarf dream? Aren't they usually mechanical devices and such?”

Clarke took his book out, writing. Wade pressed further.

“You mean when dwarves get weird dreams and go nuts building stuff until they die?”

She shrugged.

“Stereotypical as usual.”

She took a sip of her drink.

“No. See, the thing I made was this boiler kind of thing but I just couldn't figure out what it was for, I could just build them. My dad suggested I put this stuff in it and it worked. Oddly, it has more parts than it needs for the koffee but it still works so...”

“But it does cause madness. I've met my fair share of older dwarves, girl, don't tell me it doesn't.”

The wizard was writing furiously in his book as he spoke, only paying half attention now that he had energy to spare, leg bouncing so fast he looked ready to run a marathon. Gwen sighed.

“Yeah, that's true...sometimes. I haven't made much headway on the koffee itself since I sometimes dream of things besides koffee. But the machine I run the beans through is perfect! I work on that thing a lot. But I'm sure if I had some more customers back home it'd push me a bit to work on the taste...”

And it had become an advertisement. Eyes rolled at her but she just laughed, taking a sip. Clarke set his book aside and pulled the bit of darkness out of his coat, laying it on the ground and reaching in. Eyes flicked to him suddenly reaching through solid ground to root around.

“Is that a portable hole!?”

The wizard fumbled his quill, cursing when his ink was knocked over in the dirt.

“Yeah, gift from my teacher.”

He caught the small amused sneer Wade had at the words and glared back.

“Fitting that a rat would give you a hole to hide in.”

He stomached the comment, pushing it down into his gut. He'd be free of his hometown 'friend' soon enough and causing a fight was a lot of unnecessary work.

He could feel his desk, some beakers, the freezing touch of his cold stone.

Ah, his book.

He pulled it free and took to reading, flipping to the by now released newest adventure of his celebrity crush.

“Whatcha reading?”

Gwen scooted over closer to him, looking over his shoulder. For a moment he tilted the book away, an overprotective look questioning how dare she read over his shoulder that he relented in the next moment. He could tell her but Wade would undoubtedly hear and he knew what was coming after that. He sighed and tried his luck, keeping his voice low.

“The newest tale about Alouella Lawfer. Should be circulating among the bards now.”

Gwen OOOHed, leaning in closer to read over his arm and Wade turned to stare at the book, then at Clarke. The glare that passed between them had the entire conversation for them but Wade opened his mouth anyway, holding his hand out.

“Let's have a look at it.”

“Let's not.”

Wade's nose flared but both were saved an argument by the star struck young dwarf.

“I love her! I saw a painting of her once and she's just so gorgeous! Passing it around would take too long so read it aloud.”

Clarke grumbled, looking to the rest of the group who had no particular yay or nay about it either way. He sighed and gave her the book.

“I'm not much of a speaker so you give it a shot.”

Her eyes lit up as she took the book, sticking her face in to take a good whiff of the adventure therein, actually the smell of fresh paper.

She read it passionately, giving it more life than Clarke had given it in his mind as she stood and spoke with her whole body, lunging about and enacting the characters. She wouldn't make an actress but she definitely poured herself into it until the end and snapped the book shut.

“She's doing pretty good, huh?”

Wade spoke to the air.

“Yeah. She is.”

Clarke told no one in particularl. It was the most civil thing they'd said in years.

Silence settled on the group as it got late, but the atmosphere was far more at ease now that they knew one another just the least bit better. Clarke did ask the last burning question of the night as the fire began to die and everyone turned in. There was a blank spot in his notes that burned a hole in his book.

“What's your name, wizard?”

“Hrmph.”

That's what he wrote.