Esther and Gromphy materialized next to the travel node in Therasphue. The vampire rogue had been here several hours ago with Jace to harvest the blood of a shade salamander. It had been night then, and it should be dawn now, but the same dark haze covered the visible horizon. Clouds hung low in the sky, perpetually promising rain and adding to the town's sense of doom and gloom.
“What cesspool did thee bring me to?” Gromphy mumbled, wishing to disappear back into the node.
“I figured a goblin would love it here,” Esther said, sounding cheery. “Don’t you guys eat slime?” She peered over the edge of the wooden entry platform to the slowly moving bog below. “This is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Gromphy growled but didn’t offer a verbal reply.
“You should feel lucky,” Esther said, looking down at her shorter companion. “Jace took me in there.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder toward the trail that disappeared into the swamp. “We are going into town.”
“What privileges thee hast bestowed upon me! My gratitude overflows unendingly.”
“It better,” Esther said, upset she couldn’t respond in kind but at least happy she understood what the ostentatiously verbose crafter said. “Let’s go.”
The pair had caused a stir when they had left the town hours ago, and a flood of players had come to investigate what they had done, but after a while, the crowd had dissipated, and no one was willing to retrace Jace and Esther’s path into the swamp to discern their mission. Now the streets were sparsely populated, and nearly all the characters they passed were fellow NPCs scripted not to notice each other.
The cobblestone streets were damp, mossy, and uneven. Lamps stood every fifty feet, illuminating the hazy humidity in the air. Shops lined the left side of the main street with the slow-moving stream on the right. Crocodiles, snakes, and spiders patrolled the shores while beggars, orphans, and rats guarded the shop entrances. Most of the vagrant population was missing eyes, limbs, or other body parts, and Esther couldn’t help but think that the pitiable lot was a mobile collection of spare ingredients for countless spells and hexes.
Several larger homes rose behind the shops, some of which looked quite nice, but Esther wasn’t interested in being introduced to the resident population. They needed a curse for Draya’s dress, and then they would leave as soon as possible.
Gromphy eyed the shop fronts, trying to pick the one most likely to have what they needed, though he understood the power of the spell they wanted to cast would likely lead them to multiple shops and possibly a trip into the wild outskirts to fetch a key ingredient. After a few minutes, the goblin saw a shop called “Tarson’s Fine Hexes, Curses, and Elemental Potions.” That sounded about right, and he led Esther up the steps and through the wooden door.
Shelves lined the walls inside, holding jars with wriggling bugs, worms, and body parts. Cobwebs lay thick on the wares giving the appearance that no one had bought anything in years, but Esther was willing to bet it was the result of active spiders in the building, likely pets of the owner. Buying a jar of chameleon tongues probably cost extra if it was covered in spiderwebs.
A kobold, presumably Tarson, stood behind a short counter at the far end of the shop. He wore a monocle, a hat, and several gold chains around his neck. The diminutive creature was a few inches taller than Gromphy, and the goblin made a straight line for him.
The front counter had a ramp on one side that allowed medium-sized humanoids to descend a few feet, so the counter was at a more appropriate height for them, and so the kobold didn’t have to look up as much. Gromphy stood beside it, appreciating a shop designed for shorter people. Esther stood behind the goblin, her arms crossed, enjoying the height advantage.
“It’s a fine morning, my fine sir,” Tarson started, speaking above his station, “which of my fine wares are you interested in?”
Gromphy scanned the shelves behind the counter filled with colorful potions kept out of reach of the casual shopper. “Wouldst thee be having a bane to reverse fire protection? Something appropriate for a magical garment.”
“Fine choice, fine choice,” the kobold said. “Dispell, hex, or curse?”
“Curse,” Gromphy replied.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Ah, yes, a fine choice, fine choice indeed,” he turned around and sorted through a few potions before returning with half a dozen options. “I’ve got some with varying strengths and potency.”
Gromphy’s hands hovered over the offerings, but he quickly dismissed them. When he got to the last one, he hesitated for longer but eventually shook his head. “Tis not thy full store. These are but for a folly; we requireth the full draught.” Gromphy’s eyes went over the kobold and settled on a separate flask. “That one.”
The kobold didn’t need to turn to see which potion the goblin indicated. “Aye, it is a fine potion indeed, but you are without a questing player. I cannot sell that but once a day. It is part of a module. You, my fine sir, cannot buy it on your own.”
Esther effortlessly stepped onto the counter, over the kobold, and toward the indicated potion. “No, but you can’t, fine lass. It is not allowed.” Tarson was woefully inadequate at stopping Esther, but he didn’t have to; once she got to the flask in question, she couldn’t lift it. It was no bigger than a healing potion and couldn’t weigh more than a pound, but it was affixed to the wooden shelf so securely that even the vampire’s impressive strength couldn’t lift it. The game wouldn’t allow it.
She could tell it was futile after a few moments and instead turned around, dropped to a knee, and grabbed the smartly dressed kobold by the lapels. “We are here on a mission from Jace Thorne. He has sent us on a quest. We must have that potion.”
Tarson squealed in fright, and as he reached into his vest for something, Esther Securely Grappled him. “Don’t try anything. We aren’t your average adventurers.”
“Esther,” Gromphy said. “Release him forthrightly. We hath not the authority to appropriate the article in question. I hath but one choice.”
“Huh?” Esther said, letting the kobold go and turning to look at the goblin. He held an acid bomb. “Are you crazy? This place is filled with . . .” but her voice trailed off as she dove out of the way. Tarson used his sudden freedom to look on in horror at the goblin rearing back to throw. He was scripted with a magical failsafe to protect quest-specific items in case of an attack within the shop, and several vials, boxes, and scrolls vanished from the shelves and into his inventory, including the potion they wanted. As Gromphy threw his bomb, Tarson hid under the counter, an impervious barrier dropping to protect him.
The bomb hit hard against the wall where the curse potion had been and exploded for . . . five points of damage. “What?” Gromphy shouted. “Inconceivable, thou hath not the strength nor skill to restrict my magic!”
Laughter preceded the kobold’s form as he immerged from under the counter. “You fine characters underestimated the protections the Madam gives me. She would not have her fine items so destroyed by careless cretins like yourselves.”
Esther picked herself up from the ground and took a menacing step toward the shopkeeper, reaching out to grab him. “Who are you calling a cretin?”
Her hand brushed his vest, but he stepped back this time and held a new vial filled with bright blue liquid. A charge of mana went through it, and it illuminated the room. “Mine will not fail to explode, lass. You would do well to join your fine fellow on the other side of the till.” Esther scowled at him but stepped back over the low counter to join Gromphy.
The goblin had a defeated look on his face. “Hath we no way to procure thy wares?”
“Without a player-sanctioned quest, I would only part with any of these by the authorization of the Madam herself or one of her fine lieutenants. In order to do any business in Therasphue, you must talk with them. I can do no other.”
“Pray tell whom they might be?” Gromphy asked.
“How could you not know . . .” the kobold started.
Esther feinted at him, and he jumped back. “Just tell us,” she ordered.
Tarson nodded. “Sir Edward Kellington, a warlock of the third order, and Lady Ella Rosethorn, a supreme witch.”
“Wherefore art the witch?” Gromphy asked.
The kobold gave directions, and the Goblin nodded his understanding. “We shall return, and thou wouldst be a fool to refuse us hence.”
Tarson smiled. “Have a fine day.”
Esther and Gromphy spun around and left. Once outside, they quickened their pace, understanding that pursuit was possible. “You pilfered the potion?” Gromphy asked when they were a few blocks away.
“Of course I did,” Esther said, pulling it from her inventory. “I might be dumb, but I’m not an idiot or whatever a cretin is. Just communicate better next time. I don’t understand half of what you say as it is.” She handed the cursed vial to the crafter that she had swiped off the shopkeeper once Gromphy had tricked him into taking it off the locked shelf. “Were his protections really so strong that your bomb only did five damage, or did you plan that too?”
Gromphy only harrumphed in response. Instead, he led Esther behind a building for some privacy and took the dress out of his inventory. He took a moment to discern the curse's magic, poured it on the dress, and released a flash of mana with a burst of flame. The dress shimmered, shuddered, and then lay still.
“Is that it?” Esther asked. “I thought you said we would have to go to the pits of Hades to get this curse.”
“Tis but a start,” he replied. “The curse only reverses the original enchantment.”
Esther nodded. “So now it does 100 damage when you try to charge it. But Jace wants it to do 100 damage every round.”
The goblin nodded.
“And how do we do that?”
Gromphy stored the dress in his inventory and headed back into the street. “We must query the witch.”
“But what about the warlock,” Esther asked, scurrying behind him. “He sounded nice.”
“Tis your mind or your loins expressing?”
Esther frowned. “How dare you. I’m offended.”
Gromphy looked up at her, confused. “At my suggestion that thou wouldst ply thy wiles on the warlock?”
“No,” Esther replied, “that you don’t realize I’m just as likely to ‘ply my wiles’ on the witch.”
Gromphy laughed.