Skrakch’s tail slapped against the cobbled street as he warily turned off the main Merchant District’s path, his feet gripping the slick ground beneath him with his claws as the Ratling was buffeted by an outpouring of rain and whipping winds.
The cobblestone was freezing and he was already missing the warmth of the Plagued Rat as the numbness started to spread up his legs. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was time to consider footwear.
The weather had taken a turn for the worse, as it so often did these days. Dray’Mel had an unfortunate tendency to gravitate towards sweltering heats or fitful storm bursts, with wind so strong it sounded like the howling of banshees in the distance.
‘Though that could just be the Wraiths flying down to grab some unlucky sod.’
Scowling in annoyance, Skrakch tightened the neckline of his leather jacket, absentmindedly tracing the potions strapped to his bandolier as the Ratling resisted his urge to hurry forth.
Most of his trip through the Merchant’s District had been safe enough, even if there'd been an aura of concern and worry over the citizens he passed by.
It seemed they were all still unsettled from the sounding of the horn. It was such a rare event that, according to others at least, it would be talked about for months after it happened. People would be more cautious, more suspicious and would view anything out of the ordinary as something to fear.
But fear didn’t warm your belly, or earn you enough coin to eat that later that night, so even with rising tension in the city, most of Dray’Mel’s living citizens were rousing themselves out of their drunken stupors or tangled bedsheets.
And that unfortunately included the ruffians and thieves that called the darker corners of the District home, all hoping to catch a fat carp and relieve them of their worldly possessions.
‘It’s a lovely morning to shiv some sap, the rain even clears up the blood for you.’ Skrakch huffed to himself, his lips drawn into a mirthless grin. ‘It’s just the idea of being on the wrong end of the blade that rubs my fur the wrong way.’
In fact, restless weather like this always reminded Skrakch of his early years after the Young Master’s death, forced into living as an urchin, waiting with hungry eyes for some foolish child to isolate themselves, perfect to prey upon…
Not to eat, of course, but to rob. Not that children had much coin, but even at his lowest, Skrakch hadn’t ever considered eating another sentient humanoid.
‘Well, I never went through with it anyways. Can’t blame a fellow for a wandering mind.’
No, Skrakch had been forced to pilfer and steal like so many others… until he stumbled upon a clueless fool who didn’t mind serving a meal to a ‘Rat-Man’.
At least, that’s what the Ratling had thought of his friend at the time. But Kuosh was far from idiotic. The Grif was whip-smart and knew how to forge a deal. He also had the experience of life beyond the cities Walls, an experience that was vital when the need came to discreetly move ‘hot goods’.
One bite of Kuosh’s curry and Skrakch had become obsessed. Most of what he’d been forced to eat on the streets was moldy old bread, or discarded trash, so when he tasted something that didn’t taste of mold or dirt?
‘It was love at first bite!’ Skrakch did let a chuckle escape from him at that thought, though he didn’t let himself get distracted.
Kuosh may have been the best chef in the entire damned city, in Skrakch’s unbiased opinion, but the Grif’s restaurant potential was wasted on a dingy, darkened, useless side alley that wouldn’t ever attract a decent client base.
It would have been maddening, if Skrakch wasn’t fully aware why the Grif had been run off the main Merchant District’s street.
There was only one Grif in the entire city, but that was one too many in most citizens' eyes.
It didn’t help that the thick purple skinned race’s naturally massive bulk was intimidatingly broad, to the point where even Kuosh’s ridiculous chef’s hat still left him as a scary sight.
‘The old fool is cuddlier than he looks of course, the only thing a local would need to worry about is if they disrespected his cooking…’
Cutting himself off mid-thought, Skrakch immediately noticed as the first scent of Kuosh’s cooking broke through the thick miasma of unwashed piss and rot that usually pervaded the city.
The Grif was always rather secretive of the herbs he used in his dishes, but Skrakch was fine with the man hiding the products he used, so long as each meal smelled as perfectly pungent as they did.
Unconsciously, Skrakch picked up his pace, practically hopping from foot to foot in his haste to get to his favourite diner.
It may have been a scrap heap of a food cart, but what mattered was-
As Skrakch turned the last corner before he reached the cart, the Ratling froze in place as he took in the sight of Kuosh’s food cart being absolutely swarmed with customers.
The Ratling had never seen the place so busy before. Usually, he’d either be on his own or there would be a couple of other lonely or drunken souls looking for something hot to cram down their throats at the end of a night’s carousing.
This time however, there were nearly a dozen plus ‘people’ waiting in line, with a dozen more sitting at a set of nearby tables, each scarfing down their meals like there was no tomorrow
The noise was utterly indescribable. A cacophony of slobbery, chewing noises, shouts and taunts in a language Skrakch couldn’t understand, claws scraping against the metal plates and cups.
As much as Skrakch hated the idea of unwashed filthy locals eating -his- favourite foods, the reality was even more worrying as Skrakch took in the unmistakable sight of thirty or more demonic Imps scrabbling with one another as they fought for a place at the front of the line.
The entire lot of the corpulent demons were a miniature sea of colours, each a varying shade of red, as they lashed out at each other with claws and barbed tails.
It was a scene straight out of a nightmare, a miniature battlefield of blood and guts, but even as Skrakch watched an Imp eviscerate his fellow Demon, the wounded Imp healed moments after and immediately leapt back into the fray.
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Staggering closer, the Ratling was half convinced it was an illusion when Skrakch finally looked past the Imps and noticed his Grif friend merrily spooning a heaping of food on an outstretched tray.
The Imp who was receiving the meal looked positively ecstatic as they watched the chicken and rice dish land on their plate, and it swiftly pulled the meal close to their chest and guarded the tray as if it was a cherished treasure as the lucky Imp fought their way to the nearby tables.
It was the busiest Kuosh’s had ever been, but Skrakch couldn’t exactly feel happy for the Grif.
‘How in the ‘literal’ Hells did this happen? How is he even feeding them all? How…’ Skrakch cut himself off as the Grif stepped aside to grab some herbs, revealing what looked like an additional Imp in the back of the cart, busily dicing away at some vegetables.
Skrakch’s confusion only grew as the Ratling finally took in Kuosh’s stall. For the past four years of Skrakch’s life, he’d seen the Grif toiling away in a small rickety stall with cheap, peeled paint hiding the rotten wood underneath.
Now though, the small food stall had been replaced with… ‘Well, it’s still a small building, but it’s a big upgrade from what he had.’ Skrakch mused as he stared at the red-bricked building that absolutely hadn’t been there a week ago when he’d last stopped by.
Gone were the rusty nails poking out the side, replaced with carefully smoothed cement, and well placed bricks of clay. The opening that the Imps were fighting to reach was lined with a blackened metal, the faint sheen turning the light from the stoves in the restaurant into an ominous glow.
And smack dab in the center of the building, Skrakch could spot his Grif friend beaming with a smile so wide you could spot the creatures two massive front teeth as they sparkled even amidst the rain.
Of all the races Skrakch had encountered, Grifs were some of the most unique, appearance wise at least. It was said they were kindred spirits to Iskrin, in that they were the result of a mad wizards experiment gone wrong.
But whereas Iskrin came from the diminutive rat, the Grif descended from a mighty creature called a ‘hippo’, that had long since gone extinct.
Still, it was clear that the monstrous hippos must have made for quite a sight, as most depictions of Grif focused on their size and valor, and Kuosh had once confided in Skrakch that he was considered small for his size.
‘Which only makes it more obvious how much larger the Grif was to most humanoids.’ Skrakch thought to himself, with only a hint of bitterness.
As the next Imp staggered up to the counter for his meal, Kuosh finally seemed to notice Skrakch as the Ratling stood dumbfounded in the rain.
“Ah! Skrakch my friend, give me one moment and I’ll serve you!” The Grif called out as he pulled his apron over his head and tossed it aside, though he struggled with the cloth as it caught on his snout.
Letting out a grunt, Kuosh took a moment to lean over to the Imp in the back, waving his hellspawned sous chef towards the front of the building.
The Imp seemed happy to take over the duty of slopping food onto the outstretched trays, though Skrakch spotted the Demon’s forked tongue snaking outwards to steal mouthfuls of the curry that seemed to be driving all the Imps into a craze.
The Grif chef stepped out of sight as he headed further into the back of the restaurant, before reappearing at the side of the building, waving a massive hand towards Skrakch and beckoning him over.
Snapping out of his befuddlement, Skrakch hurried over to Kuosh’s side, giving the still scrambling Imps a wide berth.
Thankfully, the restaurant's newfound walls broke the falling rain enough for Skrakch to get some comfort as he shook the water from his fur, splashing the Grif with every shake.
Not that Kuosh seemed to mind, as most of his considerable bulk was sticking out in the rain regardless.
“My friend! It is lovely to see you Skrakch, I have much to owe you!” The Grif announced in his booming voice, before clapping Skrakch across the back so hard his teeth rattled. “Finally, I am getting a decent place for my work, and many happy mouths to feed.”
Skrakch scoffed loudly as he tried to smooth out his ruffled fur before turning to peek around the corner at the fighting Demons.
“How in the Hells is this my fault? Where did the Imps even come from, much less the building. And why the Hells do they want your food so badly?”
There was a sharp pinching feeling at his leg. Skrakch looked down and saw a tiny Imp, most likely a youngling, clamped onto the bottom of his leg. Luckily, it still had its blunt baby teeth, so it was more of an annoyance than anything else. He glared up at Kuosh who gave him a ‘I have no idea either’ kind of shrug.
“Does this…thing belong to anyone?” Skrakch called out to the bustling crowd outside. He shook his leg slightly, trying to shake the damn thing off but it was clamped on for dear life.
When nobody came forward to claim the damn thing, Skrakch leaned against a counter and did his hardest kicking motion.
The tiny Imp released its grip and, at the top of the arc of Skrakch’s kick, went sailing through the air making a noise that was either abject terror or pure amusement. It landed with a not-so-gentle thud on top of one of the work surfaces where it immediately grabbed a nearby spatula and stuffed the handle into its mouth.
“Ah, you do not remember?” Kuosh said excitedly, “One week ago today, you had a little Imp friend waiting for you, goes by Sgirthkic, yes? Well, he had some of my world class jalfrezi and loved it enough to tell -his- friends.”
The Grif cleared his throat and rubbed away a tear in his eye before continuing. “Now Old Kuosh’s curry is famous in Hellscape too! Many Imps have come to try out my dishes. And it is thanks to you, Skrakch!”
Skrakch let out a nervous titter as he stared up at the beaming chef, before pinching his own arm. After a long moment as the Ratling confirmed he was awake and this was not some bizarre fever dream or the result of too much whiskey, Skrakch turned back to Kuosh with a snarl.
“Are you -insane-? Those are Demons. The only thing they eat are the souls of the innocent, they aren’t here for your curry! They must be here to… to… entice you to sin?” Skrakch sputtered out, his train of thoughts tapering out at the end.
Because, if he was being honest, the idea that demonic beings from Hell could be satiated by a simple dish off food, was a strange mixture of worrying and intriguing.
“Now Skrakch, don’t be rude to my new customers.” Kuosh momentarily frowned, before his face split once more back into a wide grin. “Demons don’t need to eat mortal food, but apparently my cooking reminds them of their past lives. A few of them tried to buy my secret recipes with extravagant offers, but I am not so easily tricked, my friend.”
Skrakch stared up at the grinning old fool before letting out a sigh. “Fine, fine. Just don’t come crying to me once they drag your soul down into the Abyss.”
“Hah, even if they try, I know you’d aid me then too.” Kuosh declared with another laugh, and clapped his hands together. “Now tell me what you’ve come for, do you have time for a meal? I promise the Imps won’t attack you for it, we’ve sorted out that issue already.”
“Mostly, anyways.” Kuosh chuckled awkwardly. The little Imp, now bored of the spatula, had decided to try its luck with making an empty pan into its new sleeping quarters.
“No, no.” Skrakch answered quickly, casting a wary eye around them. “I think I’ll have to pass, you’re busy enough. No, I’m just here to ask about the Purene Ruby, how close are we to selling the damned thing.”
As Skrakch asked his question, the Grif noticeably flinched, taking a half-step backwards. “Woah, I cannot help you there Skrakch, I already gave it back to the Boss. I didn’t realize you were here for that, or I wouldn’t have wasted your time.”
“The… Boss? Wait, you gave the Ruby away!?” Skrakch let out a shrill hiss in disbelief. His fur bristled and his tail whipped from side to side. 'After everything they’d been through to get the damn thing? And now it was gone? And who in all Hells was this ‘boss’ guy? Surely Kuosh wouldn’t be so stupid as to hand it over to just anybody claiming they were in charge?'
Kuosh raised his hands in surrender, before clarifying. “I was happy to help sell the damnable thing, but that was before my newfound success. Frankly, when Zacharias showed up to take it back last week-“
Bursting into movement before Kuosh had even finished speaking, Skrakch started dashing back down the alleyway he’d just come from, only deigning to throw back a scant few words in parting.
“Damn you Kuosh, that idiot is -not- my boss!”