As Skrakch walked through Zacharias’ warehouse and peeked into the various jars of alchemical ingredients that were strewn haphazardly all across the floor, the Ratling felt a migraine building in the back of his skull.

The massive warehouse was large enough to fit multiple of the Slum Districts so-called residential buildings inside with ease, and yet the place was packed from wall to wall with shrieking vials and bubbling cauldrons.

While there were only four of the massive cauldrons actually being used to brew the elixirs, each standing easily three times as tall as Skrakch himself, there were plenty of similar smaller apparatus resting on overstacked workbenches.

It was infuriating to see a crate of beakers wobbling atop an overfull bench, only to watch as it was knocked offhandedly onto the floor with a deafening crash. It was a small wonder that Skrakch had managed to get anything sorted at all, much less managing it without a constant headache.

Which was certainly not helped by the clatter and banging of a few dozen brown Ratlings running amok, screaming at each other in their unique Iskrin dialects and banging pots and pans against each other as they squabbled to grab the ingredients their specific cauldron needed.

In fact, there appeared to be no rhyme or reason to any of the ingredients' current locations, no shelving or proper storage facilities set up to aid the Iskrin in their alchemical work.

Instead, the hapless fools would simply run to the nearest container and grab what they needed, before doubling back and simply hoping they wouldn’t run into another Ratling in the middle of the same braindead dash.

The first time Skrakch had seen it happen, he’d been amused. By the tenth, he’d begun to think he’d overestimated his brethren’s supposed intelligence.

A proper alchemical set-up was a thing of beauty, everything perfectly in the right place, waiting for you to need it.

This, in comparison, was a mockery of all Skrakch held dear. It was clear that Zacharias had only put the barest minimum of thought into this little plan of his.

But, Hells, the ingredients that the reckless Halfling had somehow gathered, came from far and wide and in such quantities that it boggled the Ratling’s mind. Some of them Skrakch hadn’t seen for months, others were so rare that he’d only ever seen them depicted in faded old scrolls! The Ratling didn’t know if he should be impressed or absolutely enraged.

Zacharias had clearly spared no expense on this little project of his but it was obvious why the Halfling hadn’t gotten much in the way of results.

“These vials of ‘Ice Wraith Tears’ should be kept frozen, it’s in the bloody name.” Skrakch waved dismissively towards a stack of glass bottles, a pale liquid settling in each bottle. “If they’re left out, they lose potency. From the looks of it, these barely have any juice left in them.”

He turned around just in time to see an Iskrin in shabby leather boots and a torn crimson cape that was idly throwing some deep purple worms into a large pewter cauldron.

“You there, what are you doing? You can’t just toss ‘Blood Worms’ into a cauldron and call it a day. You need to let them feed on blood for at least a fortnight before they have any potency.” Skrakch called out exasperatedly as he passed another station, and another waste of resources. “You’re just throwing in useless junk, it’s more likely to explode than anything else.”

The Iskrin in question just blinked at him blankly before putting the jar down on a stained wooden work surface, and thumbed his chin in thought.

From his left, Skrakch heard the familiar sound of metal against wood, but instead of the measured rhythm he was used to, it was clumsy and erratic.

“…is that a Cherbium Root? How in the Hells did you get that? And why in the Hells are you dicing it into pieces!” He couldn’t help his voice going shrill near the end, as Skrakch stepped up to a worried looking Ratling that was guiltily holding a knife. “Don’t you dare slice another piece off, how and why did you get this just to waste it!?”

It reminded Skrakch of watching one of Wujeeta’s failed apprentices as they fumbled their way through a basic recipe, only for the whole thing to blow up in their face.

The only difference was that there wasn’t anyone with any experience to guide the process along, to help turn the failure into a teaching moment. No, the Iskrin workers didn’t seem to be learning anything, likely just repeating the process they’d been told without any change in the end product.

It was lunacy of the highest order. Made all the worse by the blasé look of indifference on Zacharias face as the Thief trailed behind Skrakch, nodding knowingly to the Ratling’s every word. As if the jumped-up thief had a bloody clue!

“See, this is why I need you Squeakers, you know all that random shite.” Zacharias said, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “You’ll have this stuff sorted in no time, aye?” He questioned, watching impassively as a nearby cauldron began spewing chunks of what looked like meat down the side of its iron frame.

Turning to glare at his companion, Skrakch resisted the urge to stab a claw into the idiot's chest. “No, no, no. You can’t just toss me this problem and expect instant results. You need a full-time alchemist to guide these people, not just your usual ‘devils-may-care’ attitude. Alchemy is an art form. It’s not a case of throwing everything at the wall and seeing what sticks!” The irate Ratling shook his head disbelievingly.

The proud potion-brewer fingered his near empty bandolier obsessively as he watched the workers swarming the cauldrons, each seeming to just be excited at the chance to toss something into the bubbling liquids.

While each servant had been equipped with incredibly dirty looking aprons, the poor bastards weren’t wearing masks or gloves. Some of the ingredients they were working with could absolutely burn through flesh and fur if handled wrong, and the fumes drifting from the furthest of the cauldrons were likely toxic.

Skrakch supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, it was still a plan thought up and implemented by Zacharias after all, and just like everyone else in Dray’Mel to the callous Halfling’s eye, Iskrin were barely counted as citizens. Merely creatures to be used and discarded as-and-whenever needed.

“What confuses me is the fact you’re almost set up properly. That cauldron is where you’re trying to make Thimbledust, right?” Skrakch waved a hand towards the closet workstation and watched as a Ratling tossed a handful of Pixie dust into the cauldron. “You’ve got the right ingredients, you’re just preparing them wrong.”

Shooting a sidelong glance at Zacharias, Skrakch tapped a clawed foot along the warehouse floor. “So, who did you bring in for this? Did you poach Reek, or whatever his name was? It’s no trained alchemist, that’s for sure. No one worth their salt would be so sloppy…”

“C’mon Squeaks, you already know who I turn to in times of trouble,” Zach responded dryly, though a shout from the entrance to the warehouse caught his attention. “Ah, and here he comes now.”

The shouting grew louder as the source approached, a rather annoyed looking Iskrin with the name Craw hastily stitched on her filthy apron was leading a bellowing humanoid towards the bickering pair.

Where Craw’s blackened wool outfit was meant to blend into the background, the incoming short man’s outfit ‘brilliantly’ achieved the opposite goal. The oaf was wearing a truly hideous silken shirt, blues and oranges clashing with one another in a sight that burned at Skrakch’s eyes. He didn’t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to fashion but surely an outfit that made you want to vomit on sight was bad?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The absurdity didn’t stop at his garish clothes, though his pink leather pants were offensive enough. No, the Gnome making his way towards them had his shoulder length hair twisted upwards with a flagrant disregard for alchemical safety. The resulting spike of hair ended in a pointed tip that looked like the idiot had painted it gold.

Skrakch had lost count of the amount of times he’d wished for Kristoff to succumb to a horrible accident and his most common wish involved the fool’s hair being dragged into a boiling cauldron by Eldritch tentacled horrors beyond mortal comprehension.

‘A guy can dream, can’t he?’

Luckily, Kristoff was somebody he’d only ever dealt with a mere pawful of times but it was certainly enough. Hells knew where or when Zacharias had become associated with the little wretch.

It didn’t take long for Kristoff to reach Zach and Skrakch, the spiteful man only stopping his irritating squawking as he caught sight of his betters.

“Zacharias! What is the meaning of this… nonsense. How dare you let this small vermin into mon boutique.” The Gnome spat out in a rage, glaring daggers at Skrakch as the Ratling did his best to look down his nose at Kristoff.

It was after all so rather rare for Skrakch to be able to look down on someone quite literally, after all. Compared to humans, Iskrins were quite short but Kristoff…

The Gnome would be lucky to reach a full two feet tall, his diminutive frame placing him among the smallest sentient races that Skrakch had ever seen or read about. He’d often wondered if the reason the little man wore such loud clothes was because he so desperately wanted to be noticed…

‘Never, it’s because he’s a tacky little asshole.” Skrakch dismissed the thought even as he sneered down his nose at the Gnome, matching him glare for glare as Zacharias huffed out a laugh.

“What do you mean, ‘your shop?’ I don’t see any tacky fortune teller’s ‘tools’, no filthy little ‘magic tricks’ secreted in the walls.” Skrakch sniffed dismissively, before letting a sly smile cross his face. “Though I suppose this explains the ineptitude, Zacharias, I can’t believe you were desperate enough to hire this charlatan.”

“You pathetic worm, mon creations are perfect! Zis’ entire design came from moi and it is without flaw!” Kristoff spat back, actual spittle flying from his mouth as his face turned red. “You’re as blind as ever, you worthless hack-“

The sound of glass breaking cut the Gnome mid sentence, as both Skrakch and the newcomer turned to Zacharias as he dropped the broken remains of a vial on the floor.

“Gentleman, gentleman. No need to fight over little old me. Kristoff; Skrakch is here in an advisory position. Skrakch; respect the fact that Kristoff here is the Gnome who had the vision of creating a set up like this.” Zach smirked, ignoring the hate filled glares the two alchemists shot each other.

“I’ve seen how ze Alchemist’s Guild runs things! Zat Wujeeta fulfils the basic requirements for the Adventurers Guild, but she doesn’t care to go above or beyond. Why would she? when ze Guild is ‘appy to bend over backwards for ze only classically trained Alchemist in the city! Zey do not even consider ‘iring someone with my talents!” Kristoff said dramatically, waving his hands in the air.

“No, they take what they can get and import the rest. So did Sykes, smuggling in bits and pieces to fulfill the cities various vices.” The Halfling had begun to pick up steam as he watched the cauldrons being filled by his industrious workers, not even flinching as the furthest off of them belched up a purple smog. “They’re happy, well, were happy in the late Sykes case, happy with the little sliver of pie they’d gotten.”

“Well, I’m fucking not. I’m not going to be ‘appy until I own ze Slums! All of it. They will all bow down to me and recognize me as ze finest artiste zey ‘ave ever seen!”

Skrakch snorted at the mere thought. He took great pains to make it as loud as he possibly could and grinned at the filthy look that Kristoff shot his way.

“And this is the next step towards that. Imagine it, both of you. Imagine buying a healing potion for a single gold coin. Imagine there being enough Thimbledust to keep my clients happy for years, not just waiting for the next shipment as the hunger wanes and their need falls off.” Zacharias continued. To Skrakch’s abject horror, the Halfling picked up three Chundat Berries and juggled them momentarily before carelessly tossing them into the nearest cauldron.

“They’ll have all they ever fucking need so long as they come to me. I’ll sell it for nothing at first, just so they try it. Until they can’t imagine anything else, until they can’t remember what life was like without it.”

Zacharias picked up another vial and turned it in his hand, his usual smug smile plastered on his face. But Skrakch couldn’t help the little shiver he felt moving up his spine as he listened to his oldest companion’s cold, indifferent voice.

Usually the Halfling liked to get a cheeky word in here and there, always so smug as he taunted anyone in earshot, but there had been the rare occasion that Skrakch had heard him talk like this before.

It had always been when Zacharias was talking mostly to himself, planning out his next move. The next person to grift or the next heist to pull.

‘Or the next person to murder.’

“Then when they can’t get that same high anymore, we reveal our master stroke. We can make our own Dragon’s Blood. Not just some piss-full vial that you can knock back with a single sip, but entire gallons of the stuff.” Zacharias grinned widely, showing his disgusting yellowed teeth.

“I’ll give them enough of the rotted filth to drown the entire city in. I’ll become the next crime boss of this shit hole and then I’ll… I’ll…” Zacharias’ voice trailed off as the Halfling’s eyes fixated on the far wall of the warehouse.

At first, Skrakch just assumed the sudden lull was just the Halfling pausing for dramatic effect but as he looked closely at Zacharias’ face, there were alarm bells ringing in the Ratling’s ears.

Zacharias’ face had gone unnaturally slack, vacant and expressionless, nearly wooden in nature. As the moment was drawn out, it looked more and more alien to Skrakch, a sense of unease settling into the Iskrin’s heart.

Opening his mouth to say something, Skrakch only managed to take a half step towards Zacharias when suddenly the Thief seemed to snap back into the moment, like a broken puppet leaping back to ‘life’.

“Well, that’s off in the future lads, and we need to focus on the here and now.” Zacharias suddenly adopted an easy mannered smile, waving past the working Iskrin towards an opening in the warehouse wall. “But first, we have need of your skills, Kristoff. There’s two wounded humanoids in the back room, and I could use some healing myself.”

Perking up after becoming the centre of attention once more, Kristoff rubbed his hands together for a moment before nodding towards Zacharias. “Mais oui, but of course, for a good friend I’ll even do it for free. After all, we’re all in ze same airship, as mon père used to say, eh?”

Without waiting for a response from Skrakch, the Gnome eagerly led the way to the backroom as Zacharias followed suit. Both men seemed indifferent to the Iskrin workers who had to scramble out of their way, though only Kristoff was forced to bark out warnings as an unlucky Ratling accidentally came close to colliding with the much shorter man.

Skrakch watched the odd pair with a pensive frown on his face, as they retreated towards the back room where he knew Winifred, and likely Meekknuckle, were waiting to be healed.

Not out of any particular worry about whether or not they’d be okay, because as talentless of an Alchemist as Kristoff was, the Gnome was actually a rather talented healer. Not that Skrakch would ever admit as much to the ugly git’s face of course.

The man was one of the few Clerics of the Gods Above that were tolerated in Dray’Mel as an Arch-Priest of Nuitari, God of Still Death and Moonless Nights.

How a servant of a God of Order found themselves in Dray’Mel had been an oft-asked question, but Kristoff hardly acted like an earthly conduit to a being of untold might and majesty.

The mouthy prick was more likely to try and sell you a worthless trinket or a shoddily crafted potion than to extol the virtues of his God.

And yet, when push came to shove, most residents of the Slums knew that the Gnome was the one to turn to if your ailment took a turn for the worst, if that little cough began to press against your ribs with every wet hack of phlegm.

‘Honestly, the little prick might infuriate me to no end but there’s no denying his mastery over healing magics, or his willingness to help his fellow man.’

Not that Skrakch would ever admit that fact aloud anyways.

No, the issue was clearly with Zacharias and whatever that unsettling pause had been. The Halfling had looked flat out wrong in that moment and it had Skrakch’s hackles raised.

Worriedly tugging on his whiskers, Skrakch followed after them, his eyes flickering between both of their backs. There was something fishy going on and it reeked of sloppy craftsmanship.

This entire venture was out of character for Zacharias, mostly because it… well, the plan actually made sense. Cornering the alchemy market could be huge, for both profits and influence, but the Halfling wasn’t the sort to think big picture, was he?

The question was, who was the one pulling the Halfling’s strings and was the damned fool even aware of it happening?