As soon as the sun kissed his slightly damp fur, Skrakch allowed himself a small grin. He’d long since gotten used to the dank and musty darkness of the Sewers but the Ratling had to admit he still loved the feeling of the warmth from the daytime sun play across his fur.
Although his venture down into the Goblin village had only last a few days, he was grateful to escape with his whiskers intact. Skrakch was used to risking his life. Hells, he’d put himself in that position enough times. But just remembering the Albino Prince’s cold eyes on him…it was enough to turn his empty stomach.
Thankfully, he could put the image out of his mind and focus on getting something to eat. He turned an idle eye back towards Meekknuckle who was currently and very ineffectually trying to help Ornn through the open sewer grid. Shaking his head at the stupidity, Skrakch scanned the surrounding area. He’d decided to play it safe so, consequently, they’d headed above ground near the edge of the Inner Walls.
Most folks in Dray’Mel weren’t keen to see anything trying to leave the Sewers. Which, Skrakch supposed, was fair enough. You didn’t last long in the city without a strong fear of the unknown. Considering that Grey Iskrin and Ghouls had a tendency to pop out from underground, hellbent on killing anything they saw, Skrakch didn’t want to risk being on the business end of a Tomb Maker’s halberd.
“Alright Meek,” Skrakch said once both Meek and Ornn had successfully extracated themselves from the Sewer grate. “It’s time for some decent food,” he rubbed his paws together in anticipation. The pathetic excuse for food that the Goblin’s offered nearly always tasted like a mixture of mushrooms and mud. “I suppose we should head for The Plagued Rat, see if Zacharias is around. Gods knowns he likely to be half drunk as always.”
Meekknuckle’s chest was heaving from the effort in futilely of trying to pull Ornn upwards. He let out a low huff and shook his head so hard that his ears flapped.
“Meek prefer not to see Halfman. Day always end bad when he involved. Maybe go see big food man? Get some cheese?”
Skrakch chuckled softly and he began to pick his way through the empty streets. “Kuosh’s food cart it is. Now that you mention it, I’ve got a hankering for some Harouun myself. I can almost taste those spices he uses,” He replied as he licked his lips.
The trio headed deeper into the City. Unlike the quiet atmosphere of the Inner Walls, they quickly found themselves amongst the regular sights of Dray’Mel. There was a particularly sorry looking creature sitting in the doorway of an abandoned bakery. His matted brown hair was a wild mess and it appeared to have become one with his equally long beard. Skrakch’s finely tuned sense of smell was assaulted by a strong mixture of body odour and stale alcohol. The man raised a brown bottle to his cracked lips and took a deep drink. The grim sight reminded Skrakch of the recent issues with Zacharias. Could the Halfling even be relied upon to help out? Maybe the best thing for him would be to put the drunken lout down, just like Skrakch intended with Blazock…
As they moved through the streets of the Slums towards the food cart, Skrakch was glad, and not for the first time, that Ornn was with them. In fact, if it wasn’t for the giant Golem slowly looming behind them, Skrakch certainly wouldn’t have taken such a direct route. The behemoth did an excellent job as a deterrent. Not even Dray’Mel’s most desperate souls would be willing to risk being crushed to death for a few coins and some potion ingredients.
Before long, they arrived at Kuosh’s food cart. Skrakch was treated to the delicious scent of the Grif’s unique spice blends and cooking meat. Indeed, the trusty creature was standing at his counter, tossing a mixture of vegetables and chunks of meat in a large frying pan. A large white cloth apron that could’ve wrapped around Skrakch multiple times was stretched across his bulk. He was also wearing his version of chef whites, massive checked pants with a large white smock. Various kitchen utensils could be seen poking out of the top of his bulging pockets.
What surprised Skrakch even more was the sight of a customer seat at the stall’s counter. As talented a cook as Kuosh was, the denizens of Dray’Mel tended to dislike his cooking. Heavy handed with spices and generous with loading his creations down with exotic ingredients, the simple folk of the Slums preferred to stick with their usual bland stews and soups. Most of Kuosh’s trade came from after the pubs and taverns had closed for the evening when the patrons just wanted something hot and savoury to cram down their throats.
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So the sight of the small grey creature happily devouring a bowl of stew was surprising. Coupled with the critter being barely two feet tall and so rotund that it was always a perfect ball, the sight of the Imp’s corpulent sagging flesh meant that Skrakch was suddenly on high alert.
Known for being morbidly obese with a never ending hunger to match it, Imps weren’t exactly the most terrifying of foes. In fact, the little fiends defining trait was being at the bottom rung of the Lower Planes, acting as glorified messengers or used for fueling all sorts of painful sacrifices. Considering the gusto it displayed as it crammed the savoury stew down its maw, Skrakch had to assume it was here for the former.
Skrakch smacked Meekknuckle upside his leathery head to break him out of his slack-jawed gawking. He supposed that his diminutive friend didn’t see that many creatures as short as he was but still, the Goblin could at least have some modicum of decorum.
The Ratling plopped himself down beside the Imp, which ignored him as it continued its feast. Skrakch grinned at Kuosh.
“Interesting day isn’t it Kuosh? I was hoping for a hot meal but it looks like I’ll have to come back. Do me a favour and feed the Goblin, whatever he wants. You can put it on my tab,” He said.
At this, Meekknuckle gleefully leapt, leapfrog style, onto the stool to his left. He was practically drooling down himself as the little prick started to chant for some cheese. Kuosh laughed, a deep rumbling baritone, and slid a large chunk of cheese across the counter which Meek began to devour. Skrakch inhaled deeply to appreciate the spices that he’d soon be missing out on before turning to the still eating Imp. The Ratling took a moment to make sure he didn’t recognise the critter, before pushing the food bowl away from its greedy hands.
Hate-filled crimson eyes turned towards him for a moment, before a look of surprised flickered across the Imp’s misshapen face. With sunken eyes and two flat nostrils in the place of a nose, the sickly gray face of the Imp turned his stomach. But, he supposed, that was the price you paid for consorting with Demons.
“Ah! Skrakch yes?” The Imp said, as though he’d only just realised he had company. Which, Skrakch mused, was probably accurate. “I’ve been stuck here for days. Mother demands your attention. She has an offer you can’t refuse,” It grinned widely, its mouth opening to show off rows of razor sharp teeth and a worm-like tongue. “Best you go to her now, before she decides to send something…less kind.”
It was a casual enough sounding threat, but Skrakch knew the Denmother didn’t play around. He took a moment to consider his options before nodding to the Imp and pushing himself up from his stool.
“Yes, yes. The Denmother wants to see me. Probably after me to settle my tab again.”
“An’ I wouldn’t blame her,” Kuosh piped up from behind the counter, giving Skrakch a wink. The Ratling bared his teeth in a cheesy grin for a moment before digging into his coin purse and handing over a few coins to the Grif who nodded gratefully.
“Finally! Finally! Zar’vint gets to return!” The Imp chittered to itself before it turned to face Kuosh who seemed to be taking its presence in his stride. “Thank you, strange mortal, for your offering of flesh,” The Imp let out a soft cackle before putting a blood red coin seemingly out of thin air. It slammed it down on the countertop before the Imp burst into strangle purple-red flames and disappeared, leaving only acrid smoke that chased away the lingering scent of spices.
“Pesky things, aren’t they?” Skrakch muttered, waving a paw in front of his face to disperse the smoke.
“That was a vegetable stew…” Kuosh said, shaking his head. He wiped his massive hands on his apron and turned his attentions back to whatever he was frying.
“Right Meek,” Skrakch address the Goblin who was still cramming cheese into his mouth. “Meet me at The Plagued Rat in a few hours.”
Skrakch shot one last longing look towards the dish that Kuoah was frying up before he left the food cart.
As he headed straight for the brothel, he wondered why the Denmother had decided to send an Imp of all things to summon him. He tended to be a frequent enough visitor to her establishment. Surely it meant that it was something important or serious and not related to his tab?
He’d almost scampered around the corner before hearing Kuosh call out in confusion.
“What in the Hells am I supposed to do with a bloody Demon coin?”