I take his hand. What choice did I have, honestly? Now that I was being chased by someone more threatening than a homeless rat-borne promised a loaf of cheese if he caught me, I needed to get out, and this “Griffith” fellow was the best shot I had. If he could cover a kilometer in a matter of minutes and conjure creatures strong enough to stall a blessed, he could surely keep me safe, and a little bit of information was a small price to pay.
“What do you need to know? I can’t speak much of the court politics, but-” He cuts me off with a hand gesture.
“Not that kind of infiltrator kid, I’m here for some alchemical components, the kind you get from magical creatures. These lands have the highest density of ‘em on the continent, yet ya’ll refuse to trade them to outsiders.” He sounds almost petulant, and it takes some effort not to laugh at the thought of him stamping his boot.
“So you’re here to kill magical creatures for your alchemy?” I step back from him. “Sure I don’t like the soulbound order, but that doesn't mean I’ll butcher innocent creatures!”
“What? Cool your heels kid, I’m not butchering anything. Take basilisk scales fer instance, sure I could kill one and scale it, but it’d be a fight for my life, and not one likely to go well. Much easier to jus’ snag some molted skin and pluck scales from that.”
Oh, well, that’s reasonable. Maybe it’s not so bad. “So you need what? Habits of magik animals? Nest locations? I can do those, but I need your word you won’t kill any or steal their young.”
“Sounds good kid, you hook me up with a few nests o’ materials and I’ll take you out of this hellscape.”
He pats me on the shoulder, and I can’t help but feel a bit of hope. I really might make it out of here. It’s a nice thought, that maybe I can be more than a street rat. Have a home, maybe I could even have pork buns every day, if I got a good enough job. “What are we looking for? You got a list of materials, or just whatever we can find?”
“Well, we probably need to stock up on ingredients to replace the speed potions we burned, so that's owlbear feathers if we can get ‘em, and I also want to pick up some various reagents. Naga scales, Hound’s ash, Flailing snail slime, and such.
“I know where a few of those are, I heard some people complain about hellhounds burning their laundry last market day, some east side gals. Come to think of it, there was a snail infestation over on the east side too, but I don’t know of any nagas. Do we have to mess with an owlbear? They’re very territorial, and I don’t want to, you know, die.”
“Relax, I won’t make you fight an owlbear. I have ways to get what I need from them, and you can sit safely on the sidelines.”
Well, that's reassuring. “Ok, if you’re sure you want to deal with an owlbear, I know of a spot out in the plains where some guy claims he saw one.”
“Perfect. Let’s start with the hellhounds, they’ll be the easiest.”
“Wait, right now?” I thought I’d have a few days to get ready, not be thrown into it right now.
“‘Course, no reason to linger around when there’s ingredients to grab. Especially when there’s someone hunting you. Lead on, the hellhounds await.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
* * *
After a few miles of walking, circling the outskirts of the slums to avoid unwanted attention, we arrive in the eastern quadrant of the city. Almost by fate, I smell sulfur as I see burning footsteps streaking through the streets. Well, there are the hellhounds, easy enough to find. The problem is more so in catching them. “So, what's the plan Griffith? You got a way to catch them?” I glance over to where I last saw the alchemist, excited to see what magiks he intends to work. Then I see him kneeling in the dirt with a glass vial, scooping the flaming dirt into the vial.
“Wha’d ya say?” He glanced up from his work. “Catch 'em?” He bursts out in laughter. “Good luck catchin’ something that fast, and even if ya do, you’ll do naught but crisp yer fingers. Much easier to scoop the ash from their footprints.”
Well, I feel dumb. Here I was prepared to chase hounds for hours, and all I needed to do was scoop up some footprints. “Will they all be this easy to obtain? Can we just scoop up the slime trail of the flailing snails too?”
He gives me a cheerful smile, and for a moment I have hope that this will be easy. Then he opens his mouth and shatters that hope. “Nah, it dissipates too fast, we get to go right up to ‘em and try to scrape some goo off ‘em while they flail at’cha. Best not get hit, they’re nasty buggers.”
Great, of course they can’t all be easy. Is what it is I suppose, and I do want out of this cesspool.
“So, what are we after first, snails, nagas, or owlbears?
“Snails, since ye’ said they’re in this region. Then the Nagas, since we can bargain with them. We save owlbears for last so if we ‘ave to run like ‘ell, we won’t need to be comin’ back.” It’s strangely soothing, his deep, raspy voice paired with the deft motion of his hands as he tosses various powders in a vial, scoops some water from a puddle, and nestles the flask in the flaming debris left by the hounds.
So that’s alchemy, fascinating. “What are you making?”
“More speed potions. Never ‘urts to have it on hand, especially if yer thinkin’ ye might go angerin’ an owlbear. Fair warning’ though lad, hounds ash makes for a more volatile brew than mere lightfoot frog legs, leaves a trail of fire every step you take.” He passes me a bottle “for emergencies”, and we get back on the road, searching for flailing snails.
* * *
After a few hours of asking around, we find out lead, a battered woman, baby in arms, the both of them looking rather ill.
‘Ey’ lassie, what’s the matter? Ye’ shouldn’t ‘ave a bebe out in weathers like these, he’ll catch a chill, though by the looks of it, the both of yeh already ‘ave. What ails thee?” The woman perks up as he approaches, eyeing his leather cloak nervously as he rummages through it.
“Oh, hello sir. Strange accent you have, though there aren’t many foreigners allowed in these parts. From where do you hail sir?” She speaks pleasantly, but I can see how nervous she is, clutching her child to her chest, clearly unsettled by whatever left her with such a beating.
“He’s a traveling merchant.” I blurt, before Griffith can give himself away. “He came here to purchase some baked goods from Ol’ John, and sell some poultices to the locals.” Griffith eyes me appraisingly, and gives me a nod.
“Ay lass, the young lad is right. What happened to you and yer child?”
“Well, there’s not much proper pest control in these parts. Creatures get into your house and your only hope is to wait outside for them to leave. A few big snails got in, waving their antennae around, beat up the furniture something fierce, and we had to run.”
Griffith and I lock eyes, and he turns back to the woman. “Thanks lassie. Give this to yer baby, it’ll warm ‘em up. We'll clear yer house out.” He walks purposefully towards her house, and I followed, listening to the crashing sounds inside the building.
Should I keep the funky chapter titles that I come up with last minute
