Chapter 2: The Bartender and the Stool.
After spending a fortnight recovering at the Naughty Weasel Tavern I was in even worse shape; my head thumped with every pulse and my stomach threatened open revolt. To shake myself out of this condition I dunked my head in a trough of cold spring water and tried to look on the bright side: I was no longer limping, I had a new tunic, and the pig-shaped bruises on my back had completely faded away.
My recovery time hadn't been a complete waste; I spent some of my days developing the next phase of my plan with the help of my advisor Lucky Lue. An ex-adventurer, as all bar keeps in the realms are, Lue had a barrel chest, thick muscled arms as strong as his brew, and a solution to most any problem a young adventurer might have.
Goblins camped out by the bridge? - Lue knows how to get rid of 'em.
Kobolds run off with your pantaloons? - Lue can tell you how to find 'em.
Get an ogre pregnant? - Er... well... you've got larger problems... find a priest. But for everything else ask Lucky Lue first.
With Lue's help my plan seemed flawless. Well... nigh flawless really... it looked impressive on parchment anyway. Lue suggested that instead of chasing after orcs, I could have them come to me. What I needed was a potion; a powerful love potion that would be so irresistible that every female orc within a day's ride would be drawn to it. It just so happened that Lue had a recipe for exactly that kind of thing.
I packed up and set out early the next morning, eager to carry out my new and improved plan. It was well known that Lucky Lue could mix up anything from an exotic drink to a mystical potion; all I had to do was run down a few common ingredients...
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The wizard's tower stood above a landscape of rocky desolation; I gazed up at the cylindrical stone structure with disgust. Why did wizards always have to live in stupid towers- it's not like space is at a premium fifty leagues out into the wastelands! I tied the lead of my pack mule to a boulder outside the entrance and unloaded the cargo.
I had to drag the heavy sack up four stories of spiral stairs just to locate the waiting room. An employee of the wizard snorted and poked his filthy head up through a pile of rags where he'd been sleeping. It scurried over and addressed me in some half-common half-goblin dialect. It really does say something about the social skills of magic users that they have to conjure up a smelly goblin, kobold or such just to have someone to talk to.
"Yes," I said. "Take me to your master." I cringed at having to say something so stupid, but there was really no alternative; wizards are strict in their formality. I followed the chest-high greasy butler down the corridor until he stopped and ducked his rat-like head in an exaggerated bow, teeth chattering together nervously as he stretched a paw, urging me into the next room.
This was the dramatic meeting, the wizard's big moment... I'm sure he had been waiting months for someone to visit. Looking into the chamber just made me even more exhausted; this was going to be an excruciating visit.
Emotionally, wizards are three-year-old children. They're temperamental, self-centered, and above all they crave attention- I mean just look at the way they dress themselves. The last adventuring company I had the misfortune of traveling with made me hate magic users even more; our fancy wizard nearly got us all creamed. Every monster in the realms must have heard us coming, or heard the wizard coming, that is. Let me tell you, the rest of us were not trekking through the swamp in full-length red silk robes, dainty sandals, or two-foot tall pointy hats. Buy some damned pants! Ugh... wizards...
I took a deep breath and stepped into the main chamber. "Pittsnoggle the Mighty..." I hated myself for even saying such a ridiculous thing out loud. "Lord of the Wastelands." Otherwise known as a social outcast, I mean really, who else lives in the wastelands?
"I have traveled through leagues of empty horrid lands to seek out your wisdom..." I tried not to vomit. "I beseech you to assist me, oh great wizard."
"Oh..." The wizard's bushy eyebrows wriggled in excitement. "You came to ask my help did you?" He leaned forward in his gilded chair. Silken blue robes, which I'm sure he just slipped on to impress me, billowed in the conjured breeze.
"Yes.” I said. My name is Larius, a writer and scholar... and I came to ask your assistance. You see," I gestured to the heavy sack that I had dragged behind me. "This is a sack of dried orc dung..."
The wizard's eyes darted to the sack and then back to me. "I'll give you five coppers for it,” the wizard snapped: “Not a copper more!”
I shook my head. "Uh... no sir, I'm not here to sell it, I want you to reduce it to a spell component... an extract for a potion... a love potion."
The wizard Pittsnoggle raised himself elegantly from the throne, retrieved an ebony staff, and traced an arcane pattern in the air making the crystal atop glow with inner fire. I acted suitably awed by his power; such crystals were nice, Lucky Lue had a couple of them hanging in his tavern.
Pittsnoggle looked interested, stroking his tangled gray beard as he approached. The wizard bent down and opened the bag. His bony fingers reached inside and pulled out a fist-sized chunk of orc dung. Pittsnoggle’s eyes narrowed as he examined the nugget carefully in the light of the glowing crystal; then he wafted it delicately under his long thin nose, giving it a curious sniff. "Hmm... It is fresh enough... I can do what you ask... but..."
My heart sank although I knew this was coming. In the history of the realms not once has a wizard ever done a job for free. Worse still, wizards often demanded payment not in common currency but in some ridiculously rare spell component or in trade for an act of revenge against a rival. In a way, what this wizard demanded was even worse.
Deep into the chasm I strode; the gray mists that forever shrouded this cursed land roiled and twisted like phantoms trying to escape the winds that howled up the pass. I pulled my cloak about me and increased my pace, eager to be done with this task. After an hour I reached the floor of the canyon; the winds calmed and I was able to make out my surroundings. All around me stood dull gray statues slick with moisture; ancient monuments to forgotten gods left weathered and crumbling, and to the north I could see two cavernous openings in the cliff-face that marked the entrance to the catacombs.
As the wizard had explained in excruciating detail, I needed to enter the tunnel on the right- the one with the locked gate. I searched under a few rocks nearby but found no key. At length I decided to explore the other open tunnel, thinking perhaps they were connected.
I lit a torch. A hundred paces down the tunnel something hard scraped the stone floor and I felt the slightest touch on my right arm. Faced with sudden danger my adventurer instincts took over... I made a strategic retreat. But after so much time and effort spent getting here I would not be turned back for long; nor would I be caught off guard the next time. I lit another torch and gripped a sturdy club in my right hand then boldly walked back into the tunnel.
Twenty paces down that corridor torchlight reflected upon metal- a warrior's helm still seated atop a skull. Dry skin, layered in dust, stretched over bleached white bone, its desiccated eyes were sunk into their sockets yet somehow followed my motion, cracked weathered skin around the mouth pulled back revealing a row of white teeth bared in a garish smile. It spoke... what it said I did not know.
I stood outside the tunnel for some time sweating profusely and listening. Nothing happened. Eventually, I decided to make a third expedition into the tomb. I had dropped my club the last time, so I picked up a large rock in my right hand and gripped a lit torch in my left. As I entered I could still hear the thing's resonant voice; it was speaking... about a contract? What was this horrid corpse, I wondered, an undead bookkeeper?
I don't know why but at that moment curiosity overcame fear and I spoke to the creature. Soon I learned two things: 1) Disgusting piles of dried flesh and bones can be rather articulate and 2) I was just the sort of heroic figure this cursed warrior had been waiting for. It turns out that long ago some unspecified evil had cruelly tricked a company of virtuous Knights. The Knights as well as the whole canyon would be forever fated to exist in the shadows, neither dead nor alive, cursed to eternal darkness and torment unless... a brave and noble warrior, pure at heart, would enter the crypts, hunt down this great evil, and vanquish its dark influence, bringing peace to the long suffering Knights and the light of day back to the shadowed valley.
The spirit recognized my finer qualities almost immediately and gave me the key. I went around the corner to the sealed tomb and unlocked the gate. The sarcophagus was located conveniently nearby; I grabbed the wizard's stupid prize and left the canyon. As for the noble goals of freeing the souls of the Lost Warriors and defeating the ancient evil that plagues the land and bringing the light of day back to the cursed canyon... well... I wanted to, but right then I... just didn't have the time. But never fear, I've definitely put those things on my "to do list"
Once I reached my camp, I loaded my trusty pack mule and headed out; it would take three days to reach the wizard's tower. If he didn't have my extract ready I intended to strangle him with his own beard.
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A lantern glowed in the tower's first level. I was exhausted after my long trek so I just barged in the front door and tried to find the source of the light. I walked through a dark corridor filled with all sorts of contraptions and then I heard the splash of water and the wizard's high nasally singing. I followed the sounds to the lighted chamber at the end of the hall and slowly opened the door.
I just sighed and shook my head. The wizard sat in a large bronze bathtub with his back to the door, bubbles of perfumed soaps floated a foot deep on top of the steaming water. The wizard sang with great emotion, gesturing wildly and thrashing about as the lantern light reflected off his bald scalp. His goblin was also in the tub, standing waist-deep at the far end, dutifully scrubbing between his master's toes with a small brush.
The startled goblin yapped a warning and ducked down, with all but the furry tips of his green ears submerged under the suds. The wizard's foot splashed into the water. "Noodles, what's the meaning of this?"
I cleared my throat and the Wizard Pittsnoggle turned around fearfully; soap bubbles flew off the tip of his prominent nose. "Uh... Oh... I..."
"No- please don't get up! It's Larius... I have returned with this container you asked for." I placed the box on the floor beside me.
The wizard reached into the water and pulled the goblin up by the scruff of the neck. "Noodles… My robe! My slippers!"
The goblin scurried away trailing bathwater and soap across the floor. Soon he returned with a fresh blue robe clutched in his scaly paws and a pair of purple fur-lined slippers held in his slobbery mouth.
The goblin rinsed and dried his master, and then helped the wizard into his clothes. Once he was proudly clad in his blue robe with embroidered silver stars and purple fur lined slippers Pittsnoggle examined the box I had brought him. He set it on a table and worked his magic upon it as I watched. After checking it for traps and curses he pried the lid off and removed three items; a bundle of parchments, a vial of amber liquid, and a brown stone jar large enough to hold a chicken.
The wizard seemed overjoyed when examining the vial and the parchments; the stone jar he ignored. Pittsnoggle was so happy he even invited me to use his bathtub. I politely declined even though I probably could have used a bath- I do have some standards you know. I'm not going to be bathed by a goblin!
"Excuse me sir,” I said, “but I assume you have my extract ready?"
"Oh, yes of course... You know it’s funny," The wizard remarked. "When I got ready to work on it I happened to remember that I had three vials of extract sitting on my shelf already."
I lost my temper then and said some things I probably shouldn't have. The wizard was taken aback by my outburst, but he had been so pleased with my service that he insisted I take a reward. So in addition to the extract he gave me one of the artifacts- the stone jar covered in strange writings with a matching lid held firmly on top. I really didn't want the jar but he resolutely maintained that it was quite valuable as a summoning device.
Eventually I calmed down and apologized for the flare-up; I figured Pittsnoggle really wasn't all that bad, for a wizard anyway. He even dressed his goblin up as a waiter and invited me to be his dinner guest that night. Throughout this dinner the wizard was most eager to talk about his prize. I nodded and tried to act interested- really I had hoped that my six day perilous trek had been over something more important than some old witch's glorified hair tonic.
At dawn I left the tower. The wizard struck a dramatic pose on his balcony and bid me farewell- auburn locks with chestnut highlights fell gracefully about his shoulders. I watched, astounded as his hair shifted then, becoming long and luxurious hanging down past his waist, the color also changed from brown to platinum blonde, then his hair morphed once more becoming silken and wavy, raven black with crimson highlights.
This supernatural hairdo was the wizard's coveted prize; his head was bald no longer courtesy of an exotic magical elixir taken from the tomb of a powerful sorceress. He referred to it in reverent awe as the: "Phantasmal Follicles of the Witch Queen". It was a sight to behold writhing about atop his head in the early morning light, shifting in color and changing length and texture as though it had a mind of its own. And who's to say, maybe it did.
Though I would have liked to stick around and watch the spectacle, it was time for me to go. I had gotten what I came for; soon I hoped I would have my orc love potion and the answer to my question.
My trip back to the village did not go smoothly at all. That first day I traveled until well past sunset, eager to get out of the wastelands and back to my home. I set up a meager camp, had one-third of my remaining rations and watched nervously as a storm approached. Desert winds unobstructed by hill or tree whipped at my tent throughout the night.
The rain that fell the next morning was hardly more than mist driven sideways in the gale but the sky that I had relied on for navigation was obscured in thick gray clouds. I packed up and headed in what I hoped was the right direction.
I was lost, but with so few supplies remaining there was no option but to keep moving, I traveled day and night. My rations and the mule's forage were all used up; the water would be soon. I staggered along pulling the exhausted animal behind me. The cloudy sky grew darker again; it was the end of the fourth day. I fell upon the bare earth and slept.
Sometime in the early morning I saw a light; the waning crescent moon shined through gaps in the clouds. The sky was clearing at last and it was obvious that I had been traveling in the wrong direction. My only hope was to head north toward the caravan trail and perhaps some traveler would find me.
Many hours later I heard a voice in the darkness, but after five days wandering lost in the wastelands I was used to hearing voices. It was strangely persistent though, and the man’s voice was accompanied by sounds of wheels on gravel, and a horse neighing. The long ears of my mule perked up.
How fascinating, I thought: My mule and I shared the same hallucination!
I stumbled out onto the trail, squinting at strange shapes moving in the dim light, and then I saw it. I half expected the horse and cart to disappear but it only got closer.
“Ho!" The voice cried and the gray mare halted a few strides ahead of me.
A man seated atop the cart got down then and stepped closer to me. "Who is there?"
I just stared at him, not fully convinced he was real. I poked at his gray robes with a finger, and touched his white beard; then, finally satisfied he wasn't imaginary, I collapsed in the dirt.
I'm alive today only because of the priest's kindness. He gave me water and food and forage for my mule. I traveled with him for the next three days. Throughout our journey the priest didn't say much; it was clear his mind was somewhere else. I was curious why he would risk crossing the wastelands alone but I respected his privacy and didn't question him.
The last night that we camped together the air was pleasantly warm, the crackle of our small campfire soothing. As we sat quietly, two weary travelers staring deeply into the flames, the old man began to speak. I listened as he told his sad tale.
"There is a man, an officer of the King's Guard that I was well acquainted with long ago: a good man, who always strived to walk in the path of the gods. I hadn't heard from him for years and years but a short time ago he sent for my help... for the Church's help. It was urgent." The priest paused and glanced up, as if searching the heavens for guidance.
"His daughter... his only daughter, who was so young, so bold, so full of life... she had set off on her own. Like so many spirited youths, she wanted to live the life of adventure. Her father was worried, of course, but didn’t feel it was right to hold her back from her dreams. She was no longer a child, after all, but she had become a beautiful young woman and had the right to find her own path in life.”
The priest looked down sadly: “He wished her well and sadly watched his only daughter go. It was but a fortnight later that he received the terrible news: the girl had been... attacked whilst traveling through the Wazoolian Mountains."
"That's horrible," I said. "Was she killed?”
"No,” the priest said, “nothing like that..."
"Was she badly injured then, robbed by bandits?"
"No,” the priest said. ”She wasn't injured or robbed."
"Captured?” I guessed: “Ransomed?"
The priest shook his head sadly. "No, the girl is safely back at home."
I was utterly confused at this point. "Sir... I just don't understand. If this young lady wasn't killed, robbed, captured, or injured I don't see what the problem is."
Tears welled up in the old priest's eyes. "It is just so hard... Why do the gods allow such cruel things to happen?"
He looked to the sky once again and sighed deeply. "This girl... this poor girl... she was... impregnated by a griffin."
I took a sharp breath: "A griffin... are you sure?"
The priest stood up and laid a kindly old hand on my shoulder, then sadly nodded. "Yes Larius, there can be no doubt; but really there's nothing that can be done now, except wait... and see if she gives birth to a child... or lays an egg."
My heart went out to this unfortunate young lady; I donated the few coins I had to the priest and then went back to my tent to rest.
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We were being followed. The four riders were almost certainly bandits and they were gaining on us. To lead them away from the priest I dropped back and turned north into the ruins of some long abandoned village. My plan worked to perfection, all four bandits turned off the main trail and followed me. At that point I really wished my plan had a second step.
I couldn't hope to out run them so I sent my mule further into the ruins while I entered one of the few houses that that had four walls, an intact roof, and a single narrow door. The voices grew closer; I looked out through a crack in the stone wall. The bandits were checking every building and closing in on my location.
Faced with a desperate situation, I was ready to take a big chance. I still had the stone jar the wizard gave me and I remembered his instructions on how to open it. Perhaps, I thought, I could summon up a fierce creature to protect me.
I touched three of the symbols on the side and traced a spiral on the lid. There was a slight pop as it unsealed.
I carefully removed the lid, half expecting a genie or demon to fly out in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing I noticed was the moist earthy smell. I peeked inside this jar and was astounded, completely forgetting about the bandits- it was as if I was looking through a hollow log into a lush green forest. A thousand shades of green, a canopy of huge trees and flowering vines, the calls of strange birds, the hum of insects, and scent of blossoms, and humid air; all this could be seen, heard, and smelled through the bottom of this remarkable jar. I placed my head down close to get a better look... then it happened.
Fierce eyes, white teeth, a blur of motion and then it punched me right in the eye socket with its little evil paw. I staggered back in horror as the creature gripped the rim of the jar and pulled itself out. It glared at me! Dark murderous eyes narrowed, jaws opened for a high-pitched scream, and then it sprang off the rim, launching itself right toward my head!
It was followed by another, and another, and another... soon the room was full of these horrifying minuscule monsters, leaping great distances, screaming, scratching, climbing into my backpack, picking my pockets, jamming little fingers in my ear canals and nose, climbing on top my head, pulling hair and ripping at my clothing. One of them even jammed its filthy paw in my mouth as I screamed!
I fought with them, but I was one and they were many, and frightfully fast. I don't know how long it lasted but all at once they grabbed what they could and ran for the jar, leaping into it one after the other. When the last of these devils retreated back inside I hurried over and slammed the lid shut.
Looking around, I could tell they had really cleaned me out. Backpack-gone, pockets- empty, ear canals- unobstructed.
I looked outside the door. The bandits were also gone; perhaps the racket scared them away. There was hardly anything left to steal anyway, thanks to this summoner's jar... those fiends even took my shoes. All they left was their villainous stench and a bitter taste; I collapsed onto my hands and knees retching, spitting out bits of brown fur.
After a while I forced myself to stop crying, and then I boldly got up off the floor and started the search for my pack mule. Only the supplies that were still loaded on the animal remained, and inside one of those saddlebags was my bottle of extract... the only good news that day.
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I gave Lucky Lue the extract so he could begin working on my potion, and then I set the terrible stone jar up on the counter.
He examined its strange markings for several minutes, but was careful not to touch it.
"Larius," Lue leaned forward and urgently whispered: "Do you know what you have here?"
I shook my head.
He looked worried. "I've never seen one of these in person, but I have read about mysterious artifacts like this... no one knows where exactly they came from, who made them, or why."
Lucky Lue seemed to gather his thoughts, not taking his eyes off the jar for a long while. When he turned back to me it seemed like the atmosphere inside the tavern grew darker and more ominous. What he told me next was most unwelcome news.
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Cradling the stone jar in my right arm, I walked dejectedly back to my house. Why do I have such bad luck? It was no wonder the wizard gave away the cursed item; it was probably placed in the tomb to give grave robbers a nasty surprise. Now I was stuck with it... once I voluntarily opened the jar it was mine... or perhaps now I belonged to it... either way I couldn't stand to be away from it for long. Unless I could get someone else to take the thing, I would have to carry a stupid stone jar with me for the rest of my life!
The Decanter of Infuriating Monkeys! Ugh... Why do wizards insist on making my life miserable?
I know I've mentioned it before but I really hate wizards. To think that some magic user spent his life creating such a horrible device enraged me, but a researcher must learn to set aside his personal feelings and focus on the task at hand. I would continue on my quest to find the orc women, but I swore if I ever met up with that wizard again I would set his magical hairdo on fire and... and... beat up his damned goblin too!
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