The day was not going well for Dallarath. The half-elf and his party took a guild quest, thinking it would be a simple clean-up. Little did they know that the clean-up involved a river of broken glass that spanned almost 10 miles.

For a measly 10 gold, their party of five was stuck doing menial labor. The Guild helped — if you could call it that — sending a few wagons back and forth to haul glass for the Crafter’s Guild. By now, they’ve already filled 4 wagons — and it wasn’t even midday.

“Any sign of Aven’r?” Dal asks the party’s healer Remila. She was part of a trio of sisters along with Aven’R and Gwindin. The four hailed from the Elysian Forest, far up north from Bountiful.

“She should be back in a while,” Rem answers with a hint of worry.

“Ack! She’ll be fine,” bellows Siege. The dwarf was the latest addition to the party. They met when Dal’s party passed the Vedran mountains heading to Bountiful and eventually the Great Forest of Dun. Instead of his usual sword and shield, the dwarf now wielded a shovel. Compared to tunneling, shoveling glass was undoubtedly easier — but the river of glass was just too damn long.

Past midday, a figure slowly made its way to the four toiling adventurers.

“There she is,” Gwin points out. As a sorcerer, she didn’t have to dirty her hands. A couple of her summoned earth elementals were like moving walls, sweeping the glass to one side for easier hauling once the wagons return. At this rate, they would need more wagons.

The winded Aven’r takes a seat, seemingly collapsing as she did so. She didn’t expect to see what she did. If she was right, their job might be more dangerous than it seems. She even rebuked Dal that morning for accepting the Scourge’s posting. Accepting healing potions from a necromancer wasn’t the brightest idea in the world — but her sister Rem assured her it would be fine.

“I followed the glass to a cave,” Av narrates as she catches her breath. “The creature probably came from there.”

“Did you enter the cave?” Sieg asks. Monstrosities in caves usually protected a treasure or two. He was eager to get his hands on a few magical weapons or perhaps even ores.

“I didn’t dare enter,” the scout shakes her head. “The cave was scorched with hellfire! I could tell from the smell of sulfur. I don’t think it’s an open gateway, but there was probably a summoning performed by the Scourge.”

“Jeremy.”

“What?” Av asks confused.

“The necromancer’s name is Jeremy,” insists Rem. “I met his butler on the way to Forge.”

“Forge?”

“The port city, south of here” she corrects the dwarf. Anything about metals, armors, and weapons piqued the interest of their new member, the misunderstanding was understandable.

“Funny thing to name a port city Forge,” Sieg spats.

“As I was saying,” she glares at the dwarf. “I ran into the Scourge’s butler on the way to Forge. I didn’t know who he was at first, but he seemed like an upstanding person. I even thought his manners were befitting of someone with a noble upbringing.”

“People can be deceiving,” warns Dal. He knew how easy it was to build a false facade to show people. It was necessary for someone born between two worlds. A half-elf had to show one side to humans, and a different one to elves.

“Your words of wisdom ring true my dear leader,” the sarcasm plain in Rem’s voice. “But I have yet to see a soulreader and truthseeker fail at the same time.”

“Explain,” Dal urges on. The healer’s story had the party’s full attention — very little was known about the Scourge’s butler.

“The entrance to Forge is heavily fortified. To enter the city, you’ll need to pass through two gates — one with a soulreader and one with a truthseeker.”

“That’s not uncommon,” Gwin counters. “Even Bountiful has a soulreader, I just saw one of the guards using it on a suspicious merchant.”

“I know,” Rem sighs, irritated by the interruptions. “The point is, everyone registers with streaks of pink or red on a soulreader.”

She gets a few nods and words of agreement from her party.

“This butler… his soul was pristine — even glowing.”

“But the Scourge...” Av starts.

“Not the Scourge. Jeremy.” Rem insists, more forcefully this time. “The butler told me tales on our way to Forge. He said his master is a kind person, merely misunderstood.”

“And you believed him?” Sieg asks.

“You forget that Forge also has a truthseeker. The butler declared he never lies to anyone but his master.”

It took a while for the rest of the party to digest the meaning of the cryptic words. An honest butler — to everyone but his master?

“I’ve seen the soulreader and the truthseeker fail,” Sieg says somberly. “It was a few months ago, when we first entered the city.”

The dwarf’s grip on his shovel tightens — he could not forget what transpired that day.

“I saw the Scourge entering the city. The soulreader turned crimson and the truthseeker registered blatant deception.”

“What was the question?” Av asks. The dwarf seemed serious — even frightened. She didn’t know he came that close to the Scourge.

“It was something about harming the residents of the city and burning it the ground.”

“Well that seems too precise, don’t you think?” asks Dal. The guards were probably playing a prank — what person or creature could merit that line of questioning.

“The orb showed he lied, Dal”

“Well, the city is still standing,” the half-elf shrugs.

“For now,” the dwarf says brooding. Perhaps the orbs didn’t fail. Perhaps death and destruction still awaited the city. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time.

***

Jeremy heads to his lab for more research. His healing lozenge worked well on Shelby, but he needed human subjects to find out for sure. His Lifesavers™ required a bit of blood to work. The new lozenges took imprints of the subjects’ perception of their own body — using it as a basis for healing and regeneration. It could potentially reattach a severed arm or even grow one from scratch. A cup of blood should be a small price for a bit of security on the field.

Getting a proper formula took almost half a year. Troll blood, magical ogre blood, or even the giant tentacled frog creature blood failed to create a stable concoction. It took a trip to the marshes and a few interactions with a hydra for him to get a stable regenerative base. Of course, by interaction — it meant sneaking up on the sleeping hydra and relieving it of some of the white juices in its neck. He did leave a couple of deer carcasses as compensation.

Seb graciously volunteered himself for the procedure, but the wizard hesitated on using his butler as an experiment subject — especially if there was a chance for unforeseen effects. Sure having a butler with more than two sets of hands would be convenient — however, he was already drowning in attention, and Seb seemed to value his low-key anonymity.

Outside the cottage, the butler Belsebas stares at the monstrosity his master bought home. He tries touching the giant snail, feeling no hint of hostility from the creature. To his surprise, the snail reacts to his touch — emitting hissing, squeaking, and even whistling sounds.

It circles around the butler before heading towards the dandelions. The snail turns to Seb a few times, seemingly urging him to follow.

Seb follows the eager snail — Shelby, was it? His master had a penchant for outrageous names. At least it wasn’t something like Davos the Devourer or Erin the Impure. The two fish still swam in a glass container on top of the counter of their small shop.

The snail plows through the dandelions, devouring a small patch before seemingly losing interest. It comes back to Seb, tilting its head as if waiting for something.

He leads it back to the yard. Fortunately, the snail merely devoured the dandelion stalks, leaving the roots untouched. He was the one who suggested they plant dandelions. His master was interested in making artificial skin. Seb’s experience in foraging led him to suggest using the roots of dandelions. They held a sticky white ichor-like substance that he remembered chewing as a child.

He didn’t imagine his master would plant the weeds in so big a field. The dandelions crept to almost a mile in diameter — needing very little maintenance and attention,

Shelby starts digging — although it was more like burrowing through the soil by absorbing or eating it. Seb stops the snail with a pat, leading it away from the house lest it disturb the foundation. It was just like an overgrown dog, it seems — a slobbering 5-foot dog that left a trail of glass everywhere.

He watches the dog snail for a while as it burrows its way into the soil, eventually making an underground tunnel held up by what seems to be glass.

Satisfied with its work, and now hidden from prying eyes, the snail curls up into its shell and begins to emit faint whistling sounds.

Seb heads to the shop, pointless as it was. They’ve only had six visitors in the three months since they’ve opened shop. While the shop’s location might not be considered desirable, it was still visible to the road on the way to the Forest of Dun.

Not that their stock was that appealing. His master’s first forays in alchemy produced strange concoctions. The first was a liquid that attracted beasts. That would have been a boon for most hunters — but the scent of the liquid, once spilled, attracted every animal within a mile and drove them into a frenzy. He spilled a mere drop in the garden, and he saw rampaging rabbits suddenly turning carnivorous. Aggression wasn’t the only thing the butler observed. The rage was more akin to a mating frenzy than a killing one. The rabbits fought and humped one another on the ground where the drop of liquid landed — doing their thing until they were spent or dead.

What if an unlucky noble happens to spill it in a forest — or perhaps a city? Would he be ravaged by forest denizens or even livestock?!? The thought kept the butler up at night and he promised to only sell that concoction to people he could trust with its use.

The second concoction was more successful than the first. It was an invigorant in lozenge form that replenished the tired and spent or provided endurance for the weak. His master called it the War Cry™. The butler took a dose on one of his trips to Forge and found he could run the 20-mile distance in about 2 hours. He did collapse in an inn after the effects wore off — but it was an acceptable side effect.

One of their six customers bought their whole stock — even demanding more. At 2 gold apiece, they earned more than 400 gold in multiple transactions. He later found out their customer was selling War Cry™ to the nobles for 20 gold apiece, marketing it as an aphrodisiac — even re-branding it as Longsword™. There was even a catchphrase coined by the bards. It went something like “Don’t lose the battle in your own bedroom, unsheathe your longsword!”

The bastard made a killing — but he deserved it. They could hardly sell to nobles — not with his master’s reputation. Selling through a middleman was probably best, but maybe he should adjust the pricing.

His master’s third endeavor was the one he had the most faith in. The healing lozenges were far more efficient than the usual healing draughts that needed to be unstoppered and imbibed. Popping a lozenge in your mouth or placing one in an open wound was definitely more convenient. The new Lifesavers™ went even beyond healing. He saw their milking cow grow back its leg in mere hours — seconds if the leg was reattached.

Still, they enjoyed cow shanks for almost a month — before he finally convinced his master to allow Helga to retire in peace. The cow was now happily grazing in the dandelion field — happily retired from milking and constant torture.