Dawn walked them through an expansive communal area that had at least three different bars always serving patrons. There were animal heads on the walls that Deacon couldn’t recognize, and the wood support structures seemed shiny like they were lacquered with some chemical compound. Wood just doesn’t shine like that. He began to squirm in their hands complaining that he couldn’t see everything. Typhus told him to pipe down he could sightsee later. Dawn asked them to wait at the foot of a grand staircase. She shot off in a different direction to speak with another employee. Armand shot Typhus a look.

“What’s wrong?” Deacon asked

“Nothing really. We were hoping to avoid his notice, but I think that just went out the window.” Armand replied.

“Could be a good thing. It’ll prevent him from getting an infection.” Typhus added.

“Wait what?” was all Deacon could get out before Dawn returned. She escorted them up two flights of stairs and into a sitting room with three doors that led into sleeping chambers with cots. The walls in this room were also made of the same shiny wood material. Deacon was laid down on one of the cots. It wasn’t five minutes before they heard a knock on the door. He tried to tilt is head up to see who had come in, the best he could do was listen to the conversation.

“I understand you have a gravely wounded person with you. Was Elle not able to mend the wounds?” the high-pitched voice said.

“Master Onderdonk…” Armand started.

“Please call me Molok.” Molok said.

“Molok then, He is a special case that we would like to treat with potions if possible. We’ve had a run of bad luck lately and are all out.” He replied.

“Not sure I completely understand but I’ll let you have your secrets. Where is he? Come come, we haven’t got all night.” Molok said.

Deacon couldn’t wait for whoever this was to come into the room. From his vantage he could only see the three heads of his friends. They all stopped at the door and it closed in front of them. He started to get worried. Why hadn’t anyone come in? Who were they talking to? He then heard a chair being dragged over to the cot. A three-and-a-half-foot tall man hopped up into the chair. He had the most glorious handlebar mustache Deacon had ever seen. He was covered in pouches and tools. On top of his head was set of goggles with at least a dozen lenses and doodads.

“Greetings. I am Molok Onderdonk. This is my establishment. I understand you are injured and haven’t been magically treated.” He said.

“I am Deacon. Nice to meet you.”

“Well lets see what seems to be the trouble.”

“Are you a doctor and Inn keeper?” Deacon asked.

“Oh no, I’m a jack of all trades so to speak.” He took his goggles down and started to furiously align lenses. Finally stopping on a set he liked he looked Deacon up and down. Short affirmative sounds started coming out of him. Like he was going down a check list. He finally lifted his goggles and leaned in close.

“Champion of Cheshire? I see why they were trying to avoid me. Hasn’t been one of you in, well ever.” Molok said.

Shocked, Deacon drew in a sharp breath. This little man just spent less than five minutes looking him up and down. The first thing he says is information found on his slate that he didn’t share with him.

“Confirmed.” Molok said.

“Wait how did you do that? I didn’t share my slate with you.” Deacon

“Fate Readers. At least that’s what this setting is, they do a lot more, but I needed to see what was wrong and my first few settings showed me nothing. Some kind of magic barrier. That’s why the healing spells weren’t going to work. You don’t seem protected from Psychic intrusion though. Be careful of that. Now non magical potions or more accurately magic potions that don’t cast a spell on you. You will need the magic to be absorbed internally. Most potions will act this way if you don’t pour them on yourself. That would be dumb. A lot of people think you can pour a potion directly into a wound and that will help. Just dumb. You have a dislocated shoulder, second degree burn on your back with some cloth in it, and general bumps and bruises. What have you been doing?”

“Don’t you need to breathe?” Deacon asked.

“Not anymore, no. I’ll be giving you a standard regeneration potion. That one is orange in color. Remember that. A bit expensive but this is on the Adventurers tab so I wouldn’t worry.” Molok said while up ending the flask into Deacons mouth.

“I should warn you that things only get more difficult from here. You are at a disadvantage. You look about twenty years old, but most people hit level ten by fifteen summers just living their lives. If they don’t adventure or join a guild that’s where they will stay. You are fated for conflict. Everything about you screams it. Stick with Armand. He is a good man. In fact, that entire Cardinal Unit except for Typhus, shrewd little Bloodbeard, won’t lead you astray.” Molok continued.

“Thanks that was my plan. They’ve been particularly good to me.” Deacon said, “Can I ask you a mountain of questions?”

“Not a lot of time young man. You get one question that I will go into absurd detail on. Choose wisely.”

Deacon knew an opportunity when he saw one. He needed to pick just the right question to squeeze this half pint of every drop of knowledge possible. Asking about combat stuff would be a waste. Did he want to know about the treatment of the wood here? No that could wait. All of a sudden, he had it. Like a lightning bolt hit his brain.

“Can you teach me Alchemy?”