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Message: <blockquote data-quote="ScyldSceafing" data-source="post: 899644" data-attributes="member: 5928">That's Mr. Bodkins to youAfter a hand-span of fruitless searching, Foop decided that returning without the burr-root was the best decision he had left. There's no guarantee I'll find any burr-root, anyway, he reasoned. And if I let this bloodwort wilt any more, it won't be worth keeping. So, with his pouch full of three varieties of heartstar and the rapidly-wilting bloodwort in his fist, he set out for camp. As he walked, he examined the bloodwort and thought about impermanence.We're like this, he thought. Pretty and powerful but easily picked. Anyone more powerful can pick us, which doesn't even allow for fate. Fate picks you, you stay picked. Your life can change just like that. Anyone's life can. Not many see it coming, I bet you. Briefly, the apprentice alchemist made a promise to himself to write down thoughts about the similarity between the potency of reagents and the mortality of intelligent beings. His thoughts then turned to more practical concerns - how much potency is lost from wilting? Is it a measurable difference? Does it increase over time? Does it vary from plant to plant?Foop's studies with Nesta had taught him that potency is lost to wilting. But that wasn't proven, really, was it? In his mind, he imagined a series of experiments using different samples and testing their potency over time. Yes, it might just be possible to make an accurate measure of the potency lost to time. And what alchemist wouldn't pay dearly for such a text? His cousin worked with one of the new presses the Kron Hills folks had made up. Books by the dozens! And all with his name!The young gnome's reverie of riches and fame was cut short by his arrival at camp. Ordinarily, Foop could wander about the traveling medicine show without calling his imaginings to a halt; this, though - this demanded some attention. Why was the door to Nesta's wagon ("Miracles by Nesta - World's Greatest Alchemist," blazoned on the side) broken? And where were the horses that pulled it to this spot last night?Foop stepped gingerly into the shattered cabin and found that Nesta had been picked. His master's clever voice was silent; his mobile eyebrows were stilled; his fragile, dextrous body had been turned somehow, bent irrevocably. Foop's vision swam as he fought not to weep, or vomit, or scream. The bloodwort, wilted, fell to the floor, beside the body of his best friend and mentor.x x xAching and weary, the former slaves and the elven rangers slipped into Enstad quietly. Near the outskirts of the city, they were met by outliers, who directed Laucion and the little human girl to the healers. The other slaves were looking for the first secure passage back toward their homes in the north, and that was arranged; Eladkot (and therefore Tankar) thought to do a little research while in the area. Wyn returned to the royal apartments as requested by her mother.The pair were directed to an inn known as the Former Unicorn Rider. "Poracious keeps a good table, she does, and not too pricey neither," was the scouting report delivered by one of the outliers. "It isn't what it used to be, y'know, but what is ..." The Former Unicorn Rider turned out to be a graceful elven take on a rambling human inn, with two large halls - public and private - and 14 rooms on the second floor. Situated between the Inner and Outer Cities - as the elven and non-elven quarters of Enstad are called - it has a colorful history.Which is to say it used to serve as a bordello. Now, though, it was just an inn. For Eladkot and Tankar, it quickly became home.Their life in the inn acquired a pattern. Each day they'd break their fast in the common room, eating and talking with Poracious Luv. Tankar would drink a fair amount of ale and, fortified, head off for a morning of ritual work at the small forge dedicated to Moradin. Eladkot would chat with P.Luv and, in the late morning, make his way to the home of Xanthus Grubb, a half-elven enchanter whose knowledge of small magics was formidable (and whose willingness to teach them for short coin made him tractable).They had barely a week of this pleasing rhythmic symmetry before returning to the The Rider to find it liveried in paper. Someone had placed handbills here and there throughout the common room, handbills blazoned with a symbol and a large-print question: Do You Know This Mark? The other newcomer to the place - besides the paper - was a young gnome who seemed a bit thirsty."They're mine," the gnome explained with little provocation, listing a bit to the side. Obviously, the gnome was well acquainted with Poracious' ale. "Mine. I made 'em. They're ... they're mine.""Yours. I understand," Eladkot answered, looking amusedly at Tankar, who shrugged. "You're looking for someone who uses this symbol? Is this a wizard mark?""Right! Give the human a prize!" Foop drawled, grinning. "A mark! Or something. Wizard. Something. Killed ... killed my master."Eladkot's look changed to one of concern. "Killed your master? How do you know?"So the gnome told his story, start to finish. His apprenticing with Nesta. Learning the ways of alchemy. Travelling from town to town selling cures. And on and on, ending with that day a week ago when he couldn't find burr-root and couldn't beg forgiveness. "So I mean to find this wizard. Person. And ... you know. Avenge. Revenge. Get him. What have you.""Well, I've never seen it before," Eladkot offered, and Tankar shrugged his ignorance. "Maybe I could take one to Xan ... to my tutor. Maybe he's seen it. Mind if I take one of these?""You ... good. Take. I'll ... I think I need to lie down," Foop said. Lurching off toward one of the smaller ground-floor rooms used by halflings and gnomes, he called over his shoulder, "Let me know. I'll ... I'm gonna get him. Let me know."</blockquote>

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