“Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner,” or “It’s Not a Picnic if the Forest Isn’t on Fire"
Do you have anything to say?
Nothing comes to mind.
I suppose that means I don't have to deal with a Tip of the Day?
Its like I'm in some weird Bizzaro dimension
Why?
Because for once in my life I have nothing to do. I have a whole day to be lazy and do... nothing. I didn't even have to listen to you until now.
Well, heck. If I knew you were just bored I'd have had you reorganize my 8-track collection. Of course, then all of my tapes would have had "Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam" written on them in red Sharpie, but that's the price you've got to pay.
Does ABBA come before or after Englebert Humperdink?
Well, at least it will keep him busy for a few hours. Got a TotD?
Tip of the Day:
When planning a trip from Gatlinburg to Dayton, make sure to leave lots of extra time for when the geniuses of road construction block off the entire interstate.
I'll second that one. And now...
Damnable donut eatin', pothole fillin'...
*****
“Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner,” or “It’s Just Not a Picnic if the Forest Isn’t on Fire"
Pack rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly as he scanned over the pile of armor, weapons, and oddities before him. Even though Theo had laid his healing hands upon the halfling’s burnt and blistered skin, his arm still felt raw, like tenderized and scorched meat.
Theo had spread himself thin trying to assess everyone’s wounds and tend to the most pressing ones; as it stood, he had nearly exhausted whatever grace Zuras provided until the next sunrise. Pack supposed it was Tone’s Fortune that the underground forest had burst into flames along with the crazy druid; the fire may have kept the group from moving forward, but it also protected them from whatever lay beyond.
Reaching out, Pack selected the first item from the trove just so that he would stop scratching his raw shoulder; it was the goblin female’s stick, tossed haphazardly on top of the pile of booty. Then the bard began to hum, and in response the stick began to glow a repeating rainbow of colors. Well, it’s definitely magical. Time to find out what it does.
Slowly, the bard’s hum moved up and down, searching for the exact pitch that would match the magic trapped in the wand. When he reached the upper end of the scale, the wand’s rotating color slowed and stopped, finally glowing a brilliant green. Transmutation… and no pulse, so its not arcanic. Having seen Ashrem getting grabbed by the vines spilling through the archway, the halfling had an inkling of the wand’s true function. Hopefully Ashrem had seen how the gobliness had activated it, but even if he hadn’t, Pack was sure he could figure it out with some time and practice.
Pack let his hum fade into a simple ditty as he scanned the pile for more magic. There it is; the long sword wielded by the wooden warrior shone brightly from beneath a sleeve of chain link. With practiced patience, the bard matched tones until he traced the signature of the enchanted item. The long sword itself was a masterful piece of craftsmanship, despite its simple design, and by the pure white glow of the blade the halfling knew that it was magically strengthened for combat. Small wisps of blue caught the bard’s eyes hinting at some minor evocation magic sealed within it. Probably the magic that shattered Theo’s flail - Shatterspike indeed! I wonder if this could be the sword that Everyn Bradford the Bladeringer used to win the Court Championship ten years ago. How did the ballad go? ‘and the crowd stood in awe as the Silver Knight’s sword cleaved through the Captain’s own blade, shattering it as it had every other opponent’s sword.’
A splash of color out of the corner of his eye broke Pack’s concentration on the sword. When he turned to look, he saw Aurora magically mending Ander’s staff. Mesmerized by the magical display of colors seeping out of the young woman, the halfling watched the sorceress as she took her time perfectly positioning each piece of the intricately carved staff before reforming the wood with her magic. When the spell was complete, the sorceress handed the completed weapon back to Ander, whose relieved look told the halfling that the staff was more to him than just a simple staff.
However, rather than follow the ranger, who limped off and began testing his mended staff, the halfling’s eyes remained fixed on Aurora; though she had completed her spell, a strong magical aura still lingered around the young lady. Pack had seen mages before - he had even studied a few while his Tonal Sight was invoked - but never had he seen a spellcaster glow so long after the effects of her spell had ended.
Suddenly, the bard realized that he had never seen Aurora using the normal trappings of the mystic arts: no components, no large tomes filled with archaic writings. Questions swirled inside the halfling’s head, but the bard could feel his throat tightening and knew he would not be able to see the magical flow for much longer.
Turning his attention back to the pile of booty, Pack noticed the handle of the silver sickle peeking out from underneath the wooden warrior’s armor. This should be interesting, considering how much the fire hurt. Drawing it from underneath the chain mail, he began his musical search for the magical essence of the blade, but even after several runs over the blade, the bard was still unable to locate any signs that the weapon was enchanted. It must have been a spell of some kind. The halfling shrugged his shoulders and lowered the sickle back to the floor, but before he finished his wordless tune, he saw the real dweomer. The black leather gauntlet lay just a few feet away, still adorning the hand of its dead master, and the halfling saw that the glove was unscathed by the flames that had claimed the life of its owner.
Crawling forward, Pack pulled the glowing glove off the dead man’s hand. As it came away, he noticed an intricately branded pattern of flames ringing the cuff. He continued his humming, homing in on the correct tones to discover the key to its powers, until the flames seemed to dance along the leather surface, finally flaring up and blinding him. The stunned halfling dropped the glove, rubbing his eyes as the world shifted slowly back into focus. “Gods on high,” he mumbled, “that’s powerful! What was it that he said? Falmen-neck-ties? Flumen-nick-toes? Fulmenict…”
“I cannot believe you think that, Ashrem! He fought with us!” Aurora’s voice shook the halfling’s spine, and he turned to see her facing the Ashrem. The scout had his arms crossed, and had a look that made Pack’s toes curl.
“I do not need, nor will I stand here and take, a lecture about the dubious virtues of the kobold.”
“He has a name!”
“Aurora, it is dangerous. It is in pain. And it would be better for all concerned if we were to simply leave it here to die peacefully.
“How dare you!” Pack took a few steps back from the sorceress. He had never seen her this angry about anything. “Meepo has been nothing but loyal…”
“To you, Aurora, to you.”
“And now that he’s hurt, you just want to leave him here? What kind of person are you?”
“Young lady, I am the kind of person who would prefer to see the last precious bits of healing Brother Theobald Hillshire has at his disposal go to a competent, loyal, and trusted companion rather than an unreliable and beastly whelp who is unwanted by even his own tribe.”
“He’s not beastly, and he is wanted! I want him here, Pack wants him here.” She pointed at Pack as she said his name; Pack’s eyes got wide – he didn’t want to be drawn into this fight. “Theo wants him here, and Ander wants him here!”
Ashrem reacted as if she had slapped him. “As Ander is the one who really needs Brother Theo’s attentions, I find it repugnant that you name him as one of your supporters! Without keeping our most able warrior in top shape, how can we expect to do what we all came here to do in the first place? How can we…”
“Please!” Ander limped in between the two, motioning for the pair to calm down while he continued in a quieter voice. “It’s not my idea of a good time to have to break up fights between my friends. You’re both right. We can’t ignore what Meepo has done for us, but at the same time we can’t just overlook what he is. Look, I don’t exactly relish the thought of having to decide who gets healed and who doesn’t.” For a long moment, everyone in the chamber held their breath, so when an alternate answer came from a voice outside the room, Pack nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Maybe you won’t have to.” The voice behind Pack was so deep it made Theo sound like a soprano. Pack whirled around as he heard weapons behind drawn and readied. A tall and broad goblin wearing an antlered helmet stood in the archway, his hands raised to show they were empty. No, not a goblin – it’s too hairy and big to be a goblin, and the nose looks more like a bear’s. It continued speaking as is strolled into the room, “I have a good faith gift for you that might make the decision easier.”
Pack took two steps back for every step the huge goblin took and still lost ground as he backpedaled. Ander stepped in front of the halfling with his staff raised and spoke. “I would stop moving if I were you. We have you outnumbered, and we have no desire to spill any more blood this day.”
“Very poetic Woodsman Ander, but I hardly think numbers matter with the shape you are all in.” The huge goblin squatted down, coming to rest in a crosslegged seat: it was obvious to Pack that the goblin had no fear of them. “Don’t look so surprised, I’ve been to the surface world enough to be aware of the titles used for one of your talents. I am called Balsag, Balsag the Hunter, both above and below the surface. And I don’t mind telling you I have met very few people as gifted as you and your companions.”
“How do you mean?” Ander said, still standing defiantly between the goblin and the rest of the party.
“First, put your weapons away, and then we will talk…” When nobody moved, the huge goblin continued, “…or we can fight. I’ve watched you since you entered the Citadel and I can tell you that you are no match for me and my friends.”
The halfling backed up further as the giant goblin waved his arm and a pair of the oversized rats scampered into the room. These two vermin looked exactly like the others that the group had been plagued with since they entered the underground castle, except that they were larger and well groomed; they looked almost like hunting dogs owned by an exceptionally proud hunter.
“My pets and I could have attacked you at any moment since you entered our realm,” Balsag said as he scratched on of the rats behind its ears. “I must not have made it plain enough: I am here to bargain with you, not kill you. So please, sit and speak.”
“Is that a command?” Ashrem growled, moving to stand near Ander.
“Easy, Ash,” Ander said, “I think we should hear what he has to say, but I also think he’ll have to do it while we have weapons drawn if he wants our attention.”
Pack could feel the tension rising in the air as Balsag stretched and made himself comfortable before continuing. “And I thought that feloines were noted for their hospitality; I guess the legends were wrong. Very well, if that is how you wish to begin this hunt, I’m game.”
“You said you were here to bargain,” Ander said, cutting off the retort Pack knew was forming on Ashrem’s face.
“Not really. At least not yet. I’ve seen you fight, and I must say that I am impressed. It will be very interesting seeing how well you fair against the root of the blight that has snuck into your world.”
“You mean the Demon Tree?” Pack could hardly believe that he spoke, much less that he continued to pelt the goblin with a string of questions, ‘What is it like? Can we beat it? Does it have a weakness? What color is it? Has anyone else ever fought it?”
“Slow down, minstrel! I can only answer so fast. Besides, we have yet to discuss my payment for this information.”
Ashrem growled dangerously. “So the leopard has revealed his spots. Forget his game Ander, his information smells of something rotten.”
Balsag’s head snapped toward the scout, “Then I will reluctantly watch you die. I am amazed that someone who lives behind a mask can be so judgmental of those that don’t. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything more seeing how you treat poor Meepo even after all that he has done for you.” The eyes under his shaggy brows twinkled in the firelight as he continued, “I know what you surface dwellers think of my kind, but I have never hunted one of yours: and that’s not because it hasn’t been offered!”
The Hunter paused; Pack could almost see him fighting to keep his temper under control. “Now I offer one last time to take me at my word and not my face. I can help you. As a token of proof I offer this apple to you.” With a flick of his wrist the large goblin produced a large golden apple.
“An apple?” Pack asked, “What good is that?”
“This is no ordinary apple, minstrel. It comes from the very tree that you seek to destroy.” Pack watched as the huge goblin’s other hand produced a dagger and began carving up the fruit. When the hunter was done the apple lay dissected into eight equal parts, the last of which he tossed into his gigantic maw. “As you can see it is not poisoned. What it will do is cure your wounds and renew your spirits.”
Pack watched as Ander stepped forward to collect the remaining seven pieces and distribute them. Balsag continued, “A side effect of the magic that holds the demon trapped within. However, as the fruit ages the magic begins to rot until the apple turns black and delivers death instead of health.”
“And how much does this cost us?”
Balsag paused before answering, allowing Pack and the others to watch Ander swallow his slice of the apple. “For the apple? Nothing. Consider it a taste of the kind of assistance I can offer. As for the rest? I’m glad you asked…”
The smile on the Hunter’s face didn’t make Pack feel any better.
*****
Next Time:
“Against the Grain,” or “Can’t See the Forest for the Tree”
I really loved the Tonal Vision - top shelf, suren! 
