Rennia stared with crossed arms at Dontellin desperately attempting to fix the broken wheel. His horse neighed in response to being stuck where it was. The creature stared up at it and gave it's master a side eye.
"Well, 'Donty', the tavern's around the corner ahead. I think I'll just walk that way. I'll come check up on you in a moment." Rennia waved at him. "I need to get there immediately."
"Hold up now, Rennia. At least let me accompany you—my horse should be fine."
The mount trampled the ground and breathed through its nose in agitation, almost mockingly. Dontellin chuckled at it. Rennia shook her head, but she didn't decline. With her heavy backpack on,filled with some converted gold, she began walking. She wanted to get out of these sweaty boots, maybe even get a hot bath.
"Come on, I'll be an escort. Who knows what Lady Ishmere did this time. I'll bet she made frog stew out of a squirrel's nest."
"I honestly do not want to even know," she scoffed.
He put his hand on her shoulder, smiling, and she threw it off and gave him the belittling eye. Which he shrugged off. On the passing road, Rennia took note of the seemingly blooming night flora which resided on their grassy plains. Tall and purplish under the moonlight, the flowers bloomed in the direction of the passing wind.
Dontellin produced a small ornate pouch from under his coat. Silver thread embroidery caught the moonlight, and inside she could see dried leaves—dark green with edges. The scent was earthy but pleasant, almost invigorating just to smell.
"Here, chew on this, just a small pinch, though" he offered. She took it willingly, guessing it was some sort of mint leaf, ready to drown out her thoughts. "Silverleaf from the mountain estates—I used to work for. I keep it for when the road gets too long. Keeps me awake, strong, but is pretty expensive stuff."
She stopped to chew on a small portion. The leaves were bitter at first, then suddenly her vision sharpened and her heart began racing. A jolt of energy surged through her limbs like lightning, making her stumble slightly as her body adjusted to the sudden rush.
"What the hell—" She staggered, nearly losing her balance as the intensity hit her all at once.
[Constitution boost +2 [Temporary]]
[Endurance boost +3 [Temporary]]
Dontellin was amused but offered a hand. He too took a small pinch, but with no drawbacks. "Potent stuff, isn't it, Lady Pathfinder? Keeps you sharp on long journeys. Thought you might need it."
"What is that?"
"Silverleaf from my family's... well, let's say we had access to the better mountain harvests, at the "estate" we worked at. Still have some left from better times."
"Not beating any strange cart driver allegations, are we? That's no common roadside herb."
He definitely wasn't some random cart driver.
"The best surprises in life are the ones we don't see," he said, beckoning toward the tavern. "Now, your 'home' is up ahead. Shall we move forward?"
Rennia, still under the kicking effects of the herbs?,nodded sluggishly. A constitution bonus of two—that made her think. Was that some alchemical concution of a kind? It'd have to be some kind of homebrew. He didn't strike her as someone who made something like that for fun. Mountain estates, now that was a topic of discussion, she didn't know much about ivarcant's smaller holdings, or whatever he was speaking of.
"You know, Dontellin, you're trying too hard. Way too hard."
"Hmm? Sorry?"
"I'm not interested in you romantically, that is. I'm still reeling from the effects of a different relationship."
"The Lyanna girl," he finished.
She tensed up. She hadn't told him a damn thing about her. Her fists balled.
"Calm down. Your master has loose lips. Very loose lips I must inquire."
Rennia shuddered. Of course she did.
"Still, my point stands. You need to stop pursuing me. It will do you no favors. You do not want to be near me. Or touch me, for that matter. I'm afraid you simply couldn't handle me." Or handle what was beneath her pants.
He looked away, uncaring but undefeated in his smile. "From what I understand from the history of this city, Ishmere was once known as a promiscuous character. Whatever witch pact you signed with her, it doesn't scare me. Maybe I'm genuinely interested in you, that's all."
Her cheeks lit up slightly. Now he wasn't cart boy Dontellin anymore—he was Dontellin, a mysterious character who had a secret he hid, and so too did she. He was simply another person who didn't know the contents of her life. He didn't fit into the equation of her puzzle solving, She'd hate to deal with another runner.
The walk forward was very much awkward, but she bore it quietly.
As they had gotten back to the Ebongild tavern, Rennia noticed that in the passing time, any and all holes had been patched up. Nails and wooden strips sat where previously burned and trashed wood had rested. It still was a far cry from being a fashionable spot, but at least no more rain and cold would bite her.
What was uneasy was that the front door had been left partially open, and firelight torched through. That immediately set unease in her heart. Her proactive instincts kicked in and she backed into sprinting, a flailing Dontellin running behind her. They shouldn't have any visitors, and yet it felt packed.
"Rennia, wait up!"
"No time!"
When Rennia burst through the door, her mouth hung open and her face recoiled in terror as she stared at the horrendous sight in front of her. Multiple city guards were lying unconscious inside the tavern lobby, most still in uniform, although slightly disheveled. One, however, lay butt naked and awake near the door. His eyes seemed almost hollow as he stared at Rennia. He didn't move or say a word. Emptied bottles and tankards were everywhere, scattered about. There had clearly been some heavy drinking at work here. Alcohol? No. Ishmere didn't? Did she?
Dontellin found it amusing. "Oh dear, the Guard Captain might be here soon. All in uniform too... tsk... tsk... what the papers would pay for such a scandal."
Rennia bonked him over the head. "Don't forget I stay here. I do not want the free press here."
He laughed it off. Rennia, in full investigative mode, noticed that none seemed to be in any aggressive manner—all the weapons were kept in a corner of the room. That meant they either reached an "amnesty" with Ishmere, or they all decided to just go wild and she put it there.
"Isn't this illegal?" she asked Dontellin.
"Maybe a few nights' worth of pay, no war around here, no hard consequences for the gendarmerie, in times of peace."
"Gendarmerie? Such big words you use for a silly cart boy."
He scratched the back of his head, and she swore she saw him sweating.
After Rennia affirmed they had no signs of injury and no ill intent toward harming the tavern, she walked past the pile in a trance. Ishmere was nowhere to be seen. That left their bedroom and their kitchen. Suffice to say, she was in neither of those. And Rennia doubted she'd walk around in the shed or the windmill—that left the basement.
She scrunched up her nose as she got closer to it. Dontellin followed her, curious to see what was about. The sounds of something crackling below her intensified, and a gassy vapor had started leaking upward from down below. Rennia took a few steps downward.
"What's down there?"
She held a finger to her mouth and frowned, and he shut up. Rennia tiptoed silently downward, and it wasn't long before the euphoric effects of the vapor had started affecting her, although only slightly.
Ishmere stood there with her small stature on a chair, next to a table filled with contraptions, glass, and bulbous shapes, and papers and metal and smoke and liquid moving. Dontellin turned around immediately; she didn't stop him. It was intense.
Ishmere, with her maddening grin, stood there working and brewing whatever the hell she was making.
"ISHMERE, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!"
Ishmere barely noticed her. She was visibly intoxicated, happy and tipsy. She hiccupped as she opened her mouth to speak. Bubbles floated from her mouth, A mug was next to her, and she was drinking from it—a liquid that resembled the color of bleaching agent.
"Rennia, my love. I'm so happy to see you." She hopped off the chair, running toward Rennia and hugging her by the waist. Rennia's face recoiled. "I'm so glad you took your time, but you're back so soon. I thought you just left. I thought I'd start the next operation without your help, but since you didn't want the goblins inside, I had to work on it myself. Lo and behold! I made a alcoholic brew, it fizzes in your mouth and pops and blows like bubbles, it's almost perfected and ready to sell in mass consumption for the tavern's revival."
"Huh?"
"I call it Bubble-ale, it's amazing, help yourself with a sip."
Rennia did so, reluncant, but relucantly curious. One sip, and she felt that whatever kick, the leaf amplified, kick her throat. Started coughing, squinting her eyes, shaking her "master." "You can't sell this—it's too strong. Are you nuts! And what's wrong with you? Drank too much? What's going on upstairs? Are you unable to control yourself?"
Ishmere turned up her nose. "The busybodies came to inspect my tavern after I made a slight error in my early recipe. Something combusted, like all mistakes tend to do. So I gave them what they wanted, and I guess they wanted to get drunk. On the house, I told them, for being my first customers. I do plan a grander reopening in a few weeks, but—"
"They are knocked out, which means more guards will start turning up. Are going to feed the city, what if they fine, you?"
"Me? You mean, us?" The tipsy sage said.
Rennia started shaking the limp drunk, throwing her back and forth. "I'm sorry, what kind of recipe causes the entire city to hear it?"
Ishmere cried out in pain and reluctance. "It was an accident okay. Chem-mi-cal Ree-ac-tion? And what's your deal? Maybe you ought to go back to the dungeon. Disrespectful barmaids need a spanking."
"Barmaid? Now hold up a minute, I never—" Rennia's eyes locked onto the door past Ishmere's contraptions—the locked one, the one she had been asked not to enter, just sitting under the tavern. She let go of Ishmere and started stepping toward it very quickly. Ishmere bolted, suddenly half sober, tumbling in front of her and barring her entry.
"Whoa, hold up, where are you going?"
"I've been wondering for a while what you've been hiding in there." Rennia looked around. "I've been wondering what the hell this place is in the first place. It's clearly a workspace for alchemy and other things."
"It's... not any of the sort, and certainly none of your concern."
She pushed Ishmere out of the way. "Consider me interested."
Ishmere started hiccupping, slurring and apologizing. "It's dangerous. Don't go inside."
What could possibly be more dangerous than an army of buffoons laying in their lobby? The legal ramifications would show themselves soon enough. Rennia rammed her way to the door, her stressed but disciplined body thinking nothing of the ordeal after the dungeon.
A flash of blue light covered the door. Rennia stepped back—a warding spell covered it. Ishmere stood there, half unconscious, muttering and whispering, "Can't go in yet." Then she fell to the ground. Rennia's shins pained and her back hurt. She'd really wanted to pursue this, but with the magical distillery at work and an suddenly unconscious Ishmere at her feet, she resigned. Make no mistake—she'd find out soon enough.
First things first: she had to get the guards out, and probably lock the basement, speak with Dontellin, then decide what to make of everything. Despite it all, she felt something far more horrific would happen. There was no point in interrogating the barely recovering magical coma patient.
Rennia threw her hands up. She had bodies to throw out.