It was already night, the sky was dark and starless, and a campfire crackled on the small inner islet, illuminating the surrounding area with a dim e light.
Balthazar sat between it and the bed of hay where Druma y, still feverish and u in his unscious state. Bouldy remained behind the goblin, quietly watg over him with a sad frown on his stony face. Blue was curled up on her cushioo the big tent, head resting over her wings, but eyes still open, alternatiween staring at the fire and gng at the twitg goblin.
Balthazar sighed as he threw a small twig into the fmes. “I hate waiting.”
Even more so than waiting, the crab hated feeling powerless, and things being out of his trol. Of all the tless pieces of junk he had ever traded with all those adventurers, and he somehow had nothing that could help him in that situation.
He wondered if the goblin would make it, if he would recover, and if he would have any perma impairment from it all. Balthazar did not want to imagihe worst, to lose his loyal assistant.
Who would build him more wooden boxes?
Who would tie all those pieces of rope that required hands with multiple digits?
Who would wash all those used pieces of bloody armor before reselling them?
Balthazar sighed again.
Who would ugh with him while watg some overburdened adventurer zigzagging down the road from atop a boulder while eating pastries?
“I ’t keep sitting here,” the crab said as he stood up and headed to the bridge.
Irading post, the rger fire pit roared with tall fmes that lit up the eform.
By a er, a burly figure stood with his back turo the bridge, fag a shelf.
As Balthazar approached, Khargol turned. He was holding an open book in his hand and wearing his tiny gsses on his rge nose.
“You have to buy them if you wanhem,” the mert said as he walked by.
“I was reading a volume on on siesses,” the calm orc responded. “If you’d like me to not help and instead sit idly staring at a fire, I oblige, too.”
“Bah, sorry, force of habit,” Balthazar said, staring out into the dark pins.
The chieftain joined him while putting his gsses ba his pocket.
“How far away is your vilge?” asked the crab.
“A fair distance, but my brothers move fast,” the other responded.
“Do you think it will be much longer?”
“No, I do not.” Khargol smirked. “In fact, it won’t be any lo all. They have returned.”
Balthazar turned quickly to the road but saw and heard nothing.
“They have? How you tell?”
“I just ,” the orc responded, stepping forward.
Right as he said the words, three figures rapidly walked dowh aered the trading post, where the chieftaied them.
Betweewo warriors was a much smaller female orc, with a slight hump on her back, supp herself on a tall wooden staff. She wore a dark robe that was covered in all manner of talismans, charms, and animal bones, making her rattle with every move she made.
The chieftain exged some hushed words with her before they turned and approached the crab.
“Mert crab,” Khargol said, “this is our shaman, Shagazurgmdushell. She agrees to see yoblin friend.”
[Level 20 Orc Shaman]
“Hello,” the hesitant crab said. “o meet you, shag… madame shaman.”
She leaned forward to look at the crab. Her eyes were mostly covered by the hood of her robe, and Balthazar wondered how she could see anything. What he could see of her face told him she appeared very old and wrinkly, and a strong st of mixed herbs emanated from her.
“You’re the ohe crab who talks?” she said, with an old and trembling voice. “Take me to yoblin.”
They crossed the bridge and approached the still unscious goblin.
“This is him,” Balthazar started. “His leg was bit by a wolf and—”
“Hush now,” she abruptly said. “I already know that. Let me see him now.”
She stepped forward, leaning oaff. The crab did not know what kind of wood it was made of, but it looked even older and med than her, its tip ending in a crooked coil, with several charms hanging from it.
She leaned over the goblin and took a loud sniff. Then, she unceremoniously pulled his left eyelid up in order to observe his eye, before forcibly pulling his to and running her index finger on it, followed by rubbing it together with her thumb, as if getting a feeling for his saliva.
Balthazar watched her examinatiohods with slight disgust.
The shaman proceeded to poke Druma’s right leg with her long fingernail.
“Uh, it’s… it’s the that was bitten,” Balthazar said.
“I know that! I’m old, but not sehe woman orc yelled out, without turning to the crab. “Let me work.”
She tinued her poking and prodding for what seemed like ay, always humming and mumbling unintelligible words to herself.
Finally, she flipped open the fp of her satchel arieved a tiny bottle of a bck liquid.
Balthazar moved to ask what it was, but before he made a sound, Khargol’s huge haly held his shell back. As he looked up, the stern orc slowly shook his head before whispering. “Trust her.”
Carefully lining the vial above the now uncovered wound, she let two drops of the bck liquid nd on it. They caused a sizzling sound and a line of bck smoke to e from the gash. Druma recoiled a out a whimper before falling bascious, but motiohis time.
“What the hell are you doing to him?!” Balthazar blurted out, no longer willing to be patient.
“Very bad, very bad,” the shaman mumbled, ign the crab’s question.
She put the vial ba her satchel and unhooked a tome from the other side of her belt. She quickly searched through the old, yellowed pages until she found what she was seeking.
“What your friend has,” she began, finally turnitention back to Balthazar, “is a very old, very dangerous disease. It is called brain bumbles to our people.”
“Brain bumbles?” the skeptical crab repeated. “And what is that supposed to be?”
“It is very dangerous,” the shaman said in a dramatie. “If not treated, it will sap the energy out of its victim, give it a burning fever, and worst of all… make them very, very dumb.”
Balthazar pulled his eye stalks ba suspi.
He wondered what the st part was supposed to mean. With a hunch, he brought up his party status and focused on the goblin’s se.
[Party Members]
[Name: Druma] [Race: Goblin] [Css: None] [Level: 3]
[Health: 6/60]
[Attributes]
[Strength: 2] [Agility: 4] [Intelligence: -1(-3)]
It was an Intelligence debuff. Or so it seemed.
“Excuse me,” the crab said, as he stepped around the shaman ao the goblin.
Pig up his wizard hat that rested on the grouo him, he gently pced it on his friend’s head, who remained asleep, breathing heavy.
Balthazar looked at the party status once more.
[Party Members]
[Name: Druma] [Race: Goblin] [Css: None] [Level: 3]
[Health: 6/60]
[Attributes]
[Strength: 2] [Agility: 4] [Intelligence: 1(-3 +2)]
“That’s it?” he said to himself.
The goblin was not very intelligent to begin with, but perhaps having his Intelligence go into the ives would lead to disastrous sequences. sequences Balthazar decided he did not want to find out.
“Will the fever pass?” he asked the shaman.
“No,” she responded, shaking her head. “He will stay as he is until he is cured. All we do is minimize his suffering.”
“Wait,” the suddeed crab said. “So, there is a cure? you make it?”
The old orc lowered her head.
“There is, but it requires petals of frostshade, a very rare and delicate flower that only blossoms for one day a year, between the end of winter and the beginning of spring.”
“Do you… have any?” Balthazar hesitated to ask, already suspeg what the answer would be.
“No,” she rapidly said. “We do not even know where it grows.”
“There has to be something else we do for him, damn it. We ’t just leave him suffering like this!”
“All we do,” the oran said, “is ease his pain with tonics, but the only solution is for you to find the petals. I easily prepare the mixture for the cure, but adding that st ingredient will be on you, talking crab.”
Balthazar sidered all his options. He couldn’t very well go look for the petals, not only because of his apparent issues with stepping away from the pond, but also because even if he could, he wouldn’t know where to go to find them. Not to mention the fact that the flower only blooms between winter and spring, and they were oail end of summer. Druma could not wait until year. He he petals now.
He would have to find someone willing to get him the missing ingredient. Somehow.
“Give him three drops of this every six hours,” the old shaman said, produg three bottles of a clear liquid from her satchel. “It will help him with his pain, but not much else.”
“Thank you,” Balthazar said, with little will to it.
The wise woman stepped closer to him and spoke in a hushed voice.
“I know you are different. Marked. I see it in you. But it’s all… wrong. Beware, talking crab, there are old forces you should not interfere with, for they interfere back.”
She lifted her gaze to look into the crab’s eyes, but as the top of her face was revealed from underh the hood, all he saw were two milky white eyes stariily at him.
Balthazar took a stumbling step back.
“I, uh… thanks. For the advice. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it, but sure, appreciated.”
He could not decide whether he found the old woman to be wise, dangerous, or a plete looling for all three for the time being, Balthazar began pnning how he would get his pincers on those petals. His best bet would be to ask adventurers, as they do nothing all day but walk bad forth around the whole ti, pilging everything they carry. Surely, at least one of them will have looted those flowers before, and hopefully still had the dried out petals somewhere at the bottom of their pack.
As he sidered his approach, the realization reached him.
“Oh, hell no! I will have to be like one of those quest giver suckers now?!”
H0st
