The Newt and Demon

The Newt and Demon’s shop became a place cluttered with bodies. The lack of chairs didn’t help things, but Theo cast his eyes over those assembled. There was a loose definition on what determined a mercantile seat, but it came down to who had influence and who had a seed core building within the town. Zan’kir stood, chatting with Azrug near the entrance. Throk stood with Banurub, Tresk, and Fenian near the wall of potions. Miana, Luras, Perg, Ziz, and Aarok stood near the counter. The mood was light, despite the alchemist’s expectations. He thought it would be a grim day.

Theo was happy to be wrong. While they faced down a difficult situation, things were already in motion. Any sense of disquiet washed away the moment he saw everyone’s smiling faces, greeting him as he descended the stairs. He held up a hand for silence, which he got without question.

“What an odd bunch,” Theo said, trying not to laugh. “We carved something special here, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, we did!” Tresk said, pumping her fist in the air.

“There’s a long road stretching ahead of us, but I’m trying to take it slow,” Theo said. “I have a lot of experimentation coming up, so my schedule is going to be tight.”

“Get to it,” Miana said, flashing a roguish grin.

“Fenian thinks we’re in for a battering,” Theo said. “Aarok can confirm that, with the research he’s done. A worldwide monster wave is looking more likely by the day, but I imagine Qavell already knows that.”

“Knows it and won’t tell a soul,” Throk put in, nodding to himself.

“The jerks!” Tresk shouted.

“Right. Fenian agreed to supply us with defensive platforms at cost,” Theo said. “10 gold each, and I already have two—thanks to his generous gift.”

“I have an interest in this town,” Fenian said. His voice always had an air of authority. “Qavell is small, relative to the other holdings. Their resources will run dry before long. You’ll be on your own out here.”

“That doesn’t change much,” Aarok said with a scoff. “They send us pocket change to defend the town.”

“They’re doing their best,” Perg said, shrugging. “I can’t imagine the cost of a war.”

“It’s extremely expensive,” Fenian said, grinning. “But, there’s money to be made. Potions are in demand, of course, but so is leather, food, and other goods.”

“What he’s trying to say is we need to become a crafting town,” Theo said. “The resources around Broken Tusk are absurdly rich. It’s amazing they haven’t been tapped before.”

“Well, there might be more to that than you think,” Aarok said, withdrawing a notebook from his inventory. “Ogres don’t keep good records, and Half-Ogres aren’t much better. From what I gathered, it was never this rich. The fishermen have pulled in record hauls. There’s a record from a Qavelli surveyor about the mineral deposits. Poor quality marble. That’s what they said.”

“Our stone is of perfect quality,” Ziz said, puffing his chest out.

Zan’kir cast Theo a look that made his heart beat faster. The alchemist long suspected the adventurer knew more than he was letting on.

“There is a story among the Khahari—specifically the Khahari’dul’te, holders of the oasis—about a convergence,” Zan’kir said. “Portents of the apocalypse, or the harbinger of a new world. It is quite poetic, so no one knows how much is true.”

“A convergence,” Theo said, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” Zan’kir said. “In this tale, power seeps through invisible cracks. It bleeds into this world, changing things. For better, for worse.”

“That seems a little too close for comfort,” Luras grunted.

Theo thought about all the things that went well for them in Broken Tusk. The stone was one thing, but the way his reagents regenerated so quickly was another.

“An interesting tale,” Fenian said, waving a dismissive hand. “Cautionary, but likely factual. Broken Tusk is prepared, though. Theo has done more to work out defensive measures than you could hope.”

A silence settled over the crowd like a sheet. The air stifled around them for a moment before letting up.

“We’re ready,” Azrug said, breaking the silence. He stood as tall as his adolescent form would allow, puffing out his chest and grinning.

“We will be ready,” Aarok said. “We can worry about what’s to come, but we’re preparing.”

“So, the reason we’re gathered here,” Theo said, clearing his throat. “I need help funding the remaining defenses. At least two more [Chain Lightning Towers]. Twenty gold.”

“I’ll pitch in,” Azrug said, not missing a beat.

A murmur of agreement spread through the group. Whatever reservations they had about sharing their personal finances fell away in an instant, giving away to a sense of charity that made Theo’s heart swell. After a whirlwind of shuffling funds and a few arguments, the group produced the coins, handing them to the alchemist willingly. The guilt he felt washed away under the thought of that convergence. Before they continued the discussion, he had 4 [Chain Lightning Towers] in his inventory.

“I’ll say this before I depart,” Fenian said, his tone suddenly somber. “You’ve built something worth defending here. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve taken steps to defend yourself from more than monsters. There’s a saying I’m quite fond of, although I cannot remember its origin. Perhaps in the Zalabar Empire—but that’s besides the point. Power draws power.”

That statement was enough to set Theo’s spine in a column of ice, the icy chill seizing in his veins. He knew it was true. Simply considering the threat of war and the invasion of bandits, it was easy to imagine how a group would want to take Broken Tusk for their own. Qavell wouldn’t help. They simply couldn’t spare the resources. Everything fell to the people in this room, looking at the alchemist as though he was their rightful leader. He didn’t feel like he deserved the position.

“Let them come,” Tresk said, drawing one of her knives. “I’ll stick ‘em myself.”

“Me, too,” Azrug said. He had nothing to brandish but scowled.

A chorus of voices joined in empty threats to an invisible enemy. Theo smiled. Their business was done for the day. It was an informal meeting that turned into a rallying cry for the town. When the voices died down, he held up a hand to silence them completely.

“That’s all I have today,” Theo said. “You’re welcome to stay, but I have nothing more to say on the matter.”

The group managed a collective shrug. They lingered for some time, discussing topics not related to the end of the world. Eventually, they filed out of the Newt and Demon, leaving Azrug, Theo, Tresk, and Fenian. It was awkward, at first.

“You’re coming into your own,” Fenian said, clapping his hand over Azrug’s shoulder. The boy blushed under his admiration.

“I’m getting better,” Azrug said.

“He’s a natural,” Theo said. “Tell him about your cores, Azrug.”

The boy did just that, going into length on what cores he got and how useful they were. Theo bid farewell to Fenian, promising to keep in contact with him. Tresk joined the alchemist outside, tracing a winding path through the town. They found their way up the battlements on the walls, tracking an aimless path along the perimeter.

“What’s your take on all this convergence talk?” Tresk asked.

“I think they’re right,” Theo said.

Theo peered over the crenelations of the western gate, watching as a group of adventurers went out into the swamp. That marsh seemed like such a dangerous place to him, like everywhere outside the walls. The privilege of safety didn’t come cheap, but it was a constantly evolving thing. There was a lot of work to be done, but today was a day of rest.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” Tresk asked. She sounded vulnerable, for once.

“We’ll be fine,” Theo said. “There’s no other option.”

“Well, we’re ahead of where we would be without you,” Tresk said.

Theo continued his journey along the wall, starting his ascent to the north of town. He spotted Zan’kir’s house in the distance, a steady stream of smoke rising from its chimney. Even at this distance, he could hear the voices of the man’s children playing. It was a sound he never thought he’d appreciate. It was the sign of a thriving town. He paused before the wall turned east.

“I’ve done a lot, but not alone,” Theo said.

As the wall turned east, the path got dangerous. Theo slipped several times, caught only by Tresk’s deft hands. The rising hills to the north forced the wall to pitch at a tricky incline. From the northern gate, all of Broken Tusk was laid out for them to see. The people looked like ants from that vantage point.

“Have you been to the [Hills Dungeon]?” Theo asked.

“Nope,” Tresk said. “Other adventurers have, but it’s still pretty low.”

“We should keep information on each dungeon,” Theo said. “Make sure we’re clearing the overflow.”

Tresk didn’t respond as they hooked along the bend, heading south. The sound of chisels against stone chased after them, fading into the distance as they went. Rushing water came next, the sound of the powerful eastern river. The water was a hundred paces from the wall, giving them a splendid view of the lowlands to the east. The alchemist perched atop the eastern gate, letting out a sigh.

“The [River Dungeon] is also concerning,” Theo said.

“Maybe you can make a water breathing potion,” Tresk said.

She was thinking more like him. Potions had been his solution to everything, but that was fading. He sat for a moment, reflecting on the encounter with Sulvan down by the river. There were beings that were impossible to overcome in this world. Things that could kill him on a whim. That kind of world didn’t seem very inviting.

Theo and Tresk continued south, coming to the next bend. A rise of hills blocked any sight of the ocean in the distance. He knew it was there, even if he’d never seen it before. The alchemist imagined the calls of seabirds and the rush of waves as he looked over the southern gate. He sat, dangling his legs over the inward ledge and smiled. The view from the southern gate was the worst, but it had its charms. The southern section of the town was mostly undeveloped thanks to Perg’s tannery. Now that the smell was gone, that would be a different story.

Each stop on the wall was a milestone. A brick laid in the road of Broken Tusk. Every memory sat in a special place in his mind, bringing that webwork of stone tighter. It laid over that man he used to be. Theo Spencer died a long time ago, leaving Belgar in his place. Why he held onto that name was beyond him—perhaps some vestigial piece of himself that his mind refused to let go of.

“Gonna sit here for a while?” Tresk asked, plopping down next to him.

Theo withdrew a journal he’d only used for notes, a quill, and a pen. He smiled, looking over his town. “For a while.”

The sun rose over the proud Half-Ogre town of Broken Tusk. Theo pressed quill to paper and began to write his thoughts.