Chapter 52: A Wistful Dream For When The Violence Ends

Adrian sauntered jauntily down the empty, dark street, whistling through a grin. Though his hand was disgustingly sticky with congealed blood he spun and twirled his knife cheerfully, showing off flashy tricks to the shuddered windows and barred doors. He glanced at a list with only three names on it, which was attached to his sleeve with a glistening film of magic.

"That's one down, three to go." Adrian hummed. One alchemist that apparently knew nothing down, and only two left alive in the city. "Halfie, oh my sweet halfie, you really couldn't have made this just a wee bit harder? Seriously though, what the hell were those useless extras doing all this time! They had weeks, but Elena and that incompetent bastard Kevin found jack and shit! Then, as soon as I magnificently step into the fray, an easy clue falls into my lap."

The gradually drying blood on his knife hand was starting to flake. Itchy. He scratched idly at his hand when he noticed a lone pedestrian who had just turned around to walk the other way up the street. Adrian increased his pace and appeared behind the pedestrian, sweeping his arm around the fellow's neck in a dramatic gesture of friendship. "Tell me, oh mysterious stranger, tell me the answer that I so desperately seek! They had fucking weeks, and while I admit that a nice little clue came my way to point me towards the alchemists with a fucking neon sign, how did those wastes of oxygen miss all those chemicals being bought out?"

The pedestrian straightened up in surprise, hood falling backwards to reveal the cautious yet rough face of an orc.

"Um… sir, I'm afraid that I don't know what you're talking about. Now… if you would excuse me?" The orc muttered, dipping his head in an attempt to remove Adrian's arm and be on his way.

"Nuh uh uh, my newfound friend, you ain't fucking going anywhere." Adrian sneered, swiftly palming a knife and caressing the orc's neck with it. "Really though, if we were on Earth, this wouldn't even be an issue. Let's say that some shady fuckers come in and buy a bunch of chemicals that, if combined, can make bombs or poison gasses. What happens then? Oh! I know! No matter if the sale goes through or not, the authorities get notified. Did that happen here?"

The nervous orc flinched as Adrian's voice gradually rose in volume. "I-I don't know-w!"

"The answer is, no it fucking didn't." Adrian let out a weary sigh, gently tracing the wrinkles on the orc's cheeks with his small blade. "Instead, I had to be sent a canister left behind when one of my colleagues was murdered, then I had to take the apparently ginormous mental leap to connect the dots between that idiot of a wizard getting a lungful of fucking mustard gas in his own home, large, magicless explosions happening left and right, and said idiot of a wizard getting dropped by some kind of invisible weapon. And that, well bingo bango bongo, sure sounds like fucking Earth history-inspired alchemy to me! Mustard gas, some kind of gunpowder, and one of the many little fun gasses that kill people."

Adrian shrugged his shoulders, casually oblivious to the keen edge of his knife following that movement across the orc's neck. He also ignored the body falling to the ground, swiftly draining itself of its precious contents.

"Now I, as the seemingly only useful member of the 'heroes' or whatever cheesy title those government morons call us now, have to do a shit ton of legwork as all of these stupid-ass alchemist shops are across the city from each other. After all, this halfie had to have gotten his crap from one of these guys." Adrian sighed again, not looking forward to all the walking he had to do, as he gracefully stepped over the lifeless corpse of his temporary talking buddy.

Really. If it weren't for these fun little conversations where I can vent a little, I might have had to kick that worthless woman out of her hidey-hole to ease my stress. Hm. Kick. Maybe once this shit is over, if that bitch doesn't end up pulling her weight, I can drop her too, like Warren and Eleanor. Shouldn't be too hard since she's now a worthless cripple."

That thought cheered him up a little more. And so, Adrian carried on his merry way down the quiet streets of Drassington.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Deep in the archives, Tim stepped around the ever-growing swarms of rats that were gradually beginning to obscure the rugged wooden floor of the archives like some horrible carpet of furry slugs. The rats, who mercifully hadn't damaged the books, Tim, or his allies, had visibly began to thicken in numbers ever since the group had returned from the battle at the Bastille. Each time Tim observed the swirling masses that skittered around the many paths of the archives and swarmed around the rat king in a swirling vortex of fur and red eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. Even Philbert, still nestled securely in the breast pocket of his ragged scholars' robes seemed to be somewhat caught up in the inspiring atmosphere. Every so often, the tiny little head of his rodent friend would poke out of the warm pocket to assess the situation, seeming to nod in approval of the gathering numbers. Yes, it was all coming together.

Soon, Tim found himself facing down the weathered carved doors leading out into the main library, their wooden mass shut tight against any intruders who would find themselves testing their luck in finding research materials in the archives. He walked up to the frame, fingers tracing the deep grooves of the carvings while his free hand absentmindedly waved in greeting to the duo of Dimitre and Santet who diligently trained in their strange dance-like fighting style as they kept watch on the gateway to the outside world, all the while ignoring the furry rodents scuttling underfoot.

"You know, Philbert," Tim whispered to his constant companion, "it's funny. We've been holed up down here for all this time, but I've never really bothered to pay much attention to the doorway. All these fantastical creatures, Philbert! Do you think they once existed?" Tim asked the talking rat.

The rat in question poked his head out of Tim's pocket, tiny paws clutching a cookie crumb as he watched Tim trace the weathered, wooden body of a screaming kraken frozen in time as it fought a deadly battle with a wooden phoenix.

"The lesser ones, ones, have seen some creatures, ones that are similar to those." Philbert's monotone voice whispered. "A bird, small as a hawk, a hawk in flight, but brimming with fire, fire. Several slimy arms, questing forth, forth from the black depths, snatching at the lesser ones as they ran."

"Amazing…" Tim murmured. "Hey Philbert, once this mess is over, how about we see if we can find some of these creatures? There's gotta be a book or two on these guys somewhere in the archives. Maybe we can drag Bert along, or see if Mavier wants to tag along? Of course, Dimitre and Santet would join, they like Mavier too much to let him have all the fun on his own." Tim let out a soft laugh as the small sounds of Philbert munching on cookie crumbs met his words. "Don't worry, my friend, I'm sure that we can find cookies in the towns we come across. Maybe they will have new kinds for you to try?" Tim hadn't seen Philbert eat anything else. He hoped rats didn't get scurvy. Maybe some orange cookies.

The rodent made a squeak of approval at this, prompting a satisfied smile from Tim. Fruits and vegetables sucked anyways. "That's more like it. Well, it'll be something to look forwards to once we get rid of those murdering bastards. Maybe I'll settle down and start a bakery after our adventure."