“I am out of healing,” announces Ralith after tending to the party. Rakatha and Vong still bear visible burn marks and flaking sections of skin on their faces and hands, but many of the blisters are gone or reduced. Twitch’s hair is not affected by Ralith’s healing blessing, but her peeling skin is looking merely raw now. Pil’s arm received a solid burn when he apparently shielded his face with it, but his position behind Rakatha’s broad torso helped protect him from the worst of it.
Though the party is improved through this healing, most are still in obvious pain, and scars will still develop for many if not treated. I search my pack and look for the container of soothing balm specifically designed to treat burns. The tin is a little beat up, but the contents are unsullied. I remember creating the balm myself during the siege of Nodkis, so took it with me when I left for Val Maxis’s tower.
I twist off the lid and scoop out some of the thick, greasy, slightly purple unction, which has a potent scent of chocolate and mint and cools the nostrils when inhaled. I hand the jar to Pil, at my right, and then rub my hands together to warm the balm before applying it generously to my face and chest, and anywhere else that still looks red or feels tender. As the balm warms with the heat of my body, the scent develops floral notes. It’s one of the more pleasant-smelling concoctions I’ve ever discovered that is still effective.
Taking my lead, Pil digs into the jar and slathers some of the compound on his arm, forehead, and ears. One by one, the party dips into the tin and learns first-hand that this ointment creates an immediate soothing sensation. Later, they might even appreciate its remedial properties as well. Since this is my own concoction, I know that our burns will be greatly improved by morning and the risk of permanent scarring—even for Rakatha’s scalded face—will be much alleviated. Unfortunately, the party will still require additional healing and is in no shape to suffer a second round.
The tin is nearly empty when it finds its way back to me. I make a mental note to concoct some more, but hesitate when I realize that I have no equipment at all anymore. A small pang of resentment at the loss of my apothecary shop clouds my thoughts. Though it is not part of my present goals, I had collected a fine set of tools and apparatus and created high quality goods, all now long gone.
“Next time we go down there, we should get some torches and look for traps,” announces Vong, looking up from the lunchtime stew he began working on almost compulsively after Ralith healed him as best he could. The rest of the party really does not look so eager to strike out, so an early lunch functions as both an obvious intermission and welcome distraction.
No one responds for several minutes.
I decide to remind the party that we are on a schedule, “We are due back in Nodkis soon. We haven’t time to explore the tower cellar.”
Vong frowns. Ralith perks up.
“Okay, we’ll go back and get prepared to raid this tower,” says Vong. “But we are coming back. Level will want us to check it out.”
The party nods but the mood is somewhat somber, which I am finding quite refreshing. Perhaps this team can become tolerable through the right amount of demoralizing experiences. My observation of behaviors in sentient beings tells me that it’s probably not a sustainable state, long-term, but might help create the proper respect and bond that will see these losers become suitable minions to me. After all, minions only need to be competent enough to do my bidding and compliant enough to obey me. I will need, in time, servants who can do some thinking for themselves but I will need their loyalty to be unquestionable or, at the very least, their selfish goals to be in total alignment with mine. Looking around at this group, they will never be suitable to become that kind of independent agent. They could only ever be puppets to me.
Making our way back to town is a relatively quiet affair. Ralith is able to heal the party to full health the next day, though it takes his entire divine allowance. We are able to find the main trade road between Plor and Nodkis after half a day’s hike, and following its well-worn path is easy enough.
As the gates of Nodkis loom ever bigger before me, I have the sensation of being away longer than I truly had been. I think back and account for the time away, and the feeling passes quickly.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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