The Alchemist's Lair: Part 4

After we made our way back to the camp, while Andre was getting his arm looked at, Iocasta explained what kind of creature we had faced.

“Some say baukhs were men once, but if that’s true, it was thousands of years ago. They live in caves and hunt in packs at night. Starlight amanita is often used by them as bait, as curious humans and animals often approach the mushrooms, allowing the monsters to strike unseen. Baukhs are not picky eaters; wild animals and lost travellers are both fair game. There are also stories of them stealing children from the edges of villages, but those cases are rare, since they usually fear civilization.”.

“See, this is exactly why I joined the Treasure Hunters!” shouted Civet, who had mostly recovered from the traumatic events. “There was no mention anywhere in the literature of the starlight amanita being used as a hunting tool by local cannibalistic hominids. This is indispensable knowledge!”

Iocasta glared at him, looking as if she was about to finish what the baukhs started, then slapped him across the face.

“And what do you think will happen to that knowledge if your foolishness gets you killed? That’s it! I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re safely back in Hieropolis”.

Then the sergeant, who was following the conversation with more interest than usual, spoke up.

“You’re saying these creatures are a big trouble for the locals? Any way to track down where this pack lives and deal with them?”

“If we could find their cave, then yes, there are ways to take them out without much trouble. But the thing that makes baukhs a persistent threat is that they’re hard to track down. They move through the treetops as much as possible, leaving nothing for me to follow. If we had a bloodhound, then maybe, but as things are –“

“Actually, I wounded one of them, but it managed to get away”, I interjected. “Maybe we could follow that one”.

“That’s great news!” Iocasta answered. “A blood trail. Yes. If we find it, I can work with that”.

There was an unusual glow in Sergeant Nixon’s eyes, as if he was to do the first worthwhile thing this entire trip. “Mind if we take a little detour tomorrow?” he asked.

Early tomorrow afternoon, we were standing in front of a cave mouth. The blood trail was clear, and Iocasta had no trouble guiding us there. Annabel used a simple divination ritual to check the general size and shape of the cave and ascertain if there were other exits. Then we sprang into action. We gathered a large amount of wood into the entrance, almost sealing it, then set it aflame. Annabel and the battlemage took turns blowing smoke and fire into the cave. Soon enough, an infernal choir could be heard from within the cave, rising in volume with every passing second.

Several of the baukhs eventually decided to risk it and try to break through, but the sergeant’s men were ready for them and took them out with gunfire. After thirty minutes, the noise stopped. We waited for another hour, just in case.

“We did good work today, men”, said Sergeant Nixon. “Now let us return to the camp”.

We reused the same campsite for another night, this time without anyone wandering off into the woods, and continued our journey the next day.

Three days later, we arrived at Kotezh, which was to be our base of operations. Most apparition sightings took place in the relative vicinity, so our first order of business was to gather information from the locals. When I say ‘our’ though, I mostly mean Iocasta, Civet, and Annabel. The former was a native to the area and knew some of the villagers personally, which helped the process go smoothly. The latter two knew which kinds of questions to ask.

This state of affairs left the rest of us with nothing in particular to do. As stationing all of us in the tiny local inn wasn’t feasible, we set up a camp. The villagers suggested we stay at the land which used to belong to a local drunkard, who had recently drowned and left no heirs. They didn’t decide yet what to do with it, so they let us use it.

During this time, Nixon learned that a gigantic pig-like beast, called a daeodon, was being a menace to the area lately. With nothing better to do, he organized a hunt, most of us joining in. The hunt went smoothly, mostly thanks to Rhombus, who was experienced in big game hunting and was familiar with common tactics. His strategy of choice involved splitting the hunters into two groups, one to lure the target into an ambush and the other to kill it. He placed himself, of course, in the latter group and made a good showing of it, delivering the final blow personally.

The hunt taken care of, we spent the rest of the afternoon handling the carcass. A large part of the meat was used to make a communal stew in front of the inn, to which the entire village was welcome to help themselves, as a gesture of goodwill. The rest of it was placed in a smokehouse, and the hide was handed to a local tanner to deal with.

When I was done helping out with the stew, I went to the inn, where Rhombus was already busy drinking. He motioned at me with his hand, inviting me to sit down.

“C’mere, have a drink. I loathe drinking alone, and Gandor, Mithra bless his soul, won’t join me. Says he needs to be sober to protect me. Bah! As if I need protection!”

I sat down across from him and ordered an ale, staring at him with a hint of suspicion, wondering whether he would try to pick a fight again.

“Ah, no need to be scared of ol’ Rhombus”, he seemed to have noticed my unease. “I know we didn’t start on the best of terms, and you still owe me a duel, and I’ll get it one day – but now, we celebrate! Celebrate! We returned in triumph! And such a beast we bagged!”

“That we did”, I answered diplomatically. “Good thing you finished it off when you did, I don’t know how much longer I could hold it back”.

“It’s a miracle you did it at all, let me tell you! You and Gandor holding that giant thing back. I scarcely believed my eyes. You truly are as strong as the stories say. I was sure those recruits were full of crap, you know. Trying to justify getting trashed by a newbie. I could still take you, mind you, but credit where credit’s due and all that”.

The mood got more relaxed afterwards. Rhombus was doing most of the talking, griping about Hieropolis academy being full of wusses, gushing about Gandor being a perfect subordinate, complaining about the quality of local ale, and expressing disappointment in the charms of local women. All in all, I found drunken Rhombus more tolerable than sober Rhombus. Soon enough, Nixon appeared, carrying bowls of warm stew.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Sure, sure, sergeant. Have a seat. You know, sergeant, I can barely recognize you without that look of contempt in your eyes”.

Sergeant smirked. “I thought I would have to spend my time twiddling my thumbs while you poke around tombs, doing Civet things. I was proven wrong. You chaps are alright in my book”.

Rhombus found the sergeant’s formulation hilarious for some reason.

“Civet things”, he wheezed, “now that’s a way to put it!”

We continued drinking for a good few hours. As I was leaving, Nixon and Rhombus were engaged in an impromptu arm wrestling competition. I went back to my tent and fell asleep.