“Ten? This candelabra has to be worth at least twenty gold,” Syril said to the merchant.

  The half-elf, Linar, and a halfling merchant were all in a back room of a shop with all their loot from the vampire lair that wasn’t easily depositable into a bank.

  “It is,” the halfling said. “And if I buy it for you for that much, how am I going to make any money off of the transaction?”

  “You know,” Linar’s voice came from the side where he was scratching at the door frame with his fingernail. “This building looks awfully flammable.”

  The room grew still as the halfling looked from Linar to Syril, hoping the bard would prove to be a restraining force on the rogue.

  “Stop trying to ‘help,’ Linar.”

  “What?” Linar asked, looking innocent. “I’m just mentioning how old wooden buildings have the bad habit of catching fire at the worst of times.”

  Syril turned to the merchant, “I assure you, we are not threatening you. Please ignore him.”

  “Well…” the halfling said, looking between the two unsure who to address. “I suppose I can go up to fifteen gold per candelabra.”

  Syril sighed, rubbing his forehead in disappointment.

  They carried on with the rest of the more mundane items, and then Linar produced the jar.

  “What is it?” the halfling asked.

  “It’s a relic,” Linar said.

  “It looks like a penis,” the halfling said. “Its kind small though.”

  “It’s perfectly normal sized,” Linar insisted a little too hotly. “And it is a relic… and a penis.”

  “Does it have any provenance?”

  “No,” Linar said. “We found it in an ancient temple, but it was very well hidden.”

  The halfling considered.

  “Best I can do it five gold,” he said finally.

  “Five gold!” Linar shouted. “That’s insulting.”

  “Do you know how much of a hassle it is to authenticate something like this?”

  They haggled, and Linar got him to go as high as seven, but after that he refused to go any higher.

  “Fine,” Linar said. “I’m keeping it.”

  ***

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I told you I’d be helpful,” Linar said as they left the merchant with a small bag of holding full of coins—the price of which had been deducted from their profits.

  “I don’t think extortion can exactly be called helpful,” Syril responded.

  “Of course it can be, if it helps.”

  ***

  “So, why do you want me here?” Grom asked Ellen as she led him into the back room of the inn that they seemed to constantly be renting for one reason or another.

  All the furniture had been moved to the sides, revealing the warped wooden planks of the floor.

  “You can cast Banishment, right?” she asked.

  “Umm, well… I’d normally say no, but recent events suggest otherwise,” he answered.

  “That’s what I thought you’d say,” she said. “I’m going to just do a wee bit of eldritch horror summoning and I wanted you to be nearby incase I needed the help.”

  “A ‘wee bit of summoning?’” Grom asked with less surprise than he really felt he should be feeling at the moment.

  “Just a little tiny outsider,” she said with forced casualness. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “If it’s nothing to worry about, why am I here?”

  “Always be prepared, that’s the first rule of wizardry,” Ellen said.

  “You just made that up,” Grom said. “And prepared for what?”

  “The worst possible outcome,” said evasively.

  “Which is…”

  Ellen avoided eye contact, looking at her foot as she scratched at the floor.

  “Oh, nothing likely. Just silly things like a nameless one piggy backing off the connection. But that almost never happens, and it’s what the containment circles are for.”

  “Uh huh,” Grom said, not buying it.

  “Are you going to help or not?”

  Grom gestured for her to carry on and took a seat in the corner of the room.

  Ellen began the ritual, speaking in a strange language Grom was certain she was using magic to produce the sounds of. Sounds, that as soon as they were spoken, he couldn’t recall for the life of him. As she circled the ritual, magical lights lit and floated in her wake until there was a crack and a small black bundle of tentacles and eyes writhed on the floor in front of them.

  Grom shuttered at the grotesque figure, but then relaxed noticeably. If that was a nameless one, then the forces of the great void had a very undeserved reputation. He sat back and watched as Ellen and the ball of black suction cups spoke, both growing increasingly frustrated as the conversation went on—though Grom couldn’t tell how he knew the writhing mass was frustrated, only that it was.

  “Can you go get me an ale from the bar?” Ellen asked Grom.

  “Which kind?” he asked, getting up to do so.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  Grom put his hand over his heart, mock pain of his face.

  “It doesn’t matter?” he asked. “Do the ways you wiggle your hands not matter when casting a spell? Do the ingredients in a cake not matter? Every ale serves a purpose, and every occasion calls for a specific ale.”

  “Okay, what’s the ale for the occasion of sealing a deal with a mind entity of the void? I need to physically give him something to finalize the contract.”

  “Hmmm,” Grom said, considering. “I don’t think they serve it on the surface, but I’ll find something close.”

  ?

  Patreon for up to 20 advanced chapters.