While Veles was having his misadventures, Gregory was having one of his own.
The handsome, white-furred twunky mink Prince had donned his golden armor and set out to save his lover and bodyguard from being erased. He might not know much about this ‘Earth’ the others kept claiming to be from, but if his former existence hated his life so much that he’d rather be Trimmed away, then it must have been ‘the tits’ as “Jeff” had told him one day – Geoffrey would never use such coarse language around royalty, after all.
There had to be someone with an answer to their dilemma. He DID trust Veles- though a horrid obese mess, the fox did have strong morals. Veles wouldn’t intentionally kill his bodyguard if he could help it. However, he also didn’t trust the ‘Jeff’ entity in Geoffrey’s head to be patient and wait for Veles to fully understand the Trimming magic.
At some point, Jeff would snap and demand Veles to Trim him. Or Veles would decide he knew enough and something would go wrong and he’d lose his beloved polar bear. That was simply unacceptable. Therefore, he would attempt to prevent it first.
The problem, Gregory realized, was that his knowledge of magic was…questionable.
Sure, as a Prince, he’d been tutored in the basics. In fact, his character sheet was rather messy, should Veles ever view it. He was a higher level than anyone else in the party, but that was merely to represent the fact that he was classically schooled in just about everything. The Prince simply had to be, in order to rule the greatest nation on the continent.
“Detect Magic,” The Prince said, waving his fingers in arcane movements.
The caravan lit up.
Just about every wagon and cart here had magic of some kind. Mostly thanks to Veles, who was considered one of the greatest inventors and innovators in history. In other words, minor magics. Things like heating and cooling containers, ‘showers’, portable toilets, or items that conditioned the air in an area to a comfortable temperature.
That wasn’t what Gregory was looking for, however. He was looking for strong Transmutation magic, the kind of magic Soul users utilized. The jaguar selling pastries had some Transmutation magic, but nothing strong enough to warrant a closer inspection. Madame Illusia’s tent, however, lit up like the Holy City on Festivus Night.
Veles had told them all to avoid her, however.
Gregory kept scanning the camp, finding a shark blacksmith who had a few golems which radiated strong Transmutation magic. He wasn’t sure if he trusted a non-mammal with his friend’s life. Cold-blooded creatures harbored some enmity for the treatment they received from warm-bloods years ago. Gregory made a note of the place but waited for something else, something better.
As he neared the edge of the caravan, Gregory spotted a flamboyant wagon proclaiming itself “Conveyor of Faerie Goodes and services” parked next to the forest.
The wagon was staffed entirely by Goblyns. When one thought of goblins, they thought of hooked nosed, long eared, short green skinned humanoids. But Goblyns were something much different. They could be furry and dog-like or fat and reptilian or any shape in between. The only constant between them was that none of them looked exactly like any other.
Unusually for the caravan, the goblyns didn’t appear to have any guards. Though Gregory didn’t know much about the Fey, he did know these carts usually had a massive ogre acting as a guard and a much larger Hob-goblyn in charge. Orcs and gnomes were also often found amongst a Goblyn caravan as they were Fey as well, but Gregory saw none amongst their numbers.
“You there, rich lookin’ guy!” A classic-looking goblyn chomping on a cigar said, puffing colorful smoke in Gregory’s direction. “Ya interested in buyin’?”
His accent was heavy and grating to the Prince’s ears. If he’d remembered his time on Earth, he’d recognize as a Jersey accent. In other words, really trashy. But he didn’t.
“What do you have?” Gregory asked.
“All kinds a things!” A cat-like goblinoid with scales and fur hissed happily, reptilian tongue flickering between its sharp teeth. It held up a strange, springy contraption that bounced and bobbed in its claws. “Look at this shiny watchamacallit!”
Gregory saw a spiral on the contraption and immediately averted his gaze from the hypno-wheel.
“I’d thank you to try not to enthrall me.”
“Heh. Smarty-pants, here.” The original goblyn guffawed, “Alright. What are ya lookin for, then?”
“Soul magic,” Prince Gregory leaned in, “Something to save my friend.”
“The polar bear!” A batlike-goblyn squeaked, flapping vestigial wings and dancing in place nervously. “Very complex! Very expensive!”
“Fine.” The original green-skinned goblyn sneered, “But there’s a price. Ya know how us fey love our bargains.”
“What is it?”
“A friend a mine needs ya to perform a small… service.,” The goblyn smudged out his cigar on the table. “Youse gonna help him a bit. After dat, it’s up ta youse.”
“Gold!” A rat-like goblyn whispered from under the table, glowing yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at Gregory, “Ask for gold!”
“And gold!” The original goblyn smiled, showing off yellowed, crooked teeth, “How about 250. Sound fair to ya?”
“I just help your friend, pay you some gold, and we’re good?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to Paranor. Can you wait until afterwards?”
“Fraid not, Pal. My friend needs ya service now. Youse can save your muscle headed boyfriend. Or ya can take yer chances wit dat fat fox of youses.”
The Prince thought the deal over – 250 gold was a lot, but it was worth saving his friend. The question then, was exactly what kind of help this goblyn’s friend needed. No doubt something ironic and humiliating for a Prince, such as himself. Perhaps he’d be made to clean their filthy toilets or lick their feet clean…
Gregory shuddered at the idea. But he’d also seen the look in Veles’ eyes when there was talk of “fixing” Geoffrey. And, shockingly enough, Gregory couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed to be the strongest proponent of the idea, even if he pretended to be a moderating voice.
“Deal,” Gregory said, with little other choice to save his friend. And besides, whatever humiliation these goblyns thrust on him could always be returned ten-fold once he was king.
The goblyn spat phlegm into his hand and clasped it to the mink’s. Prince Greogry winced as he felt the slimy drool squelching in his paw, but he shook it nonetheless. The original goblyn leaned back and gestured for the rat-faced one. It scurried to the goblyn, avoiding the light, and set a box on the table inbetween the mink and the goblyn.
“Dis heah is an artifact from Paranor. Take it ta yer friend, then yah press da button and let it do it’s thing. By da time it’s done, you’ll be completely satisfied.”
“Thank you.” Gregory replied picking up the box and placing it in his pocket before shelling out 250 gold coins from his personal purse.
“Never thank a fey, pal,” The Goblyn lit up a new, foul-smelling cigar and grinned lazily at the mink, “It means ya owe dem somethin’. An believe me pal, ya don’t wanna owe us anything.”
The Prince turned and hurried off, trying to ignore the titters and giggles form the Goblyns. Creepy sorts, but good for their word. In fact, their word was literally everything to them. Strange folk.