“How stupid could Gregory be?” Charlie wondered to himself. Except it wasn’t stupidity, he realized, but something else, something very unique to the world that they now inhabited.
When Gregory had described the deal the goblyns had offered him, Charlie couldn’t believe that someone like Gregory could fall for it. For all of his shortcomings, the prince was quite intelligent, but intelligence in this world didn’t have any relation to common sense. Gregory the prince might be a genius administrator, but he had no common sense. In other words, he had high intelligence and low wisdom.
When Charlie thought about it under those terms, he honestly couldn’t blame Gregory for falling for the goblyn’s trick. Which was an especially dangerous aspect of this world – despite falling for that trick once, Gregory’s wisdom hadn’t improved at all. And it wouldn’t improve. A single bad roll, or perhaps a single just not good enough roll, and Gregory would fall for the exact same trick again. It was something that Charlie needed to keep an eye on going forward.
But Charlie had other concerns as well as he walked among the remaining caravans, searching for his own cure for Geoffrey’s “condition”. Like Gregory, he wasn’t interested in Jeff so much as preserving Geoffrey. To Charlie, Jeff had been rather worthless.
After dealing with the Goblyns, he’d figured out that they needed a real spellcaster. Someone like Veles but competent. Not that Veles wasn’t, he was just new to the magic, is all. But they needed an expert.
Since he didn’t actually know magic, save for the glasses he would sometimes borrow from Veles, he basically went around and asked… everyone.
“Salutations, face pastry chef!’ Charlie said, “You wouldn't happen to have a cleric’s face somewhere in here?”
The well-muscled but older jaguar who was manning the stall gave Charlie a blank-faced stare.
“Erm, I’ve got a party member who needs to be divided? He’s got an extra personality and I’m trying to find a spare body to stick him in.” Charlie explained.
“I just sell pastries, sir.” The jaguar said.
“Sure. Pastries,” Charlie nudged him with an elbow, “Face pastries. Totally non-magical.”
The jaguar rolled his eyes, “I don’t sell bodies, especially not spare ones.”
Seeing the confused look on Charlie’s face, the jaguar sighed before continuing, “I’m an alchemist. I’m not buying my ingredients from a demon or anything. I just mix some polymorph potion into the batter. All they’ll do it transform you into whatever you buy.”
The jaguar paused briefly, “You eat the pig face, you get a pig face. Understand?”
“Oh,” Charlie said, nonplussed, “Not many repeat customers?”
“Tons. The pig pastries are the cheapest. The ‘good’ forms are worth their weight in gold,” The jaguar smiled. “Plus, fat pigs usually keep buying more fat pigs.”
“Oh.”
“You want a spare body, pay for a slave or go looking in the woods for a group of bandits.” The jaguar said.
“Right. He’s kinda losing himself to the dominant personality and might not make it that long.” Charlie said.
“Look, I feel for you, man. But I got a job to do,” The jaguar was about to say more when a rather rotund pig waddled over, dressed in farmer’s garb, “Look, I gotta go, got a repeat customer. Talk to a slaver or the blacksmith.”
Charlie walked away as the drooling pigman ordered fifteen pig face pastries. Poor guy. The black furred wolf wondered what the pig had been before he’d accidentally bought a pastry from the jaguar. Not that it mattered anymore.
He walked around the inner circle of the wagons until he came upon a wagon with its own portable forge and a large sign adorned with a picture of an anvil – a simple but universal symbol indicating that this was the camp’s blacksmith.
The blacksmith himself was a hugely muscled shark who was currently hammering away at a sword made of a strange onyx-like substance. Behind him, a Gila Monster, a Thorny Devil Lizard, and a Blue-tongued Skink were carrying out various task around the forge. It was an interesting bunch, to be sure. Reptilians were pretty rare in this world and Aquatics even more so.
“Can I help you?” The shark asked, not stopping hammering.
“I uh… I need a body for my friend.” Charlie said.
The shark paused. “Explain.”
“He’s trapped in the body of a polar bear and we need a body to Trim him into before he loses himself completely.” Charlie said.
“I see. Well, lad,” The shark grumbled, his sharp teeth gnashing, “all I can do it give him an artificial form. Like a dildo or a cockring.”
“That’s the only forms he can be in?” Charlie asked.
“It’s the only ones he’d have fun in,” The shark shrugged. “Could make him into a nice pair o’ boots or some such, I suppose. More of a musk-lover’s form, though.”
“Geoffrey could use some nice steel-toes,” Charlie mused.
“He likes the smell o’ paw stink?” The shark asked.
“Hmm? Geoffrey is the bodyguard and Jeff is my friend. And to answer your question. No, I don’t know. Maybe. But It’s just a temporary form until we capture a bandit and can transfer him into that body instead.”
“Gotta be careful with Trimmin’,” The shark said, going back to hammering. “lots can go wrong. Here, free o’charge.”
The shark paused and handed Charlie a sheet of paper.
“Use ‘Copy’ when ya pull up the shared stats, then “paste’ it onto this sheet o’ paper.” The shark explained.
“Will it create a copy of him?” Charlie asked.
“Nah, just a copy o’ his backstory. That way if your fox friend fucks up, I can fix it later.” The shark said.
“Wait, you know about Veles?” Charlie’s heart skipped a beat.
“Aye, half o’ us soul-mages ‘ave been ‘avin’ a bet ta see if he erases one o’ ya from existence. Bonus if it’s on accident.”
Charlie shuddered.
Well, thanks,” Charlie smiled and raised the sheet, “Uh, how much will Trimming him into a pair of boots cost?”
“100 gold.” The shark said. “An’ if I gotta fix him? 1000 gold.”
“A-A THOUSAND gold?!?!!?” Charlie’s eyes bugged.
“Yup, same cost as a resurrection from a temple.” The blacksmith smiled, “That’s how ya know I ain’t gonna fuck ya over. Though…” The shark’s eyes roamed Charlie’s body, “I could do that too. Free. How do you like claspers?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked by a guy with claspers,” Charlie tried to smile.
“Ech, just go,” The shark chuckled.
“Wait, one last thing. Where does this soul-magic come from anyways?”
“Don’t ya know?” The shark replied, eyes wide, “Paranor. Ancient magic, soul magic is. Your fox friend came from there, right?”
Charlie nodded.
“Then ask him.” The shark said, then returned to his smithing.
Charlie walked back to camp, looking for Veles.