Brewing Bad Ch. 158-159

Ch. 158 - Hangover

The following morning, Lucas’ intelligence had fallen by one. Bringing it down to nineteen. While that was expected, it turned out to be the tip of the iceberg. 

He spent those first few days in the lab looking at various ingredients and making novel connections he wouldn’t have made before. He made a soul elixir that was +8 soul for five minutes, though at least for now he was hesitant to try it, both because of the side effects as well as the strange ingredients he’d used. Something about using dried ectoplasm and ground ghast guts disturbed him.  

Elixir of Haunting Epiphany (3 dose): 8 Soul (Unchained), 3 poison (wasting), 1 intelligence (keen), -4 endurance (dying). Duration: 5 minutes. Those who imbibe this elixir are prone to out-of-body experiences, poltergeist activities, and other strange phenomena for the next 48 hours. 

This wasn’t quite enough to meet the average number he was shooting for, but he was getting closer every day. 

“First, you try to ruin your brain, and now you think about poisoning your soul?” Heisenburgle asked when Lucas showed him the lightly glowing elixir. “There’s some religious sects that would burn you at the stake just for making this.”

However, despite the gnome’s complaints, he didn’t tell Lucas not to try it, so he took that for permission. Instead, he explained how well the lance project was going and how many difficulties the water-cooled armor was experiencing. 

Both were interesting projects, of course, but in many ways, the lance was just a very long gun with extra steps; its effectiveness, would eventually come down to the bullet it fired, or in this case, the poison, because even a cannonball wasn’t going to do shit to a dragon.

He made some progress on everything with his new perspective, really. He even wrote a lovely letter to Skylara, apologizing for being an ignorant cad and begging her to take him back. He didn’t mean a word of it, but he didn’t think that came through the prose. It was hard for anything to come through when all he did was make allusions to the fact that she was the real treasure. 

Lucas appreciated how much emotional distance this elixir gave him, because he would never have written this without it. Still, he didn’t send it; he wouldn’t do that until he’d kicked the habit. He’d need all his wits about him when it came time to meet with the woman again. 

No matter what else he spent his days doing, for the duration of the elixir, that happened every day. It was really only at full potency on that first day. His thoughts slowed slightly, and his insights came less frequently. After that, the bonus continued to fall, until on the seventh day, it was zero.

It didn’t stop there, though. It just kept going. For the next week, he got a little stupider every day. It was subtle at first.  Eventually, he no longer trusted himself to talk around people. Intelligent or not, though, his transition from genius to Neanderthal did nothing to help the cravings. 

After about three or four days into his little intellectual rollercoaster, all he wanted to do was get another hit of the stuff. It made him wonder just how far down the rabbit hole of functional addiction the Prince was, but he could no longer imagine anyone as anything but being as miserable as he was. 

There was no placebo to be had, for him, though. No matter how many books he read, or how politely he asked Heisenburgle for the recipe, the gnome wouldn’t give it to him. The most he would tell him was, “The sweetness comes from fermented treent sap. I sip or two might take the edge off, but too much can be toxic.”

Fermented Treent Sap (aged): Poison 6, 5 endurance (enduring), -3 agility (rooted). More effective in potions of a sylvan or elven nature. 

The ingredient surprised him, because it had absolutely nothing to do with intelligence, but then, that often seemed to be the case with magical alchemy. It was the reason why Lucas often made potions that were completely different from Heisenburgle’s. It was enough to make him question, and even curse the God of Alchemy, but that, at least, he was smart enough to do silently, in his own head.

The gnome insisted that kicking the habit early was important, as if that was something Lucas didn’t already know. He emphasized that with continued use, it became utterly impossible. “Trying to quit after a years long addiction would prove fatal in most cases,” he explained when Lucas complained about how much this sucked. “If I were you, I would never try this particular enhancement potion again.”

Intellectually, Lucas believed him. Despite the fact that he got no pleasure from the stuff, his body certainly craved more of it. The fermented sap didn’t do much good, though, and neither did either of the addiction-curing potions he tried making. All those did was make him sleepy and give him a bit of experience points. 

Still, Lucas endured. He even spent some time in the laboratory, trying to make intelligence-boosting potions to ameliorate the problem. He was restricted to following the directions of recipes he found in books for this because his brain was thoroughly encased in wool at this point. 

Unfortunately, any relief they gave him provided a window of lucidity for only an hour or two before he returned to his wretched state. Heisenburgle assured him that the effects weren’t permanent, but Lucas couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d inflicted the same sort of permanent brain damage on himself that he’d seen friends do huffing gasoline and paint. 

For as long as Lucas’s intelligence held out, he worked on his boost potions, and he started drawing up ingredient lists for dragon poison. Heisenburgle had finally given him permission to schedule an expedition to the Greenwood to gather some of the things he’d seen there. 

When all of those concepts were too complicated for him, though, he focused on his sword practice, to the exclusion of everything else. In some ways, being dumber than usual actually helped him with his sword work, and he grew to enjoy that.

If I’d been born an idiot, I would have become a brute, he decided as he moved through the motions and the drills. 

Normally, his mind was always racing, and his thoughts distracted him, but right now, that wasn’t a problem. Right now, he could move in exactly the ways that his teacher had instructed him so many times without questioning why or wondering if he might improve them. His form made tremendous gains that week, as he worked himself to exhaustion several nights in a row. 

He had more trouble finding people to duel now that he’d shown them the freakish strength he was capable of when he was juiced up. Even when he wasn’t, though, more and more he found that most of the guards couldn’t hold their ground with him. It was a good feeling, knowing that he could beat people with skill more than strength now, and he was looking forward to dueling the leader of the Knights of Brass again someday soon, but not until he had his wits about him again. 

Instead, he just lay awake in bed, dealing with the night sweats and the cravings as he waited for his self-inflicted hell to pass. Only the little countdown on his status screen made the ordeal any better. Something about knowing when it would end made it easier. He’d never had that in rehab back on Earth. They couldn’t give him anything but the vague promise that things would get better someday. 

Someday wasn’t a ghost here, though, and even though Lucas was annoyed to see that when his addiction countdown reached zero, it was replaced by a two-week timer that read Lesser Addiction: Elixir of Superior insight. Even that was progress, though, and by the time he reached it, his intelligence had stabilized at thirteen, one below where it usually sat, 

This is why you don’t do drugs, kids, he told himself as he vowed not to get hooked on any of his other concoctions. 

Lucas even delayed meeting with Sir. Milen again until after his addiction had partially subsided, and he felt more like himself again. By that point, his lack of intellect manifested more as an occasional frustration that he wasn’t as smart as he’d been under the effects of the Prince’s potion than anything. 

Still, Milen didn’t seem to notice his handicap. Instead, as they sparred, he complimented Lucas on the gains he’d made. The compliments were backhanded and meant to be vaguely insulting, but they were compliments all the same, and Lucas appreciated them, even if he didn’t say as much. 

The knight still won, of course, but Lucas made him work for it more, which was all he could ask for. Fighting him was like climbing a rugged mountain peak, Lucas decided. Every time he thought he was approaching victory, his new mastery revealed another section of trail that continued to snake through the art form. 

When he mastered strikes, it became footwork, and when his stance was perfect, he saw how much more he needed to tune his counterreactions. Lucas’ lack of intelligence made him blunder into a few more blows than normal, but the bruises they raised on his skin were nothing he couldn’t resolve with a healing slave.

“Not going to best me with your alchemy again?” the knight asked toward the end of their lessons. 

“Why?” Lucas answered, panting only a little. “Against anyone human, that wouldn’t be a real victory. It would just be showing off. ”

“Well, then, one wonders who exactly you plan to best when you’re at full strength,” the man laughed. He meant it in jest, but Lucas could see him probing too, and resisted the urge to overshare.

“Those aren’t for me,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Those are for sale. I’m just the only one stupid enough to test them.”

They both laughed at that. Truthfully, the training was the least important part of this session, though. What really mattered were the messages. This time, as much as he wanted to read what Danaria had sent him, what he wanted more was to send the message back to his crew that he’d be in the Greenwood in a few days. 

While he trusted that Kar’gandin, Hura’gh had everything under control, he still wanted to meet with them. It had been nearly two months since he’d gotten out of his little bubble, and he desperately wanted to let them in on what was about to go down, so they could assist him in his endeavor. 

Ch. 159 - Return to the Greenwood

When the time came for Lucas to return to the Greenwood, it was almost nostalgic. Heisenburgle was unwilling to send him out alone, even with their conspiracy to kill the Dragoness in full bloom. He sent Lucas with only a very small escort, though, who was instructed to obey him and help him with even menial tasks. 

They didn’t seem too happy about that, but then, Lucas didn’t care. He had five guards, and he knew that half of them were spies for Heisenburgle and the rest were spies for the Prince. So, he couldn’t even grab just the Wyrmsbane he was after. Instead, he made them stockpile all sorts of random things. The picked Wizened gnome caps, harvested Lampsur moss, and he basically had them pick any berries that caught his eye. 

While they did that, though, he gathered whole bushel baskets full of Wyrmsbane Leaves. He told them that it was Dwarf Oak, which looked somewhat similar, but it was the Wyrmsbane he was here for. He didn’t waste the opportunity to look around for anything interesting with his ability, but as time went on, he slowly ruled out everything he wasn’t interested in, and in the end, nothing remained. So, he satisfied himself with stocking up on everything he needed to kill a dragon. 

Wyrsbane Leaves (unprocessed): Poison 4 (inhaled), especially effective on reptiles. 

The leaves seemed to be the active ingredient, but he gathered samples of other parts of the plants as well, for further study. 

Wyrmsbane Bark (unprocessed): Poison 2 (inhaled), endurance 1 (sturdy).

Wyrmsbane Seeds (unprocessed): Poison 1 (inhaled), healing 1 (revivifying), dexterity -1 (sluggish)

Wyrsbane Roots (unprocessed): Inert. 

It was only after spending the morning helping him gather a couple hundred pounds of various reagents that he finally let them off the hook. The guards were more than eager to return to the wagon and guard it when he went off on his own to goof around a bit. 

Of course, Lucas doubted those were the only people tailing him in this situation, so on the way to his rendezvous, he went through soft glades full of moss that would let him see footprints, and through streams, not once but twice. Then, when he was sure he wasn’t being followed, he used his own invisibility and moved that much faster toward the burned-out tower where he almost died last year. 

Lucas smelled the group before he saw them. They’d obviously been here for hours and prepared a veritable feast for his arrival. While he couldn’t make out exactly what they were cooking from here, his nose could identify the smells of roasting meat, succulent sauces, and the sharp scents of onions and peppers. He could even smell something that smelled dangerously like hot sauce, and that sped his steps. 

Still, even though he was technically among friends, he didn’t let them see that he could become invisible. He’d been betrayed too many times to fully trust anyone except for maybe Danaria, and only then, because she was a sweetheart. 

Instead, he reappeared just inside the tree line and strolled in like he owned the place. The scouts they’d had set around the perimeter called out with various bird calls by the time they noticed him, but they were far too late. 

“Well, look what the owlbear dragged in,” Kar’gandin said with a guffaw. “Yere lookin’ well for a prisoner, m’boy.”

Nothing about the dwarf’s appearance surprised him, and he smiled at his business partner. That smile was harder to hold when he saw Hura’gh. The half-orc was nearly healed, but the left half of his body had so many burn scars he looked almost like a comic book villain. Honestly, Lucas was surprised that he was alive. 

He didn’t say any of that, though, because he wasn’t a prick. Instead, he smiled and shook the man’s hand. “Looking good, big guy! How’re you feeling?”

“Proud,” the orc said, with only a mild speech impediment from his half-melted lips. “Not many orcs can claim to have survived a dragon attack.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Lucas said, trying to gauge how the big man would react to his plans. He’d been planning to tell him, but suddenly it struck him that this might be a secret Hura’gh wasn’t capable of keeping. 

Instead, for now, Lucas looked around, greeting everyone, and noting a couple of familiar faces like Mort. “If all of you are here, then where’s Dan… Where’s our secret girl?”

“She’s fine,” Kar’gandin said. “We’ve got more good people than this. We could have even more if you’d send more Blue our way.”

“I will,” Lucas promised, “and soon. They just don’t want to let me out of their cage just yet.”

“Why?” Hura’gh bellowed. “You have done nothing. It is we who are wronged!”

“It is,” Lucas agreed, “But the man doesn’t see it that way. As far as he’s concerned, this is Adin’s fault, and by extension, my fault, so I have some digging to do to get us out of this hole.”

“But why would you dig yourself out of a hole?” Hura’gh asked. 

Kar’gandin ignored them and asked, “You say that like the man isn’t already dead, me lad.”

“Oh, he’s dead,” Lucas assured him. “I just don’t get to do the honors until I’ve made nice with the dragon.”

Both men burst out angrily at that. The dwarf was furious that Adin had survived after causing so much damage, and the half-orc was outraged that they would have to cooperate with the dragon in any way. The way they shouted, though, at ever-increasing volumes, though, Lucas couldn’t understand either one. 

Instead, after giving them both half a minute to rage, he raised his hands to silence them, and then said, “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Anyone that fucks with us doesn’t live to regret it. It's just about the future that it has been in the past, okay?”

Hura’gh tried to rage a second time, but Lucas stopped him again. “Listen, man. I get it. She fucked you up, and we’re going to fuck her up, somehow, someway, but I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here to see you, so let’s eat, alright?”

Food was something that they could all agree on, and ribs were quickly cut up and served. The chef had even gone to the trouble of making a spicy sauce that could have very easily been confused for real barbecue sauce, pleasing Lucas to no end. 

The food was as messy as it was delicious. It was spicy too, so shortly after that, a keg of beer was tapped and distributed. While they ate and drank, Lucas gave them the highlights. He told them about his mistake with an intelligence potion and how it had made him stupid for weeks. He told them how his dueling practice was going. 

Eventually, he even told him about his strength potion and the battle with an ice troll. That impressed even Hura’gh. “I would like to arm wrestle you under the effects of such a thing,” the orc said. “You might actually be a challenge.”

Lucas just nodded at that. He didn’t have the heart to tell the man that 

None of that was the highlight for Lucas, though. Instead, partway through the meal, with a twinkle in his eye, Kar’gandin produced a jar that looked suspiciously familiar.

“Is that my fucking salsa?” Lucas asked with a mouth full of food. “It is! How did this survive the fire?”

“Well, the cook called it spicy aged chutney,” the dwarf said, “When she was going through the wreckage, she found it, but worried it might have spoiled.”

“No way,” Lucas insisted as he slathered it on his meat and desperately wished he’d thought to invent tortilla chips. “This is perfect. I’d say it’s too spicy, but there’s no such thing, right?”

He laughed, but no one else did. Then the dwarf continued. “The kitchens were the least damaged part of the entire manor. If we were inclined to rebuild—”

“We won’t,” Lucas clarified. “Not under the current regime. We aren’t doing business anywhere the Prince of his dragon can find us, or this might happen all over again.”

No one disagreed with that, and eventually they got around to discussing logistics and plans. Kar’gandin emphasized that they were getting down to it on product, and Lucas promised to arrange a shipment, but he wasn’t concerned. As long as Lucas paid the Prince his cut, no one would stop the flow of such things anymore. They could practically open up a shop on High Street and sell it in fancy bottles if they wanted. 

By the time Lucas decided that he’d stayed long enough, he didn’t really say any of what he’d come here to say. He couldn’t. He hadn’t really planned to tell them that he wanted to get out of the drug business, but he could see how they’d take that. 

While he knew that they’d welcome the idea that he was going to kill Skylara or die trying, he didn’t think they’d be able to keep a secret. So he held that back, too. The only hint that he gave as Kar’gandin walked him out was, “Shit’s going to hit the fan on some things sometime soon. I don’t suppose dwarves have a long history of anti-dragon weaponry powered by firedust, or anything.”

“I… that’s not something I can elaborate to with outsiders,” Kar’gandin answered, stonewalling him for the first time in a long time. “Might I suggest how ye heard of—”

“Forget it,” Lucas said, “Finding a foundry to make what I need anyway might be impossible without alerting the Prince. What about Ballistas? Do you know anyone who could make those?”

“Depends on what you’re hunting for, lad,” the dwarf added cautiously. Despite his caution, Lucas could tell he was excited. 

“Big game,” Lucas answered, “Very big game. I was just thinking that if it tried to get away… perhaps we could launch some harpoons.”

“Aye, that’s possible,” the dwarf agreed, “Though as I understand it, ye generally have to aim for the wings.”

They talked a little more on the subject. Lucas never told the Kar’gandin that they were talking about Skylara, and he never asked outright, but they both knew. As to timing, all Lucas would say was “we’re still weeks to months away. Things are in flux, but when I have a time and place, I’ll send word.”

After that, Lucas took a leisurely stroll through the Greenwood, but other than a near brush with a goblin who ran screaming in fear from him, he had no troubles. When Lucas returned to the carriage, he took more enjoyment than he should have in the frantic attitudes of the guards. 

“I thought you died in those woods!” the guard captain insisted. “I’ve had men looking for you for hours. Where were you?”

“I was looking around for interesting herbs and spices, but got a little lost,” Lucas lied, not caring what he thought. 

The man spent several minutes blustering and trying to probe, but as soon as his men were back from searching for Lucas, they headed back to Blackgate, which was all he really wanted. It was a good day as far as Lucas was concerned. He’d gotten to touch base with the right people, and he’d harvested plenty of the reagent he most wanted to experiment with. He’d even gotten to taste his salsa, which was a dream he’d given up on ages ago, so other than the fact that the Prince was still leading him around by a leash, it was pretty much perfect.