Flip had laid at ease in the back of the cart for three days. Nights had been easy enough, as he had altered the magic of his hatch to disallow all but who he explicitly allowed. Dovhran had forgone a dispute and set up a tent outside the hatch each night while Flip rested in his comfortable space. All things considered, Flip almost enjoyed the travel. Were it not for the duress of being forced to travel in the first place and the company, he might have actually enjoyed it. The air was fresh, the road was new, and the cart was comfortable since it only needed to carry him and his hatch.

It was lamentable that they had taken footpaths as they skirted the city of Westcross on the second day of travel, but Dovhran was eager. By the third day, they had rejoined the road proper and pciked up their pace again. Flip had checked his own maps, and made note that there were virtually no other settlements between the city and the town of Norwen. There was one encampment that the stone hewers used as a resting point for their travel between Westcross and Norwen, and it had maybe a dozen people stationed there at any given time. After the three days of travel, Flip predicted they would reach the camp at the end of the fourth day.

The fourth day, then, marked a point of optimism for Flip. He would be glad to be somewhere with another living being other than Dovhran. It was the best alternative he could imagine, given that he could not take solace in solitude. That wouldn’t stop him from trying, of course, as the wizard had been making notes and working of formulae that would allow him to alter his hatch in such a way that it could be accessed while in motion. Or at the very least, affixed to a moving object like the cart. But the solutions to the arcane problems eluded him. And as he wrote, he found himself waxing more poetic than arcane. His spell book had become interspersed with scrawlings he would have rather kept in his other notebook, and perhaps had occluded his attempts to improve the enchantment that allowed him to maintain a traveling apartment. At times, he had spread out both books across his lap and attempted to separate his thoughts across both ranges of his mind and between the two books, but it had caused more chaos than organization.

“So, we are about as halfway through our journey as we are going to get, Faengil.” Dovhran sighed absently, interrupting the wizard’s silent thoughts seemingly at random. “Would now be a suitable time to bother you with the information I have to share regarding our tasks and the methods I wish to accomplish them by?”

“You have caught me at a moment where I cannot disagree that now is a suitable time.” Flip grumbled and began to restore his books and writing implements to their various storage places on his person.

“I am sure you aware that there are no roads or landmarks in the pale waste by which to tell direction.”

“I am aware of that. Though I suspect you have some method of navigating it?” That had been an assumption Flip felt safe making when Dovhran had first made his offer.

“I don’t. Not exactly. I’ve been in contact with an individual who claims to be able to navigate anywhere, including the wastes. They’re waiting for us in Norwen. It’s why I’m so eager to get there. I sent a small stipend ahead of me by delivery boy about a week and a half ago, just to keep them in Norwen while I convinced you to come with me. I don’t know how lavishly they’ve held themselves up in the town, so they might have already blown through the money I sent.”

Flip didn’t want to argue with the mercenary. And as much as the problem of having a third untrustworthy person to deal with bothered Flip, and as much as he hated the thought of potentially arriving at their destination only to find that their navigator had left, there was a larger problem on the wizard’s mind.

“So, assuming the navigator remains in Norwen and helps us traverse the wastes, how will you find Velsaffe’s tomb? There are no markings or landmarks, and to the best of my knowledge, the tomb was concealed within the wastes to discourage thieves and robbers from disturbing the resting site. Only the few individuals paid to construct the tomb knew how to get there, and none of them were recorded. It has also been several hundred years and they are all likely quite dead.”

“Well, that’s not necessarily true.” Dovhran’s voice had grown a touch shaky at the accusations, but Flip couldn’t discern more than mild discomfort from where he sat. “The Velsaffe estate kept some records of who was paid to do certain things, and you and I both know that any elves involved in the construction of the tomb may well still be alive. Perhaps a dwarf still lives that hewed out the stone of the tomb.”

“So, you have some idea of how to find the tomb?”

“I know what to look for. And I know the rough route that builders took to and from the tomb.”

“What route? You said yourself there are no roads. Of all the foolish things I’ve done, Dovhran, going with you to do this has been by far my most foolish. My old bones feel it like a coming storm.”

“Do your joints ache when the weather clears before a storm then?”

“Don’t think you can distract me, Dovhran. There is very little that can turn my mind from the work at hand.”

“You do seem the obsessive type.” Flip could see Dovhran’s head tilt and shake in a shrug. “But, rest assured, I am capable of getting us to the tomb. I have done a lot of research to that end, and the Velsaffe estate has provided me… now us, with the remaining things we’ll need. What else remains outside of my capabilities, I will rely on you for.”

“You aren’t being very reassuring.” Flip grumbled. “I can tell you’re avoiding something.”

“I have been avoiding some things. Yes. But I feel comfortable telling you more now that I know you’re dedicated to the job. Namely, what I’ve been paid to retrieve.”

“I was going to ask you, as soon as you calmed down.” Flip chuckled, watching Dovhran’s back as he forced his body into a more relaxed posture.

“I don’t know if you hear many rumors in Builend… or at all,” Dovhran seemed eager to move Flip’s focus back towards the topic he wanted to talk about, “but a few people in Westcross have fallen ill rather suddenly and mysteriously. They’re being treated by the best healers in Ghavic, but they aren’t getting better. The early stages of the disease are similar to the disease…”

“The disease that killed Helbrin Valsaffe.” Flip interrupted Dovhran. The interruption was answered with a silent nod. “And the Velsaffe estate wants to know if there were any other records from Helbrin about the disease?”

“Yes. They believe that Helbrin kept notes on the progression of the disease and his experiments to reverse it until his death. They also believe he was buried with those notes, so that they could not be misused to replicate the sickness.”

“And, suppose they want to abuse his research. Then what?” Flip was not happy with the information he had been provided.

“The disease has already resurfaced.” Dovhran hissed back. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter if the notes are misused. Things could get much worse than they are now, but only if the disease is allowed to spread.”

“Has it?”

“Has it what?”

“Spread.” Flip was eager for an answer and leaned up against the front of the cart. “When Helbrin was sick, he locked himself in his home for six months. When the order of irons had heard nothing from inside for a week, they ventured in and retrieved his body. No one else became sick the entire time.”

“Well, maybe this isn’t the exact same disease then.” Dovhran sighed. “It has spread. Ten people are sick. Regardless, the Velsaffe estate feels it is their duty to do all they can. And if that means disturbing the grave of their ancestors, they are willing to pay me to do that.”

“Of course, you just want payment. You changelings are all the same. If you aren’t swindling coin from a church, you’re breaking into somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

Dovhran was silent for a moment. Flip immediately knew he shouldn’t have spoken out like he had, but he was so extremely frustrated by Dovhran he didn’t necessarily regret it. The mercenary had given him very little good faith to respond to. He had withheld information, trespassed and stolen from the hearth temple, and then coerced Flip into working for him. And while he had also assisted in killed the demon in Builend, and been generally polite, those things didn’t cover the innate sense of distrust that Flip held towards the man let alone the other more severe wrongs he had done. Flip tried to reassure himself that the changelings race didn’t change how he thought of him—he had distrusted Dovhran long before he knew that the man was a changeling—but it may have been those parts that he had concealed about himself that Flip noticed and distrusted. As the awkward silence pervaded for some time, Flip was unable to reconcile his feelings of distrust with the nature of the man he distrusted.

“Dovhran.” Flip wasn’t sure how to convey what he wanted to, but he did his best to convey apology in his tone. “Tell me more about yourself. Tell me why I should trust you. You know so much about me after all, and all I know about you is what I’ve gleaned from observation.”

“I’m a changeling. You know that.” Dovhran seemed lost for words. He was still clearly upset and uncomfortable. And he was definitely preoccupied with the issue of his race. “We don’t live very defining lives. We were created to sympathize with other races, to feel what other races feel. We have very little of our own. I spent six years as a child taking the form of a half-orc boy that lived down the street, but my parents made me change my hair color from his so that he wouldn’t be confused or disturbed. When I was in my middling years, I spent a great deal of time choosing who I wanted to look like for myself, like most changelings do. I went out into the wilderness, found a reflecting pond, and stayed there until I knew who I wanted to be.”

As Dovhran spoke he seemed to become more comfortable talking, and he seemed less bothered by Flip’s attention. There was still that air of discomfort between them that stemmed from the Wizard’s words, but this felt like a way to mend that or at the least move past it.

“There were actually a great many days,” Dovhran chuckled to himself, “that I contemplated taking a female persona…”

“Shut up.” Flip’s interruption was quick and harsh. “Shut up. Stop the cart.”

Flip’s arm had shot out towards the reins, but didn’t fully reach. After a short moment of confusion, Dovhran picked up Flip’s tone of urgency and pulled the reins back to stop the horse that pulled them along. As the two waited quietly, Flip held his ear out towards to forest to confirm his suspicion. Dovhran mimicked the posture. While the horse whinnied and tromped its hooves, the two could make out the sound of something crunching through the underbrush to the right of the road. The pace of the noise was steady too, as though it was happening without any knowledge that the cart was there at all or that it had stopped.

“What is that?” Dovhran whispered.

“Give me some food.” Flip instructed, ignoring the question.

Dovhran rifled through his pockets and produced a pouch containing dried meat and fruit that had likely been venison and pear at one point. Flip pulled out a few of the crumbling pieces of dried pear and climbed down from the back of the cart. The steadily moving force was growing incredibly close, but neither the wizard nor the mercenary could see the source. As Flip scanned the treeline, he eventually looked down and let out a chuckle.

“There you are, little thing.” Flip knelt down and held out his handful of dried fruit to the small creature that was fast approaching his ankles.

A small tangerine colored glob of slime had rolled through the underbrush and stopped when it bumped against the wizard’s boot. It had stopped to digest the new material, but Flip pulled his foot back and placed the fruit down on the ground where it had been.

“Dovhran, do you have a glass vial on you?”

“I have a vial of oil for cleaning my daggers and a vial for lantern oil.”

“Which is emptier?”

“The lantern oil.”

Flip made a motion for Dovhran to throw him the vial. As he stood at the front of the cart, and turned to throw the nearly empty vial to the wizard, Dovhran finally saw the creature that had interrupted him. Flip nearly dropped the vial, but managed to fumble it between his hands rather than let it fall to the ground. The wizard unstopped the glass container and used a twig from the side of the road to scoop some of the orange slime ball into the vial. It was preoccupied as it sat on top of the dried fruit and slowly digested it. The chunks of pear had become suspended in the orange goo and both the wizard and mercenary watched as the slime grew into a slightly large ball, roughly one foot in diameter.

After a few quick scoops, Flip had gotten roughly two tablespoons of slime into the vial before shoving the stopper back down. Without a second glance at the slime, Flip climbed back into the cart and handed Dovhran the vial of—now bubbling—orange slime and lantern oil.

“Why the fuss for a little slime?”

“It’s the migrating season for arboreal oozes. In the early spring they go south to find ripe fruits and berries. And once the heat rises enough, they flee back to the north. This one seems like a drop of a much larger slime, probably heading back north.”

“So, you don’t want the slime?” Dovhran looked closely at the vial as the contents changed color to a deep violet. “Is this… what’s happening in there?”

“I had you stop in case it was a much larger slime, or a cube.”

“Cube?”

“Do you know nothing of oozes?”

“No. I don’t know about ooze. They don’t usually bother people and hunting them isn’t profitable.”

“There are slimes. And then there are jellies. A slime is round, soft, passive. Usually brightly colored. A jelly is angular and hateful. Cubes are the shape of pure gluttony. They seek out things that make people happy and destroy them.” Flip grew visibly more upset as he talked about jellies. “If it had been a jelly, I would have destroyed it. But a slime can be useful. That bit of slime has engorged itself on the lantern oil and then curdled in the airless space of the vial. It will be exceptionally flammable if you pour it out.”

Dovhran immediately held the vial away from his body at the mention of flammability. Flip cackled at the reaction. He continued laughing as he sat back down in the bed of the cart and waited for Dovhran to carry on. After a short pause and a sigh of consideration, Dovhran pocketed the vial and cracked the reins.

“So, you considered being a woman?”

“I was thinking of going by Dhalia.” Dovhran’s voice had become feminine as he spoke, making Flip immediately uncomfortable. “But it didn’t feel as comfortable to stay like that.” His voice had returned to it’s lower toned grumble.

“Never do that again.”