The night at the dwarven camp passed uneventfully. At least for Flip. He couldn’t hear anything that happened outside of his hatch. The wizard assumed that there was still more revelry to be had and potentially slimes to be dispatched throughout his rest. His rest was, however, pleasant and rejuvenating.

When Flip exited his hatch and sealed the enchantment so that it could be carried away, it became clear that the night had not been so kind to the rest of the camp. Dovhran was already gone from the tent, there was shouting from the center of the camp, and Flip could hear something large moving around the area as well. And a quick peak outside of the tent made Flip second guess whether or not he wanted the Dovhran and the dwarves to know that he was awake.

Something large had torn through the camp and knocked over several tents. Part of the wooden shack was collapsed as well. The main commotion was happening around the fire pit where they had all eaten the night before. Something large and black of inconsistent shape was undulating around the spit roast and the dwarves were up in arms trying unsuccessfully to tear it away. Flip wasn’t completely sure, but the creature causing the commotion appeared to be an ooze of some kind. Not a slime, or a jelly… but maybe a pudding or a tar.

After seeing about a minutes of the dwarves failure to subdue the beast, as their metal weapons quickly corroded as they cut into it. The fire did not seem to be bothering it either, which meant most other methods at their disposal were also likely going to be useless. Flip finally spotted Dovhran standing helplessly by, the daggers in his hands obviously useless.

“Stand back from the fire pit!” Flip called out in a blustering shout as he slouched out of the tent. “Clear the area!”

All the dwarves backed away as did Dovhran. They all looked to Flip expectantly, but the wizard still wasn’t entirely sure what he could do. He didn’t have any spells that could deal a sort of damage that the beast would likely be effected by. At least, none that he was prepared to cast. There were options that came to mind, but they dealt a much larger blow than the area could likely take and he did not want the ire of the dwarves upon him for destroying their camp entirely. Though, he didn’t think it could really get much worse. The creature had actually melted quite a few swathes of tent cloth and wood.

“Well! Kill it grey beard!” One of the dwarves finally piped up.

“I don’t know how.” Flip called out, no confidence lost from his tone, but no solution coming to mind. “But you were clearly wasting your effort.”

“Bah! Useless!” Another dwarf scoffed and went back to try and tear away at the living ichor.

“Give it a rest, the wizard’s right!” Rovik called out from around the ruins of the wooden shed.

Flip had been wondering where the camp manager had gone off to, but wasn’t sure the dwarf would offer much more help than anyone else gathered around the chaos.

“Faengil!” Rovik called directly to Flip. “Water dilutes a slime to nothing, what dilutes a pudding?”

“Nothing. A pudding is a corrupted slime. It’s the opposite in all ways.”

“What about the opposite of water?” Rovik shot back, a smile starting to unravel across his previously confused face.

“What’s the opposite of water?” Dovhran, still confused turned to Rovik.

“Salt!” Flip roared, following Rovik’s line of thinking.

The other dwarves raised a similar understanding shout and all but two rushed to the collapsed shed. Each dwarf came back hauling a heavy canvas sack before once again surrounding the pudding.

“Best dump it all on at once, lads, before the wretch knows what’s coming.”

Rovik gave a hand signal and the dwarves each cut open a sack and hefted them by the side to rain the contents down on the pudding. With a hissing and bubbling that made all present deeply uncomfortable, the pudding slowly dried out. Before long, it began to crack and crumble before it ceased its movement altogether.

“Oh. Like a snail or a slug.” Dovhran said, sheathing his daggers.

“Aye, like a snail.” Rovik grunted, giving Dovhran a pat on the arm. “A blasted, massive snail… how much salt do we have left?”

“...” None of the dwarves answered as they each looked to each other and then back to the shed.

“None.” Tope called out after leaning into the opening of the shed.

“Wonderful.” Rovik sighed. “Looks like I’ll be needing to ride into town then.”

“No.” Dovran answered immediately.

“I didn’t ask you, Sommar. Though it’d be a good gesture if you offered. I can ride up to Norwen faster on my own, but I’ll need a cart to carry back salt and tarpaulin… and the rest of the things that need to be replaced. Doubt the company ’ll pay for any of it...”

Flip approached the pile of now blackened clumped salt and gave it a light kick. There was no reaction, though several of the dwarves looked uneasy about examining the remains. A small puff of fumes leaked out from the pile and Flip crinkled his nose at the awful smell that had begun to emanate out of the remains. Something about it smelled familiar though. On a guess, Flip produced a small knife from his belt, dipped it into the pile and then smeared the compound against the blade with the heel of his boot. Most of the dwarves were observing the wizard at this point, save for Rovik who had his hands pressed to his forehead as he quietly tried to reason out how he could afford to replace the materials that had been destroyed.

“Rovik, is there a hearth home in Norwen?”

“Aye, Bronson’s hearth is always open to passing folk. You’ll have no trouble finding a place to stay in Norwen.”

“That is good to know, but not my intention. You could trade this salt there for supplies. It’s acidic enough for metal work and the grit might reduce the time a grindstone need be put to metal.” Flip held up his knife blade to show the dwarf what he meant.

The blade had discolored slightly and the grime that had accumulated on the flat of the knife blade had be cleared entirely, revealing a refreshed wood grain-like pattern in the metal.

“Put acid on a knife?” One of the dwarves raised protest at the prospect. “You’ll corrode the blade and it’ll rust.”

Rovik ignored the outburst and walked over to Flip to inspect the knife.

“Faengil, how is it you know so much about metalwork?” Rovik raised an eyebrow at the wizard. “Moreover, how is it you know orc methods of metalwork? This looks like fine Durgothian steel.”

“I spent many years at the hearth home in Builend and learned the methods of the priestess there.”

A knowing look came over Rovik and a joyful grin quickly replaced the curiosity and distress that had been struggling for supremacy.

“Joanna made this?”

“I made that.”

“And you waste your time on magic!?” The dwarf scoffed. “Get back to work boys, Tope get to perimeter! I have some arrangements to make in Norwen.”

At Rovik’s command, all the dwarves stopped their leering at Flip and went about the camp to clean and repair what they could.

“Come with me Faengil, I’d like to talk with a fellow child of the hearth alone for a moment.” Rovik clapped his hand against the wizard’s back and pushed him towards one of the few tents that was still standing. “Dovrhan, you should get your cart ready. I believe I will need to hire your services.”

Dovhran sighed and shrugged his way back to the road.

Rovik led Flip into the tent and gestured for him to sit at one of the chairs next to a messy writing desk while he lit an oil lamp. Flip sat awkwardly and waited for the dwarf to explain himself.

“I’ve heard some news from Builend, but it has been some time. Is it true, Joanna’s passed on?”

“In the past few years, I believe.” Flip nodded.

“Pardon, me. I’m eager to interrogate.” Rovik blushed beneath his dark beard. “You don’t seem to like talking, so I won’t ask too much. I spent much of my youth in the west, adventuring like a fool and getting beat around by all manner of lowlife and beast… but before that, I was a hearth child too. Bronson’s uncle was the hearth priest before him; he was like a father to me, and Bronson an older brother. But neither of them know orc smithing. So I could try and trade that salt to them, but they wouldn’t find as much use for it as you might think… unless you showed them how to use it. And if I knew Joanna at all, I know she showed every child in her care how to work a forge.”

“I can show someone how to use acids in forging, but it would take some time.” Flip cringed at the thought of teaching a dwarf how to work metal. It had been many years since he’d done any work at a forge, and even them he had mostly worked a bellows and held hot iron in place with tongs. He had never quire had the strength to move a hammer for a long enough period of time.

“Excellent. Excellent.” Rovik said, clearly being more gentle with his tone. “You know… now that I look at you… you look familiar. I haven’t been to see Joanna in nearly fifty years, but I may have seen you when you were a boy.”

Flip winced at the potential recognition. The dwarf already treated him like a child, he didn’t want to become even younger in his eyes.

“You’re not Philmarten’s nephew, are you?”

“I am…”

“I’m…” Rovik frowned, at a loss for words.

“I hardly knew him, but he left me his notes.”

“That fits.” Rovik hummed. “I’m sorry about what happened to him… and your clan. It’s a shame.”

“Thank you.” Flip lowered his head in a subtle bow, but didn’t look back up to the dwarf. Instead he allowed the brim of his hat to obscure his face.

“If you don’t mind my asking, one last question… why are you out and working with Dovhran? The man only lives for coin and praise… and I’ve never met a Finnigan who wanted either.”

“My uncle incurred a debt with the town after it came out that he had played a part in the conjuring of the demon… and that debt carried on to me after I came of age. And Dovhran… bought my debt.”

“No. That slack bastard. That’s not right.” Rovik spat in disgust. “A pox on his purse for that, and Haemer toss him to the stable… But until your work with him is done, I’ll not speak a breath of it. You have my word. No dwarf would help him if I did.”

“That is very kind, Rovik.” Flip desperately wanted to change the course of the conversation.

“I don’t suppose there’s any other information you want to give me about what you’re doing?”

Flip shook his head. If there was one thing he wanted to talk about less, it was the job that Dovhran had hired him for. The changeling had very clearly lied to the dwarf about the nature of the work, and Flip did not want to lie as well. He rarely managed to convince anyone when he did.

“And the salt? Any other information I should know about that?”

“It should be stored in glass, if possible.”

“Good to know. I’ve got a few gallon jugs in storage for holding hard brews, I don’t think the lads will mind sparing them for a few days… though some of them are a bit shaken.”

“They’ll want to dig out a new fire pit too, heating any of the salt will make a noxious fume.”

“Perhaps you should just make a list.” Rovik chuckled and passed a blank paper from the clutter on the writing desk over to Flip. “They get distracted easily.”