Tulgey marched purposefully into the Grumley & Amberwash, hopped up on a stool, and set down his bag of alchemy supplies on the counter with a gentle clink of glass.
“Good morning, my fine friend!” he called to the small figure in the back of the cramped little potion shop. “I’m here to procure the use of some of your equipment while I’m in town. I trust you’ll find my guild papers are in order.” With a flourish, he slapped down his letter of introduction, on filigreed Baldur’s Gate Guildhall letterhead. “I’ll just need some fresh subliming pots, and a larger alembic, if you have one. What temperature does your athanor run at in this weather?" He folded his hands on the counter in front of him and smiled expectantly.
Filtwish Amberwash climbed up onto a stool opposite and squinted at Tulgey over his pince-nez spectacles. He seemed to scan the tree sap-stiffened mohawk and scalp tattoos with disapproval as he picked up the letter and unfolded it. Seeming not to notice, Tulgey continued to smile.
The older gnome’s gaze finally glanced down at the letter of recommendation. After a very brief review, his eyes shot up again, over his glasses and under his bushy brows. After a pause, he roughly refolded the paper and harrumphed. He hopped down from his stool, disappearing but for the top of his upbrushed locks bobbing behind the counter. "You may be able to get a license with that," he said, "Good luck."
The smile faltered slightly.
“A sales license? Oh! No, don’t worry!” Tulgey tried to reassure, “I’m not here to take any business from you. Just to brew up some simple potions for my friends and I. I promised I’d get them some healing at cost, save a bit of coin. You know.” Tulgey craned his neck, trying to catch sight of the alchemist over the counter. “Sir? Hello?”
From a swinging gate at the end of the counter waddled Filtwish. He held a mortar and was grinding something in it. He stared silently at Tulgey a while, never looking in the mortar, a little too long to be comfortable. "What'll you have from me, then?" he said, at length.
Grasping the guild letter in front of his chest defensively, it was starting to sink in that this fellow philosopher may not be as welcoming as Tulgey might have expected. He fumbled with the latch on his alchemy bag, and cleared his throat. “Well, the use of, as I mentioned, the athanor? Don’t worry about the pots,” he said, glancing ruefully at the soot-stained apparatus, “mine are still serviceable, now I come to think of it. Uh, and perhaps I could… rent a small counter space at your laboratory for a day or two?”
"Wot wot?!" Filtwish gasped, and scurried back behind the counter. He climbed onto the bench that ran along his work area, and grumbling, took bowls, beakers and burners and started spreading them across his work desk, virtually barren a moment ago.
"If that was your letter of recommendation and not a forgery," he blustered, "then you can plainly see the entirety of my workspace is completely in use!"
He began placing his mortar in different places along the work desk, grinding in each one, making a big show of how important it is that he use each. He glanced furtively over his shoulder several times, perhaps checking if the druid was buying the show.
"I can see you're, ah, very busy Mr. Amberwash.” Slowly, Tulgey picked up his bag, and his letter, and climbed down from the stool. “I'll let you get back to work. Good day."
Perhaps there were other places in the region that might welcome him more fully. Perhaps at some point he could afford some space of his own. Until then, the corner of his lodging would have to suffice.
By Jason and Alan
“Good morning, my fine friend!” he called to the small figure in the back of the cramped little potion shop. “I’m here to procure the use of some of your equipment while I’m in town. I trust you’ll find my guild papers are in order.” With a flourish, he slapped down his letter of introduction, on filigreed Baldur’s Gate Guildhall letterhead. “I’ll just need some fresh subliming pots, and a larger alembic, if you have one. What temperature does your athanor run at in this weather?" He folded his hands on the counter in front of him and smiled expectantly.
Filtwish Amberwash climbed up onto a stool opposite and squinted at Tulgey over his pince-nez spectacles. He seemed to scan the tree sap-stiffened mohawk and scalp tattoos with disapproval as he picked up the letter and unfolded it. Seeming not to notice, Tulgey continued to smile.
The older gnome’s gaze finally glanced down at the letter of recommendation. After a very brief review, his eyes shot up again, over his glasses and under his bushy brows. After a pause, he roughly refolded the paper and harrumphed. He hopped down from his stool, disappearing but for the top of his upbrushed locks bobbing behind the counter. "You may be able to get a license with that," he said, "Good luck."
The smile faltered slightly.
“A sales license? Oh! No, don’t worry!” Tulgey tried to reassure, “I’m not here to take any business from you. Just to brew up some simple potions for my friends and I. I promised I’d get them some healing at cost, save a bit of coin. You know.” Tulgey craned his neck, trying to catch sight of the alchemist over the counter. “Sir? Hello?”
From a swinging gate at the end of the counter waddled Filtwish. He held a mortar and was grinding something in it. He stared silently at Tulgey a while, never looking in the mortar, a little too long to be comfortable. "What'll you have from me, then?" he said, at length.
Grasping the guild letter in front of his chest defensively, it was starting to sink in that this fellow philosopher may not be as welcoming as Tulgey might have expected. He fumbled with the latch on his alchemy bag, and cleared his throat. “Well, the use of, as I mentioned, the athanor? Don’t worry about the pots,” he said, glancing ruefully at the soot-stained apparatus, “mine are still serviceable, now I come to think of it. Uh, and perhaps I could… rent a small counter space at your laboratory for a day or two?”
"Wot wot?!" Filtwish gasped, and scurried back behind the counter. He climbed onto the bench that ran along his work area, and grumbling, took bowls, beakers and burners and started spreading them across his work desk, virtually barren a moment ago.
"If that was your letter of recommendation and not a forgery," he blustered, "then you can plainly see the entirety of my workspace is completely in use!"
He began placing his mortar in different places along the work desk, grinding in each one, making a big show of how important it is that he use each. He glanced furtively over his shoulder several times, perhaps checking if the druid was buying the show.
"I can see you're, ah, very busy Mr. Amberwash.” Slowly, Tulgey picked up his bag, and his letter, and climbed down from the stool. “I'll let you get back to work. Good day."
Perhaps there were other places in the region that might welcome him more fully. Perhaps at some point he could afford some space of his own. Until then, the corner of his lodging would have to suffice.
By Jason and Alan
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