Jay Eight-Legs: Leg the Sixth
Surprisingly, it did not attack them. It just gurgled in a back-of-the-throat, phlegmy kind of way. Jay was nothing less than perplexed.
The creature stared at them for a while while they tried to judge its intentions. It looked for all the world like it should try to eat their vital organs, yet it crouched there.
Almost proud, like a spinefin familiar that has just brought a crab for its master.
Gib tentatively reached out a hand. The thing didn’t react, though Jay noted that something did seem to change in its eyes.
Maybe there is more to this beast than meets the eye?
He switched his attention and felt the winds of magic in his mind. Ghyran was strongest, of course, but they were all there. They gusted this way and that, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, sometimes free, sometimes colliding. His own skin began to glow a soft purple.
Jay could also feel the dull emanations coming from those around him. It was easy with elves, who breezed lightly through the invisible currents. Humans were useless, either blank to it or very unstable. Gib was somewhere in between. There was something too straightforward about his Ghur energy to let Jay tap into it. I wonder if it is so with all Ogors? The target in this moment, though, that bizarre, hunched monster, that was something altogether different. Yes, it screamed Shyish, but it also burned with something sickly, a kind of muggy, inebriating aura. He reached out — not literally — to touch it.
Instantly, the world changed. When tried to move his eyes to look around, one to the left and one to the right, he found it felt wrong. Like he shouldn’t be able to do that, somehow.
I don’t feel different on the inside, yet everything seems different.
Moving his eyes together this time, he looked down at himself. He was two-legged, mammalian, and dressed in worked plant fibres. A human?! Looking to the side now, Gib looked similar, save he was decidedly shorter and wearing a heavy-duty apron. And up? Well, he seemed to have hair on his head, hair woven together into several… tails.
I bet there are four.
He saved looking forward until last, though he could hardly miss it. The trees and rocks remained the same. So did slain bodies and their catastrophic wounds. Yet the murderer was nothing like the skulking wretch. Their saviour was nothing less than a knight in shining armour. Heavy armour, atop which was a fine cloak quartered in yellow and black The noble warrior wore a handsome smile and a longsword as his belt The bone that the creature used as a weapon then left on the ground nearby had gone.
Jay was mute for a moment, but realisation had come, and he knew what he had to do. He pushed his thoughts outward and let the creature’s delusion form them into words.
“Good sir, my father is wounded grievous sore, and I must to his aid with the healing arts. Wouldst thou be our bold warden?”
Jay’s voice was human, in a strangely high pitch.
“Thou pleadest not in vain,” replied the knight. His voice was deep and earnest. “The way of errantry bids I shall serve thee in all matter, ’til thou art safely returned to thy father’s steading and the protection of our gentle lord.”
He tried to say thank you, but the body’s knees bent instead, and its hands held parts of the skirt. A sort of bow?
The knight decisively turned away and began singing a martial melody. Jay shifted his focus back, out of the illusion. The creature was prowling around the trees, gurgling and clacking its teeth. Gib, the real Gib, looked at him.
“What be the meaning of all this, eh, Eight-Legs?”
But Eight-Legs couldn’t explain. Instead, he unfurled the tentacle he’d kept round the little sack of herbs and set to work. Gib knew what he was about and settled down for the procedure. The Ogor was bleeding badly from the gunshot in his gut and there were various other scrapes and gashes from the wars, not least the Warlock’s parting gift.
Worse than I thought.
The shot would have to be removed and a poultice would have to be made, one that could withstand the heady miasma of the jungle. Another for the stab wound. That should have a paste to dull the pain and promote healing. The risk of inflection was lower, now, but if Gib was to be in any state to fight then he would need as much help as the herbs could give. Jay could also use that paste on the gashes and so forth.
He could be thankful for four things. First, Gib’s wounds would have killed an elf or human. Perhaps size does matter, sometimes. Second, there were plenty of leaves around for the poultices. Third, the Soul Warden to whom Jay had been attached was an expert in the flora of the land, that’s why he had accompanied the raid. That was lucky because of the fourth thing: Ochtarr can recall any written list perfectly. It was true that there was something odd about Jay, the little letters seemed to dance around for him and not for the others, but he had the sense of it.
With two tentacles, he set about collecting leaves. They would need to be large, flat, and not sting a humanoid’s skin. His tentacles could easily identify all of that with their own minds. Another four cleaned Gib’s wounds with the liquid. Whatever it is, it does this well. His friend seemed upset but didn’t say anything aloud. The final four started leafing through Gib’s things, searching for anything that he could use to mix up herbs.
Soon enough he had more leaves than he needed and all of Gib’s various cuts were as clean as they were going to get. He’ll have to live with the abrasions. Jay had also find a sort of deep, thin bowl with a handle on one side that he could use. Gib seemed upset about that, as well. The Ochtarr’s tentacles now moved on to mixing the pastes.
First, the poultice. He needed a tool, but the handles of the nearby swords and daggers weren’t good enough — he couldn’t grasp them by the blade. One of Gib’s flintlock butts would do nicely. He mushed up the fresh, verdant leaves of surrounding sproutlings with donkey bitters, a plant whose buds produce many little yellow bits. They crushed up easily and, thickened by the paste, formed a smooth poultice. Jay’s tentacles weren’t really made for this kind of exercise but he found a knack for it. In any case, he put minds over matter, because Gib needed help. He cut off a ream of bandage from Gib’s roll and smeared the finished poultice over it.
Now Jay had to work quickly. He would need to pull out the shot and then apply the poultice instantly. Thankfully, he had a dexterity undreamt of by any who did not have eight tentacles and a brain in each. Jay grabbed a nearby knife, washed it with the last of the liquid, then very carefully put the tip into Gib’s abdomen. The Ogor gritted his teeth.
Just the smallest of movements, I only need to bring the ball up ever so slightly…
As soon as the ball moved toward the exit of the wound, Jay slapped another tentacle on top of it. The sucker caught the ball and cleanly extracted it. He flashed pale pink in relief. A moment later and the poultice was applied.
Phew. That was the hard part.
Two of his tentacles had been busy preparing the paste, right up until he needed to concentrate all his minds on removing the pistol ball. Now he had to finish it. He suckered out the remnants of the poultice mixture from the strange bowl as best he could and threw in the pre-prepared fever grass — long, thin, slightly curling leaves — and aloe vera. The first should prevent scarring and the second dull the pain. Just like before, he mixed it up, save there wasn’t any liquid left. He started to squeeze some out of leaves but Gib nudged him and offered another bottle.
“Rum perks ye up but sweetwater keeps ye sound.”
Arr, thought Jay. He spilled a few drops of oddly unsalty water into the mix and finished the job. They applied the paste together, Gib to his gashes and Jay replacing the dressing on the Warlock’s wound. Soon he was happy enough with his work.
He flashed red. Time to go.
Gib got the point and began, ponderously, to stand. The creature emerged from the trees, gibbering. Whatever it meant, it looked like there were three of them now.
I’d 3 against 100 to 1 against 100 any day.
