A day had passed, and yet the grey clouds remained, leaving the fortress in shadows on a moonless night. Outside of a small-slanted window, a human girl hung from its edges, trying her best to listen in on the guard's schedule, and whatever intel they would blurt.

The guards were busy nagging but had to stop once a certain presence reached the floor. They readjusted their slump forms into rigid ones, before saluting the important figure that strolled past them. Followed shortly after by a cloaked rat. William couldn’t edge out their features in the dim corridor, but he knew at once who that sneaky rat was! He took note of where they were headed and climbed two meters down, merely to spy on them later that eve.

The man of upper rank walked into the chamber first, then Charkel seeped in, humbly closing the door behind him like the little servant he was. 

“Trouble with the wounds again, my lord?”, Charkel asked as he let some red wine pour into a gilded cup. The other grumbled incoherent words, then snatched the cup before downing it in one slurp. Charkel blankly stared at the other, patiently waiting for the cup to return to his hand. Once it did, he poured another helping exclusively for himself.

His master rummaged through his drawers until he found what he was looking for: A small leathery pouch filled with slimy ointment. “To think that such goop can keep you alive… At least, barely… Enough to still be entitled to the riches of our king, no?”, he jotted at the other. The grumpy one opened up a nearby closet that revealed behind it a big mirror. At its angle, William couldn’t be a part of what they saw, but he could guess that their chat was focused on some kind of wound.

The bitter man smeared some of the ointment on his abdomen, hissing every time he let his finger slip too far. Then he let his dark voice rumble forth, “Grr! Fhh! This damned wound won’t ever heal!... How I wish that I could just rip this ludicrous piece of shit off my being!... So what if my insides should spill? The gamble would be worth it? Wouldn’t it?...”. Charkel could hardly gulp down his wine when he had to pair it with his lord’s rare savageness. The gilded cup was placed with a hard tap, followed by silence.

Charkel’s lord could sense the other’s disturbed attitude towards him, so he said, “Forgive my unsightliness, Charkel… Although I can bear the pain with grit, I cannot accept the reality of myself becoming a peasant one day…”. The faithful servant nodded, “I fully understand, my lord. You being a peasant would be an offense to god himself!... For without you, who else can spread his light and make sense of this frigid world?”.

Being exalted like that, the lord’s aura soon turned arrogant. He hid away the long mirror and hummed, “Hm… You may find my role irreplaceable, but don’t undermine your own efforts… For if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have the spare resources to spend on this costly panacea… Speaking of this heinous creation… I think I got a letter addressing the matter this afternoon...”.

Charkel’s master found his way into a comfy seat, next to a desk. He went through some documents. One of them being a letter that contained misguided information. The mere silliness of it made him boast aloud, “Hrmp! They say the Rubspit’s maker is anonymous, and sure, they hid their origin well, but they cannot fool me… I know who that brat is… He’s in the north, building a castle and making a name for himself as an upcoming lord…”. Charkel took the opportunity to drink another cup of wine as his lord continued to groan, “Bah! And he even dared to take in those that deserted the Ravaging Shades while they were still alive and kicking. I’ve never heard of such insolence before… I’m telling you, Charkel. The second, my king has the forces he needs, that contemptuous nobody is going down. And he will find that producing such valuable medicine has its consequences…”.

Charkel chuckled while his dinosaur also took a sip, “Indeed, my lord. The mere fact that he won’t serve our cause is outrageous… But mayhaps now that you know of his name, I could send my followers to corrupt him?… You know that I’ll do my best to support the cause…”.

Hearing this, his master both expressed satisfaction but also a hint of disgrace, “Of course, my friend. But what if he’s immune?... We wouldn’t want a traitorous rogue like him to come and spoil our soldiers, no?… Hmmm… We should test the possibilities, but alas, that will have to wait until my next batch of extorted medicine arrives…”.

Charkel nodded as his hood swayed along, back and forth, “I agree… We shall wait and improve the odds. Hmm... I think it’s about time I got my nails clipped...”. Charkel’s lord sat in thought for a while. Enough to make William’s legs sleep. Then he stood up and bid his servant goodnight.

With an outstretched hand above Charkel’s head, he ceremoniously said, “Know this my good servant, that you may go forth without any doubts!... God and Solvi smile upon your actions. And as foretold in my vision... They continuously strive to see Gorm tame this land… Bless you, Charkel, and know that the holy ones guard and watch over you, always...”.

Charkel wobbly knelt beneath the all-knowing hand and sunk further to the floor with every honorable word his master spoke. He ate it all up for these wise words soothed his conscience and allowed him a reason to keep going. More confident than before, Charkel rose and then he limped out of his master’s chamber. Contend that he received that which he had come for.

Charkel had left but William remained. He wanted to be the one to test out the lord’s versatile Rubspit. The question was, how was he supposed to get it?