Karen & Desmond: Alchemic Atrocities part 1 (Patreon)

Reward for: Paul Revere

Art by: Jakkal

A gust of wind rocked the sign about on its one remaining ring holder. The others had long since rusted off from years of neglect. Even so, it was easy to make out the faded caricature of an anthropomorphic rodent puking into a latrine. Words carved into the moldy wood appropriately identified this establishment as the 'Vomiting Rat.'

"Cute," was all Karen could offer as commentary. During her initial survey through town, this particular building sure looked like a cesspool for rats. In fact, she had initially considered such a place abandoned. Its brick foundation looked chiseled by the elements to the point of collapsing in on itself. Most windows on its ground floor were too caked in grease to make out anything going on inside. And yet, straining an ear to the door, she picked up some usual bustle of commotion befitting a tavern.

The shattering of what was undoubtedly a beer bottle made her jump back. One hand shot to her hip, undoing the clasp of her sword on reflex. Most of her ex-knighthood instincts were saying to avoid what troubles might be beyond this portal, but sadly her goal was worth a little brawling no matter how slim chance salvation could be found.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her hand from weapon hilt to door handle and entered. Both hands promptly shot to cover her ears against an assault of shouts, curses, and the playing of a very loud violin. None of which had been remotely distinguishable from any of the windows or doors.

It really was like stepping through a portal into another world. High marble beams had been placed around to keep the roof aloft, while the walls were reinforced with freshly painted plaster and all manner of tapestries. Even the air smelled fresher if thick with alcohol.

Karen needed only a moment to collect herself before spotting the source of everyone's attention. Several square tables had been pulled together to form one large platform for a large number of patrons to gather around. Peering over the tops of heads, she could see this extra space was made for two creatures to duke it out as a makeshift death ring. Currently, some sort of rabbit with a scorpion tail and pincers was trying to get a chicken with a thick serpent's tail to compliment the scales of its underbelly. Every time the later clucked there spewed forth a rush of green flames that kept the furry stinger at bay.

Summoned creature fights were a rare sight indeed. Karen recognized hearing about such spectacles, despite never seeing one before. A rather handy way of hosting gambling fights without the waste of using live roosters, as well as leaving little evidence of events if authorities should happen along. Such creations were usually made by extracting raw magical energy from the outer planes and forcing them to manifest physically as the caster saw fit. Once killed, they simply dispersed back to either without a trace. Such a feat required at least one or two people exceptionally knowledged in the arcane.

Looked like she might have found a lead in this sinking pit after all. And God's help her for having to meet the weirdo that wanted to create a chicken-dragon.

Unfortunately, none of the patrons paid her any mind when she tried flagging some for questioning. Tapping shoulders only got her hand rolled off, and shouting into ears got rather threatening glares when they realized she had no intent on pedaling money for this fight's outcome. Deciding it best to wait things out, Karen made her way to the bar. Only one of the twenty stools was occupied by a corpulent ferret man. He had, apparently, decided mid-drink that the marble counter would make a nice pillow.

“What’s your poison?” snapped a lanky man before Karen finished sitting down. Brown eyes gazed suspiciously at her sword behind a tangled mess of red hair.

“Cider and rum, please,” she said trying to sound non-threatening and robust at the same time. Mentally she cursed her, well, curse. There were still some hours before she needed to ingest another Azuchroma flower, but that did not stop an occasional craving for juicy apples or a thick patch of grass now and then.

When the drinks came, she added a gold piece on top of the demanded fee inclining her head to the large crowd. “Thanks. Also, I’d like to know the mage in charge of that.”

The bartender took her coin scoffing at first. His eyes glanced over to the tables in consideration while a chorus of cheers and boos intermixed. Sounded like one of the fighting creatures would be dead soon.

“Out for our resident alchemist, eh?” the bartender gave Karen another scoff. “Does he owe you something or did someone send you to break his legs?”

“Pardon!?” the question stopped Karen dead, so promptly she almost spilled cider down the front of her leather vest.

Her proprietor chuckled softly, going back to his routine of pretending to wash clean glasses. “Sorry, you just look and act with a purpose. Military, or Ex considering you haven’t done anything to bust up that ring.” Karen nodded, even though it had not been a question, before knocking back her rum. “Well, most out of towners don’t seek that bastard unless it’s over a debt. And let me tell you, he likes to pile those. WE tend to tolerate having him around, mind you. Seeing as he helps keep the children nice and healthy.”

“So, they’re here?” Karen forgot her composure under this man's incessant vagueness, nearly scooting off the edge of her stool to get closer. “I assure you, I have no interest in harming your...doctor? On the contrary, I may wish to employ his services."

“Yeah, he's here. Keep your bloomers on, young lady. I’ll introduce you soon as he’s done with his current business. Oh, fancy that!”

Another loud roar came from the crowd, this time leaning far toward negative. Looking over her shoulder, Karen retched at the sight unfolding. The scorpion-rabbit was laying belly up on the table, while the lizard-chicken still hobbled around with its wings reduced to bloody stumps. Both soon poofed back into the ether while large stacks of coins exchanged hands among the crowd.

Karen could not help but smirk as more than one fist fight broke out. Quite a few people must have been betting with money they did not have. Many were chased out the various doors, pursued by others drawing saps, clubs, or just grabbing whatever blunt object sat in reach. Two humans and what looked like an anthro fox with blue fur looked especially unlucky. They were being escorted out slung over the shoulders of towering half-orcs. They barely made it out the door before Karen started hearing a series of splashes dotted with pleading yelps.

Part of her conscious tugged at Karen to get up and help, but she talked it down with the knowledge one mercenary against a drunken mob was not good odds. Especially when she had no intention of hurting anyone without due cause. Cheating was still cheating, even on an illegal bet.

“Welp looks like your guy is freed up now.”

“What? Oh!!” Karen had gotten so lost in surveying the chaos on display that she almost forgot her reason for being among it. Her eyes quickly scanned around the tavern expecting to see some robust figure dressed in cheap formal clothes being revealed behind the parting crowd. “Where is he?”

“I’d guess the rain barrels again,” the bartender said with a chuckle. At Karen's confused look, he gestured to the door the half-orcs had just reentered from. They looked mildly wet, yet extremely satisfied about something. “Take that exit and turn to your right. Just look for the tail.”

“Great,” Karen said with drastically diminished hopes. She paused only to finish her cider and excused herself past the towering thugs to get outside.

Turning right as instructed found exactly what she was looking for, sadly. The two humans she had spotted earlier were slumped against the wall of an adjacent building; black-eyed, soaking wet, unconscious, but alive none the less. Several barrels set up under a rain catch had been turned over, but the one closest to Karen remained upright.

This was significant only because it had the rear end of an anthro creature sticking out of it. Burlap pants hung loosely on scrawny looking legs but were cut roughly at the knee to make room for huge canine paws socked in black fur and dotted by yellow pads. Dangling off to the side was a rich furred tail almost fit for a blanket. It’s deep blue color only broken by the bright white at its tip.

“Great,” she repeated while inching for a closer look. A few bubbles bobbed to the surface, reassuring her this poor creature had yet to drown.

Karen yanked on the anthros submerged belt, only needing one tug to hoist the rest of it out of its water barrel home. Today just seemed full of surprises for the wandering mercenary. Not that Karen was unused to anthros, but one with blue fur was notably rare. Even more curious was when she got a chance to inspect the rest of him; dripping wet and trying to squeeze water out of his thick, black bangs. Placing his species was particularly hard. The big paws, narrow muzzle, and sock-glove markings suggested perhaps a fox or wolf. Yet the extreme lightweight, overly large tail, and jittery movements felt more akin to a rodent, specifically a squirrel.

It took a few seconds of fanning out his open red vest, the only other article of clothing on him, before seeming to notice Karen. His expression split into a toothy smile, showing off many white fangs and a yellow tongue.

“If that was to save me, thank you fair maiden,” he said but added with a glummer expression. “And if I owe you something, please don’t knee me in the crotch.”

“Uuhh…” Taking a moment to think up a formal approach, Karen replied, “My name’s Karen, actually. I’m looking for the help of this towns best mage. Am I to assume that’s you?”

“Hrrmph!!” The short anthro straightened up looking suddenly aloof. His black-furred chest puffed out from inside his vest trying to make himself look bigger. Too bad being soaked to his bones did little to add to the effect. “My lady! I’ll have you know you are addressing the one and only Desmond Fallout. I am the best alchemist in the history of...what country are we in?”

“...you’re drunk aren’t you?”

“Possibly! Could have also been a right hook from those orcs, but that’s never stopped me before. If you want someone that’s good at throwing monster parts together to see what happens, I’m your man!”

“Okay! Good day then!” Karen had lost all interest in this soaking wet anthro, along with the Vomiting Rat as a whole. Her time was annoyingly scarce, and there were better things to waste it on than a drunk rambler. She turned to exit out the alley to find a more reputable inn for the night.

“Hey, hold on!” Desmond had a surprising spring in his steps, for he moved to block Karen in one blink of an eye. “I know most can’t appreciate the subtle art of alchemy. However, it’s just a simple matter of magic broken down into genius science. I assure you, if the coin is good there is nothing I can’t help you with. In any case, there is no other mage around these parts.”

There was a long pause in which Karen stood rubbing her forehead. Traveling had made her tired, and she only had enough Azuchroma to keep normal for another day or two. There was thinning patience over trusting an anthro possessing a shady reputation, considering one caused her predicament in the first place.

“Alright,” she said finally. That pause must have been longer than it felt, for her speaking caused Desmond to jump out of his own lost thoughts. “I can spare a few hours, but I beg you not make them spent in vain.”

“On a time limit, huh? I can respect that. Gods know I always got swords dangling over my head.” He turned with a wave indicating Karen to follow him. Like she was not going to, reluctantly, do so anyway. “My lab is just down the block from here. You can explain the situation to me on the way.”

That was all the time Karen needed for retelling her story. A few years ago, while on a typical mercenary job, this raccoon merchant happened to talk her into buying the silver horse head pendant that could be seen dangling from her neck. What she was not told was that it, and most of his charms really, were stolen from a very powerful magic crafter. Over the next successive days, it had caused her to gradually transform into a horse. Getting rid of the pendant did nothing to help stop the process. In fact, she had to wear it while changed or also regressed in mind to basic equine intelligence.

That got a small laugh out of Desmond, which Karen did not appreciate. She finished with how she eventually found the raccoon, who confessed only the mage that enchanted them understood fully how their magic functioned. Since neither had a clue who the hell that person was, Karen was most likely stuck a horse forever.

The furry bastards only saving grace had been to show Karen that consuming Azuchroma flowers reverted her transformation for a finite amount of time. Not helping was said flowers rarity, leading to many long periods of travel through the wilds on solid hooves. She dared not linger around settlements in such a position, lest opportunistic people try wrangling a free mount.

A peril that had befallen Karen quite a few times, she was sheepish to admit.

Ever since she had been wandering from town to town looking for anyone with even an inclining for the arcane. Her only hopes pegged on finding the pendants original creator, or at least anyone who could help lift the curse.

“There is absolutely nothing I can do to help you.”

Karen blinked a few times trying to process the blunt response her tale had earned. They had since made their way to Desmond’s ‘lab.’ Which turned out to be a tool shed behind a laundry house. Considering Desmond had to use a hairpin to undo the door lock, there were many reasonable doubts about his ownership of the place.

“W-what!? But you said…”

Desmond plopped on a rickety old chair behind a table, on which sat many beakers and vials containing all manner of things; colored fluids or flesh samples of creatures Karen could not readily identify. Not that she really wanted to know the identity of those bits. The rest of the shack had shelves with even more odds and ends, with the occasional book to separate them. A large white tarp blocked most of the back wall, but from the sunlight, Karen could tell the roof beyond had been removed.

“In my defense, I just thought you wanted some breast enhancing potions or diet tonics.”

“...what are you implying?”

“Just that figuring out an items enchantment is a tricky matter.” Desmond ignored Karen's fuming blush by reaching under the table to pull out what looked like an antique clock. However, a large plate was missing, allowing them to see it lacked any functioning parts. “For example, I was told this thing had a jinx on it every time it struck six o’clock. To disenchant something it needs to be taken apart and broken down so I can study the form of its ether. Needless to say, I can’t put back together cogs that were disintegrated.”

One of Karen's hands absently played with her pendant as his meaning sunk in. “But...if you destroy the pendant you can learn how the spell works?”

“Possibly. I never did learn how this clock caused everyone nearby to have flatulence problems at six.” Karen opened her mouth but promptly closed it in better judgment. “Going by your description, the curse will stay with you even if I disenchant it. All the good it’d do is show me how to put the magic into other items. Afraid that won’t help you in figuring out how to remove it. That could take years of research and experimenting while you’re stuck grazing at the stables. And besides, if I wanna turn people into horses I could just make polymorph potions. It’d probably be cheaper.”

“Well, if items can be disenchanted, isn’t it possible to disenchant people? You know, without breaking them apart?”

Desmond flicked the thick scruff of fur on his chin. “The process of breaking down and reassembling something simultaneously is way out of my field of expertise. You’d need some sort of powerful healer mage that really knows human anatomy.”

Karen uttered a curse, looking around the shanty for any bit of inspiration. There was no surprise this odd little anthro was another dead end, but she was not about to give up without exploring all possibilities. “You said something about potions?”

“Breast enhancing potions, my good girl!" Desmond's entire attitude had flipped into one of a showboating salesman. "Go from a wooden board to watermelons in minutes without stretch marks or sagging! All the rage for the unblessed, middle-aged women looking to score marriage with a rich old..."

"The polygon potions, fuzzbrain!!" Karen’s arms crossed over her chest defensively. She could not remember the last time her face burned so red.

“Oooh!” Desmond’s cheerful demeanor did not falter in the slightest, though his tail dropped. "PolyMORPH potions, Miss...Karen, was it? Yes. They're a bit of a staple of mine. A few sips and you can transform anything. Make a gerbil into a tiger, or a grown man into an anthro child."

“Have you ever turned a gerbil…?”

“When debt collectors are breaking down your door with cutlasses, you work with what’s available.”

“Debt collectors?”

“Okay, I swindled some pirates. What do you want from me?” Karen raised an eyebrow while twiddling the pendant between her fingers. “Oh, right…”

“Yes, getting back on topic; does that mean you know how to turn animals into humans?”

“I...may have done that once or twice.” Desmond leaned forward with a grin. Whispering as if this moldy shack had unwanted ears. “The bartender at the Rat used to be a basset hound to a passing noble. He’s much happier to have a nice little business of his own to run. Not that it’s gotten me any leeway on my mounting tab there...”

“You have quite the interesting life, Mr. Fallout. Although what I was getting at…”

“Oh yeah, I know. Making a human transformation potion is easy, and polymorph antidotes are even easier. I’ve become human on many occasions. Heck, with a few hairs we can make a potion to turn anyone into an exact copy of you.” Before Karens hopes could stir, Desmond quickly raised a clawed finger to stop her flat. “BUT I don’t think it’ll do any good against your curse.”

“Well, why not!?” Karen said, unable to hide the irritated tone. She uncrossed her arms to her hips with a warning glare. There had to be a con or something up this anthros short sleeves with the way he was trying to stall. “It’s just a simple act of countering transformation magic with itself.”

“Simple on paper, but...well...let’s try a little experiment!”

Without offering an explanation, Desmond sat up in his chair in a flurry of hand motions. Various beakers and vials were snatched and poured into a grinding bowl. After which he hammered the contents vigorously before pouring a mucus-like slurry into another large beaker full of some purple liquid. There came a sickening sizzle sound as everything dissolved with acidic speed. Karen quickly stepped back with arms raised half expecting some kind of dramatic reaction. Instead, the liquid turned a bright orange and returned to a calm state once the additives were completely mixed.

“Drink this,” Desmond said. So much attention had been on the strange mixing methods that Karen failed to notice him filling a small amount of liquid into a vial for her.

Extreme caution wrought from a sense of deja vu prevented Karen from accepting this immediately. She was far from anthro racist but did not want to see a trend forming when dealing with them.

“It’s not going to reduce you to a jibbering mush or anything, I swear,” Desmond said encouragingly.

There came a huff of disbelief, but Karen accepted the vile. She knocked it back before logic could strongly demand otherwise, grateful for its lack of odor and taste.

“I mean at worse you might have an extra arm for a few days,” Desmond continued, prompting Karen to choke on his potion. Under a looming death glare that had Karen reaching for her sword, he hastily added, “Just kidding!”

“I have enough problems without that kind of humor,” she said, forcing herself to relax. It did not escape her notice that Desmond continued staring rather intently at her head. Almost instinctively she reached up to feel her ears, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Well, not yet anyway. The usual growing elf-like tips, an early sign of her transition to equine-hood, were yet to present themselves. “So what WAS that supposed to do?”

“Well, it was supposed to turn your hair purple…”

Karen promptly pulled a clump of bangs in front of her eyes. While it was true much of her chestnut strands were turning a lovely shade of violet, they only seemed to make it halfway before slowly receding back to their natural coloration.

“As you can see,” Desmond continued once Karen’s initial panic subsided. “Your curse is, how to put it, a little more potent than that simple potion I just brewed up. Even if I had some more expensive ingredients to change you into someone else you’d probably still become a horse eventually. Then your next Azuchroma would put you right back to square one.”

Somehow, this came as no real surprise. Karen was glad she did not have high hopes on this strange little anthro. Plus, the way he casually talked about completely changing a person’s form as casual as changing their clothes felt a bit unnerving. She was eager for an excuse to take her leave for the safety of a semi-clean inn room. Unfortunately, one more detail had dinged in her mind before that could happen.

“You make antidotes for transformation magic?”

“Well, yeah!” Desmond scoffed, gesturing to the large tarp behind him. By the looks of things, twilight was rapidly approaching. “And other assorted remedies! It’s always good business practice to have a niche, so people aren’t trapped as animals...and don’t kill you for turning their son into an anthro badger woman…”

“Why would you…?”

“Hey, you frighten a squirrel with a knife, expect an overreaction! I turned him back eventually...” Desmond blushed sheepishly under her suspicious glare. “Point being, I’m the only person in twenty miles capable of making toxins and antitoxins to the creatures infesting the surrounding swamplands. This town wants trade coming through, they need my medicines.”

Karen gave an amused smirk. “Isn’t that a bit extortionist of you?”

Desmond, in turn, gestured to the surrounding walls of rotted wood and tools. “I’m hiding in a tool shed. How profitable at this do you think I am?”

“Point taken,” Karen said, still perplexed by his personality. Not many healers of even low quality would let themselves camp in squaller if they could help it. As a knight, it was generally easy to peg a person's character after a few minutes interacting with them. That meant the ones difficult to predict made for the most dangerous. Still, the light weight of her own herb pouch forced her to ask, “Does that mean you have fresh Azuchroma somewhere?”

At that Desmond jumped to his feet showing every last, unbrushed, fang in a wide smile. “Lady Karen, I thought you’d never ask!”

With a good yank, the tarp snapped off its hinges to blanket an alarmed Desmond. While he struggled to get out from under the foul-smelling sheet, Karen tip-toed around to get a better view of a surprisingly thriving greenhouse.

Unlike the front of the shake, this section had a bit of repair put into it. Most of the walls were reinforced with fresh wood planks, supporting solid metal shelves melded from scraps. Upon each was rows upon rows of pots being overtaken by the crawling roots of wild plants. It looked like Desmond had collected a piece of every part of the world. She spotted cactus growths in pots of sand sporting flower buds of orange and black colors. They had glass casings that seemed designed to use sun rays from a clear cut hole in the roof for extra heat. Another row had exotic vines in a murky mud slurry. Their lengths were decorated in strands of purple and red fibers for an eery resemblance to veins. These seemed to twitch as if responding to Karen's presence when she got closer. And below them were pots full of solid stone rock, yet had large fly traps breaking through. Many were of sufficient size to wrap around Karen's head.

Naturally, she kept a fair distance while observing them. A hand rested tensely on her sword hip.

And there, way back, was one of the largest bushes of Azuchroma flowers Karen had ever seen, wild or cultivated. Despite being dug directly into the ground, it had overgrown most of the far wall, sporting around twenty fresh flowers and many more buds anxious to bloom. In the waning sunlight, they seemed to give off a rather ethereal glow of beauty. Despite herself, Karen felt a leap of hope. That was enough green to keep her human for weeks.

“Ugh! Stupid thing!” Desmond said once he worked his way out from under the tarp. Upon noticing Karen still in a daze, he gave her a light jab to the ribs. “It’s a handy flower to have, Azuchroma’s. Since it’s potency is degradable it makes a good failsafe mixed with my polymorph potions. If something happens that I can’t get an antidote ready, then the effects gradually wear off on their own accord. That way the poor bastards aren’t stuck as something else forever.”

Slowly the gears were turning in Karen's mind, senses of fatigue becoming a barely noticeable annoyance in the excitement of one growing idea. “Any incidents of people you did want stuck?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Besides, most of those were voluntary and not under a much stronger curse.”

“But you have made potions with permanent, lasting effects?”

“I suppose I have. Look, I’m telling you it’s a lost cause. Your curse…”

“Is unknown in both its scope and strength to everyone, save perhaps its maker,” Karen said with a beam of rising determination. Hands parted her hair to display the deep purple her roots still had to them for emphasis as she continued, “Mr. Fallout, I’ve trotted across these land on hooves for the better part of two years to just give up. Your potions DO work on me! The curse may weaken the effects, but I’m not immune. If you say those ingredients are weak, I’m willing to try the most potent brew you can concoct.”

“You’re serious!?” Desmond’s forced laugh was cut short under her fiery gaze. “Okay, well I won’t deny it’s possible to make a permanent polymorph potion for you.” He began to tap his nose repeatedly. There seemed to be a heated mental debating going on in that head. A surprising notion, to say the least. His eyes darted from Karen's to the horse pendant, and back. If Karen ventured a guess, he was looking for an excuse to dismiss HER now. But one truth she did know was that people who took pride in their one good skill could not resist a new challenge. “Destroying your pendant isn’t an option. I don’t want your lost humanity on my conscious. That means a lot of blind experimenting where anything can happen to you...”

Karen gestured to the wall of flowers shining before them. “You have more than enough Azuchroma to reverse those effects.”

“...and ‘potent’ ingredients mean more costly ones. Hell, no one in this town is willing to venture out into the forests and swamps around here for the really good stuff I like.”

It was Karen's turn to puff up and look important, making a show of grabbing her sword handle. “Just make a list of what you need. I’ll get it within the hour.”

Karen almost thought the little anthro was blushing as he observed her display. With a quick cough, he seemed to find his voice again. “Much as I like to play the good Samaritan, I’m also not on personal terms with you. I see very little to gain from using my hard grown stores to…”

A small bag was tossed onto the table, which promptly spilled over and releasing a pool of coins that caught a few final rays of sun glinting across their golden surface. “That’s a hundred and six there, and I give my word there’ll be a lot more repayment if I never have to worry about growing a tail ever again.”

THUNK!

A pained yelp broke through the darkness, startling Karen. Desmond had bowed his head so fast it accidentally slammed upon the wooden table. One of its legs splintered from impact, worrying Karen greatly.

“I humbly request you accept my services!!" Desmond had a nice gash seeping a bit of blood off his forehead. Such a head wound seemed to do nothing to detract from a smile permanently etched into his muzzle. "For the good of science and betterment of all that might find such cursed items.”

Before Karen could reply, an ominous creaking filled the shack. There came a loud snapping of wood, and both of them had to jump back as the entire lab table tilted over its broken leg, sending all the glass and contains toppling over in a loud symphony of shattering.

“Uhhh, best come back tomorrow morning,” Desmond said sheepishly. The pile of broken glass and ingredients had begun to illuminate the whole shed with bright yellow light. “This is going to take a while to clean up.”

“Tomorrow then!” Karen said with a nod. Trying to stay polite, she still fled the shack before that accident could touch the souls of her boots.