“A debt!” the mushroom man exclaims. “Burbaloo, explain yourself!”
“You see, Mr. Jashenzizok, these four wei–” here the alchemist, Burbaloo, catches herself. She takes in the glares of the gang and continues. “These four people were transporting crates of tonics and tinctures, which I bought for a fair price.”
Groans of protest go up from all but Abia, who watches impassively.
“Then these hoodlums caught up to me, tied me up, and forced me to bring them here.”
Mr. Jashenzizok the mushroom wizard blinks his freshly-cut eyes. “You, there, winged one. Consumed you one of the tinctures?”
Fassn slumps to the ground at the base of the mushroom, patting his swollen belly. “Yeah,” he says.
“And there are yet more crates in your wagon?”
“Perhaps so,” Cang says. “If you have money to buy.”
“Look at me, peasant!” Mr. Jashenzizok shouts. “I’m a forsaken fungus. Bring me the antidote and you’ll have your reward.”
“Heard that one before,” Burbaloo mutters.