A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Hobgoblin?" He finally stopped stirring whatever it was that he was cooking. He narrowed his eyes at Oliver, more attentive than he had been. "Hm… There haven't been any large-scale raids organized lately," his eyes regained their sleepiness, and he went back to stirring. "Whatever Hobgoblin you have is likely dried, no?"

"No, it's fresh still, two days old," Oliver said. The ladle stopped completely this time, and the boy sat up. He finally seemed to look at them, taking in who they are.

"Black hair, a doll's face, long legs… Hm… You're the Blackthorn?" He said. The way he identified her based on her characteristics was like he'd read about her, rather than heard of her.

"That's Lady Blackthorn to you," Amelia said pompously, "and stop looking at her legs, you brute!"

The boy ignored her, and turned his attention to Oliver instead. "You… I don't know. Scars, brown hair… grey eyes? Not tall, but well-muscled… Keeps the company of the Blackthorn? You're not… no. I don't recall anyone that meets that criteria."

"Oliver Patrick," Oliver said, helpfully.

"You?" The boy said the word with a stat, drawing back. It took him a moment to recover himself. "I suppose you would match that description, but…" he glanced back at Lady Blackthorn. "Odd company you find yourself in, Ser Patrick."

"In more ways than you realize," Oliver said with a smile, staring pointedly at Amelia. She seemed to get his insult, because her face fell into a frown.

"Well, if it's you, then it would be possible for a Hobgoblin to be slain without a mass expedition…" the boy said. "If you truly do have what you claim, then…" he licked his lips. It was clear that he was interested.

Oliver relaxed a little, seeing that. "Good. I was half-afraid that you would dismiss us. From what I can see, business doesn't exactly seem to be booming," he said, gesturing towards the rundown tents.

The boy frowned at that. "Yes… Well, if they knew the value of what we produce, then it wouldn't be so. My job is merely to tend to this stall, though, not try and educate the masses."

"What can you make with Hobgoblin ingredients?" Oliver asked, dropping his voice an octave.

The boy looked at him, then swiped all the potions from the table, pushing them back into the straw basket that they came from. It seemed to be a particularly reckless way of treating glass. "Far better quality items than this drivel," the boy said. "A potion that increases regeneration. Minor wounds would heal in half the time. That's a life-saving sort of potion.

The field medicine people would pay solid golds for that."

Oliver had expected him to keep that sort of information to himself, for fear that knowing it would make Oliver hike up his price, but the alchemist did not even consider it. "And so, if I were to sell it to you, how much would you be willing to pay..?"

But a shake of the head was all that met him. "I do not have the funds for such things. It would be pleasant to experiment, but again, I lack the coin to do so… I couldn't be sure of turning a profit with it. There's a gap to be closed between the theoretical and the physical, and I haven't worked with Hobgoblin before."

"But from what you were saying I'd thought—"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Dry stuff, here and there, far less potent than fresh material. I'd probably have to spend a full gold just acquiring a handful of fingers, if I were being fair… then for a pound of organ flesh, two golds… I'd be confident making something right after 5 tries, or perhaps ten for sureness.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

You see, the cost of such experimentation would be far more than this store can handle. I cannot even afford yellow-shirted students to tend it, after all."

That admission surprised more than just Oliver. Enough that even Blackthorn herself spoke up. "You're a noble?"

"A poor excuse for one, I'm afraid, my Lady. Troy Nebular, at your service… A more destitute noble house I think you'll be hard-pressed to find. Our businesses have been in the red for so long that I no longer even feel shame in publicly stating that. I'm sure you all knew such things already," Nebular said self-deprecatingly.

"I had heard that the Nebular family was on particularly hard times…" Blackthorn admitted. "I did not think the rumours to be well-founded, though. Yours is an old house."

"Unfortunately, like an old castle, our age does not grant us reprieve from the wind. Our foundations crumble all the same," Nebular said, with a peculiar smile. The smile of one that had lost all hope, so that even he saw the humour in his unfortunate circumstance.

"I can't help but think your honesty might be in part to blame for that," Oliver said. "You could have pushed me far harder for those Hobgoblin parts, and spun yourself a profit. If you'd told me you'd give me 5 silvers for 10 fingers, I'd still have been happy with that. Really happy."

Nebular gave him a look as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Even the girls were looking at him pityingly. "After fighting that monstrous Hobgoblin, you'd give its parts away so cheaply?" Amelia scolded. "You're so pathetic that it doesn't even feel right to make fun of you… That priest needs to fix you, somehow."

"What about the other stalls," Oliver asked, pointedly ignoring Amelia. "Do you think they'd want to buy some Hobgoblin parts?"

Nebular glanced towards the other stalls, his expression doubtful. "I wouldn't have thought so… Though they're not as poor off as me, I don't think they have the sort of capital needed to spend on the research portion of these ingredients. They're a rarity, you see. The fools that dare to hunt Hobgoblins see no worth in selling them.

The beast is worth far more to them as a trophy than it is as the measly pile of coin that we alchemists could afford to pay for it."