The Elf reared back with a little gasp. “How can you say that? I mean, how can—how can you just say that?”
“I didn’t just say it!” said Gorm. “Ye asked me!”
“But, I mean, they’re your friends!” said Kaitha. “And how are they any worse than Jynn or Laruna? Or me and… well, or any other couple?”
“They ain’t any worse. It’s no different at all!”
“Exactly!”
“Aye, exactly!”
“What?”
Gorm rolled his eyes. “Look, all ye surface folk spend every day prancin’ about together, fawnin’ over each other, and publicly twistin’ yourselves in knots over private matters. It’s all shameful. I’d never do any of it, and I’m clanless. An honored Dwarf would lose face for doin’ the least of what ye folk do every day. Even most arak’nud show more restraint than your people.”
“So we’re all just supposed to—”
“Ye ain’t supposed to do anything,” said Gorm. “If I couldn’t make peace with surface folk not adherin’ to my customs, I’d have stayed in the clanhome. There ain’t no point in tryin’ to make all of me friends into Dwarves, and there ain’t any point in tryin’ to keep me from bein’ one.”
Kaitha opened her mouth, then closed it. She gave Gorm a prolonged stare. “We’ll call it progress,” she said eventually.
“Call it whatever ye like, so long as you’re talkin’ to somebody else,” grumbled Gorm. “Gods knows I don’t want to talk about any of this. It’s shameful.”
“If you say.” Kaitha shook her head. “How are the pastries?”
“Ain’t bad,” said Gorm, grabbing another grundant tart. “Boomer must have set up the meeting. Buster always cheaps out on the snacks.”
When Creative Destruction’s founders returned, they led a procession of Gnomes, Humans, and Gremlins wearing white coats and carrying several sealed cases. Each box contained new marvels yet to be wielded by any hero or encountered by any foe, save for some unfortunate test dummies and laboratory monsters.
“Goop arrows!” announced Boomer, holding up a quiver full of arrows. “Sometimes the only way out of a sticky situation is to create another one!”
“Funny you should say that,” said Buster, peering into the quiver.
“Eh?” Boomer tried to draw an arrow, but the shaft was half-encased in a sleeve of viridian ooze that stretched as the muscular Gnome pulled. The arrow snapped back into place with a warbling twang as soon as he released his grip. “Uh, still in testing,” he said with an apologetic grin.
“We’ll pass,” said Kaitha.
For the next demonstration, attendants lined the top of the podium with several paper trays of eggs. A Goblin in a white jumper carefully set a red, covered rucksack on top of them. “Now then,” said Buster as the attendants placed more eggs inside the bag. “You may be wondering how you can reduce the risk of accidental fire or detonation when you’re carrying around so many firebombs and volatile potions.”
“At least, you will be once you see how many firebombs and potions are in the deluxe package!” laughed Boomer.
“That’s why we’ve designed the RED bag, or Reduced Explosive Damage bag.” Buster’s arms performed some grandiose choreography in the direction of the rucksack.
Gorm’s brows, which had been drifting into a deep furrow as he considered the strange setup, flew up as Boomer lit the fuse on a vial of alchemist’s fire. “It’s got similar enchantments to your standard extra-dimensional satchel, but with the ability to expand almost infinitely when force is applied in the direction of the walls of the bag,” the Gnome explained.
“Yes, Boomer,” said the Gremlin, watching the fuse burn.
Gorm shared a nervous glance with Kaitha.
“And as everything is bound to its position from the edges of the extra-dimensional pocket, all your valuables will also be safe from any explosive—”
“Boomer!” said Buster as the heroes dove for cover.
“Oh. Right,” said Boomer. He dropped the explosive into the bag as the last of the fuse burned down. “The point is, the RED bag will prevent all collateral damage.”
Fwump.
Flames fountained from the mouth of the satchel, searing a hole through the oak ceiling. The force of the eruption slammed the red bag against the podium in a spray of yolk and shell that showered the Gnome and Gremlin.
“Provided you close the cover!” barked Buster.
“Drat.” Boomer wiped thick threads of egg from his mustache as he stared up at the showroom’s new skylight. “But still, we’re all unsinged, right? Nobody’s on fire, hey? And look!” He reached into the bag and produced three unblemished eggs. “Perfectly safe. Provided you close it.”
Gorm whistled as he climbed back into his chair. “We’ll take six.”
“There’s only three in existence.” Boomer accepted a towel from a helpful attendant. “You can have two.”
“Fair enough,” said Kaitha. “Got anything exciting to put in it?”
Boomer and Buster stopped cleaning the egg off themselves and shared a sidelong glance.
“Should we?” asked the Scribkin, a hint of a smile twitching his mustache.
“If it wasn’t the dragon…” Buster said uncertainly.
“But it is!” laughed Boomer. “Wait here!”
Buster addressed the mages as the Scribkin darted from the room. “You’re familiar with the principles of arcane oscillation?”
