Deephouse: Further adventures involving the employees of a mid-level adventuring corporation. New to Deephouse? Start here.
Present Day
A thick, mottled tentacle rubbed the Deep One’s belly. “Yguijh’therc hungers for meats.”
Durgin was hoping to find some wiggle room in its appetite. “What about zombies? They have brains.”
The Deep One growled. It needed no translation.
“Perhaps we round up criminals awaiting execution?” Yeji rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I daresay, an end to the waiting might be seen as a blessing.”
“I doubt they’ll consider being eaten alive a kindness.”
Yeji shrugged. “Some people find a way to complain about everything.”
The Deep One’s tentacles slumped listlessly. “Meat of questionable moral fiber is less palatable. Elf is a highly-prized delicacy above all others.”
Durgin snapped his fingers. “What about Shadow Elves? We wouldn’t even have to go far—I saw sign on our way here.” Shadow Elves were people in the same way that penguins were birds—only kind of.
Yguijh’therc made a retching noise. “Dark Elves are inedible.”
“Well we’re not going to round up surface elves and preschool teachers.” Durgin thought for a moment. “It’s gonna have to be criminals awaiting the noose. Or no deal.”
He wasn’t bluffing, though he really needed this deal. The mining rights would buy time to right the ship. Or at least to properly assess if it was possible to save Deephouse.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He’d mismanaged his smithing business because he’d been poor with numbers and had overreached his limited grasp. And now here he was again, trying to stave off another foreclosure.
Knowing the Deep One could read his surface thoughts and emotions, Durgin tried to bury his desperation under layers: disgust about dealing in brains, determination not to bend his morals any further, greed for the mineral deposits he’d glimpsed.
The Deep One stared at him for a long time. “Yguijh’therc accepts prison meats.”
Durgin exhaled. “Good. Great. Uhhh… 5 brains, a year?” Durgin had no idea if that was a good number. It felt like a lot.
“Yguijh’therc suggests 20 brains to ensure none of our workers are consumed.”
Durgin didn’t know how to counter. “20 brains it is.”
“Yguijh’therc is pleased. It considers you a friend and requests you refer to it as Gui.”
“Friends?”
Yeji’s expression was unreadable. “Gui admittedly doesn’t meet many new people, seeing as it consumes most of those it does. As the purveyor of meats, you are its favorite humanoid.”
The Deep One extended a tentacle across the table. After a moment of indecision, Durgin grasped the end. It felt slimy and viscous.
How fitting.