Chapter Text
Kremy LeCroux prefers not to do his own physical dirty work when possible. He's not unwilling to fight if he has too, but he really prefers not having to. Sometimes, that leads people who don't know him well to assume that he's incapable of holding his own.
He's not.
It's years and years before the creation of Carnival LeCroux, and Kremy is getting himself and his new muscle a room in an inn of some town- Gideon hadn't payed attention to the name of it. He's focused on the bottle of whiskey that's rapidly disappearing down into his furnace of a stomach.
"Would you kindly consider lowerin' the prices by a couple'a coins?" he hears off to the side.
"Why would I- ... Yeah, yeah sure. Since you asked so nicely.
He hears a clap, and then there's a hand on his back. "Well now, friend, careful there. Don't you fire genasi have like, furnaces in your bellies or somethin'? Don't want you burnin' down the room we got for such a generous price."
Gideon tosses the bottle to the trash and wipes his mouth. "You sayin' yer worried I'll burp fire?"
"Well, will ya?"
"I mean, I don't think so man. Never have before."
"Huh. But I thought-"
"Look man, I don't know either." Gideon follows Kremy upstairs. "My dad was a human, and my mom was like- I dunno."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Kremy opens the door. "Now I could only afford the one room for now, but it's got two beds."
"Works for me." After the floor of the train, the dirt and cobble streets, the empty roads... hell, he'd be willing to share a bed if it came down to it. He collapses right into the mattress on it's thin frame. It creaks and groans under his bulk like it might snap, but somehow the old wood stays intact.
It's soft.
Well, maybe not. It's cheaply made and the sheets are scratchy, the pillow thin and worn. There's a musty smell that puff out of the "mattress" as he falls onto it, and he hears Kremy begin to hack and cough.
He doesn't care.
It's the softest thing he's laid on in years.
"Uhg! This place is horrible!" Kremy opens the window on the other side of the room. "Can't believe I had to use Suggestion to get the price to what I paid, I mean I respect the principal but not when it's bein' done to me!"
"Suggestion?" Gideon is already half asleep as he mumbles it.
"Just one of my favorite gifts from The Good Baron." Gideon hears some shuffling around the room, presumably Kremy setting up. He packs light, but he still has things to pack and unpack, unlike Gideon. "I won't use it on you, though, since you're workin' for me anyway."
"That a lie?"
"... How about I won't use it unless it's for somethin' fun?"
"Yeah, alright." At least this time he's getting paid for being used.
Kremy has a lot of magic, as it turns out. Some of it is magic that's not so warlock related. The magic of making incredible food from simple ingredients, for example. Gideon can remember when his pa would cook for him, and it was good and hearty, and it'll always be his favorite food.
But damn, if Kremy's cooking doesn't blow it out of the water. He almost feels guilty the first time he tries Kremy's gumbo, how the first bite skyrockets the dish to being the best thing he's ever tasted. He thinks his pa would understand, though.
Kremy also has a way with words. Not just the Suggestion, which Gideon sees him use for haggling, deescalation, and just plain getting stuff handed to him. He also has a tricky and sometimes confusing way of talking. He flatters and he subtly chips away and he avoids promises and slips out of agreements. He meets his match once or twice, both with his regular word magic and with Suggestion, and that's when Gideon steps in with a quick punch or bit of flame. But for the most part the simple townsfolk they deal with are easy enough for Kremy to speak circles around.
He has a shadow that moves. Not much, not often, but Gideon noticed it the day they met, saw it before he even saw Kremy. A shadow that was too long, too dark, with teeth sharper than Kremy's own and a way of moving that didn't always match with it's owner. Gideon's not sure, for a long time, what use that magic has. He knows Kremy's patron is some sort of voodoo death loa, so the shadow makes sense in that way, but any practical reason for that just doesn't come to his mind.
It's a month into their arrangement, and about three towns later, that Gideon tries to step in after one too many drinks and doesn't see the troll's fist until it meets his face.
"Oh, shit," he hears Kremy say as he himself falls flat on his ass. He looks up to see Kremy holding his hands up, cane still clutched tight, eyeing the troll warily. "Now now, fellas! Surely we can come to an understandin' about all of this!"
"You cheated at cards."
"Well now, that's a bit of a harsh accusation-"
"My husband wasn't supposed to be playin' cards anymore."
"Y-your husband?"
"The halfling."
"Ah."
Ah. Even through the haze of drink and only-recently-ended-malnourishment and, most importantly, intense head trauma, Gideon know what she's talking about. A little halfling man who said he really shouldn't with a gleam in his eye, who Kremy barely even needed to convince, who Gideon had to quite literally shake down to get the winnings from. Maybe holding the little guy by his ankles to do it was overkill, in hindsight, but it had been really funny.
"Well now, it-it's hardly my fault that your husband can't control himself," Kremy says with a chuckle. "All I did was host a friendly game in a tavern!"
"Your buddy humiliated him. My motha's gonna hear about that."
"I'm sure Gid would be more than willin' to apologize. Right, Gid?" Kremy looks at him expectantly.
"Really, man? ... Alright, fine." Gideon spits out a bit of blood. "I'll fuckin' say sorry."
"Not good enough," the troll growls. She takes a swing at Kremy's face.
Gideon staggers to his feet and lurches forward, catching her arm! She shouts and tries to pull her arm out of his grasp, tearing at his flesh with finely manicured and dagger-like nails as she does. Gideon hisses in pain. She turns her attention to him and snarls, taking another swing with an open palm. Her hand connects with his jaw.
Crack!
"FUCK!" Gideon reels back. He spits out blood again. "The hell's wrong with you, lady?!"
"I'm takin' every coin you got and then some," she growls, "Just for the disrespect!"
"Of what?! Shakin' your tiny husband down 'cause he wouldn't give us our coin?!"
"HE'S TALL FOR A HALFLING!" She roars with rage and takes another swing. Gideon tries to duck out of the way, but a broken floorboard catches his foot. Her blow connects as he's falling, and he hits the ground. Hard.
His vision spins. His ears ring. Shadows swim around the room as he fades in and out of consciousness. He shouldn't have had so many damn drinks.
'Well,' he thinks as he coughs, blood from his mouth draining down his throat, 'This is a fuckin' stupid way to go after everythin' else.'
The troll looms over him. She reaches down and drags him to his knees. She snarls-
And screams.
Her hand tightens around Gideon's neck for a moment, and his vision goes black again.
It stays that way.
And then the swarming shadows drain off of her, and she releases Gideon as she stumbles forward. He collapses again, on his hands and knees this time as he chokes and tries to regain his breath.
He hears her choke too.
He looks up.
So it wasn't his losing consciousness earlier. The shadows actually had been swimming around the room.
And now they're alive.
Neon lights, eldritch glyphs, a skull staring them down. The figure twirls it's cane and grins.
A magic fills the air. Gideon can feel it around him, but not on him, like it's leaving him alone.
The troll woman... not so much.
Gideon sees the blood drain out of her face as it goes ashen.
"If you wouldn't mind leavin' us to our evenin' in."
It echoes, there are whispers behind it, the shadows squirms and writhe as voices scream from somewhere far far away in regret and rage. But it snaps Gideon out of his haze.
It's Kremy.
The troll doesn't hesitate even a moment longer before she bolts.
Kremy watches her leave, and then walks over and shuts the door. The shadows melt away from him, pooling at his feet and wriggling for a moment before going back to their rightful places. His own shadow stretches out behind him, too long, too sharp, too strange.
He turns and offers his hand to Gideon with a wince. "You alright?"
"Yuh." Gideon takes the offered hand and gets to his feet. "Hey, who's spinnin' the room?"
"Alright, buddy." Kremy leads him over to one of the beds. "We're gonna have to find ourselves a cleric or somethin', if angry spouses keep havin' those kinda moves."
"You keepin' me around?"
"Course I am!" Kremy digs through his bag. "I just said we'll probably run into even more trouble!"
"You took care o' it pretty well," Gideon slurs, feeling unbalanced even just sitting. "Why you even nee' me?"
"That? Form of Dread don't work on everyone, Gid. That was a gamble. I love me some gamblin', but not with my life, you hear me?"
"Wha' abou' the other thing? She go' all... shadow." He pitches forward and heaves. "Ooooh boy..."
"Whoa!" Kremy helps right him. "If you're gonna puke, do it in this bucket! Probably here just for that!" Kremy pats him on the back. "And Inflict Wounds is a pretty basic spell, Gid. Sometimes it works out real well, sometimes it works too well, sometimes it barely works at all."
"Same as punchin'."
"But you know what better than just a spell or just a punch?"
"Wha?"
"Both at the same time. I only got that hit 'cause she was distracted with you! Besides, I prefer some distance between me and the thing tryin' to kill me when possible."
"... Yeah, alrigh'." Gideon can't keep himself upright anymore. "I'mma take a nap."
"Oh no you don't." Kremy pulls out a canteen and splashes some water in Gideon's face. Gideon splutters, eyes flying back open. "I'm gonna go find us a healer, you wait here and don't die! I'm gonna be needin' you around for a long time, Gid!"
Kremy leaves, the tip of his tail the last thing Gideon sees as the door shuts behind Kremy.
"Least I know he won't let me die," Gideon mumbles to himself, trying his best to keep his eyes open.
... Plus...
It was kind of nice to be the protected one for a second.
He won't let it happen again, though. No more drinking on the job. ... At least, not that heavily.