CHAPTER 1 - Vendel Keenwhisk 01

A cluttered oak table pressed against the inn’s rear stone wall, bore the scars of a thousand travelers using it for various tasks. Vendel Keenwhisk, a Jerboa no more than three inches tall, wrenched his torso free from the side panel of a gargantuan clockwork tarantula. His slender, banded tail uncoiled from one of the spider’s brass legs, having used it to anchor himself as he inspected its intricate innards.

He flipped his goggles up to his ears, slightly over his short yellow hair, then dusted a smear of copper filings from his patched tool jacket covering his black-gray furred back. His white chest fur sported a few drops of grease and oil-black from being inside the spider's gear compartments.

Beneath the wavering glow of a oil lantern, his miniature grinding files caught the light, each one nestled in a leather tool roll that lay draped over the edge of an ale-stained coaster, each tool lined up meticulously and ready for use. He shifted his bare feet across an unfolded wash cloth, laid down by the goat-folk waitress to catch any leaking fluid, the rodent treating the broad inn table like a makeshift workshop.

A soft whistle escaped his whiskered muzzle as he lifted a filing tool and worked a gear no larger than his palm. Each stroke of the file peeled away a sliver of metal burr, the cause behind the spider’s left third leg quivering like it had an anxious heartbeat.

The automaton towered above him at a full foot tall, a marvel even by Chronowarren’s standards. Its segmented plates of polished brass, iron struts, and copper plates gleamed with the care of Vendel's paws. Within, gears and pistons turned and moved almost silently. It could rival the peacekeeping clockwork automatons used in the few Jerboa cities in the world just on its size and mobility alone.

Each of its eight legs ended in clawed pads of tempered steel, the treads scored for gripping cobblestones, wooden beams, even wet river stones, giving it surprising stability in any rough terrain. Able to easily crawl up tall steps used by larger species, and even walls if need be. A biodegradable silk like substance could also be used if needed, and doubled as a defensive tool against large predators who would prey on the three inch tall Jerboa pilot.

Behind a hatch in the spider’s abdomen lay Vendel’s travel workshop and sleeping space.  Vials of oil-black, grease, springs, micro-calipers, and various other tiny tools, some so small and delicate that larger species struggle to identify their use. Labeled with copper plates bearing script, each tool and supply is neatly organized by need and function, a testament to the rodent's organization skills.

Satisfied, he ducked inside again, withdrew a slim syringe of pitch-black grease from his coat pocket, and daubed it onto the polished gear teeth. The pungent odor pricked his nostrils, he fished his goggles into place over his deep green eyes, and proceeded to work the gear back into its proper place.

The table creaked and a towering five foot tall goat-folk waitress strode closer, her hooves clacking on the floorboards. She set down two wooden mugs, one sized for her hands, the other barely big enough for Vendel’s paws. Both sloshed with pale-yellow local vodka infused with honeyed berries.

“Hun,” she rumbled, tucking a stray strand of downy hair behind her horn, “you got a friend on the way? ’Cause that’s enough to drown a ra...” She caught herself as Vendel emerged, grease smudged across his muzzle.

“Rat?” he supplied with a twitch of his whiskers. “Never mind, ma’am. I’ve heard worse on purpose.” He hopped to the drinks. “Rats, though, they’d make me look silly.” He drained the tiny mug in one quick motion, then presented it back. “Thank you, but this one’s not for drinking. I’m testing whether this local mix could serve as fuel, if I blend in some oil-black.”

The goat-woman cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “Oil-black? That Chronowarren goo they praise as superior to lamp oil? You think our vodka brew can tame its foul stench?” She gently took the smaller mug from the rodent's hands. “If you pull that off, you’ll have customers lining up. Lamp oil’s a fortune these days, bandits plague the trade routes, and Chronowarren is basically around the corner.”

Vendel’s tail swished in a slow arc in approval. “That is my hope, at any rate. A fuel that burns clean, keeps a kick, smells faint, and won’t bankrupt the innkeeper.” He tapped the side of the larger mug, bright eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “Dilute it down with something moderately combustible, make it safer.”

As he spoke, his tail twitching with each measured word, a large wolf-folk female walked in to the inn commons, her gray-silver pelt catching the light, shoulders rolling beneath a leather jerkin tanned and scarred by travel. She made her way directly to the large oak table where Vendel stood atop, pulled a chair back and impolitely dropped herself into the chair with a rough thud and spoke openly and simply, her light blue eyes bored into the goat-folk waitress, “Booze. Strongest. Now.” Her words snapped sharp as a whip.

“Hun, around here we,” The waitress started but was cut off.

“I said now. Strongest.” The she-wolf’s muzzle wrinkled in impatience, the fine hairs standing on end. Clearly agitated about something and seemed more than eager to take it off on anyone.

Vendel moved a little closer to the she-wolf looking up at her, walking off the washcloth. “My lady, if I may,” he said softly to the waitress. He brushed down his yellow hair slightly before addressing the she-wolf. “I’m using this table. I realize you might not have seen me when you came in, but—”

Her tail lashed as her gaze dropped down to the rodent on the table, just now noticing him. She scoffed and hunched forward looking him over, her thick claws scraping the wood of the table. “I’m not moving, short stuff. Today’s been rough and I intend to drown it.”

The goat-folk waitress glared at the she-wolf, her eyes boring into her, “Don't make me get Louge, hun, he's been itching for a bar fight to happen for weeks now.”

Vendel raised his hand to the waitress, “Hold on now mam, perhaps if she promises to calm a bit and not jostle the table so.” He looks around and gestures with his arms, “There is more than enough room for two, no need for arguments.”

The wolf leans back in her chair, crossing her arms in a silent threat, as if she is daring for the waitress to throw her out. The goat-folk waitress glares at her for a moment before speaking, “Coin first.” At that, the she-wolf pulled four silver coins out of her pouch, and very purposefully drops the coins down on the table very close to Vendel, making him step back at the clearly aggressive move, and the shear size of her hand so close to him.

Vendel looks at the short stack of coins as her hand moves away before looking back up at the she-wolf. “My name is Vendel Keenwhisk, may I ask your name as you have made it clear your wish to remain at this table?”

The she-wolf's eyes snap down to Vendel in a glare, making him feel almost like this was a mistake as the waitress picked up the coins. “Sophia.” She leans closer to the table, her eyes glance over to the clock work tarantula laying in the center of the table, as if she were assessing how much it cost.

Vendel takes another step back as she leans forward, “I uh... Yes, that is Tock. My mobile base of operations of sorts, all Jerboa who travel have such automatons... its almost a requirement when dealing with larger species.”

“Neat.” Sophia says simply, reaching up to take the mug from the returning waitress, not giving her time to set it on the table herself and leans back again. She glared at the goat-folk a moment, “Go away.”

The waitress looks down at Vendel, who simply nods to her in a apologetic manner. “Hun, if you need anything, me and Louge are ready.” She looks back at Sophia with a stern look, who is casually sipping the ale for taste, completely ignoring the waiter. The waiter turns slowly and heads back to the bar.

Vendel watches her walk away for a moment before looking back up at Sophia, he drops an ear as she is staring directly at him now, almost as if she is wondering how far she could throw this little rodent. He notices her gaze move to the medium sized wooden mug of vodka on the table. “Ah... please don't drink that, I am about to use it for a test of sorts.”

The she wolf scoffs and sets her own mug on the table, rather close to Vendel. “You think I would drink after a rat?”

He stares up at her for a moment for that, adjusting his tool vest, pretending to be calm, there isn't much he could do against a larger species. “The way you demanded a drink, I guess you would drown yourself in anything given the chance.” He says sternly.

Sophia lets a smirk spread across her muzzle, reveling her massive teeth to the small jerboa. “Oh, little rodent got some balls after all. Keenwhisk was it?” She pauses in thought. “I seem to recognize that name.”

“Keenwhisk of Chronowarren.” He gives a slight bow, his slender furred tail swaying gently behind him. His eyes glinted with pride as he continued. “Clockwork masterworks, the most precise detailed timepieces one can buy.” Standing back up fully, “Just got finished on a job reparing the bank's wall clocks, Tock here picked up a jitter in one of his legs.”

Her eyes light up, “Ahhh... that's right... the ungodly expensive pocket watches and... whatever that smelly gunk was.” She took a large gulp from her mug, the liquid sloshing slightly as she placed it back on the table, this time further from Vendel. Memories of the Jerboa town of Chronowarren flickered in her mind, a place most renowned among the aristocracy. While they offered more affordable watches, it was the intricate top-of-the-line pieces, brimming with countless cogs and gears, that captivated the wealthy with their complexity. She recalled once seeing a clockwork wasp crafted by the town, now owned by a particularly boastful jack hole of an individual.

“Yes, of course. Burns longer and brighter than lamp oil, we are working on the smell to make it less pungent, as a matter of fact, that is what this mug here is for. Vodka as you may know can combust.” He adjusts his vest, “Oil-black dissolves quite easily in alcohol, and keeps a good bit of its flame potential. Unfortunately the quantity I need for such an experiment can't be made in Chronowarren.”

Sophia stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “So, you have to come to a backwater inn as a side thought for a single drink just like me.”

Vendel paused, considering her words. “I suppose you could see it that way,” he admitted. “We simply cannot produce the volume that larger species can, but small volumes show promise. What is just a drink of booze to you looks more like a possibility to me. If this works scaled up like this, Chronowarren could potentially solve fuel limitations for you larger folk.” His voice carried a note of hope, envisioning a future where his company nest town could make a significant impact.

Vendel walks over to the currently deactivated Tock, entering the spiders abdomen chamber. Sophia simply watches as he emerges moments later with a battered wooden ladder clutched in his tiny paws. She could easily offer to help the rodent, but chooses not to get involved as he sets the ladder against the mug. He then retrieves a sizable bottle of black goo, a sulfurous tang, thick and acrid, spreads through the room as he removes the cork.

Sophia’s jaws snap shut, her black-furred muzzle wrinkling instinctively against the sharp vapor. Vendel glances up, whiskers quivering. “I did try to warn you about sitting so close,” he teases, a crooked grin tugging at his whiskers. Then he begins his ascent, tiny claws clicking on the ladder’s rungs.

Once he reaches the top, Vendel tilts the bottle over the rim of the mug. Pitch-black liquid drips inch by inch into the pale vodka. The viscous goo streaches, each bead like a living droplet before it falls. It takes nearly a minute to empty most of the bottle, enough time for the mixture to hiss faintly as it accepts the intruder. Vendel twists the cork back into place, not showing worry for the remaining residue clinging to the inside of the bottle, then descends, murmuring, “Now… just wait for it to react and mix itself.”

Sophia holds her paws over her muzzle, the acrid stench eased only marginally by the vodka’s sharp bite. Her ears pivot as she watches the surface of the drink. Tiny bubbles form along the edges, clustering and bursting in quick succession. She wonders how something so foul can be softened by the clear spirit as the stench slowly lessens.

The small jerboa returns the bottle back inside the clockwork tarantula, and exits again with a rag in hand as he proceeds to clean the grease off his muzzle and whiskers. “It should start to smell less horrific, normally the reaction mixes itself so a little bubbling over may happen.” He says as he moves to the edge of the table where Sophia sits.

She downs the rest of her drink in one gulp and sets the mug on the table with a heavy thump. She eyes the bubbling vodka and oil-black mixture, it seems to be bubbling more and more, quite quickly a froth spills over the edge of the mug. “So. You say you only tried this on small scales before?” She asks in a voice low.

Vendel straightens proudly. “Yes, only...” His words die as the foam erupts violently, trailing a thick dark stream down the mug’s side. He steps back, whiskers quivering. “…it never did that before.” A sudden tremor runs through the mug. The foam glows with a faint, invisible heat.

The two of them watch as the mug froths over, the liquid turning a thick black. Vendel stands looking up at the mug as it again trembles, making him take a step back closer to the large wolf as his ears fold back against his head. Sophia, looking down, can just barely see a near invisible flicker of flame dancing just above the froth. Her eyes widen and her heart feels like it stops for a moment, instinctively recognizing the start of a run away reaction.

A blinding white flash erupts from the tabletop. The mug shatters, sending splinters of wood and strands of flaming black liquid spraying outward. Sophia hurls herself to the floor, using the table’s edge as a shield, but not before her hand darts out in front of Vandel reactivity, and grasping the rodent firmly seconds before he was engulfed in the eruption.

The heat slams into her forearm, scorching away tufts of fur in hot spots, flesh stinging where molten black droplets land. Sophia yells out in pain as she reactivity jerks her arm under the table with her as flaming black liquid sprays outwards from the table. She presses her other paw against her seared hand, teeth clenched against the scream that claws at her throat as the roaring echo of destruction fills the inn’s common room.

Vandel glimpsed the blinding flash for only a heartbeat before a darkness swallowed him. Pressure closed in as the wolf’s massive hand clenched around him, almost crushing him against her palm. A sharp wolf yell split the air, followed by a sudden lurch, his stomach twisted with vertigo as he was yanked off the table and sent plummeting down. Blind to everything but the surface of her palm, he struggled instinctively against the suffocating grip, his ears catching the scrape of splintered wood, and the frantic shouts of the waitress ordering patrons out of the inn commons space.

Pinned in the wolf’s grasp, his breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. Around him, voices dimmed, replaced by hurried footsteps, servers and patrons scrambling to smother the lingering flames. Amid the chaos, Sophia’s soft whine reached his ears.  Then, her hand slowly opened. Revealing the rodent curled in her palm, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Her gaze flickered over him, half cradling him between two fingers as she assessed his state, he seemed relatively unharmed.

He looked up at her face, then down her arm, the fur along it was singed, some patches burned away. “You… you saved my...” His mind raced, the past few seconds scrambling through his thoughts. “Are… are you alright?” He pushed himself upright in her palm, trying to steady himself.

"Fine." She exhaled sharply, the concern in her eyes quickly replaced by a hard glare down at him. “Stupid rat. What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed.” She shifted from under the table, scanning the scene. The damage wasn’t catastrophic, mostly confined to the table area and the stone wall. If she hadn’t ducked, she might’ve suffered worse burns from the tar. But Vandel being so small… he wouldn’t have survived at all.

He stared up at her, mind momentarily blank as her fingers slowly released him, instinct took over. Rolling over onto his knees in her paw, he bowed over. “My lady, your swift action has saved my life. I will have Chronowarren reward you, you need but ask.”

The wolf studied him for a long moment, then let her gaze wander across the inn. “I’ll keep that in mind. If you weren’t such a tiny thing, you might have gotten through this just fine.” Her eyes landed on the table, where Tock, his prized mechanical tarantula, lay motionless and broken. Several legs were missing, its delicate joints blackened. “Well, looks like you’re stuck in town for a while, rat.”

He sat up, peering over the edge of her hand. His gut twisted at the sight of Tock’s shattered form. Repairs would take at least a week, maybe more. And then there was the inn’s damage. The injuries Sophia had suffered...  His gaze traveled up her arm again as he sat up in her palm. “My lady, I insist on covering the cost of your medical care, as well as lodging at this inn. Everything included, of course.”

She gave him a sideways glance down, scoffing as she tightened her grip just slightly once more. “I need a drink.”