Sludge and Such

[Treadwell]

The night's entertainments--and Treadwell's supper--were interrupted the night of the thirteenth. Councilor Treadwell, it seems, had a sudden streak of clumsiness, spiraling through the cellar door and down the cellar stairs, ending up slowly sinking into a muddy glop of quicksand.

Quicksand? In the Dagger?

No answer was given up front about the need for such stuff, but Treadwell was eventually helped to the Rememdium Edificium for a quick cutting out of his new (and now ruined) orange suit and a good night's rest with bandaged up feet elevated by a pair of pillows.

Bandaged up feet? Indeed, for part of the way of getting Aloisius free from the muck meant claws going into his ankles and a rope around his legs.

Rest assured he'll either spend a great deal of time in bed or on his behind. Walking about town is a big no-no at the moment for old Tready. Simply put, it hurts too much.

But maybe, just maybe, the toymaker wonders before he nods off for the night. . . what if a rocking chair could roll? A ludicrous thought!

[Treadwell]

It's cold in Myrken Wood when it rains.

That's the verdict of Aloisius Horatio Treadwell after spending a day away from the warm, glowing fires of his toy shop, his house, or the Broken Dagger. It helped a little that his trousers had been washed and were able to be salvaged--not having been cut off his muddy, sandy, slimy self when he needed to be put on a bed the night of the thirteenth. They still fit, and they are warm enough. It helped a little that the Doctor had been able to send someone to bring him a nightgown from his room in the Dagger. However, his poor coat, vest, and shirt are all very much losses. The contents of his coat pockets are sitting beside his bed on a table, but they aren't stopping the cold as he lies there shivering and waiting painfully to heal.

Well, no.

One particular item did its best in trying to help. His ale flask kept him nicely warm for at least a little while.