Keeping inventory for Master Whitaker's collection wasn't a glorious or rewarding job. The Master was a self-made rich man who dealt in real estate: mainly working with mansions, keeps, plantations, and other high value residences. Traveling around the country viewing these estates had opened his eyes to beautiful pieces of art, mysterious spherical humming stones, exquisitely shaped golden statues, and other high value hard-to-find items. It was Primary Scribe Rashiki Terbindil Moopahand "Jebadoo" Gerfleebin III's (Jebadoo for short) job to keep track of each item, organize their transport when needed, loan items to museums and any other tasks related with Master Whitaker's collection.
Communication had come down that Jebadoo was to travel North to Carbondale and supervise the transport of the Master's latest acquisition. This item was code named 'The Flasks' and the description was very vague. Apparently it would be delivered to the covered wagon in Carbondale in a wooden chest trimmed in copper. There were strict instructions to not look within the chest, simply deliver it back to the high-security warehouse to be stored with the rest of the collection.
Everything went swimmingly. The transfer was made, the caravan was traveling back on a sunny calm day. It was a perfect day for supervising the transport of a mysterious and rare item which he knew nothing about. A half dozen guards were walking with the covered wagon, and Jebadoo walked along as well, feet pacing at twice the tempo of his comrades' feet. Just as Jebadoo's anxiety about the whole trip was waning, he heard a high pitched wizz then a loud CRACK! The front right wagon wheel had been struck by some force and the wheel broke right off the axle!
The wagon lurched forward without its essential fourth wheel; everything inside it crashed about. Then whack: the back of Jebadoo's head was on fire and he found himself on the ground, fallen face first. He must have been out for a few seconds since blood had dripped around to the front of his face and down his neck. He could hear struggling and fighting all around, but everything was a blur, and his ears were ringing. One thing he could recognize was the handicapped wagon ahead so he mustered enough strength to crawl under it.
His vision was going dark with the effort, and upon reaching the wagon he laid underneath it hoping to be hidden well enough. He could feel his consciousness fading and before it was completely gone he saw a mysterious thing out of the corner of his eye. A coin-sized metallic opaque liquid with the orange tint of copper above him pooling underneath the wagon. The last thing he remembers before the darkness won was the first drip of this liquid falling and landing on the exposed skin near his temple.
When Jebadoo awoke his vision was still blurry, but things started coming into focus. The wagon was gone from around him, so he felt vulnerable and unprotected. He could make out the shape of a man coming his way, bloody dagger in hand. It looks like he was tying up any loose ends - ends being bodies that had refused to stop breathing. Jebadoo's only hope was to remain still and pretend he'd given up the ghost. The blood from the blow to the head helped this endeavor. Jebadoo's acting mattered little to the bandit however. The man approached, a crazy look in his eye. As the space between closed to just a few feet, Jebadoo's hand shot up in a stopping motion while he shrieked "STOP! Y-Y-You wouldn't harm an unarmed man! I've n-n-nothing of valu-". His cries of mercy were cut short when he noticed he wasn't the only one shreaking. His nose also alerted him to a putrid smell of melting flesh. Jebadoo propped himself up on his elbows and had to take a minute to evaluate the scene.
The angry dagger man was laying at his feet covered in a green translucent ichor. This thick fluid had the effect of acid on the bandit's body: it melted through his clothes and skin in a way that looked terribly painful. Who had helped Jebadoo in this time of desparate need? Jebadoo looked all around, but there were only dead bodies and a horse or two. He looked up in the air as if the acid dropped from the sky, but the sky was clear of all flying beings.
That's when Jebadoo remembered the mysterious copper liquid landing on his face. He touched the spot, and it wasn't sore, but it felt... different. Now Jebadoo was not one for fantastical hypothesis. He much preferred the conclusions drawn from logical proofs and scientific theorems. However, he recalled an old tale of magical artificts that