The Witcher's Path: New Rays From an Ancient Sun

I would be a liar if I said the curve of Habaara's ass failed to catch my eye beneath her School robes. It was far too hard not to pause a moment longer than necessary to stare before I returned to my small laboratory and sealed the door back shut behind me. Barring myself against any possible further incursions by our nosy Sorceress Supreme was my only immediate priority, followed immediately by attending to my brew. With the Superior Oil now properly brewed to full perfection, all I had left was the careful task of extracting what killer compounds I needed from a Shade Petal. That, and slowly adding those extra ingredients I had gathered from the crystal cabinet in order to render out the potent Venom in its fullness. Given Habaara would be returning before too long with food, drink and a hefty book, I decided to sit and await her return whilst going over what information I had on Hangmare’s Venom. Despite the recipe penned amongst my very own notes on the subject, Hangmare’s Venom was an exceedingly rare Oil variant to find in any Viper’s satchel for the very same reasons alluded to previously. Given our steel blades were only to be drawn in self-defense, or in the defense of innocents in grave immediate danger, it was simply seen as being in exceedingly poor taste. Our reputation was nowhere near as befouled as that of the School of the Cat, yet the term ‘Viper’ had done little to inspire any more confidence in our kind.

In a tale as old as time, a few rotted apples had gone and spoiled the entire harvest through selfish, short-sighted decisions at times when too many watchful eyes and wealthy purses were all-too-keenly aware. Treacherous snakes with their Fangs of toxic Venom…slitting the throat of King Mindaak and poisoning his royal court that lay in rest nearby for fifty-five Crowns a head. Their Contract, to the surprise of few, originated from none other than the King’s own princely son who sought the throne, and his inheritance, far sooner than was planned. Of course, his patricidal plot would come to naught as word of the true events spread far and wide, and the Prince found his neck lengthened by a bit of rope and the castle’s stoutest elm tree. In the chaos that followed, the region was gobbled up by an ever-expansionist Equestria who moved themselves right in and paved over the old Kingdom’s memory within a few decades. Much like unto the Kingdom, now Duchy, of Āider during its own unofficial annexation into the clutches of Her Highness. Indeed, a new Duchy, that of the Crescent Coast , was erected in its stead with Canterlot overseeing the installment of a loyal, noble family to rule over their new province. Another Yonderland in the making, granted the expansive shipping port they owned which saw them do trade up and down the west coast of the Continent as free Equestrian citizens.

The murderous bastards were intercepted, praise the Gods, by a crack team of the Council of Elders own detachment of ultra-loyal Grandmasters granted license to Hunt those of our own who wandered too far astray of the Witcher’s Path. Referred to by the honorific title of Justiciar, these enigmatic ‘Hunters of Witchers’ as they were, were the most feared members of the entirety of the guild. From whence they operated, not a Soul outside the Council knew as none of their order actively dwelled amongst us from what I knew; likely as an intended measure to further emotionally distance themselves from any friends that could one day follow a path of darkness. They dressed like us, fought like us (if to a wholly new degree), and knew all of our secrets…yet they walked a wholly different Path to ours, wearing a small placard on their chest bearing the insignia of the blood-red paw print of a Wolf. I had only seen a copy of their badge denoting the singular purpose it represented...but that was only in tomes and etchings. I had yet to meet a Justiciar in person, which...was a good thing in the end. I adhered to our Path as faithfully as I could every year. Far as I knew, I was of no interest to them and their hunt for wayward Witchers. Whether they still existed, or if the Justiciars had been dissolved in the wake of the Cleansing…I personally hadn’t a clue. Whispers of them hissed their misinformed secrets in the Barracks amongst the younger blood; the Justiciars acting as a Witcher or Witchling's greatest fear amidst a hurricane of other horrible fates our guild was privy to. After fifty-five years, it felt like those of us willing to join Celestia's delusions of grandeur had already long ago done so, making their intentions to betray us and the Eldar quite clear with acts of violence or furious words bellowed in anger. Those who remained were dedicated to our duty and our way of life, whether they were a new burgeoning student of the Bastion, a fully-fledged Witcher wandering the path, a Guardsmare standing watch over the Valley, or a humble citizen of the Solar Valley we cherished both heart and Soul. Hardly targets worthy of a Justiciar's heavy hooves of grim justice.

In regards to the Great Betrayal of the School of the Cat, also known to some as The Anathema, a fair few of their traitorous members were indeed caught and put to the sword by their hooves. However...so much secrecy had grown around and amongst the Cats so that it became near-impossible to distinguish from the outside those still faithful to the Path from those who wildly strayed. When the Council and Archmaster Grimpaw fell into open disagreement is the moment they began to isolate themselves from the other Schools, if only to distance themselves from the scorn of the rest of us. And while the overt killer could be adequately ousted from amongst them with enough investigative evidence, the Justiciars were typically just as in the dark as the rest of us were as to their inner dealings. Attempts had been made to infiltrate their own self-made Council, yet these efforts rarely succeeded as they would exile or execute those of their number who held the faintest whiff of doubt regarding the School's direction. The Class-4 Contract became their bread and butter, a constant source of high income which allowed the Cats to expand their number of minor fortresses tremendously without any need of the Kaer Solaris Treasury. If these Hunters of Witchers still yet roamed Terra Firma, it was all I could hope that they sought out each and every last former Cat as still breathed another cursed breath. If anything, I would have been more than honored to produce a Hangmare's Venom for them as well for just that purpose if they so asked. No one knew precisely how many Cats had chosen to abandon the Path, nor how many yet lived as none but they mourned the loss of one of their number… My trailing thoughts must have seen me through quite a spell as in no time at all, my door was once more given three gentle knocks so as to rouse my attention.

“H-here we are, Master Frejdá!” Habaara beamed proudly as she expertly balanced herself upon her hind legs, further balancing plates of food in her talons and upon her outstretched wings. “D-dinner of roast m-mountain goat, rye b-bread, Koviri cheese, and roast p-potatoes! I-I knew not as to which beverage you p-preferred, so I took a flagon of ale and pale cider just to b-be sure.”

Seemingly very well-aware of the massive appetites Witchers possessed, the two wide platters in her talons were piled very heartily with the food she'd just listed; her pinky talons curled around the handle of one sealed flagon each. The two other plates, those balanced rather expertly upon her wings and meant for Rosemary, bore mostly fruit, bread, cheese and just a little spot of roasted meat. Meanwhile, the whole ensemble was to be washed down with what I assumed to be a small, decorative bottle of Highland Valkyrie Hurricane Gin with their famous Alpine Juniper. It was known as the preferred beverage for Thestrals seeking a drink with much more fire behind it than their silky-smooth elderberry moonshine possessed; the wax-sealed cork poking out from under the flap of one of the satchels by Habaara's curvy waist. I was more than grateful at her kind thought as to the difference in appetite between Rosemary and myself, and thanked her profusely for her thoughtfulness as I took the platters from her with a wide smile. She became flustered again at that, and almost timidly offered up the tome I'd requested once her talons were free to retrieve it from her other satchel. This too I took with many gracious words of thanks before she took her leave once more to return to her Mistress’s beck-and-call. Of course, the poor little Dwemess failed to leave without yet another nervous blush of crimson to her golden cheeks as her baby blue eyes gleamed softly with that same, curious hopefulness I'd spied earlier. Whatever was the cause, I was still all the more wary of the thoughts and opinions of the mare who so ordered her about. Rosemary would undoubtedly go into conniptions if she learned of the Petals, let alone the Venom and whom it was intended for. How would I handle it all if she were to learn of my own project…? I hadn’t a single clue… All the same, I had been assigned (and actually paid for) an Alchemist’s job and I had no further excuse keeping me from the task ahead. All was ready to proceed, except my willpower. Rosemary be damned, I had a purse of beautiful shiny coins to earn and earn it in full I most certainly would.

Setting my evening meal upon a nearby middling shelf cleared of clutter, I at last turned my attention upon the Arcane ingredients I had brought from the cabinet. The first and most important step ahead was the preparatory phases of the Venom, wherein each of the special items would be individually prepared by various means before being added to the brew in stages. Wherein Oils could be brewed within minutes-to-hours with the proper equipment and quality ingredients, Venoms could be seen much in the same light as brewing fine alcohols, requiring months or even years of careful aging through finite corrections until the perfect concoction had been achieved in the cauldron. Venoms such as those were of the most premium quality, and indeed could fetch lucrative prices between Witchers as the skill and patience needed to perfect the art always resulted in money well-spent. The broader art of brewing Venoms was no longer exclusive to myself and my fellow Vipers, yet few had learned to produce them as well, nor as efficiently, given the additional steps required. There were shortcuts through these long, excruciating wait periods which neither of them knew how to perform, let alone properly. And even then, I had clearly told them as best I could…art was not something to be rushed, nor forced if it was to come out looking any good. I could render out the requested Venom over the course of the night, yet I was absolutely mandated by the recipe to be at my best attention for large stretches of time. There would be some pauses in order to leave for some periods of time, yet whenever the recipe demanded it, I was to be entirely devoted to the altar of Alchemy.

I had already brewed similar Venoms in the past, acting as hefty favors for friends on the Path, and produced in massive batches so I could fulfill all possible requests with one large effort; preferably over the course of our winter’s rest before the first thaws. However, again, none of these had been Hangmare's Venom. I had grown accustomed to brewing up batches of Beast, Necrophage, Specter, Hybrid, Ogrid, Elementa, and even Vampire, Vyre, and Relict Oils, only to transform them into their respective Venoms for my fellow Witchers. But to brew up a Venom exclusively for an assassination enacted by a personal vendetta by Violet against the Yonderlandian royal family…? It was dangerous indeed to be brewing this using the School’s own elite equipment, yet the intended Venom was similarly intended to be as blame-free as conceivably possible. The target, with a miniscule pinprick to the flesh or a drop in their food, would theoretically find themselves the victim of a rather sudden, yet exceedingly convincing natural heart attack. The time between envenomation and the enactment of its deadly effects was…entirely random as far as I knew. Many factors were thought to have a part to play in the time of effect from general metabolism to their overall state of physical health. In light of the absolutely immoral headspace of research it put one in, little hard science was in writ on the exact effects of a Hangmare’s Venom such as this. Some existed, yet it was ancient by the metric of our guild’s existence, from a time rather early in the Viper School’s tenure when experimentation was the only path to knowledge and our recipe tomes were being transcribed. There was a damned good reason these particular studies were put to rest so early on in our School’s existence… Putting these nagging thoughts from my mind, I filled my grumbling belly with some delicious meat and potatoes before settling into my workstation for the next push in the whole process.

Here, I was prompted to break the sealed glass ampoules containing the Warped Deathbells which formed a foundation for multiple companion ingredients which used it as a foundation. The large deep purple blossoms, much alike in general appearance to massive hop umbels, were already natively packed with a multitude of toxins with debilitating effects if consumed constituting a mainstay ingredient in most poisons of any quality. Warped via close contact to Abyssal energies, yet not to the degree so as to be Voidkissed, these Deathbells were now a darker, mottled royal purple; enwreathed in a similarly purple glowing haze of enchanted pollen. Were I not preparing these ingredients as a Witcher with telekinesis under a fume vortex, gloves and a specialized breathing mask capable of handling the pollen would have been absolutely necessary. Each flower was then carefully cut and peeled apart, first by separating the many layers of overlapping rings of petals from one another, then by cutting each individual petal apart via use of a sharpened sterling silver knife. Afterwards, an amalgam of naturally occurring (if exceedingly rare) imbued arquerite was heated with specialized Arcane flame until the mercury content melted away from the silver half of the amalgam, forming a shallow pool above a dense pocket of half-molten silver. Some light skimming needed to be performed to remove what impurities had begun to be 'sweated' out of the arquerite ore, leaving behind a clean pool of quicksilver in the dish. A polished mass of silver which mesmerized many of my kin for countless centuries untold in both this Age, as well as the one which came long before.

Indeed, I typically found myself helpless when the urge to peer down at its mirrored surface struck me and I smirked softly upon seeing one of my dark violet eyes reflected within. The urge to have a mirror entirely of such a lustrous liquid metal was something to be found in Lowland Valkyrie and Thestral blood alike as basins of it could be found between both our peoples in places of worship for the Moon. They would only be filled with quicksilver during nights wherein the face of our glorious Moon would reveal itself to us here below and grace us with its Light. Come daylight, they would be replaced by fonts of water sprinkled lightly by a decorative dusting of powdered gold and silver so as to beautify our primarily nocturnal temples and shrines. We paid homage to the Mother of the Sun like unto any other Eldar Race, with some of my kin having learned even to tolerate the Light of Celestia's Sun...yet it simply was not the celestial body which held us most in sway. Dangerous and killer as mercury fumes were, there was a majesty to it when Moonlight was captured on its surface. And on Solstices and Equinoxes, it would be imbued and blessed with remnants of Mother Tsuki's power causing the substance to glow and shine from within. Once thusly blessed, it was to be used in the Ceremony of Youth to baptize the Night Maidens of the Cathedrals of Stars, our emissaries with the Cosmic Divine. Gods...how many centuries had it been since my last viewing of those sacred, ancient rites...? Three? Four...? Long enough for the memory to have faded in quality in the back of my mind amongst other similarly hazy memories of my long-distant youth.

The same mercury mirror as sent my thoughts spinning readily gobbled down the individual petals I fed into the rather small amount of hot, liquid metal simmering in the crucible. One by one the small pieces of fragrant flower fluttered from my magical grip above the dish, only to sizzle and hiss something fierce as they made contact with the pool below. As each petal reacted with the already naturally Arcane quicksilver, all organic compounds were destroyed in the molten heat whilst the dense, toxic compounds I needed sank below the layer of mercury. Due to their Warped nature, they were resilient enough to be spared from destruction in the heat of the fire and instead survived to mingle itself with the silver. The high silver content below neutralized what Dark energies emanated from these molecules like unto a barrage of antibodies against an infectious agent in the bloodstream. Yet, as it was not Lunar Silver, it did not fully denature the enchanted toxins. Rather, it put them into a form of light hibernation which would allow other Dark compounds to react with it without risking a Blackout, a sudden surge in Abyssal energies which were known for flash-mutating Ferals and Sentients alike into monsters and Daemon-like Husks. I shuddered anytime I even had to imagine such creatures as Husks...Soulless beings held to an unnatural undeath which sustained their forms to the last. Their mind-piercing shrieks of anguish would only fall to perfect silence upon the last molecule of its wretched being being consumed by exceedingly hot flames.

Of course, such a thing as Blackout mutations were hardly a terrible concern to a Witcher, let alone one with a sturdy Soul within her breast and a devoted Guardian resting not much farther away. There were ways to further mutate a Witcher, yet the Trial of the Grasses and the Trial of Dreams ensured our bodies, minds and genetic codes were forged from crucible steel. Any additional mutations were things we had to seek out for ourselves at our own risk and coin with very, very few professionals qualified or brave enough to attempt it Facing such potent Darkness was exactly what we had been reborn by the Changes for, unlike the average mare or stallion of science who, while strong of mind, were not typically strong of body or genetic resilience. One could not ignore the occasional story which surfaced regarding daring Alchemists biting off more than they could chew when studying Abyssal substances. Such things happened amongst every Sentient race on the planet as far as I was aware as great minds wondered after the confounding mysteries of the Abyss. The Church of the Eternal Pyre and Witch Hunters alike had both seen fit that such a thing almost never occurred under their strict supervision of all subjects which dealt in the Arcane. Indeed...many Alchemists, Herbalists and other reputable professions familiar with the natural and Arcane worlds have faced exile and even execution for their knowledge and possession of so-called 'foreign methods'. Equestria had its own approach to magic, Alchemy, religion and what constituted 'proper thought and behavior'. Anyone, even Celestia herself were she so blasphemous, would be subject to the judicial rights of the Church were they to be found engaging in anything other than that which they had deemed permissible.

As the highly targeted Arcane heat boiled off the mercury content, which was gathered in a cooled condenser above for cleaning and reuse, what was left behind was a small lump of silver with a purple iridescent gleam. This new substance likewise ever-so-softly glowed with that same dark violet energy I needed as part of the melody of toxic compounds at play in this Venom in the making. Once the contents were cooled and transferred to a high-necked flask, the silver content was allowed to fully dissolve in a bath of lightly heated Aqua Fortis, or acid of nitre as some scholars referred to it as. The process was rather slow given I was attempting to liquify a near-solid ounce of pure silver rather than a more-readily dissolved powder of some sort. All the same however, eventually the acid bath began to eat away at the silver in a very visually impressive chemical reaction. This somewhat violent reaction produced a dense, noxious orange-brown gas which smoked forth vibrantly from the flask and graciously into the waiting vortex above, transporting it somewhere safely far beyond the Valley. This process required constant attention as a cook with their most-prized stew, and I watched carefully whilst balancing the speed of the reaction with the production of nitre precipitates in an aqueous solution. Using such a large piece of silver was far from ideal, yet I was facing a battle against time down any path I took and this one required fewer steps. I was already set to perform even more grinding work with the mortar and pestle before the night was out and powdering silver by hoof was no quick task. I had the requisite quern stone somewhere in a tool cupboard nearby with which to grind my imbued silver...but such a manual task was hardly something I wished to waste any time on.

The Aqua Fortis, on its own as clear as spring water, began to quickly to brown as the silver dissolved in the acidic solution, bubbling heartily as it did so. Constant stirring via a glass rod was required in order to properly distribute the silver particles throughout the solution. Indeed, my attempts at stirring was to continually coat all surface area with acid so as to speed up the process for convenience sake. My own impatience saw the addition of further small doses of fresh Aqua Regis to the mix in the continued pursuit of speed, at the expense of some of the quality it would have otherwise had. Once the reaction had fully run its course, the silver, and its accompanying Arcane toxins, had been successfully infused into the Aqua Fortis itself. Even before my very eyes it was beginning to form a new substance within the aqueous solution. The resulting fluid, which had been a dark, orange-brown during the reaction, had since turned back towards crystal-clear once more although this time sporting a decidedly purple note to it. Even as I lifted the flask from off the table and swirled the solution around, noticeable precipitates began to form on the bottom forming a rapidly expanding crystalline lattice. This was ample sign for me to slowly submerge the flask in a cool bath of water and bring down its temperature as gradually as my timetable would allow. As the solution gently cooled down from the heat of its own reaction, the normally pure-white precipitates were beginning to turn into purplish-white crystals along the bottom of the flask. Once they began to form, the reaction was just as unstoppable as the first, and soon the majority of the clear flask was filled with softly glowing violet crystals of silver nitre. Some liquid yet remained, but overall I was left with a great mass of crystals.

Unfortunately, the process was still not done as I needed to then quickly douse the mixture in an ice bath which froze the crystals I needed. What remaining water could be skimmed off was, and a careful application of extremely-low heat and an increased air current from the vortex above allowed the crystals to evaporate the rest of their water content away. At the same time, I used my magic to shut off the crystalline lights of the laboratory temporarily as the violet silver nitre was known to lose its potency that way. In fact, I found the wait far from tedious as the lack of ambient white light allowed the purple glow I had imbued into it to truly shine as it were. Such freshly made nitre...it was a dazzling sight for the eyes to behold and frankly rather enchanting like unto the unnatural glow of Shade Petals. Finally, what remained at the end of all this work were pure, unadulterated violet crystals of silver nitre infused with hibernating, Dark toxins from Warped Death Bells. I was certainly aware that some of this powder existed already in tiny vials within the cabinet from whence the Death Bells themselves had originated. And yet, as in all else, I was seeking the freshest items I could obtain or produce seeing as I had the means and the equipment necessary. The sheer speed of my brewing process was to be compensated for by the highest quality ingredients I could muster up. With the sizable resources at my current disposal, even with an obnoxiously nosy Sorceress Supreme nearby, I was privy to Alchemical luxuries I could scarcely find anywhere else.

With the violet silver nitre now prepared, the comparably far easier second, and third ingredients could now be prepared before the brewing process truly resumed once more. The reddish-orange Leshen Resin contained within the small tin had been somewhat recently gathered from the border near the Thestrals and the Kingdom of Misthalin, likely somewhere near the Bitter Fens which were in that general region. These undoubtedly Sentient creatures were not inherently evil in-and-of themselves, and much like unto Changelings, Higher Vampires, Succubae, and other Daemons as had higher Sentience, they only wished to be left alone to what they considered theirs. In the case of Leshens, that included all manner of ancient woodland soil as they could spread their rootlike limbs into. Their presence was somewhat of a boon to the local flora and fauna as these ancient guardian spirits of nature deeply cared for the woods in which they chose to dwell. However, they are amongst the most fiercely territorial of creatures and, lacking the ability for communication, enacted a policy of treating all Sentients as hostiles if they happened upon its territory. Thus, they unfortunately, and inevitably, found themselves regularly at odds with Equestrians who sought to clear woodlands for development, and other Eldar as hated being assaulted in their own woods.

For my purposes however, the thick oily Resin which oozed from their ‘corporeal flesh’ of bark, wood and animal bones was saturated with their unique essence. While more-than-likely not at all affiliated with the Abyss prior to being brought from wherever their home world had once been, they had unfortunately experienced a Warping of their own, having grown wilder and darker in mood and response to territorial intrusion. As a result, it was becoming more and more common to hear tales of Leshens taking over old dark forests that’d yet to be touched by civilization. The topic of nature spirits and their ilk was one of the more contentious ones amongst Bestiary scholars as they were as much a blessing as they could be a curse to whatever lands they affected. One the one hoof, the world immediately around them would grow lush and strong under their care, yet on the other hoof...the world around them would inevitably grow more wild itself. Darkness had touched them deeply, in such a way so as to ensure we had yet to meet a 'friendly' Leshen. The elder ones were known to extend their powerful blessing of enrichment and fertility to tiny Sentient villages which lived neat their woods and respected its master. Yet, the younger ones which were far more plentiful by comparison to their ancient peers were not so capable of mutualism. Instead, they were much more interested in the violent removal of potential threats. Much like the tallow used in the previous stages of brewing the Oil, the Leshen Resin was to act as a substrate for other powerful ingredients. In this case, it was one particular item that otherwise seemingly did not enjoy being used as some mere casual ingredient that could be dusted into a cauldron like any other powder.

Lightly tinged by the madness of the Abyss as it was, this tar-like substance made it the perfect binding agent for the next agent required which was Vyre Dust. To the uninitiated, the difference between a Vyre and a Vampire was unimportant as both categories of Daemon voraciously fed on blood, yet in multiple ways were they different from one another. Vampires by definition in our Bestiaries were unable to turn other beings into Vampires like themselves via a contaminated bite. Rather, reproduction was in fact still possible for them via traditional sexual intercourse between male and female Vampires. Though many Vampire-category beasts were of questionable levels of intelligence, all remained quite clever by Sentient standards...and all the more deadly for that fact. To feast on blood for the so-called Lesser Vampires was to satiate their bellies with sustenance as was their animalistic wont. Meanwhile, to others of a higher intelligence, blood was an intoxicating delicacy to be enjoyed (or devoured) much like unto an exceedingly strong wine of great repute. Indeed, for some, blood was merely a delectable indulgence of life rather than as a sheer necessity for sustaining it. If Higher Vampires could in fact even be considered to be 'alive' despite being known to possess a full body of vestigial organs like any other living being. Lesser Vampires could all be defeated through cunning combined, strength-for-strength, with lightning-fast reflexes and a proper knowledge of their methods of attack. They were still Feral beasts at the end of the day, and beasts of any sort could still be Hunted by a strong enough individual. Highly intelligent and cunning beasts in some cases like the Fleder or Ekimara, yet beasts all the same. And for every beast, there were tried-and-true methods for slaying them.

Those Higher Vampires, the ones in full command of spoken language and possessing a ‘civilized’ culture, were rather remarkable in that they are capable of impregnating each other like unto any of us comparatively much lesser beings. Even the smallest of beings mated when in-season after all, and Vampires of all kinds were just as in need of a good rut like any other race in order to propagate their respective species. However, this was within an exceedingly short window very early in the immortal lives of these Higher Vampires; their numbers always remaining rather miniscule because of this fact alone. Natively, they had a grotesque, bat-like form which could be bipedal or quadrupedal at their will and leisure, along with long fangs, claws, wings, and overwhelming psychic and Arcane powers. As they possessed the power to change their forms at will, and had no natural need to eat nor drink (yet could process foods via odd vestigial organs), they could walk and dress amongst us with absolute conviction without detection. Indeed, these beings wielded a type of magic that was far beyond anything we had yet to be able to put to official writ; capable of shifting through multiple forms, clothing and all if needed, amongst multiple other powers. All of this and more they attempted daily in order to live amongst us unmolested and free to live extensive lives of luxury with the many pleasures of the flesh. Indeed, even our Medallions which were attuned to the flow of all Arcane forces in our near-vicinity were entirely unable to detect these beings when they chose to take on a more Equine form. Though most had some rather chiseled features to their faces, they were able to get by with claiming ties to old Canterlot, Trottingham, or even Thestral blood if so needed. Though they too were despised in this world, it was better to be thought of as an odd bastard descendant of an Equestrian-Thestral union than as a Vampire hiding in plain sight.

The Vyre, by stark comparison, diverged by being natively Equine-like in form; the product of an entirely different world and God(s) to the various species of Vampires. True Vyre were rather Thestral-like in appearance, save for their ashen, sickly white-or-grey skin and fur, and a short pair of thin horns which curled somewhat behind their heads like Dragons. However, they too possessed gaunt bodies, long bat-like wings and ears, cat-like pupils of crimson red, and long slender fangs which far exceeded the length of any Thestral or Lowland Valkyrie. Sporting a very high society of their own which was becoming of any great culture, the Vyre had staked out for themselves a great empty expanse of swampy marshlands far to the southwest even beyond the borders of Trottingham. Named the Darkmire, their horrid influence twisted the very world around them as they had some control over the Abyssal forces which spurred them on. Indeed, they seemingly had brought with them their own form of potent blood magic which was only further empowered by the Abyss, and was a type of magic which outsiders were in fact capable of learning through great effort. They, by further comparison to Vampires, also lacked any ability by which to sexually reproduce, and altogether lacked any sort of lurid drive to mate at all. Rather, they carried in their cursed blood a transferrable plague which mutated those intentionally bitten and not fully fed upon into something akin to one of their own. Any Sentient species could thusly be bitten and, with similar chances unto surviving the Trial of the Grasses, be turned into a Vyre version of whatever species they had once been. As such, one had to be wary of Sentient beings of multiple species being thusly transformed. It was not entirely known if these beings could be classified as ‘living’ as they too defied traditional anatomical norms like Higher Vampires. Yet, all the same any being that was transformed by a Vyre was typically doomed to remain one. The Knights of the Eclipse had found a way to bring individuals back and cure their affliction…yet it was far from foolproof and only worked if they had been recently turned.

Much again like unto the Grasses, those who did not outright die from the Changes wrought upon them by way of the Sanguinare Vampiris virus, yet were not fully mutated, tended to come out more Feral than Sentient. As such, a class-system of its own had emerged within their ranks as to the purity of their Vyre blood (determined by who had bitten who), how recent their transformation occurred, and the level of intellect they had gained or lost during the transformation. Thus, much like their compatriots, they could also be loosely categorized into ‘Lesser’ and ‘Greater’ kinds of Vyre by their own conventions. True Vyre, as mighty as they are, tended to lounged about in their looming castles of dark basalt, dining upon fine blood and acting as the nobility amongst their kind and impossible to kill by even a Witcher’s means. Meanwhile, those other species as having been successfully turned by the virus were arranged in rank of relative maturation as the transformation, once successfully begun, took centuries to fully enact. Those freshly-turned within the last few decades were referred to as ‘Juveniles’ and were used as the second-rank forces of their strong-armed tactics. These possessed great strength, speed, and regeneration much like unto a top-tier Witchling student, yet could still be killed even by steel weaponry, were weakened by Sunlight, and had an insatiable appetite for blood to sustain their powers. Those having survived their first fifty-years or so would find themselves counted as a ‘Juvinate’, and begin finding their greater Vyre powers beginning to manifest. Powers such as a greater immunity to the Light of the Sun, immunity to steel weapons, resistance to even weapons of fine silver, and the ability to turn their bodies into an unassailable mist they could thus escape by. Past a full century, they would begin to grow the more distinctive features of True Vyre such as their wings, ears, eyes, and horns. This stage came with further boosts to their natural regenerative abilities, as well as all other strengths both physical and magical as would be befitting such creatures. Lunar Silver even found itself beginning to struggle to truly pierce their hides and a devilish talent for telepathy allowed them to anticipate the movements of their opponents. Even when fully committed to a chaotic rhythm of attack, a Witcher could still find their opponent moving to block and counter them before their blow had even struck.

It was unclear at what age one of their kind grew into full Vyrehood, yet it was guessed to be somewhere past three centuries. Were they so lucky as to not have been Hunted already of course. These frightful beings possessed all the distinguishing features of True Vyre (if in a more diluted form) and were capable of their peculiar Sanguine Magicks which we had few defenses against. Having essentially fully weaponized their blood tithing, blood and its accompanying lifeforce could be sapped directly out of victims bodies and absorbed directly into their own. That was to say nothing of their tremendous physical strength and proficiency with many weapons, as well as any claws they might have grown or already possessed prior to their transformation. They also possessed a full immunity to conventional silver weapons, and Lunar Silver could not even pierce their hides without the aid of Blisterwood Sap. The sacred tree of pure-white bark was exceedingly rare in the wild, containing an inner wood and sap of scarlet, bloody red. Its origins were lost to time, yet its efficacy against the Vyre was one of many early discoveries by my forbearers. Not that it did many of us any good anyway as their power was far beyond a mere Witcher's…but the knowledge was some small comfort all the same.

When one was (very rarely) successfully killed, a Vyre would immediately disintegrate into a hefty pile of appropriately-dubbed Vyre Dust. These unconventionally cremated ashen remains were all that was left of their immense power over their blood magic, and formed something between ash and crushed crystals. As such, it glittered softly scarlet under bright light when lightly shaken in a dish or other container. Taking a little over a half-ounce of the potent gray-white powder, I proceeded to very carefully work it into the red-orange Leshen Resin already occupying a freshly cleaned mortar dish. Here, tiny shards of amethyst touched by Lunar magic were also ground into the mix as, though opposed to the Darkness which the Vyre delighted in, they too also held the Moon in great respect and Lunar power came in many forms, just like Solar. As such, the Lunar Shards found themselves readily accepted by the volatile Vyre Dust, whilst at the same time, gradually reactivating some of the Sanguine Magicks as lay dormant within the remains. I had to pay my thanks to those who came before me as processes like these would have been impossible for me to solve on my own. Even as it was, I was peering through my notes at every hint of uncertainty as these were all processes I had done before, yet not necessarily in conjunction with each other in this order. After all...I had not had the pleasure of producing a Venom from such a prime Shade Petal in many, many years, it wasn't as if the entire process had been committed to memory for that long.

The tedious process of adding in the Lunar Shards had to be handled extremely slowly, utilizing only a few Shards at a time as to revive too much Vyre Dust at once could summon the remnants of its spirit to assault you. As I added in miniscule numbers of individual violet crystal grains to the mortar dish, it began to remove any former hint of orange there had once been in the Resin, turning it instead into a violently bright crimson. Indeed, the viscous fluid as was being mashed under my pestle was much in appearance and texture as to freshly-spilled blood which had heavily congealed in contact with the air. The smell likewise was very reminiscent of the potent iron-rich sweetness that accompanied freshly spilled viscera, on account of both the Resin itself, as well as the now-charged Vyre Dust. When the paste became too dry to properly work further, moisture was introduced in the form of viscous drops of Warped Basilisk Venom via another eyedropper. Sharing a similar pronunciation, yet a different spelling from another species of lizard-like monster called the Baslysk, these twisted, venomous ‘Chicken Dragons’ were amongst the Dracnoid-category of beasts. Given this one's emerald venom had been greatly Warped by the Abyss compared to its other compatriots, it made this toxic fluid perfect for reconstituting the paste as it would not dilute nor pollute the mixture like other agents might. Drop by drop, I slowly worked it in until the moistened paste could be easily scooped into the cauldron one bit at a time. Like everything else...my patience was being tested by the bud of antsy panic building in my chest as I felt the hours trickling away on the tiny clock in the corner.

As the last drops trickled from the dropper and into the mess of red beneath my pestle, I knew the paste was ready when it went from a shade of bright scarlet to that of blood that was several minutes old. A quick test using a dried Blood Rose petal only solidified my certainty, as the desiccated bloom absorbed the blood content beneath it and rehydrated until it looked freshly picked from a live plant. It was only then with a heavy sigh of genuine relief that I settled back from my work and into a collapsible stool found in a slim cabinet nearby. Three of my main ingredients, four to a certain point in regards to the Basilisk Venom, had been successfully utilized and prepared without a hitch. Whilst the Warped Venom would be needed again, drop by drop, for a future step, the remaining two ingredients were not needed until it came time to handle a Shade Petal again directly. With some time now to allow the brew to simmer along as it was for further clarity, I finally had a more proper chance with which to eat and rest from my labors. I had produced some rather fine products with all my hard work, and while they were nothing like unto what I could prepare with the appropriate time needed to work, they were worthy of far more than a simple passing grade. As such, I felt a sense of well-deserved pride as I repositioned my stool closer to my now-cold plates of food and closed tome bound in an ominous black velvet and silver. The Kitchens had ensured the meal would still be delicious to the taste even when cold, and so I set about consuming the rest of my meal with great gusto, pulling the tome towards myself and opening to Chapter 13: Of Void Salts, Dark Essence and The Proper Handling of Voidkissed Items for Usage in Alchemical Substances. There were still hours yet of further brewing ahead of me, yet some of the most tricky catalyst substances were successfully ready to be added to the cauldron. I had earned the break, and still had yet to even count the purse of coins Violet had left for me.

* * * * * *

The time to carefully simmer my burgeoning Venom to ¾ of the way complete took several hours as each of the ingredients I had prepared needed to be added to the mix one tiny scoop at a time. The glass rod had to keep rotating the entire time, yet I could not have the luxury of setting a spell to keep it stirring like other brews as the speed varied wildly depending on which ingredient was being added and when. Indeed, even adding these ingredients to the cauldron was an intense game of balance as subtle changes in color, viscosity and scent were all I had to use in order to know how much of each was needed. The amounts prepared all needed to be used, yet the pace at which I could add them was excruciatingly slow to experience. Habaara's gracious gift of food had ensured I had the energy needed to stay up so late through the night, hunched over my cauldron with wary eyes and a discerning nose. Hangmare’s Venom was normally given months to make these finite adjustments under controlled circumstances and I was having to actively correct these all in a single evening. Even some miniscule amounts of previous ingredients used to brew the Oil made a reappearance in my efforts to further control the balance of humors. This of course resulted in more contaminants that needed to be removed via more Quebrith, and other more minor reagents, yet it was unfortunately necessary in order to maintain the clarity of my brew. If anything, I felt like an amateurish juggler with the number of items constantly shifting in my telekinetic grasp and one slip-up would ruin hours of work.

Each time more of the sulfur compound was added, a dash of exceedingly fine potash was added as well in order to counteract the majority of its effects so as to not spoil the entire cauldron. Likewise, more waste product precipitates formed on the surface which needed to be skimmed away. Truly, having to add more of the base ingredients, and especially the secondary doses of Quebrith, was a dance with disaster as even a few grains too much of any one ingredient could go and spoil my entire time spent brewing. The emerald fluid simmering softly in the black iron cauldron before me was burning the eyes and nose ever more as I continued to brew, growing only darker in color which was my wont. Indeed, the desired outcome was a shade of green only a few hints above truly pitch black; full of an illustrious gleam that shimmered with a soft silvery-purple iridescence in the white crystal light. Every tiny scoop of violet silver nitre or the activated Leshen/Vyre Resin brought about subtle changes in order to compliment, or counter, the one added before it. Of course, this all was highly dependent upon the mood of the brew itself and whether it was feeling cooperative or stubborn. Truly, any Alchemist could attest that the more complex the recipe, the more likely it was for the resulting product to have a seeming will of its own that was both temperamental and infuriatingly vague. Attempting to balance all factors involved, along with battling one's own lapses in attention from boredom across so many hours, was a taxing chore. Even buoyed along by the delicious food and drink brought to me by that charming little Dwemess, I was fighting off sleep born of boredom come time the small clock in the corner alerted me it was midnight.

By the time the final chime had struck twelve, I was gloating over a near-perfect brew with a notable headache developing from lack of sleep and the pervasive fumes I was breathing in. The vast majority of my ingredients had successfully been added until the last grains dissolved and suffused the concoction with their potent effects. What I had now was a beautifully dark emerald, viscous fluid which emitted soft trailing streams of equally dark, dense smoke which seemed to drag along everything nearby with miniscule claws. As a result, I had to slowly increase the level of vacuum provided by the portal up above so as to better whisk away these dense fumes. With extended exposure, harm would inevitably befall even a Witcher fully mutated with enhanced chemical resilience like myself. I was quite pleased with the result of my hard labor and extensive years spent hunched over similar cauldrons during my attempts to perfect the craft whilst still attending School. Indeed, I dared to even think that perhaps my own Mentor would have been pleased with my current efforts, even if the resulting product was intended for a personal assassination vendetta on a fellow Witcher’s behalf. A stickler for details, I prided myself somewhat over my ability to follow after the manner of his teachings and hoped my brew would have received his blessing all the same. After all, a good few of the inscriptions in my own notebook on Venom recipes had been penned by him personally when he found my first attempt at conveying the information insufficient. I was sloppy and he knew it. Gods did he know it…

Though I had graduated as a full Witcher within the normal 6-8 year window expected of Bastion applicants with prior combat and physical training, Master Nozgath had seen fit to call himself my Mentor for nearly thirty years in total. Rather than out of some headstrong sense of self-importance, he had insisted on the continued relationship as he said he, 'simply couldn’t bear to leave a student such as me unpolished’, as he had so quaintly put it. And polishing did I require in those days in spades… Growing up amidst an ever-shrinking population of Lowland Valkyrie I had been raised with a fairly respectable physical regimen like the rest of my Clan, that of the House of Réaltín; or ‘Little Stars’ as my mother had once told me in centuries past. To ensure our people remained fit to defend our small piece of territory at any time, a rigorous schedule of exercise augmented with basic-to-advanced training in combat was administered across all who lived amongst us. Whilst such a practice was graciously never seriously put to the test, it ensured our people were physically fit and perfectly poised to apply ourselves further in the deadly arts if we so wished. And indeed I had so wished to expand my abilities thusly, seeking out the School of the Viper for its closeness to my ancestral home squished between Trottingham and the old Kingdom, now Duchy, of Āider. With my prior training, the Trial of the Sword was not the hardest challenge I had encountered, yet what came after most certainly would be. My path to graduation was rather slow in its own right as several classes had to be repeated until my Instructors/Mentor thought I had grasped the lessons and earned a passing grade. Fighting with a sword or other such weapon had always come easily to me, whilst the magic of my people had only lightly graced me before the Changes. What had truly taken the most attempts to master…were the arts of Alchemy and bombcraft. I was not the best, nor the wisest student Master Nozgath had ever Mentored, yet he always liked to say that he saw in me the potential for something special.

As…to what exactly it was he had seen in me…I’d yet to learn. Even after so many years past my Trial of the Grasses, and his very own death at the bloody claws of a horribly Warped Sanguine Maiden, I had yet to learn much of what he had seen in me. I had performed at-or-around average in most of my studies save for history and Medium Doctrine defensive techniques, failing miserably at my first and second semesters of Alchemy during the practical examinations. The Trial of Grasses had nearly utterly destroyed me as well, had it not been for the expert skill of a visiting Direwolf Healer who had boldly stepped in to rescue me from the clutches of Death. I knew of myself from what memories remained of that excruciating experience…I would not have survived if left alone to my own, pitiful strength. The pain of that week-long process…it was near-impossible to try and replicate in any amount of words that failed to include a long, excruciating shriek of anguish and terror. Regardless, I had been nothing truly exceptional amongst my fellow Vipers. I had met the age requirements for Masterhood long before I had garnered my first (and only) Heroic Hunt on record. I performed my duty as a Witcher to the best of my ability, and yet all the same I was just one amongst thousands of others just as capable as me. Or, even more so like in the case of Archmaster Ludovic or my own Mentor.

Not once had I been able to best him with a blade during our entire multi-decade training experience together at Kaer Nathair…nor even past that time, prior to his demise. He had students before and after me who were faster, stronger, smarter…and yet I always seemed to be his personal favorite for whatever reason. So much so that he had seen fit to insist my first twenty-or-so years on the Path were only half-years, with the other half spent further studying alongside him at the School. It would likely bewilder me even unto my own death…. The old Dragon had never once elaborated as to why he felt that way about me. Try as I would, his scaly lips had remained sealed outside of a playful grin of amusement at my expense as it was not a lesson that could be taught. It was simply something I needed to discover for myself of course…which was the most infuriatingly slow forms of learning. The most impactful and meaningful perhaps, yet one that required a literal lifetime to understand in its fullness. A lifetime of attempting to polish ourselves down to our best selves, or as close to it as we could muster in good conscience with self-respect. I of myself...well, I felt I had discovered my good self and even burnished out to a decent polish for others to see. But my best self...? I was still searching for that.

Regardless, my efforts towards mastering the Alchemist's arts through those arduous years had indeed begun to bear fruit. The last of my tertiary ingredients had been prepared and added successfully to the brew, leaving only one major ingredient, and two vital secondaries remaining. The most important was of course the Shade Petal itself, which unfortunately required its own specialized procedures for safe handling and processing. Following closely behind were the Void Salts, and the highly specific Dark Essence type which helped to facilitate these safety measures for me. The Essence was perhaps the most important of the two as it allowed me to suffuse my telekinesis with enough Dark energy so I could safely handle the Petal directly. The Salts on the other hoof acted as a strong desiccant which would remove all organic moisture from the Petal, whilst at the same time preserving those toxic, Voidkissed molecules. These, of course, would then be extracted, further refined, and then finally added as the quintessential ingredient of the Venom. Even as it stood now, the brew was sufficiently potent as to kill most mortals within minutes were a wound to be laced with it…

However, the deadliness needed to be refined and channeled into a more covert path of effect, wherein sufficient time for the two to escape could be provided. The Digitalis was precisely for that purpose as the toxic compounds suffused into the silver nitre from the Deathbells were too denatured to fully enact their own poisons into the brew. Were they merely seeking to kill him outright, the Petals would not be needed at all seeing as the Deathbells and Warped Nightshade would have been more than sufficient for such a role. These toxins were needed, yes, but it was the Dark nature imbued into them which was absolutely necessary. After all, something had to be present in the Venom to bond with the much more raw compounds that were to be introduced via the Digitalis. The burgeoning Venom had very little in the way of such Dark compounds as of yet, thus the careful introduction of the violet silver nitre and the Leshen Resin infused with activated Vyre Dust. The Dark was infused into the brew via the Deathbells, and then coddled into perfect equilibrium with the rest of the Oil via the not-so-Dark infused Resin. With the high acidity of the concoction, the Resin was soluble in the Oil and acted as the perfect substrate, so-to-speak, for the residual energies within the silver nitre. The high acidity from the Basilisk Venom would likely come out in the final product, yet it was something I would have to risk and try to remember to mention to Violet. The very least I could do was provide another modicum of warning regarding the short list of possible issues I would be unable to fully squash out of the recipe with so little time. I'd offered one before, yet with her...it never hurt to double down on the affirmations when it came to her approach to risk assessment.

Due to the organic nature of the Resin, itself infused by the Arcane blood of the Leshen which shed it, it acted as a sort of mediator between the highly organically-based Oil, and those Dark Arcane energies I was hoping to make use of. The Sanguine Magic inherent to the Vyre Dust was also there for this mediation in some capacity, yet it fulfilled another much more primary role. Given the Dust had been very gently coaxed into a mulled state of semi-activation via the Lunar Shards, the enlivening effects of blood magic could be likewise coaxed into any elixir; Oil, Venom and Potion alike. For my purposes, I needed it in order to act as a brake upon the speed of envenomation enacted by the toxic glycosides found in the Shade Petal. Seeing as these molecules assaulted the natural rhythm of the heart, the Vyre Dust would be there to artificially enliven the heart for a period of time. The glycosides would remain ever present, yet they would be engaging in a slow conquest of victory over the effects of the Dust. Interacting with so many organic compounds however, the Dust would have a biological half-life of only so long…and after a period of time, it would run itself dry of power. After that, the Digitalis would finally be allowed to work in full and a fatal heart attack was sure to set in within seconds to minutes. With the length of time granted between envenomation and the actual death itself, the heart attack would look all the more convincing for it. Especially if they managed to do so during a feast as it would be a fitting victim to blame for such a tragic, yet not unheard of event. Of course, were the royal entourage in tow so inclined, those poor Souls as prepared the meal might find themselves killed for the event in retaliation. Even if gluttony had been the true murderer in such a case, there was always the chance of ‘righteous anger’ being turned upon the most easily visible pool of possible candidates for blame. The Eldar had endured such a response for centuries now…

As to how I knew all this? Well…in all truth, much of it was inferred speculation on my part, as well as what research survived from the original period of Venom experimentation and documentation. As I had explained somewhat to Violet and Topaz, the School of the Viper had spent more than a few decades working towards attaining the perfect Alchemical toxins as could be used against our enemies. The Venoms brewed from the Oils meant for all our monstrous foes had allowed for, and necessitated even, extensive rounds of testing which needed to be performed. As such, dabblings with Voidkissed items in Alchemy naturally found their way into the rounds of experimentation being performed during the early second century. Learning how to harness the Darkness within these items had been a rather arduous affair, at least according to the old surviving records of Kaer Nathair; now safely housed within the Grand Library of Kaer Solaris. All the same, steps and procedures had been slowly formulated by my predecessors, and items even as rare as Shade Petals found their time under their microscopes. The potent glycosides contained within all Digitalis species were already known from studies in natural philosophy and native herblore, thus applying them to poisons and medicines were also subsequently learned in conjunction. The enlivening effects of activated Vyre Dust had likewise been discovered during the course of similar Alchemical studies, using what new ingredients had been presented by the arrival of these Abyssal creatures. Indeed, the odd substance was used in even the healing draughts brewed in the School’s own Infirmary, granting the drinker swift recoveries from all manner of malaise of the blood and increased tissue regeneration. Likewise, all other ingredients being used to turn my Oil into a full Venom had been similarly researched in isolation from each other. All that was needed was to combine these isolated bits of useful information together towards one specific end. Much of the groundwork had already been laid by my forebears, all that was left for me to do was piece it all together; something I had meditated on in private many times already in my continued pursuit of knowledge.

The recipe for ‘traditional’ Hangmare’s Venom called for Deadly Nightshade as the primary toxin, entirely pure and unadulterated by too many other secondary ingredients. However, the desired outcome was not to cut the bastard where he stood and kill him openly via poison, as even Violet was not entirely devoid of all rational brain matter. She and Topaz both knew better than to be conspicuous in their pursuit of friendly fratricide, which explained why they sought me out the moment the School’s rumor mill circulated word of my Petals past their devious ears. They had paid more than enough attention during the toxicology section of their natural philosophy and knew what could be possible with them were they fully rendered. I had brewed more than one vial of poison for their endeavors, brewed and left in a potted plant near unto the entrance to the underground Barracks wherein they dwelled. Yet, none of them were to the same complexity as what they had requested this time around. Poison was the preferred method for many a kill throughout history for the layers of anonymity it immediately introduced into the investigation. If anything, the pair preferred to use middlemares anywhere they could in the process and limit their direct involvement in the whole affair if they were able to manage it. Their go-to was to hire a lone agent hired through the black markets to whom my poisons would be delivered whilst they performed the assassinations themselves so as to leave Violet and Topaz further insulated from blame. By what means these assassins would make their kill varied by the chosen style of the assassin themselves, from poisoned crossbow bolts and darts to delivery via ingestion through their food or drink. Of course, the manner of death could also be prescribed ahead of time if there were a certain tale she wished to weave around the murder. Any time as might further point the hoof of blame down the wrong paths of thought.

The most unfortunate victim of theirs…ours…had been the first they had sought my help in eliminating. The toxins guaranteed absolute lethality if introduced directly into the bloodstream via some sort of laceration. Such had been my anticipated use of the product after all as it had never occurred to me that circumstances might permit one method over the other. However, the chosen assassin himself chose to apply it to the target’s food as the location had presented an opportunity for greater stealth. He had rather skillfully applied the toxic brew by slipping a few drops down a strand of his own tail hair, using the rafters of the dining hall to poison a chosen platter of food below. The poison had most certainly ended up killing the ex-Minister of Internal Defense… Unfortunately, that was not until several agonizing days in the lavatory had already elapsed, and he had shat out most of his insides whilst begging for Lady Death to take him. It had been a grand banquet held during the Feast of Harvests, and also coincided with the Naming of the Minister’s esteemed grandchild. Needless to say…there were a great many witnesses present to those horrid events which played out afterwards. Various mobility from both Yonderland as well as other Equestrian holdings had all shown up for the pomp and circumstance of such a day. Some had even had the misfortune to be close to him once the poison took hold…and his digestive tract began exploding from both ends. The assassin escaped unmolested and undetected, as was our combined hope, yet word of the death spread with a dangerous speed across the Continent due to the finer details involved. It was a frightful mess we had to endure, yet we had all managed to survive such a terribly close-miss similarly undetected and unharmed.

Since that time, I had grown to be much more wary regarding the possible ways my poisons could be administered to their targets. Tales of the Yonderland noble who shat himself to death were still in the public’s eye unfortunately, even after a few decades had elapsed. After all, something like that was prime tavern-fodder for getting a good laugh out of those who heard it; old and young alike all finding something to laugh at in such a ridiculous death. Though the death itself was never ruled a murder, but rather a deadly intestinal infection, I had grown to try and be more cautious at every stage of my own involvement in the whole affair. As such, I took the proper time to wake myself back up by doing some light exercises as could be performed in such a confined space. After a hundred press-ups, my blood was sufficiently pumping alertness back into my mind and I rose fully upright to begin the final stage in the process. The vial of Dark Essence was rather small when compared to the average amount of material left behind in a typical Nightwraith’s remains. Yet, having been collected during the most recent Winter Solstice at the height of that special, hallowed day, it was positively dripping with latent Dark powers that could brush over my telekinesis. The odd, dark violet ectoplasm-like substance which was left in the wake of a Nightwraith’s demise was bizarrely a liquid, a solid and a gas, all at the same time. Sections could be cut into smaller chunks with a chilled silver knife and transferred about with a set of frozen tongs like any solid. Yet this same amount, when kept within a vessel of any sort, seemed perfectly capable of being poured down the neck like a watery tar.

The vapors which emanated from this substance likewise were rather queer as they were far denser than air, seemingly flowing more like unto a fluid than a simple gas. Thus, all I needed was to simply pour some of the confounding purple substance into a shallow dish of black porcelain, sprinkle on a fine dusting of powdered electrum, and then attempt to grasp the fumes within my magic. Though sensation was rather minimal whilst normally grasping items in one’s telekinesis, a cold chill could be felt in my bones as my sparkling green magic made contact with the Dark Essence. The odd combination of Magicks turned my telekinesis a sickly shade of lilac grey. It also visibly gave off a smoking, ghastly aura of its own as I lifted my altered mass of magic away from the dish. Like an itch too deep to scratch, the chill of the Essence tainting my magic was profoundly deep within me, like the dull ache felt on shore that follows a long, frigid swim under a high mountain lake. Thus prepared, I unfastened the four small latches at the mouth of the silver-and-crystal container and reached in to pluck but a single flowery bell from the stem of the plant.

The air within the room noticeably grew colder the moment the canister was unsealed and the Petals were exposed to normal air; subsequently being allowed to eke out their presence somewhat into the room. Similarly, the glowing purplish-pink haze of enchanted pollen began to dust the small laboratory, graciously being whisked away by the swirling vortex above before it had a chance to settle. All the same, the effect was short-lived as I resealed the canister the moment my lonesome Petal was free of the rest of the plant, keeping its Abyssal tendrils restrained. Once I was satisfied the four latches were tightly secured, I set the solitary Petal gently down in a second, black porcelain dish I had already pre-filled with a shallow bed of powdered Void Salts. Immediately the desiccating effects of the hygroscopic substance began to take effect as the bottom face of the Petal, which was in contact with the Salts, immediately began to shrivel up whilst an acrid black-purple smoke was produced. The real trick to this part of the process was attempting to keep as much of the original structure of the flower preserved despite the caustic Salts eating away at the organic matter around it. As its named implied, the Salts had been moderately steeped in the power of the Void, having been mere Lunar Shards prior to whatever ritual the University performed to obtain such a substance. Its applications were rather niche, yet the roles it did fulfill were eternally useful when needed, such as what I was currently attempting.

With a miniscule spatula spoon and fine manipulation in my magic, I proceeded to dust the rest of the flower in the tiny, ink-black crystals which themselves gave off a black, smoke-like aura of their own. It was a painstaking process so as to not destroy too much organic tissue at once, else there would be nothing left to hold it all together at the end. What was left in the wake of the rather caustic powder was what remained of the Petal’s internal circulatory system, itself heavily steeped in the Abyssal powers I was after. While opening the canister holding the entire plant was a task only done with utmost haste, the Abyssal powers steeped into one single Petal were relatively safe to work with in isolation. The sprawling network of dark violet veins formed a waxy approximate of the flower which had once been there as a result of the caustic powder. The twisting, curling veins of dark cherry purple were mesmerizing to watch slowly release themselves from the fleshy confines of the flower it supported and was supported by. Even when removed from its host plant, these veins still lightly circulated their contents about the beautifully delicate piece of organic matter I was attempting to free from its original form. Indeed, Shade Petals could retain their freshness for an unnaturally long period of time even when entirely removed from their host plant which would continue to endure until the last flower was plucked from its stem.

My efforts yet continued to deliver satisfying results as I exercised all patience as I had available within me to give to the situation. It was hardly the thing I wished to spend the rest of my night working on when I only got a few, meager minutes in the Baths...but at least I was getting paid for it. There was a light at the end of this dreary cave of mine and the hour of bottling up my hard work was drawing ever closer. What was left behind of the blossom looked as if it were a small bit of delicate lace in the shape of a bell-shaped flower. Truly, the fine weave of dark veins was a delightfully gorgeous piece of art which seemingly could have been created by a Thestral Weaver as a fine decorative piece for formal attire. Indeed, once complete and suspended in the air to lightly shake off any remaining powder, the flower was as if a delicate piece of fashionable dark purple lace. One whose color would have made a suitable compatriot to the ensemble taken on by Rosemary herself, were it not so delicate as to crumble at even the softest wrong touch. I had been surprisingly unmolested thus far by her incessant nosy nature, yet now that the cat was out of the metaphorical bag...that was likely to change. There was simply no way that even with the work she was undertaking out there that she had failed to feel the surge in Dark energy from when I briefly opened the container to retrieve my flower. Even in my gut, I knew that I had yet to see the last of her...

* * * * * * * * * *