Research

[Silvarn]

Silvarn frowned between his fingertips at the mess sprawled on the table before him. With a sigh of exasperation, he slumped his head into his cradling hands. Another failed experiment. He gave his eyes a good rub to banish what weariness he could, then picked up a mangled grimoire and glared at its contents.

He had done everything to the mark. The ingredients had been purchased at the peak of ripeness and quality. Why had this one failed, even when he put so much effort and care into it?

Because you are doomed for failure. a whine sneered from within his mind.

"And you are not exactly helpful." Silvarn growled at the text.

Would you like me to be? the voice snickered. A flash of a smile with too many sharp teeth flashed before Silvarn's tired eyes.

"Good point." the mage muttered, slumping again.

Perhaps you are not as competent in the laboratory as you think you are...to name only one place...

"Perhaps you are correct, Scorcahr," Silvarn addressed the tabletop as he slowly pulled away from his hands. The cogs in his mind began churning, a plan brewing in the depths of his brilliance.

Oh, great. Scorcahr whined.

"Perhaps I could use," Silvarn frowned deeper at the word, "assistance. A team of assistants. I am growing impatient. A team of, say, twenty able-minded alchemists would help nicely. Reduce the production time by at least half. Yes, that just might work."

Wait, where is the possibility of conflict? If the past is any indication, your plans never work unless something gets broken, or someone get maimed.

"If history is any indication, you talk too much, Scorcahr. Perhaps we should investigate Tamasha."

***

An hour later, Silvarn arrived at the outskirts of Tamasha Village, the commerce center of Valear. It took another half an hour to forbid Scorcahr from his numerous vices.

I never get to have fun. Scorcahr complained.

"That is because I never have fun cleaning up your messes."

Oh, admit it, Grey One. There have been a few times where my...antics amused you.

"Like trying to shatter an innocent little girl's mind, only to have her visions of pink ponies, fluffy bunnies, and shining rainbows banish you from her thoughts, screaming like, well, her?"

Silvarn waited a moment in silence, then smiled. There were few things that frightened Scorcahr the demon. Ponies, bunnies, and rainbows did the trick.

"Here goes nothing." Silvarn muttered as he strode hopefully into Tamasha.

[Kinetic Asparagus]

"Breaagghaargh..."

Alaric more-or-less fell out of bed, onto a welcoming set of cold, bare, splintering floorboards. He cursed, pulling a tiny sliver of wood out of his foot.

So. A bed. A brothel? An inn? He wasn't sure if it wasn't a combination of both. A hasty scan of the room quickly located a few scattered items of clothing - all his. Picking out the most nasally-welcoming was something akin to choosing the least repulsive rotten corpse. After rejecting a few particularly disgusting ones, he fumbled his sleepy, hungover way into some relatively kind ones. Everything, nevertheless, definitely needed a wash - the teenager himself included, whose hair was sticking out at angles which defied gravity it was so full of mud and leafy bits.

Slightly more awake, dressed, and hair sort-of combed through, Alaric jumped to the ground from the window, everything of his he could lay his hands on stuffed haphazardly into a large sack. Aodh would be around somewhere, hopefully bearing the burden of the rest of his equipment. He whistled twice, sharply, and shure enough, a loud bray sounded from a stable-like building around the back of... wherever he had woken up.

How drunk was I? I can't remember a thing...

He led the stallion blindly through a few backstreets before the familiar humdrum of the marketplace rose above the various noises of village life. Navigating with ease to the source of the clatter, Alaric's eyes and ears lost all weariness as he laid eyes on a particular stall, covered in silverware. Perfect.

He quietly commanded Aodh to stay where he was, pretty much hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, before ambling across to the other side of the square, faking interest in other items along the way. Then, deliberately bumping into a stranger to cause a diversion - odd hair, Alaric noted without real interest - his hand slipped across the gleaming metal, and key pieces were quickly deposited in his pocket.

[Silvarn]

Silvarn felt a jostle on his right side. With instinctive malice, he turned on his assailant, gripping the neck of his oppressor's tunic and bringing the unfortunate near his snarling face. The poor lad took one look at Silvarn's livid features, then wilted into unconsciousness. Silvarn noticed the color of the boy's green hair also faded, as if he were some sort of plant. Silvarn rolled his ancient grey eyes and gave the boy an awakening smack on his cheek. The boy returned with a gasp. Silvarn gave him a rough shove away, and the boy bolted for his life.

You always did have a way with children. Scorcahr snickered.

A flash of silver out of the corner of his eye caught Silvarn's attention. Without turning his head, he looked at the direction of the flash just in time to see the reflective surface become buried in a pocket. Silvarn's grey eyes flicked over to the stallkeeper, and held back his surprise when he found the keeper completely unaware of the shoplifting going on right next to him. Silvarn stroked his chin with anticipation. To his merriment, the thief slipped away unnoticed.

No more haggling for supplies? Scorcahr voiced his thought.

"Not totally." Silvarn answered. "Keep him in sight. See if you can influence the crowd to lead him somewhere...private."

Yes, O master... the demon mocked. But, before I begin, kindly answer me one question?

"I know what you are thinking, Scorcahr, and I assure you, it is strictly business."

But prostitution is business.

"You sicken me."

That is the intent. Scorcahr sneered as he blipped out of Silvarn's thoughts.

[Kinetic Asparagus]

"Right this way, my son, let me show you my carpets, fine for a young lad like you and his lady..."

The vendor, who was several inches shorter than Alaric, grabbed hold of his arm and succeeded in pulling him several paces towards a stall hung with ornate rugs and cloths, all of complete and utter disinterest to the nomadic thief. Useless in a tent, too big to snatch. He pulled away, but was quickly jostled to one side by a woman who was as round as she was tall, her arms open as she spilled her breath on her particular product, whatever it may have been.

He knew the town relatively well, he had worked over the marketplace many a time before... nobody had ever shown him so much interest. The prospect of being discovered loomed closer, and he tensed in anticipation. Had somebody seen him? A quick scan revealed nothing particularly out of the ordinary. The crowd was considerably noisier around him, though, he believed.

"Mallakee, love, where's the necklace gone?"

He froze.

"I don't know, ma. I thought somebody had bought it."

"No, I don't think so... a few sthingys have gone, too..."

The panic rose in her voice, and Alaric seized up. This had never happened before. It was probably the smell... or... had something happened last night? It wouldn't've been the first time he'd woken up with an enchantment on him, a crafty woman bidding him return to her particular brothel with his pretty presents. Odd charm, this, though.

"Who's the lad with the dark hair? Not seen him before," a gossipy lady with a hearty bosom murmured to the man to whose arm she seemed to be welded to, "and I know most folk round here."

Whether she was referring to him or to somebody else, Alaric felt the danger mounting with each soft, inaudible whisper, paranoia building in the pit of his stomach.

A whistle, a click. Aodh's signal to remain hidden. Whether he'd hear it or not was unsure, but Alaric's main priority was his inconspicuousness. Weaving through what seemed to be millions of salesmen, he finally managed to get into a back alleyway... and then another... and then another, memorising his steps but making sure they'd be impossible to follow by a curious villager. A seedy-looking pub had its sign hanging above his head - "The Raven's Quill" - so he ducked inside.

A pint of ale was next on his ageda. I've only been awake for an hour or so. This is not going to be a good day.

[Silvarn]

"Well done," Silvarn complimented Scorcahr in disbelief when the demon returned to his thoughts.

I try. The punk's flooding his innards with drink right now. Should be easier to convince him against his better judgment to aid you in your endeavors.

"For a demon, you have an impressive vocabulary."

How many eons have I been forced to spend with you? the demon sneered.

"Ah," Silvarn responded, starting after the thief, following mental cues from Scorcahr until he stopped in front of a tavern christened, "The Raven's Quill."

"Scorcahr, do we not know someone named --"

Nope.

"Of course. What a terrible name." Silvarn mused as he entered boldly into the tavern.

He spotted the young thief instantly, but let his ancient grey eyes rove around the tavern's motley interior. The barkeep slumped over the lacquered wood. With a little imagination, Silvarn envisioned the dagger's point tickling the poor man's forehead, cradled in his own grimy hands.

Few other occupants wasted their life here, and none of particular interest. Though, the soiled dove in the corner looked as if she was about to fall out of her chair.

Silvarn approached the bar, keeping his facade as a tavern regular. He leaned on the wood and had to rap on the counter to get the barkeep's attention. He flicked his index finger at the operator with a wink, while simultaneously firing a message for whiskey via Scorcahr. The keep grunted and slammed a small glassful of rank amber liquid in front of the mage.

"I don't be wantin' no trouble, mack." the keep threatened in a throaty voice.

"I do not make trouble, sir." Silvarn curled his lip in disgust at the whiskey, "But it does seem to have a particular vendetta with me."

"A...a what?" the barkeep stammered, the ignorance showing in his dull eyes.

"Do not fret yourself about it." Silvarn tossed a gold coin irately at the keep's chest, grasped his drink, turned on his heel, then strode over to the thief.

The grey mage slammed the glass down in front of the young man, then sat in a chair across the table from him. "For you." Silvarn said as he indicated the glass with his hand. "Drink up. I have a proposition for you.

"You seem to be quite crafty. Especially at sneaking. I fancy myself as something of an alchemist. Have you ever considered applying your craft to a craft?"

[Kinetic Asparagus]

Maybe not the best time to have been drinking... Alaric thought, taking in the sudden appearance of the man and the drink. The latter he sniffed briefly before pushing it back across the table, his eyebrows raised in an expression which clearly suggested that the intruder was insulting his intelligence. Consume something from a stranger? Not likely.

Especially not this stranger. Not somebody who was hinting that he knew of Alaric's "profession".

"I cannot envision how alchemy and my... craft... could be in any way related," he muttered, refusing to break eye contact.

If this got nasty he could definitely bring the stranger down. If, of course there was no form of magic involved... he'd have to count on that.

That being said, the man sat across from him didn't seem too badly off in terms of finances. Any money for Kathee...

"Besides," he smiled as patronisingly as he could manage, "I do nothing without a price."

[Silvarn]

Silvarn smiled nastily. "Of course. I should have figured as such."

The impertinence of the whelp. Does he not know it is rude to stare? Scorcahr whined, then offered happily, Shall I break his will, master?

"No. He intrigues me." Silvarn mused aloud.

Please? It would be ever so much fun.

Silvarn ignored the demon's pleading and continued, "You see, my alchemical experiments are...what is the word? Unhealthy. I require...unique reagents. You seem to have a natural talent for procuring such items. A talent I need. I am willing to pay you well for your services. A weekly payment, as well as a commission on every finished product I sell. So long as you acquire the necessary supplies in a timely fashion. I am also willing to purchase whatever supplies you may need."

Silvarn's smile lost some venom, becoming a shade more pleasant. "Do we have an agreement, or are there other terms you wish to haggle about?"

[Kinetic Asparagus]

"No. He intrigues me."

As soon as Alaric realised to whom the stranger was speaking - himself - his mind was absolutely set. He would not work for a madman.

Of course, his mind changed as much as his place of residence. A steady pay? He earned enough as it was... usually. It would be useful, though. He might even get to see Kathee again in the near future. But how much would the pay be? And exactly what would this man be looking for?

A comission? That'd take some haggling. At a later date. Paid supplies? That could - and would - be milked dry. Surely the stranger wouldn't've taken time to follow him if he wasn't actually needed for this... alchemy...

Was it really alchemy? Was it something slightly less below the belt? Of course, illegalities had never bothered Alaric before but he'd at least like to be informed of what was going on.

Eventually it was his gut instinct that made up his mind for him.

"I can leave when I please. You need not know of the origin of certain supplies should I not wish to share them. I answer to you on a professional level only. These conditions are nonnegotiable." His tone was sharp, warranting no questions, but it softened slightly as he continued. "Treat me respectfully and I'll never give you reason to doubt."

He thrust out his gloved hand. "Alaric Arafachnan. Do we have an agreement, or are there other terms you wish to haggle about?" he smirked.

[Silvarn]

Oh, he is cheeky. Scorcahr growled, I like him. Reminds me of myself as a young demon.

Silvarn mulled over Alaric's "non-negotiable" terms.

The bit about answering only a "professional level" worries me. Scorcahr traditionally cut in.

"Nothing we cannot handle." Silvarn silenced the demon.

Silvarn's judging roved over the boy's frame once again.

Is this the best decision? Scorcahr whined.

"I thought you would enjoy a little danger."

Yes, but -- What am I getting so worked up about? I could break the boy in an instant. the demon leered.

Silvarn's sour expression became an entire shade more pleasant and extended his own hand forward. "Silvarn Grey-Eyes."

Scorcahr hissed from within Silvarn's mind, but the mage chose to ignore the demon.

"I believe we have come to an accord." he finished, clasping the boy's hand then swiftly releasing it. He fished around a pocket hidden in one of long, wide sleeves, finally pulling out a scrap of paper with a look of triumph.

"Commit this location to memory." Silvarn held the blank paper up to Alaric expectantly. Before the boy could complain, thin grey calligraphy seemingly bled from within the paper, spelling out an exact address within the city, an abandoned blacksmith's workshop.

When the lad looked like he had the address memorized, Silvarn banished in a flash of bright grey flame, leaving only a puff of smoke that dissipated into the tavern smog. None but the two conspirators noticed the event.

"I expect you there at noon tomorrow. If you value your health, knock first and announce yourself." with an imperial grace, Silvarn stood and turned for the door in one swift motion.

[Kinetic Asparagus]

"Nothing we cannot handle."

See, that would've made sense if he wasn't so passive about it, Alaric thought. It wasn't as though it was directed at himself but it certainly wasn't a continuation of the conversation.

"I thought you would enjoy a little danger."

Again. It would make sense if not for the tone. Perhaps this isn't his native tongue, Alaric mused, his eyes narrowing slightly. It could so easily be a reference to the fact that the birthplace of "the supplies" might be questionable... but it just didn't... fit.

He wasn't really listening very hard when Silvarn finally introduced himself. At least not to what he said. He paid very careful attention to the intonation of his words... but everything was fitting in nicely now. It made no sense.

He'd have to be careful.

I'll have to be very, very careful, Alaric thought as he watched the parchment disappear. So much for magic not becoming a factor in this... arrangement.

First steady job I've had in years and it's with a mage. A mage. Just my luck...

xXx

This was it. The old blacksmith's. Didn't seem particularly grand, certainly not the location Alaric would've associated with Silvarn Grey-Eyes. Silvarn Grey-Eyes. What a name. His real one? I wonder.

Alaric's eyes drifted upwards. The sun was just slightly too low in the sky for it to be noon. Leaning forwards, he used considerable levels of force to pull his ridiculously heavy boots over Aodh's back, slowly lowering himself onto the gravelly rocks so as not to make too much noise.

Sword in scabbard, hand on hilt, he rapped on the door twice. "Alaric Arafachnan for he who calls himself Silvarn Grey-Eyes." He leant back onto the doorframe, ankles crossed in a careful display of nonchalence. In reality he was strangely nervous, mainly because he disliked knowing he was up against somebody who was potentially infinitely more powerful than he. Physical prowess was nothing compared to a force that could fell you from afar, and the scraps of magic Alaric had ever managed to summon up hadn't ever amounted to much. The potential was probably there but he just didn't like the feeling it gave him so he had simply ignored it.

Possibly with serious stupidity, he mused, glancing up at the sun again. It didn't do to well to make business with a mage. He much preferred to steer clear.

What the hell have I gotten myself into now?

[Silvarn]

Silvarn spent the rest of the day rounding up future "associates" with Scorcahr's aid. More than a few expert alchemists had been shunned by good fortune and had been kicked to their curb with only their clothes, talents, and bad reputations. Each needed only the suggestion of having their old fame restored, and they became putty in the mage's hand. By the end of the day, five certified alchemists, five more journeymen, and a handful of grunts had been conned into joining Silvarn's merry pursuit of knowledge.

"Your services will not be required for some time," Silvarn informed those who agreed, "I shall alert you when they are needed." With that vague message, he left them to fend for themselves, retreating to the claustrophobic comfort of his workshop.

***

Electric blue liquid bubbled in a beaker, heated by black flame.

The cosmos is greater than sky. Scorcahr answered Silvarn's unasked question.

"Correct. Then..."

The Philtre of Aether should be added to the Elixir of Nox, not the other way around.

"Precisely, however..."

Irony has run rampant. We have depleted our stores of the Nectar of Echoes.

"Then we have this one chance to make the combination stabilize. Perhaps luck will be on our side today."

The mage-turned-alchemist examined the beaker containing the Elixir of Nox, a jet-black liquid with bits of shining material, taking note of its exact volume. Using a glove crafted from twilight magic, he picked up the beaker with the electric blue fluid, the Philtre of Aether, and poured in almost exactly half the contents to the Elixir of Nox. Almost.

One more drop will make the balance perfectly equal. Scorcahr affirmed with impatient anxiety.

"Yes, one..." he tipped the beaker slowly, "last..." the liquid hesitantly peeked over the edge, "drop..."

Then, two knocks at the door ruined everything. Silvarn's hand twitched in surprise, sending the cautious drop into the mixture and one into the side of the beaker. Silvarn's eyes went wide with shock and Scorcahr screamed in his demonic tongue. They both knew Silvarn could not touch the drop without risk of destroying the mixture. The drop of Philtre began evaporating upon contact with the air, causing only the tiniest part of a drop to actually join the mixture.

Both mage and demon braced themselves for a horrid explosion; but, instead, the mixture became all black, yet radiated a midnight blue, visible only because of the darkness within the shop. Without thinking, Silvarn slammed a large switch on the wall, activating an instrument that fired a continuous stream of electricity at the mixture. In exactly one hour, the Gift of Heavens would be stable indefinitely. They would spend another month creating the Nectar of Echoes to reproduce their efforts with little trouble.

A month, if we were alone. Scorcahr reminded his host.

Silvarn's ancient eyes darted over to the only door in the establishment. A beneficial mistake. Of course. Only something that cosmically profound could combine the skies with the farthest of reaches of the cosmos. Perhaps Silvarn would have to be easy on his new employee in return for his unintentional aid. Perhaps.

When Silvarn opened the door, he first sought the sun's position the sky. Of course. Midday was when the sun aligned with the center of the universe. Then he looked his thief.

"You are on time" he stated with only the mildest implication of surprise.

[Kinetic Asparagus]

"You are on time."

Alaric glaced sideways, and raised his eyebrows. "True. Well observed."

Aodh whinnied and hoofed at the ground, a clear signal of discomfort. Alaric noted this with amusement - Aodh was usually about right about people, even if he'd never had any contact with them. And the alchemist certainly had a strange look on his face, plenty to alarm the poor stallion. "My horse doesn't like you," he stated matter-of-factly, smirking a little. "He thinks you're suspicious."

Alaric didn't wait for an invitation to slip past Silvarn - with considerable agility, his "employer" was blocking most of the entrance - into the old workshop. "Dark in here..." he muttered to himself.

"What do you want?" he threw over his shoulder at Silvarn, still waiting for his eyes to adjust to the new light levels. That might've been a bit rude, he mused. Probably, another part of his mind replied, but High Kings you'd better establish yourself before you start being gentlemanly.

The first part snorted in agreement.

[Silvarn]

Both mage and demon sputtered in indignation, first at the cheeky remark about accuracy, then simply waltzing into the establishment.

You are right, Scorcahr mused, seething, he does move with a certain grace.

Silvarn bit his lip, swallowed his pride, and shut the door on the outside world. The sound of the door coming to reminded him, with morbid satisfaction, of a mausoleum being closed. Inside, the perfect tranquility would not be disturbed by the pointless passage of time on the outside.

"Do not touch anything." Silvarn growled, his voice dripping with venom. He brushed by his employee, leaving faint wisps of grey mist where their clothes made contact, indiscernible in the poor lighting. The mage checked on the progress of the Gift of Heavens. All was well.

For now. Scorcahr added with pessimistic glee.

"Now, then..." Silvarn began as he rummaged through the pockets in his sleeves, searching for something.

Top drawer on the left. Scorcahr groaned. Silvarn's eyes rolled on their own volition, but the mage caught the gesture. What would you ever do without me?

"You are absolutely correct; I am helpless on my own." the mage opened the target drawer, retrieved a thick scroll, then slammed it shut again. He let the scroll loose, sending parchment cascading down to the floor. He mulled over the list of items, then tore the scroll neatly in half width-wise, producing two identical sheets.

"Here." the mage commanded, holding out the sheet in his left hand to the young thief. "These are the items you are to retrieve and the locations where they are kept. The means by which you procure them are of no concern to me, so long as you do not make yourself a target for the local authorities. And," his already dour tone became stone-cold, "I forbid you from taking anyone's life. Injure them, maim them, hurt their feelings if you must."

Silvarn shifted toward the Gift of Heavens, the electricity's flickering light giving half his face a sinister appearance. "If you do kill anyone, or if you interrupt my work with a little vigilante justice...well, let your imagination enlighten you."

[Kinetic Asparagus]

SLAM.

The door thumped shut and Alaric was immediately set on edge. He had quickly established that said the sole entrance was also the only exit; he much disliked being trapped in a space such as this.

He could barely keep from shuddering when Silvarn passed him, so close they actually brushed shoulders. The amount of tension in his upper torso and arms was nearly enough to induce cramping - he made a conscious effort to relax, circling his head in an attempt to loosen off his neck a little.

"You are absolutely correct; I am helpless on my own."

Another completely out-of-the-blue remark. Perhaps the fumes from his glowing concoctions had done something to his brain.

The sheet of parchment he was handed was barely readable in the low light, but Alaric could just about figure out what each item was. More to the point, he knew most of what they were, and the rest could probably be deduced from his various sources between Tamasha and the Keremin border.

Ferramest was very near the border. Very near. If he could slip into Keremin for even one night he could see Kathee...

But that would be impossible. Eighteen was no age to be wandering over into a country of conscription on a mere whim. He would have to be patient.

But still. Some of these locations seemed to lend themselves to a little international trip, and some of the other ingredients and objects on the list could easily be found directly along the road, no matter what Silvarn made out. The nomad knew Valear very well - or, the Western half, at least - and had particular knowledge of all things "underground". And he had found things for "alchemists" before, but the kind who fancy themselves as great creators but in reality mix a bunch of strange-sounding ingredients together and either blow themselves up or turn frogs into slightly bigger frogs.

He barely caught his employer's last few words, but something registered somewhere. "Do you remember," he murmured slowly, still surveying the list, "one particular term in which I demanded I answer to you on a professional level only?" His gaze flicked to the mage's half-lit face. Those eyes... they were stone cold. Alaric almost flinched, but caught himself. "Should somebody's death be a necessity for my personal decisions I will not be making my excuses to you."

His tone took on a much more businesslike quality as he continued, running his eyes over the list again. "Half of these I can find in much more convenient locations than the ones you've recommended." Again he met the alchemist's gaze. "Of course, providing their origin is of no real concern. It'll take me much less time if I choose my own... suppliers..." He trailed away, considering.

"Seven days to acquire, five days travelling." And two for Kathee. "Two for... recreational purposes," he finished, grinning wickedly, the insinuations very far from the truth. "My way."

[Silvarn]

"You drive a hard bargain, boy." Silvarn growled with clenched teeth, feigning amusement.

Please, let me break him. Scorcahr whined. He will be so much easier to handle when he cannot resist.

Silvarn closed his eyes, bringing a sweet relief to their weariness. He tuned the demon out, much to his surprise, and simply floated in blissful oblivion for a moment. How wonderful it would be, to simply not be...

He returned to the world with a start. Had he actually fallen asleep? No matter, he would have time to rest -- later. He ground his teeth as he contemplated his next words.

"You are correct," he finally admitted. "you answer to me only on a professional level. So long as your personal indiscretion for life does not interfere with my profession, I shall have no qualms.

"Furthermore, you may have your two days, after you return those items to me. Blue Blazes, depending on the speed and competency of your co-workers, you may as well take an entire week off."

An epiphany struck him like the proverbial thunderbolt, actually causing him to recoil from the impact of the revelation. "Blue Blazes! Of course, that's it!" he shouted with exasperation, wrenching a tattered tome off a shelf. He rifled through the pages, finally tapping a passage with one long, supple finger, muttering under his breath, "Yes, here it is: 'Flame permeates all. Fires connect this world with that of the demon realm. However, mundane fire can only extend a link from the mortal realm to that of the demon. Only the Blue Blazes, fire native only to the demon realm, can finish the connection and bridge the gap.'" the mage let out a sigh of triumph.

"About your business, boy." he fired at Alaric, "There is no time to waste." He turned back to the tome and tenderly caressed the page, "Home is calling."