Alaric's fingers drummed against the polished surface of his desk. "Only two people know of this. The head of the house and me. The moment you accepted our proposal, you agreed to work for us. Which means you will produce what we need."
Fendrel's mouth opened but no sound came out. The parasite inside him writhed, responding to his spike of anxiety. He swallowed hard, fighting down both sensations.
"Your silence speaks volumes." Alaric's face hardened into sharp angles, his cultured accent taking on an edge of steel. "You're not in a position to refuse. We can protect you, but we can as easily throw you out. Do we have an understanding?"
Fendrel nodded, his neck stiff. The chair beneath him felt like a trap ready to snap shut. Sweat trickled down his back despite the cool air of the office.
"You have a list of what we need in the place we prepared for you. Questions?" Alaric's quill scratched against parchment, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"I can go as I please right?" Fendrel's voice came out rougher than intended.
Alaric didn't look up from his writing. "Of course, but the moment you leave our property you are on your own. The guards aren't going to intervene anymore."
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Fendrel's footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as he made his way through the winding streets. The new laboratory waited at the edge of the lower district - a mockery of freedom. His fingers traced the rough stone walls of the buildings he passed, mind racing through his options.
The parasite was getting more agitated inside him, a constant reminder of his own deadline. He couldn't maintain this pace forever - Ironmire, church, cabal and now House Blackthorn's demands.
A group of city guards passed by, their armor gleaming in the morning sun. Fendrel pressed himself against the wall, letting them pass. Their presence sparked an idea. The church's growing influence, the gangs below, House Blackthorn's slipping grip - all of them wanted control. All of them needed his skills.
He ducked into an alley, leaning against the cool stone. If he played this right, he could set them against each other. Let them fight while he slipped through the cracks. The church's struggle with the gangs, the nobles' fear of the church, the gangs' resentment of the nobles - it should be possible to exploit.
His fingers drummed against his thigh as he considered the risks. One wrong move and he'd end up dead in a ditch. But staying under House Blackthorn's thumb wasn't an option either.
Fendrel slumped against the wall, the stone cool against his back. His darting over his status window, scanning the familiar numbers and levels. Each brew increased his skill, pushed him closer to mastery, but that thought brought no comfort now.
The higher his level climbed, the more the parasite grew with him. It wasn't just about survival anymore - each improvement made the creature stronger too. His fingers clenched into fists. He'd been so focused on staying alive, he hadn't considered what mastery might mean.
A flick of his wrist brought up his quest log. His heart spiked as he read the entries.
[QUESTS]
Ingredient Collection 1 - Done (Failed delivery)
Ingredient Collection 2 - Done (Failed delivery)
Research Plants Collection 1 - Done (Guild delivered)
Failed delivery. The words burned in his vision. "What does it mean? I need to go to the guild."
Fendrel pushed open the heavy wooden door of his new laboratory. Morning light filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The space was bigger than his old setup, and the equipment gleamed with newness - fresh glass beakers, pristine brass scales, and rows of labeled ingredient jars lined the shelves.
His head throbbed as he checked parasite status.
[PARASITE STATUS]: Next dose required in 3 hours
The numbers pulsed in his vision. He rubbed his temples, fighting the urge to curl up in the corner and sleep. The previous night's move had drained what little energy he had left.
"At least they didn't skimp on supplies," he muttered, running his fingers over the collection of ingredients. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling rafters, their sharp scents mixing with the metallic tang of mineral salts. Everything he needed for Venomshroud and Witherfang sat ready between the shelves.
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The precision of it all made his skin crawl. Each ingredient was present to at least some degree. Silkslither cocoon fibers, widowvine sap, shadecap spores - they'd provided exactly what his recent formulas required.
"How much do they know?"
He picked up a jar of bloodthorn resin, examining the red-tinted glass. "How long have they been watching?" The question hung in the stale air. The church's interference was obvious enough, but the Blackthorns' knowledge of his work went deeper than simple observation.
The timer in his head ticked away as he sorted through the supplies. Three hours wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough. He couldn't afford to waste energy wondering about the Blackthorns' information network.
Fendrel measured out the ingredients for Witherfang Resin with practiced precision. His hands moved through the familiar motions while his mind raced. The bloodthorn resin caught the light as he added it to the mixture, casting red reflections across the workspace.
"No point in being careful now." He increased the heat under the cauldron, watching the mixture bubble faster than his usual careful approach. The ingredients merged together, taking on an amber hue.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Witherfang Resin brewed successfully. Residual amount: 40%
Without pause, he started the next batch. The crushed ashroot filled the air with its sharp scent as he added it to the fresh mixture. His movements grew more aggressive, more desperate.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Witherfang Resin brewed successfully. Residual amount: 80%
The third batch followed immediately. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked through the ingredients. The spiderling venom hissed as it hit the hot surface.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Witherfang Resin brewed successfully. Residual amount: 20%
Switching to Venomshroud Poison, Fendrel grabbed the silkslither cocoon fibers. The strands gleamed like silver in his hands before disappearing into the bubbling mixture. The widowvine sap followed, then the shadecap spores and venomlily seeds.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Venomshroud Poison brewed successfully. Residual amount: 60%, 20%
Two more batches of Venomshroud followed, leaving dark residue coating the cauldron's bottom. His eyes fell on the pile of coins on the table - deposit from the previous night. Each gold piece represented a promise, a commitment he couldn't escape.
With a grunt, he switched to brewing healing potions. The afternoon sun crept across the floor as he worked, marking time's passage. As noon faded, a message flashed across his vision:
[NEW RECIPE PROPOSED (Xytril Nematode)]: Gravebloom Tincture
"You think I'm completely dumb?" Fendrel snarled at the empty air. He grabbed the reinforcer brewing in front of him and cranked up the heat, watching as the mixture began to smoke.
[CRAFTING FAILED]: Incorrect temperature
Fendrel spread the vials across his workbench, their contents catching the afternoon light. The Reinforcer's amber glow mocked him from its position at the end of the line. His eyes fixed on the recipe notification hanging in his vision - Gravebloom Tincture.
"If this is another unique recipe then it means I'm about to level up again from this." The parasite timer still had five hours remaining since he drank the dose in the morning. "I can't avoid it, but I should at least save myself some time before I get new insane requirements on the next level."
He scanned the ingredient list, his lips moving as he counted off each component. The quantities made his head spin - forty grams of Bluecap Mushroom and the nightshade essence was insane.
Ingredients:
* Witherbloom Mushroom Powder, 20 grams
* Ash of shadecap spores, 10 grams
* Nightshade essence, 13 drops
* Essence of blackwillow ash, 9 drops
* Crushed Bluecap Mushroom, 40 grams
"Yeah simple enough list with crazy ratios again." The memory of the Reinforcer's unexpected value made him wonder. If the reinforcer was valued by gold what about Tincture?
"If this new concoction could fetch a similar or even higher price I should talk with people in Maiden's Kiss", though what it did remained a mystery. The Darksap Draught recipe cluttered his codex too, another unused formula so far.
At least he had the proper equipment now. The Layered Infusion apparatus sat ready, its glass chambers gleaming. All he needed were the materials.
"Guild then, and after that the herbalists." He stood, gathering his coin purse. "I could try the upper district market, I have bloody gold now."
The Guild hall bustled with more activity than usual. Adventurers crowded around the bulletin boards while others huddled in groups, comparing notes and gear. Fendrel drew curious glances as he waited in line, his worn clothes standing out among the well-equipped warriors and mages.
The receptionist's eyebrows shot up when he reached her desk. "Well, look who's not dead after all."
Fendrel blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The adventuring party that completed your request found your place torn apart. With you nowhere in sight, we assumed the worst - another alchemist dead in some back alley."
Heat crept up his neck. He shifted his weight, conscious of the eyes on him. "My orders?"
She shook her head, copper hair catching the light. "Still here. I take it we don't need to look into it?"
"Just had a rough few days. Everything's fine now." The smile he managed felt brittle on his face.
Something flickered across her features - concern, maybe suspicion. She turned and disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with a stack of wrapped packages.
"Payment?" She held out her hand expectantly.
Fendrel counted out the coins and potions they'd agreed upon, then added five silver pieces. "For their trouble."
"That should smooth some ruffled feathers. Macer wasn't pleased about doing charity work." She logged the transaction in her ledger. "Need to post any new requests?"
He nodded, accepting the blank form she slid across the counter. The familiar categories stared back at him as he began filling it out. His hand hesitated over the ingredients list. Essence of bonebloom flowers and shredded deathvine - both strictly controlled substances. He'd have to find those through other channels.
The form trembled slightly as he wrote, his fingers still unsteady from the morning's brewing session. Around him, the guild hall's activity continued - boots scraping on stone floors, weapons being compared, deals being struck. All of it seemed distant, separated from him by an invisible wall of secrets and lies.