Fendrel shifted in his seat, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. "You mention your people worked out a deal with the Ironmire to keep me alive. Seems it didn't quite work as intended."
Her posture stiffened. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"You are pushing your luck, Solinar. My position has been compromised, and I have no interest in entertaining you."
His fingers twitched against the workbench. Would it be better to just kill her?
One touch - that's all it would take. The mud claw skill would end her in seconds. Or any of the poisons scattered across his workspace... just a slight graze against her skin...
Fendrel forced his hand to relax. The woman across from him, despite her cold demeanor, she had helped him when he needed it the most. Even now, she was warning him rather than forcing him to obey.
He leaned back, deliberately moving away from the poisons on his table. "You seem to know my name and everything about me, while I know next to nothing about all of you people." He met her gaze. "What's your name, at least? What do you do for the Cabal?"
Her green eyes locked onto his, sharp and calculating. The silence stretched between them as she studied his face, weighing something in her mind. Her gloved fingers drummed once against the table's surface - the only sign of consideration in her otherwise perfectly controlled demeanor.
She sighed, placing both hands flat on the table. "You can call me Eryndra. As far as you're concerned, I handle your interactions with the Cabal."
Fendrel traced her lips with his eyes, studying her posture. Something flickered across her face - a moment of uncertainty that didn't match her earlier confidence. The parasite inside him stirred, heightening his senses, making him more aware of the subtle shifts in her demeanor.
This is first.
"Why help me?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them. "You've gone beyond what any handler would do. The help from last time, the warning just now..." He leaned forward. "What's in it for you?"
Eryndra's fingers twitched against the wooden surface. The mask of cold indifference cracking, revealing a brief moment of surprise at his directness. She glanced at the door, then back at him, her shoulders dropping a fraction.
"Your abilities are... unique." She spoke each word with careful precision. "The Cabal values special assets, but few understand what you're actually creating. Your failures included." Her lip curled slightly. "Most would have disposed of you after the Blackthorns mess. I saw an opportunity."
"An opportunity?"
"The Cabal's hierarchy is rigid, but not unchangeable. Those who contribute value rise." Her eyes gleamed with sudden intensity. "I've vouched for your potential, Solinar. Every success of yours strengthens my position. Every failure..." She let the words hang.
Fendrel stared at the woman. She wasn't just protecting him - she was investing in him. Using his skills as leverage for her own advancement.
"Don't make me regret it." Her voice hardened. "If you keep failing, I will not help you indefinitely."
Eryndra pulled a folded parchment from her coat and placed it on the table. The paper's edges were crisp, marked with the Cabal's symbol - a broken jawbone.
Fendrel unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents. The list stretched down the page in neat columns, each item marked with quantities that made his throat go dry. His fingers traced the first entry - paralytic agents in volumes beyond his current stock.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the fabric coming away damp. The workshop's usual comfortable dimness felt stifling.
"Three hundred vials of Silkslither Toxin?" His voice cracked. "That's... that's more cocoon fibers than I've seen in my life."
"Keep reading." Eryndra's boots scraped against the floor as she got up from the chair.
The list continued. Corrosive compounds, lethal poisons in quantities that would drain his supplies dry. At the bottom, a demand for healing potions and reinforcers that made his head spin.
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"The healing potions..." He looked up. "That's enough to supply an army."
"Our usual sources have become... unreliable."
Fendrel slumped in his chair, the wooden frame creaking under his weight.
The parchment trembled in his other hand. Each item represented days or even weeks of work, rare ingredients he'd need to source, processes that couldn't be rushed. His current supplies wouldn't cover a tenth of what they wanted.
"I don't know if I can make all of these." He dropped the list onto his workbench. "It's too much. The ingredients alone..."
The scope overwhelmed him. Between keeping the parasite at bay with his own brews, maintaining his cover with the blackthorns, and now this... The walls of his small workshop seemed to close in.
Eryndra leaned forward, her shadow falling across the parchment. "Find a way.
Eryndra's lips curved into a thin smile as she watched Fendrel's hands shake while holding the parchment. The dim light from the workshop's windows cast long shadows across her face.
"The Cabal finds itself in a delicate position." She traced a finger along the edge of his workbench. "Our war with the Ironmire stretches our resources thin, and the Church's increased pressure leaves us little room to maneuver."
Fendrel's stomach churned.
"And what happens if I can't meet these demands?"
"The Cabal is only as loyal as its profits." Her fingers drummed against the wooden surface. "Keep that in mind before you get any ideas."
The meaning behind her words hit him like a physical blow. They didn't care if the demands were impossible. He was just another resource to be used and discarded when it proved insufficient. To the Cabal, to the black market contact, even to Eryndra herself - he was expendable.
She turned toward the door, her boots clicking against the floorboards.
"Eryndra." His voice came out stronger than he expected. "Before you come next time, contact me first."
She paused, her hand on the door handle. A short laugh escaped her lips. "You're a funny man, Fendrel Solinar. Each time I meet you, you seem more bold." She glanced over her shoulder. "Keep it up and you might get a say in all of this one day."
The door closed behind her with a soft click. Fendrel sat at his workbench, staring at the grimoire lying among his tools and ingredients. Its pages held secrets - formulas and techniques that could change everything. Knowledge that could give him leverage, power beyond merely staying alive.
His fingers brushed against the worn leather cover. The book's mysteries called to him, promising answers. But each hour spent decoding its cryptic passages meant falling behind on his quotas, risking everything he'd built.
Fendrel's fingers traced the intricate diagrams in the grimoire, his gaze darting between the ancient pages and the rows of vials on his workbench. The crystal light caught the glass, creating prismatic patterns on the worn wood. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
"I should seriously do something about these people just walking in."
The thought crystallized into action. He snatched a vial of venomshroud poison from the shelf, its contents swirling with a subtle iridescence. The familiar weight settled in his palm as he moved through his workshop.
His footsteps echoed against the floorboards as he worked methodically. The poison dripped from his fingers onto the window frames, leaving no visible trace. Each door handle received a careful coating, the metal drinking in the deadly substance. The second chair - the one they always chose - got special attention along its armrests. Up the stairs he went, treating the handrail with precise strokes.
The empty vial clinked as he set it on a shelf. "Fuck them."
The grimoire waited on his workbench, its pages still open to the complex formulae he'd been studying. He settled back into his chair, pulling the text closer.
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Fendrel's eyes burned as he traced the intricate glyphs across the grimoire's yellowed pages. The night had slipped away, marked only by the gradual shift of shadows across his workshop floor. His fingers traced the delicate lines of an enchantment diagram, committing each curve to memory.
A stack of unfilled orders sat abandoned on the corner of his workbench. The Cabal's demands could wait. His mind felt sharper, clearer than it had in weeks.
As he studied the ancient text, new connections formed. Patterns emerged from what had once been incomprehensible scrawls. The parasite's influence seemed to unlock hidden meanings in the archaic symbols.
He reached for a vial of Distilled Nightwraith Distillate he'd prepared earlier. The liquid glowed with a soft yellow luminescence, dancing between his fingers. He'd brewed it hoping to find some peace, some escape from the constant pressure. Instead of dulling his senses, the concoction had provided interesting new effect.
[EFFECT]: You have been poisoned.
[EFFECT]: You have been drugged.
[STATUS]: You neutralized the poisoned effect.
[NEW PASSIVE SKILL]: Drug resistance 1
[STATUS]: You neutralized the Euphoric effect.
[EFFECT]: Mind enhanced level 1. Time remaining 2 hours
His thoughts crystallized, focusing with laser precision on the knowledge before him.
The parasites presence grew stronger with each page turned. Where before it had been an unwelcome invader, now it felt more like a lens, helping him perceive deeper layers of meaning in the grimoire's pages.
Fendrel paused, his hand hovering over the page. Nyssara's motives nagged at him. The story about magical illness research rang hollow. The complexity of these formulas, the depth of knowledge contained within - this went far beyond treating common ailments.
But the doubts faded as new insights bloomed in his mind. Each revelation pulled him deeper into the grimoire's mysteries. The parasite's influence merged with his own curiosity, driving him forward. The secrets hidden in these pages promised power, understanding - perhaps even control over his unwanted passenger.
His fingers traced another glyph, and understanding clicked into place like a key turning in a lock. He couldn't stop now, not when he was finally beginning to grasp the true scope of what lay before him.