Fendrel grabbed his worn leather bag, filling it with various tools and reagents - mostly for show. If his suspicions proved correct, he already knew exactly what poison coursed through the noble girl's veins. After all, he'd sold something similar just yesterday.
These people seriously work fast, it has been barely a day.
They waded through progressively cleaner streets. Fendrel watched over the next hour as rotting buildings gave way to wooden and then stone facades with manicured gardens. The Blackthorn estate rose before them, its black iron gates bearing the family's thorned rose emblem.
The servant led Fendrel through a narrow door at the back of the estate. Even the kitchen's worn stone floor gleamed cleaner than his own workbench. Copper pots hung in neat rows, their surfaces polished to mirror shine. The air carried hints of fresh bread and roasted meat rather than the chemical stench he'd grown accustomed to.
"Wait here." The man disappeared through an archway, leaving Fendrel to fidget among the kitchen staff.
A young maid cast suspicious glances his way while kneading dough. Fendrel tugged at his stained sleeve, painfully aware of how out of place he looked.
I should ask for couple of those pots as part of the payment.
After what felt like an eternity, two guards in Blackthorn livery appeared. Without a word, they escorted him up a narrow servant's staircase and through a maze of corridors. The worn stone gave way to plush carpets that muffled their footsteps.
They halted before an ornate door. One guard grabbed Fendrel's arm, fingers digging into muscle.
"Try anything stupid and you'll wish we'd just killed you." The guard's breath reeked of garlic. "We will make sure you suffer."
The second guard pushed open the door. Inside, a young woman lay still on a canopied bed, her skin ashen against silk sheets. An older woman sat beside her, sewing patterns into piece of cloth.
Fendrel inched toward the bed, the older woman's eyes tracking his every movement like a hawk stalking prey. His finger stretched out, brushing against the girl's pale arm. The woman jerked forward with a scowl, but stopped herself.
[STATUS]
NAME: Unknown
CLASS: Unknown
RACE: Human
ACTIVE EFFECTS: Silkslither Toxin poisoning - stage 1/3
His gut twisted with recognition. He had brewed it barely a day earlier. These people worked far too quickly with his concoctions. Yet he found himself at a loss for what to do next.
Fendrel kept his expression neutral as he examined the girl, though his insides churned. Her breathing came shallow and irregular, it was obvious she was poisoned, but he had no idea what real examination entailed. He pressed two fingers against her wrist, counting heartbeats while his mind struggled with what to do next.
The older woman's eyes burned into him as he worked. Her fingers never stopped moving, needle flashing through the fabric with mechanical precision. The guards' presence at the door added to the weight pressing down on him.
He pulled a small glass vial from his bag, along with a thin metal implement. "I'll need a blood sample to determine the exact nature of the poison."
The woman's lips pressed into a thin line, but she gave a curt nod. Fendrel's hands remained steady as he pricked the girl's finger, collecting several drops of blood in the vial. The crimson liquid swirled against the glass, holding secrets he already knew too well.
"I can create an antidote," he said, corking the vial. "But I'll need my laboratory and equipment."
The needle paused mid-stitch. "If you're attempting to deceive us, understand that there is nowhere in this city you could hide." Her voice carried the chill of a winter wind. "We will find you, and death will seem a mercy compared to what follows."
Fendrel nodded, quickly packing his stuff with careful movements, aware of every eye in the room. The guards' hands never strayed from the hilts of their weapons. He gave a slight bow, not trusting himself to speak, and backed toward the door.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The journey through the mansion's corridors felt endless. Only when the iron gates clanged shut behind him did he allow his shoulders to slump, expelling a shaky breath into the evening air.
Fendrel's boots scraped against cobblestones as he made his way through the darkening streets. His mind went over the components needed for the antidote. He focused inward, [You know the drill little guy, give me something useful again]
When no new message showed he cursed under his breath.
He opened his codex instead, going over the recipes, the Bitterroot Tonic stood out. That weird combination of healing and poison. The ingredients for Xytherium poison danced through his thoughts - dralk weed, nightshade essence, bone ash.
They were part of the tonic, components that formed something deadly. Then the petaline and bluecap mushrooms, whole stack of swampbriar vines and vial of blackbriar sap.
His fingers drummed against his thigh as he walked. The combination nagged at him, pieces refusing to fit together. What if he substituted the silkslither cocoon fibers? The crystallized widowvine sap might interact with the healing properties...
Could it really be that simple?
Fendrel's steps slowed as he approached his workshop door. A sliver of light leaked through the gap beneath - he hadn't left any candles burning. His hand trembled as he pressed against the weathered wood, hinges creaking as the door swung inward.
A cloaked figure stood at his workbench, examining the collection of bottles and vials. Broken jaw insignia on their coat caught the candlelight, coiled around their shoulder clasp.
"You've kept me waiting." The voice carried an edge of annoyance. Different from his previous visitor - higher pitched, more cultured. "I don't wait for others. Especially not in shithole like this."
Fendrel's shoulders tensed. He shut the door behind him, blocking any prying eyes from the street. "My apologies. I had an... urgent matter to attend to."
"More urgent than a meeting you requested?" The figure turned, hood tilting. Shadows obscured their features, but disapproval radiated from their posture. "Our time is valuable, alchemist."
"I didn't realize we had arranged a meeting for today." Fendrel moved to his workbench, positioning himself between the stranger and his more dangerous creations.
"Arrangements change." Their gloved fingers drummed against the wooden surface. "Your last batch proved quite effective. We are interested in more. Ideally more then just one bottle."
The parasite twisted inside him, a reminder of his own deadline looming. He needed those ingredients for himself more at this point.
"That's a significant amount of materials." Fendrel kept his voice steady. "The components aren't easy to acquire, especially in bulk."
"We can provide the funds." They produced a heavy coin purse, letting it thud against the workbench. "Along with suitable compensation for your efforts."
Fendrel stared at the purse, calculating the weight in silver against his dwindling supplies. His fingers itched to reach for it, but he held back. "It can be done."
The parasite squirmed, reminding him of his other purpose. He cleared his throat. "Actually, I wanted to discuss something else. I've been developing new healing formulations. Specialized tonics with... unique properties."
"Healing potions?" The hood tilted, voice dripping with skepticism. "The market's flooded with those."
"Not like these." Fendrel moved to his shelf, selecting a crystal vial filled with amber liquid. "They incorporate elements of the poisons you're interested in. Creates resistance effects, counteracts toxins. Could be valuable to your... associates."
The figure's posture shifted, interest replacing disdain. They took the vial, holding it up to the candlelight. "Poison resistance? This is one of the ingredients for it?"
"Among other effects. The formulation needs refinement, but I though it could be interesting." Fendrel watched them examine the liquid. "I could have a batch ready within-"
A heavy knock echoed through the room. The figure dropped into a crouch, knife appearing in their hand. The blade caught the candlelight as they pressed against the workbench.
A heavy knock echoed through the workshop. The figure's hand shot to their belt, drawing a curved dagger in one fluid motion. They pressed Fendrel against the workbench, blade hovering near his throat.
"Who knows you're here?" they hissed.
"No one!" Fendrel raised his hands. "I swear, I didn't tell anyone!"
Another knock, more insistent this time.
"If you've betrayed us to the guard..." The blade pressed closer.
"I wouldn't! I need this arrangement as much as you do." Fendrel's heart hammered against his ribs. "I have no idea who that could be."
The figure's grip tightened on the dagger. "For your sake, that better be true."
Fendrel's hand trembled as he reached for the door handle, the hooded figure melting into the shadows behind his workbench. He cracked the door open, revealing three travel-worn individuals. Their leather armor bore the scuffs and patches of frequent use, and the scent of forest soil clung to their boots.
"Master Solinar?" The tallest of them squinted at his disheveled appearance. Sweat beaded on Fendrel's forehead, and his collar hung askew. "We have your herbs."
"Yes, yes, that's me." Fendrel tried to block the doorway with his body. "If you'll just hand over the-"
The burly man shouldered past him into the workshop. "Not so fast. We trudged through three days of swamp for these herbs. You're going to inspect them now."
"That's really not necessary-"
But the other two had already followed him in, tracking mud across his floor. The third member, a lean man with a bow strapped to his back, whistled as he surveyed the cramped laboratory.
"Nice setup you got here." He picked up a sealed vial, but Fendrel snatched it away.
"Please don't touch anything."
The scarred woman dumped a wrapped bundle onto his workbench. The earthy aroma of fresh herbs filled the air as she unwrapped it. But before Fendrel could examine the contents, the archer's gaze swept the room, then stopped. "Oh, hello there."
Fendrel's stomach dropped. In his chair sat the hooded figure, now clearly a woman with long dark hair obscured half her face. She had wrapped herself in one of his spare work robes, lounging with calculated casualness, but her posture radiated irritation.