Cold Bones, Warm Draughts [Imogen]

[Sivan]

20th of Frost, Year 121 Steel
Jacun's Alchemical Goods

An aristocratic Hytori and a red-robed old man were discussing something. It vacillated between good-humored pedantry to heated argument, which Sivan took to mean that they liked each other. With a thought to his sprites, they leapt into action, water coalescing and flying through the air in a serpentine stream, fire braiding through it so that it left a trail of steam behind. It coiled and climbed into the teapot the men shared, steeping a weaker encore to their first pot. He would make them another fresh one if they desired, but he tried to serve quietly. His wasn't an especially social temperament, so he liked to exist on the periphery when other people were socializing. It made him feel as though he were at least somewhat involved.

"Oh, ah—thank you, Master Sivan," said the elf.

"Apprentice Sivan. He's not a master yet."

"He's no apprentice with those spirits," he rejoined. "And he's a magus, not a waiter."

"Eh." Zef waved his hand dismissively as Sivan set a plate of biscuits down between the men. "He makes clever contracts with spirits to do his bidding. I wouldn't call that masterful. Thank you, Siv." When Zef shorted Sivan's name, the long i became a short i. Sivan didn't mind. He nodded. Zef was comfortable with Sivan's service, but the Hytori seemed strangely diffident for one who had been brought up with servants back in Sol'Valen.

"I'll wager he's more masterful with his magical contracts than you are with mesmerizing people into tolerating you," the elf said, sharp as a blade.

"Sheer power isn't everything, Val'Istra."

"Thank you for the lesson, Professor Mirlind."

The squabble quickly moved back to whatever topic they had been discussing previously and Sivan moved back into the main room of the apothecary and alchemy shop. The place was cluttered, but clean. He knew where everything was at this point.

Even so, he took everything in. There was a schedule for things here, and he knew what he would be doing after they closed for the evening, but sometimes things ran out of stock faster than anticipated and it was his responsibility to keep track of things.

[Imogen]

Imogen Ward had never liked the cold, but at this point she was seriously considering abandoning the Northlands altogether over the issue.

To her friend's credit, Carina had put up with a lot of complaining. The daily jokes about the anger of the gods (not even witty in their first rehearsal) she had borne without comment, and had done little more than remind Imogen that she had recommended heavier wear. Only once, when the dancer was recounting her stories of prior visits to Kalzasi, had she mentioned "There's an herbalist shop there", where Carina got supplies of cigarettes and cloves, and maybe she could find something there to take her mind off the damn climate.

Imogen, sometimes stubborn to a fault in small matters, had not asked her friend for the name of the shop. It was only later, wandering miserably through the Plaza of Jeweled Arches, that she spotted the little sign over a door reading "Jacun's" and recalled the place from tales of prior seasons. Although she couldn't think of any herb or potion- save, perhaps, alcohol- which would help keep someone warm in winter, she was willing to admit to herself that she hadn't paid all that much attention to her mother's discussions of such things as a child, and never bothered to stop by the alchemist's booth on her rare visits to the Railrunner's Market. Having assessed her own ignorance to her satisfaction, the Orkhan approached the shop and opened the door.

~

The interior of the shop was clean, orderly, aromatic in a way which made her sniff in surprise, and, above all, warm. That was a good sign- a disordered alchemist was like a disordered gunsmith, a danger to themselves and customers. But it was also good that there was so much stuff arrayed about; that would give Imogen a good excuse to waste time while ogling displays, time for feeling and life to return to her abused limbs.

She quickly spotted a young man looking her way, and decided that she might as well be direct.

“'Good day, is this the alchemist's shop? I'm looking for something to help me deal with this demonic winter trying to freeze my arms off.”

[Sivan]

Sivan's first response wouldn't have been helpful just then: she ought to have been wearing heavier clothes. While Common wasn't his first tongue, he had been in Kalzasi long enough to hear the differences in her pronunciation and cadences, so it was likely she came from somewhere else. He wasn't quite used to the winters of northern Karnor either, having grown up between Sol'Valen and Dalquor, but he had learned early on to invest in warm clothes for the winter. With his fire sprite still attentive, he gave it a silent command and it whizzed around her, not so close as to be alarming, but the spark of elemental fire made the air around her quite warm.

He offered an awkward, apologetic smile.

"This is Master Jacun's alchemical shop, yes," he said. His lips pursed in thought, thinking what he might brew for her that wouldn't take long. He had essential frostrylyth, which could be alchemized into a draught that would make her impervious to the cold, but it was quite an expensive base material. Magmatyte was too volatile, but pyrolyth was steadier and much less expensive.

"I can brew you a draught that will keep you warm. You would need a dose every couple of days, and it ought to last about three weeks. If it pleases you, we can make more when you run out." The problem with alchemy was the half-life of the created substance. If Jacun made it himself, he could make enough to last her several years and it would keep; not so his apprentice. But he didn't know how long she would be in the city, so perhaps one batch would be quite enough. Doing some quick maths in his head, he offered her a price that was fair, an equation that took into account the cost of materials and a labor rate for how much time he had spent preparing the elements and how long it would take to brew.

"It won't take too long to make. Much of the supplies are already prepared. You could sit in the next room and have some tea to warm up in the meantime."

[Imogen]

“'Really? And it'll work?”

Imogen stared at the little fire sprite circling her. She had seen conjured spirits before, both in the Sanctuaries and by the mages who paid for Sunsinger protection, but to watch one dance openly and merrily in the middle of a public shop still gave her a pang of... concern? Fear? Something adjacent to those emotions. As though the casual use of the magic was somehow unseemly, like accidentally dropping trou. Apparently there was no escaping some parts of your upbringing, no matter how much you fought to ignore them.

“'I'm returning south in about six weeks, I can come back in three.” She considers stopping there, but; “'I know it seems like I should just get a heavier coat, but I've tried that. Something about this climate makes my scales rise, and they've torn the last two greatcoats to shreds in days.”

Indeed, the Orkhan girl's scales were visible on her hands and neck. Generally light and layered like fish scales, they had swollen somewhat in size and darkened ever since she took the train out of Zaichaer, and the sharp edges had proven incompatible with woolens and fluff-filled coats. Thankfully her usual wear was light-wearing enough that it had escaped with nothing but a few small torn threads on the sides. This was not an entirely new phenomenon to Imogen, who had experienced minor skin issues of the sort while relocating Sanctuary in the past, but even at their worst, the wilds beyond the High City had never irritated her scales this badly.

“'Tea? Yes, thank you, yes, that's perfect. You're a mind-reader and a lifesaver.” In truth, Imogen was not a big proponent of tea, but at that moment she would have accepted a glass of hot mud and been grateful for it.

[Sivan]

"Effectiveness varies a bit from person to person," he admitted, "but the formula works."

Sivan had tried it himself and it certainly worked with elven physiology, though he wondered if a Siltori might be more resistant as they were to other magics. He considered her explanation thoughtfully.

"If you think you have a medical problem or an allergy of some sort, you ought to go to the healers at the Tranquil Gardens. There is a sizeable Okrhan population here in the city; they were here first if I remember Kalzasern history properly. So they should have experience with Orkhan ailments." His brow furrowed in a diffident half-smile. He liked to solve problems, but he wasn't a healer nor was he an expert on Orkhan bodies, so it was probably best to give her the information and let her decide what to do with it.

He motioned her to follow him and then he began to walk to the side room where the counter was set up to vend tea and other comestibles. There were a few armchairs and a handful of tables, one of which was still full of Zef and Laurevere, who looked up at the newcomer. The elf nodded politely and the human just looked curious.

"Do you have a preference for tea? Tisane? We also have cocoa if you prefer."

The entire wall behind the counter in that room was made up of large tins with many different types and blends of tea. There was a menu of what they had available written out, as well as a menu for tobacco and other blends. This was more specialized apothecary work than alchemy, but he supposed they had some overlap between them. But he wanted her warm and content while he went into the back to prepare her draughts for her.

[Imogen]

“'Allergy? I don't think that's it.” Imogen protested, “'I have a sister who's allergic to barley, doesn't do a thing to her scales. I'm certain it's just this chill. Has anyone surveyed that lake, checked it for evil spirits? Er- only joking, of course. Beg your pardon” Imogen directed this last comment to the fire-sprite, not certain if elemental spirits took offense to that sort of talk.

Following the alchemist to the side-room, Imogen was struck by the variety of teas on offer. Imogen took the largest seat offered to her, allowing herself to relax in the warmth and take in the pleasant smells of lavender and tea- thankfully, her nose was nothing like sharp enough to penetrate them. She returned both the elf's wave and the man's curious gaze, trying to remember where she'd seen red robes like that before. Perhaps one of the years she'd lived outside the High City with her mother? No- though her mother had regularly required the witches seeking sanctuary make wardrobe changes, she couldn't recall any who were stupid enough to come close to Zaichaer in garb like that. Well, it was no matter.

At Sivan's question, Imogen's attention returned to the present, and her eyes back to the shopkeeper's assistant. She pursed her lips, momentarily considering simply ordering one to maintain her charade, but dismissed the idea after only a moment's consideration. Life contained enough lies, there was no need to pile them on over something so trite. “'Thank you, if you have hot cocoa, I couldn't possibly say no to it. And please do forgive me, I have spent all this time talking about myself without any introduction at all; my name is Imogen Ward, out of Zaichaer.”

[Sivan]

Sivan took her joke literally for a moment, then managed to make an attempt at humor out of it.

"The spirit of the lake is hibernating through Frost," he said, "but I can ask it how it's feeling when Glade comes." He probably ought to go spiritwalking from the shore and get tok now the lake's spirit. Mostly, he had been using his Dratori gift to make a sanctuary out of his home and yard, and that to good effect if his friends and their ease were any indication.

"Ah, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Ward. I am Sivan Len'Myren... or Sunrunner if that's easier to remember. The elven gentleman is Laurevere Val'Istra and the Circle mage is Zef Mirlind." Laurevere's lips thinned at Sivan's introduction of himself, but he smiled politely enough when his own name was mentioned. Zef nodded, a bit of a curmudgeon but friendly enough. "Hot cocoa it is."

This was a touch more labor intensive as he couldn't just have Zin pull water directly out of the air. But he poured fresh milk over crushed chocolate, then began to stir it as Khal danced within the mug to warm everything up to steaming. He added a pinch of dried mallow flower and dusted the top with proper cocoa, then brought it to her along with a small plate of biscuits.

"Zef made the biscuits. Master Jacun is masterful with teas and other sorts of blends, but his baking is... not very good." He smiled tightly, trying to be polite, though he didn't like speaking ill of his master. But he didn't like lying either. "I should be able to concoct the thing in about fifteen minutes."

That said, he called to Exael and the celestial appeared, a vaguely humanoid shape of pale, bluish-white light who drifted toward the other room even as Sivan slipped into the back.

[Imogen]

“'Well, pleasure to meet you. 'Sunrunner', is it? That's a lovely name. And you, gentlemen.” Imogen had obviously heard of the Circle of Spells, but her father had never been willing to speak of the Kalzasi wizards, preferring to keep his children as separated from all arcane affairs as possible until the time of the Rite of Initiation. After that, Imogen had met Carina, become interested in the dealings of the Railrunners, and made very little effort to rectify her ignorance of northern organized magic.

“'Now, I don't believe I've ever met an academy-minted wizard, outside of a handful come down from the Arcaeneum. Well- I suppose some might have been disguised, but that's none of my business. The colors mean something, yes?” Imogen took the cocoa and sipped it, a wave of visible bliss spreading across her face. Chocolate had always been her favorite drink, one of the luxuries her mother had always kept in stock for the visiting claimants, and so the taste brought her more than simply sugar-induced joy when she tasted it. Not that the sugar wasn't quite enough by itself, really- Imogen liked sweet things almost as much as she liked warm things.

Imogen watched as Sivan left, eyes mostly on the creature of strange light. The only summoners she had much experience with were the Kindred, who were much less apt to summon... light-people, as opposed to strange shambling beings of vines with lightning for eyes. She wondered vaguely if her sword would even cut a light-person. Perhaps summoning tree spirits was better. You knew where you stood when it came to tree spirits and whether flaming swords could hurt them.

(They could)

The Orkhan girl took a small, strangely dainty bite of a biscuit, chewing it thoughtfully, before rotating it, dipping the other half in the cocoa, and consuming it with a single bite. The flavor was quite solid, lightly sweet and nutty, and it had just the right proportion of hard, crumbly give, the type of pastry which crunched in your mouth and then spread crumbs of flavor across the tongue. As she'd thought, the cocoa melted into the outer shell of the biscuit, resulting in a beautiful gooey mess.

“'Well, I'll be- this is entirely delicious.”

[Sivan]

"Indeed, young lady," Zef agreed, always happy to be teaching. "White for selflessness; red for balance; black for ambition. Some people thing of us as good, neutral, and evil, but that's reductive. We have different philosophies but are bound by similar oaths."

When she complimented his baking, his smile widened.

Exael's glow was only faintly visible from the other room, and Sivan quickly took out what he needed.

He poured the distilled pyrolyth into one of the lyrethillium glass beakers he himself had crafted under the eyes of a master glassblower so it could begin to prime the distillation for merging with other ingredients—a touch of alcohol to give an immediate bloom of warmth; a pinch of powdered bloodstone to bind it to the blood; a drop of distilled illumite for warmth and wellbeing; distilled aetherite for potency. He took an agitation rod and began to stir the contents until the things that were separated began to mix properly into something uniform, and then he activated it; the electric energy excited everything and then he fixed it to a complicated bit of glassware and turned up the heat so its gaseous form was pushed into a vegetable oil that it could bind to and would go easily down the throat.

When all was said and done, it took him about twenty minutes, but he had also cleaned up after himself so there would be less to do later.

Exael had sent no warnings, so he hadn't felt rushed, but all the same, he didn't dawdle. The alchemical concoction was sealed into a glass vial with a rubber dropper for ease of dosing. That he wrapped in a scrap of wool to pad the glass and tucked into a little pouch. Of course, he had sampled just a drop to make sure it was effective, and his tongue and lips were warm.

When he came out, the men were still chatting with her and all seemed well.

"It was a success," he announced. "How is everyone doing?"

[Imogen]

“'Of course, any of those could be a noble virtue, even ambition. How does the comic song go? 'Of all the afflictions accursed / with which man is saddled, and hampered, and addled / a diffident nature's the worst?'” Imogen would swear on any gods you chose to offer her that she stayed with the Theater exclusively for the cover story and ease of doing business, but the fact of the matter was that she loved the shows. “'Although that character does die after intermission, I believe.'”

In truth, she didn't suppose it mattered much which virtue a wizard happened to declare themselves for. Her own coven spent quite a bit of time on the pomp and circumstance of their art and noble purpose- Imogen's parents had named her "Innocent Guardian", of all things- and what did they do? They took money to fight people, like every other sellsword. Perhaps some wizards were more high-minded than others, but that didn't do much good unless you could read minds.

Although Imogen was mindful of Carina's admonition to avoid discussions of magic even in Kalzasi, she was also an impulsive storyteller. Though she spent a few more minutes asking the gregarious old wizard questions about his order, by the time Sivan returned to the room with his completed product, she was in the middle of retelling certain judiciously-edited escapades.

“'...I was still doing mercenary work at the time, and I'd spent the better part of a week waiting with his horses outside the city. I didn't ask why, of course, but it wasn't too hard to guess he was- ah, none of my business. But he comes storming out, and I've kept his animals pristine, not so much as a tick on them, when he tells me 'I came here for a tear and I didn't find one, so the job wasn't completed.' As though I had agreed to make sure he got his damn flower.”

“'Well, naturally I tell him that's not the deal, and he pulls out a dragonshard, of all things, and starts giving me the most outlandish threats. After I knocked him off his horse- the horse, you'll recall, which I spent a week treating like an equine prince- I tell him he can either settle up or we can go visit the Order and he can explain why he was play-acting at cursing me.”

Imogen takes a final sip of the cocoa, which was no longer quite hot, but remained delicious. “'Not that I was serious about that. Last thing you want in a job like that is to end up interacting with the city government too much. Oh! Master Sunrunner, you're back already?”