Chapter 39: Alchemy I (Patreon)

Elliot flipped the next page of The North of Condyn, jotting down another trade family that had a history of minor dealings with the Empire of Kell. So far he’d found three families with some kind of connection to the southern nation, and all three were based in Solt, far enough south to be practically another world to him. The empire beyond the Crowns was his first example of non-human sapients aside from the Yatiri. No physical descriptions were recorded in the book, but it was made abundantly clear that they detested humans, and trade expeditions were few and far between. Information on everything past the empire was nonexistent in the resources he’d been able to find.

Esme, the scarred receptionist who’d helped him on his first visit, walked over from the front desk. He was sitting at a table in the corner as out of the way as possible. The giant dome of glass overhead let in enough natural light to make it seem as if he was outside, while the space itself was calm and quiet. Not to mention the abundant supply of books and drawing materials, two of his favorite things, and both in short supply in this world compared to back home.

“Excuse the interruption,” she said as she reached him, “but do you need anything? I’m headed trunkwards to pick up lunch.”

“Oh, no, I’m good, but thanks,” he replied with a smile.

She flicked a finger off her forehead in a casual salute, then headed for the door.

Neither Breka nor Hadrian had returned to their room last night. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, but it was rare. He’d reached the point in his training where most of the work was completely doable solo, except for sparring and Barter, but the delay in his ability to ‘sell’ Breka the grimoire was frustrating. He tried to keep his focus on that feeling, and not on the sinking worry that they hadn’t returned because something had gone wrong.

Shutting the book with a soft thump, he leaned back in his seat and stretched. Every piece of information he could gather was useful, but it was difficult work. He’d thought that it was just the huge swathes of uncharted territory that would be trouble, but after spending more time here, he’d learned that even the well-mapped areas were prone to frequent shifts. Larger warrens erupting, strange ethereal manifestations, earth elemental migrations, the list of causes went on and on.

It seemed like half the work for the initiate-level guild members was traveling to relatively safe areas that hadn’t been mapped in a decade or two and correcting any flaws in the record. Tular was a small guild outpost, and visited almost exclusively by experienced mapmakers, but Esme had assured him that if he found his way to a larger branch somewhere in the March he would be one of dozens of initiates there any given day of the week, all of whom would be cycling through simple travel assignments to gain experience and eventually advance to full membership.

That advancement was triggered by gaining the guild’s titular skill, [Mapmaking]. It wasn’t clear to him exactly what the ability entailed, but it heralded entry into what could be called the real ranks of the organization.

Elliot rose to his feet and gathered up his belongings, replacing the book on the shelf as he headed out the door. The Eastbranch was quiet. It was nearly noon, the sun at the peak of the sky, and the wind was blowing briskly enough to keep the sail-like leaves above in constant, gentle motion.

By the time he reached the trunk, his stomach was growling loudly enough to make him regret turning Esme down. Being hungry all the time was a new experience for him. Most of his previous life had been sedentary, with the exception of intermittent hiking days, and the change to heavy physical exertion every morning had thrown his system for a bit of a loop.

As he passed through the busy central district, his gaze caught on a small cart pulled by an older man selling dumplings. It was already a bit late, but he couldn’t resist. He slipped into line behind a couple with two small children, smiling as he watched them swing on the man’s arms. A few minutes later he continued on, his pocket three clips lighter but deeply pleased with the quality of the potato and leek turnover that had been on offer. It was rich and oily; exactly what he’d been looking for.

She said in the outer ring, almost to the Southbranch. That should be…here?

Something darted between his legs, and he let out a muffled shout, taking three quick steps backwards and falling into a crouched stance before taking in the offender. It was a cat, with a marbled red and gray coat and glowing green eyes. The thing was about twice the size of a housecat from back on Earth.

“Sorry, he gets excited,” came a voice from his left. A young woman walked up from across the path, with a bandolier over her shoulder hung with a wild assortment of strange objects. She snapped her fingers at the cat. “Come.”

“No harm done,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed lightly. Three months of delving into the bowels of the local warrens to hone his instincts, and he still practically jumped out of his skin when a cat came to say hello. Ridiculous. “I haven’t seen anything like him before.” He tried [Detailed Appraisal], but the skill failed to activate.

She kept her eyes on the cat as he padded back over to sit at her feet. “Kerr is my tamed companion.” She smiled softly. “And he is doing a wonderful job hunting down burrowers. Aren’t you, my friend?”

Elliot’s mind went back to Grik’s explanation of the broadbacks, and the simple yet limiting process of taming. “Burrowers?”

“Just local pests. The shalecats have excellent senses, so they find them easily.”

“Oh, fascinating.” He eyed the cat, suppressing the urge to whip out his field notes and begin a new entry. “Are they dangerous?”

“The burrowers? Just for local profits.” The fingers of her left hand moved through a complicated dance, and the little beast suddenly shot off again. “Must be going. All the best.”

“Good luck to you both,” Elliot replied, craning his neck to follow the cat’s movement. It didn’t seem to be sniffing at all. Some kind of magical perception? Or maybe it already caught the scent and I’m overcomplicating it.

Giving himself a mental shake, he continued on, imagining a future where he could safely become a tamer. Combat would have to be off the table, so it would be after he'd found Rowan, and ideally she would be phenomenally rich and powerful so that he didn't have to worry about keeping her safe. Then he could get some kind of perception-focused beast to help with hunting down new species, and a broadback to fly around on. Except had Grik said something about broadbacks needing high ethereal concentrations to stay airborne? 

Well, it was his fantasy, so in this future they could fly anywhere. He would build a library with Rowan, hunt grimoires with Grik to help fill it up, maybe publish a book on the magical life of Condyn. He laughed suddenly. Maybe he would end up as a real mapmaker, charting his travels as he went. That would be something.

Turning the corner around a packed shop selling fabric in hundreds of shades, he finally saw his destination. Subtle Concoctions was the site of one of Tular’s better alchemists, specializing in more advanced brews, which Yehi needed for some process that had to do with refining falurium. She'd asked if he could come use his appraisal skill to help with purchase decisions. He'd have come regardless to help a friend, but the mechanics sounded fascinating enough to have pulled him in even without the favor.

The door was covered in detailed carvings of rivers, trees, and mountains, and it caught his attention for several seconds before he pushed inwards and entered the shop. It was shadowed inside, the only light coming through the small, square windows up front, and the colors leaned heavily to brown and black. The merchandise—books, glassware, pouches of herbs, and premade vials of liquid—was all laid out with beautiful precision.

"My friend," Yehi called out from where she stood by a table strewn with a wide variety of jars, in various states of full or empty.

Walking over, Elliot smiled. "Hi."

“Mmph,” came a voice from the counter by the far wall. Elliot glanced up, and saw a man with a neatly braided white beard and thick, black brows. He was staring at them pointedly.

Smiling serenely, Yehi placed a hand over her heart. "Master Etienne, I will need more time. My eternal gratitude for your patience.”

"As you say," he said stiffly.

Elliot, slightly taken aback by the man's attitude, glanced at Yehi. "Sorry, am I interrupting?”

"No, no," she replied, lowering her voice. "I appreciate you coming. These," she swept out her arm toward the many jars "are the forks in my path. The falurium I could afford in Bastogne is accounted for in three knives and one ingot.” She pulled a small piece of metal from the bag at her waist, holding it for Elliot to see. It couldn’t be more than an inch in diameter. “The knives are my security, that I know will trade well, but I had another thought as well. What if I could distill this into a tanning solution, and imbue its properties into my wares?” The ingot had the characteristic swirling black and silver pattern that he remembered from the knives, almost seeming to glow in the low light of the store. A way to instill powerful earth and metal aspects into leather armor? Very interesting.

“I regret to say,” Yehi continued, speaking even softer now, “that while Master Etienne comes highly recommended for his skill, and I believe this project would take skill, he seems certain as stone that only the most expensive option will do. I know you have a strong appraisal skill, and I wondered if you would simply try to look into all the potential solutions he prepared, to see if your instinct aligns with his.”

“Oh,” Elliot replied, surprised. He didn’t think [Detailed Appraisal] technically counted as a strong skill, since it was just an introductory option, but he had to admit that his own intensive practice combined with the effect of the vortex did seem to elevate it beyond what was readily accessible to most people who didn’t specifically focus on perception. “Of course, I’d be happy to. I have no idea if I’ll be any good at this, but I’m happy to try.”

“An attempt is more than enough. And my thanks for it.”

He moved closer to the table, eyeing the liquid-filled jars. “Do you have samples of the hides you would use?”

“Yes, here.” She pulled several strips from her bag and laid them on the wooden surface. “Cured, washed, and limed, but not yet tanned into leather.”

Running his fingers along the pieces of hide, he began the process of appraisal. It had become second nature to him, each inspection happening quickly and easily, as if he was shining a mental flashlight. There was no need to pause between objects anymore, in fact he found it helpful to flick the skill from item to item as he went, the information accreting in cascading layers of facts and connections.

There was no need for the vortex at first, the skill itself giving him plenty to work with for an initial pass. The skins were from a few local species—dust boar, hingeclaw, dimbear, and his old friend the thune—while the liquids were all, as expected, for tanning. With the context he already possessed, it quickly became clear that each possessed at least a microscopic amount of falurium, powdered and dissolved.

“May I speak, as you work?” Yehi asked.

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll let you know if I need to concentrate.”

“How was your morning at the guildhall?”

The liquids were significantly more complicated to assess than the hides. The more he looked though, the more he understood. Different materials, different brewing methods? Definitely different conceptual approaches to the problem, at the very least.

“It was interesting. I was trying to find more information about the lands to the south of the Crowns, but there was almost nothing. There’s just not enough exchange of information, which is still insane to me.”

“The Crowns are a staggering obstacle. It would take a fourth circle at least to survive the crossing, and those are not thick on the ground. Hard to justify the attempt, for little profit. And that’s not to mention the Kell.”

Elliot sighed. “I know. I realize I’m biased. The world being so separate is just strange to me. Where I’m from, we didn’t really have a lot of knowledge of geography, so I didn’t know what was unknown. The more I learn, the more I realize the limitations of what’s out there.” He had begun to use the vortex now, focusing mostly on the jars of liquid. There were patterns he was picking up—repeated themes. The goal always seemed to be bestowing a general earth and metal affinity to the leather, without forcing it into too specific of an effect.

“Yes, a constant struggle for all peoples. It is why most mapmakers are merchants rather than warriors. Most work is relatively safe, within the boundaries of established nations.”

“There are warriors in the guild?”

“Yes. Many. Combat-focused professions may not be able to cultivate the best skills for the craft itself, but that is more than made up for by their ability to survive the wilds.”

“Grik seems to get by well enough,” Elliot said, slightly distracted by a particularly stubborn jar of what looked like pale pink dish soap. It refused to give up its secrets. He yanked on the vortex, forcing his will at the liquid.

“Grikarium walks a dangerous road, although I grant you he does it with shocking skill. Merchants with his ability to protect and defend are few and far between. But every day in the wilds he dances on a knife edge, and it is to his grimoires that he owes thanks for survival.”

“Well, you never know. Maybe merchants can develop more powerful combat skills than you’d think.”

“There have been many cases of merchants with skill in battle, and many abilities that can be achieved as a merchant and relied on in a fight. Rarer, yes, and generally less powerful, but that is not the primary factor that makes our professions unsuited to the wilderness.”

There it was. This one used more falurium, and deviated slightly from the pattern by imparting a distinct bonus to camouflage instead of a general affinity boost to be directed later in the crafting process. Impressive, but perhaps too limiting.

“What’s the primary factor?”

“Enhancement abilities.” She settled into a crouch, her eyes tracking Elliot intently as he picked up jar after jar. “Every young fighter will be offered some variety of [Minor Durability], [Minor Strength], and [Minor Speed], and every fighter will take them. They are the core of combat. At the beginning, the gulf between a merchant with combat skills and a warrior is, perhaps, not insurmountable. But as they grow more powerful, it yawns.”

Physical enhancement wasn’t something that he’d really thought much about. It had just seemed like something that would come with getting to the higher circles. Hadrian had said something at one point, though. Something about merchants lacking physical potential.

“Say even that a [Merchant of Coin] managed to acquire a skill as powerful as any [Bladeborn], such as [Crescent Blow],” she continued. “When the fourth-circle warrior strikes the merchant, they would be sundered from the weave of fate as a stalk of grass is cleaved by a scythe. When the fourth-circle merchant strikes the warrior, they would be left with a small wound. Merchants have no easy path to strengthening the body, outside of the minor strides that come naturally with increasing your circle.”

He frowned. That seemed disappointing, especially because neither Breka nor Hadrian had ever presented a solution. It had felt like his [Golden Touch] was a real step in the right direction when combined with his staff, but if it was true that he’d never gain any significant durability, how was he going to survive the journey south?

“Well,” he said, “that’s good to know. I suppose I should moderate my expectations about travel, then.” Like hell I will. “But, all that aside, I think I have these about as figured out as I’ll get them. Let me give you my thoughts, then I think there’s a pretty clear path forward.”