A few days
had passed since the return of Chells and Kelloran from the past. Each
seemed burdened with his own thoughts, and with the snows finally receding,
Thomas was ready to do some heavy contemplating of his own. He sat in his
shop, eyeing the dozens of labeled vials, bottles and jars he stocked and
sold. For some reason, the last few years had brought a considerable drop
in sales of his once invaluable alchemical items. Whether it was other
townsfolk gaining the ability to cast healing spells or finally using a
stockpile of saved items, he did not know. Lately, he had been his own best
customer—with crawling through the miasma under the Temple of Thorns &
battling the Demon Khan—but even he could produce much needed healing
potions or avoidance dusts on the fly, so therefore, very little money was
being placed in the coffers of the Morning Star Apothecary. He had to do
something.
He first
traveled to speak with Yazminch, the former alchemist of Fallenstar. Her
wisdom and influence had helped Thomas make the decision to retain his
current class. As he reached her resting place in the White Stone Cemetery,
Thomas cleared the fallen leaves and weeds growing around her gravestone.
Calling upon his magic, the alchemist reached out with a second sight to
view the condition of her spirit: White. Good—he could see her
spirit moving along the vast shelves in her laboratory—gathering ingredients
and tools to assist her in her work. Next he beseeched Allahn to grant him
the knowledge and ability to speak with the spirit of the now dead Yazminch.
The connection was made and he began to speak:
“Greetings
master & pardon the interruption. I know you have helped me with unknown
formulas in the past, Yazminch. Is there any other secret procedures you
know of that I could add to my inventories?”
A ghostly,
yet strong reply came from the woman, “Thomas—or should I say Sir Thomas?
Yes, we have heard of your recent “promotion” to the ranks of Knight with
Allahn. I understand you were instrumental in his being awoken from his
slumber with the help of your friends, Raith, Chells and Kelloran. It was
only right the Candleman reappoint you to his special favored. I am most
proud of you.”
“Unfortunately, many of the alchemical items you now possess are in fact,
ones I developed or had passed down to me through the years. My advise
would be to consult one who has been around longer than me to see if he
knows of some ancient formulas or the place where they could be found.”
“My thanks
m’lady. I will speak with you again anon.”
Hardly
discouraged, Thomas broke the connection with the master alchemist and did a
quick inventory of his spells. He also checked his stock of Protected
Speak with Spirits and Protected Graves Tongue potions as he
headed toward the Dusk Ground Cemetery. He knew he might have some trouble
extracting information from the Forgotten Alchemist, but it was worth a try.
He crossed
the dried up streambed and deftly worked his way through the fallen branches
and briars that surrounded the areas around the graveyard of the ancients.
He scanned the hallowed grounds and proceeded to the outskirts of the
area—where he had placed the stone and hopefully, final resting place of the
nameless one.
With no
regard for his clothing, Thomas sank to his knees into 2 inches of think mud
and prayed to his patron deity. The knowledge he gained of the greenish hue
of the spirit if the Forgotten Alchemist made him realize he would not need
the potions he had inventoried earlier. Again, he asked Allahn to grant him
the knowledge to speak with the ghostly form before him.
“Greetings
Ancient One. I come to you seeking your vast knowledge and wisdom of
alchemical lore of old.”
The elderly
man looked up from an old wooden mortar & pestle—one very similar to the one
in the Morning Star Apothecary. He stretched and eyed Thomas suspiciously.
When the glimmer of recognition crossed his face, he finally spoke, his
voice like silvery mercury
“Greetings
young apprentice. Lore you do seek? Well let me speak.”
What followed
was a monologue that would have left the Enigmatic Babbler impressed.
Thomas feverously wrote down most of what the ancient man said in his
journal, knowing he would have time later to sort through all that was
said. When the connection with the ender spirit was ended, the younger
alchemist appeared weary and spent, but a smile of satisfaction was etched
in his face.
He headed
back to town, clutching his chronicle and took long strides to make it back
to his shop. After spending some time reviewing his notes, he packed up a
few belongings, slung his backpack over his shoulder and sheathed his
broadsword. He knew this would be a rewarding journey—similar to the one to
the Riven House or Candle Keep. Thomas locked his shop up tight and headed
east. He realized he might be gone a few days, so he stopped by the Tavern
to add some rations to his pack and refill his water skin. He tossed a few
silver coins into Raith’s lock box and re-checked his notes.
“I’ll be back
well before the summer season”, he thought to himself with determined
approval as he headed toward the Annals of Alchemical Antiquities.
|