Unrepentant

Silas returned to his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts. He shut the door behind him with a click.

Warm lanternlight brightened the room as the afternoon sun dimmed.

His thoughts sharpened into bullet points, each one representing a step he must take. Twelve reagents—each essential to his goal—needed to be gathered. Two were already in his possession: the Soulshade Lily and the Crystalline Morrowroot, safely tucked away in his satchel. The Bloodmoon Thorn, currently with Selen, would soon be within his grasp.

Her information could prove to be either invaluable or a waste of time. Silas knew that she might not even realize just how much her potential knowledge was worth to an alchemist, much less to him. Her knowledge, the location where the herb was found—could be a key to expediating the next steps of his mission.

He couldn't afford for his presence to resonate throughout the Empire just yet, even less across the entire continent. The risks of premature exposure were too great, the potential delays too costly. Every move had to be efficient, every interaction must be a step forward.

Drawing attention from the wrong individuals this early would introduce complications he wasn't willing to manage—at least not until he had secured The Rovinius Enlightenment from the capital's primary Alchemist guild branch. That scroll contained ancient insights on energy manipulation and alchemical mixtures, knowledge he needed.

Silas glanced at his hands, seeing past the facade of his more amiable appearance to his true hands, marred by scars and burns. "There is time," he murmured to himself, voice gravelly and soft. "I will finish it... then accounts will be settled."

With a deep breath, Silas centered himself once more, clearing his mind of all but the present. His hidden purpose steadied him, each inhale drawing in resolve and each exhale expelling doubt.

Nyx would return soon with additional information. Silas trusted the crow implicitly; Nyx's loyalty and cunning were unparalleled, even if he was possessed by the God of Mischief.

Evening shadows stretched long across the room as Silas sat by the window, awaiting Nyx's return. The lanternlight cast an eerie glow upon him, accentuating the lines of his face and the depth of his eyes. The crow arrived onto the sill after a few more moments, a triumphant feeling in his intelligent gaze. With a flick of Silas's fingers, paper and ink floated from his satchel to the small desk in the corner, carried by an unseen force that obeyed his every whim.

Nyx hopped down, his talons clicking softly on the wooden surface. The crow began to sketch with surprising dexterity using the ink and one of his feathers, mapping out a path through the castle corridors

The container it was kept in appeared next in Nyx’s drawing, intricate details showing the mystic symbols and glyphs designed to contain its chaotic aura and preserve its shelf life. Each line and curve was rendered with precision, capturing the most minute details of the object that surrounded the Bloodmoon Thorn.

Silas observed the drawing, his eyes narrowing as he took in the elaborate preservation methods. They were intricate, indeed, but not beyond his capabilities. He could almost feel the pulse of the herb's latent energy through the ink on the parchment, proof of Nyx's skillful depiction.

Nyx paused, turning his head mischievously to Silas before adding another figure to the sketch: a bald man with an arrow pointing to his head and a toupee hovering above it. Silas grunted, earning an amused caw from Nyx.

"Surprisingly easy to get in and out," Silas muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, more to himself than to Nyx. His eyes scanned the drawing once more, ensuring that no more hidden dangers could be deduced.

With a fluid motion, he extended his hand, and as if by some miracle, a small liquid orb materialized out of thin air. The liquid was covered in a thin film that shimmered faintly with dim ethereal energy. Several alchemical patterns, intricately etched into his skin, began to dull and fade as their power transferred to the the orb.

"Have this solvent come into contact with the top of the container." Silas instructed. "It will place the protections into dormancy until it evaporates after a few seconds, be quick."

Nyx nodded, understanding clear in his eyes as he squawked a few animated squawks at Silas.

Silas raised an eyebrow but then nodded back. "Very well, I will make them. Your objective first though."

Nyx fluffed his feathers in assurance before returning to the sketch, making final adjustments with meticulous care should Silas need it further.

Silas’s focus shifted from the exchange to his satchel, a high-class Bag of Holding with a polished leather exterior and intricate runic embossing that shimmered faintly to the keen observer.

He willed a small set of alchemic tools to emerge, each piece gleaming with a pristine luster that spoke of meticulous care. The tools, arranged in an orderly fashion, seemed almost eager to be put to use.

From within the depths of the satchel, Silas also produced the Ambitious Mimic. The unassuming plant, with its delicate leaves and vibrant flowers, appeared deceptively innocent in his grasp, a contrast to the intentions lurking behind his eyes.

The plant's appearance belied its true potential, a deceptive facade that mirrored Silas's own complex nature perhaps.

He laid it gently on the desk beside his systematically arranged tools. With a focused intensity, he began the intricate process of synchronizing the Ambitious Mimic to take on the properties and appearance of a Bloodmoon Thorn, a task that required both finesse and deep knowledge of both herbs.

He worked with a masterful grace, his movements swift, each gesture purposeful. His fingers danced over the Mimic, their touch both delicate and oppressive, as if coaxing the very essence of the herb to bend to his will.

First, he examined the Ambitious Mimic's leaves, noting their delicate veins and subtle hues. The faint patterns seemed to shift under his work. He traced them slowly, envisioning the transformation that would soon take place.

He infused it with a controlled burst of energy from within himself, causing the leaves to shimmer and shift. Gradually, their color deepened to the rich crimson hue characteristic of the Bloodmoon Thorn.

While the metamorphosis took hold, Silas turned his attention to working on other matters requested by Nyx. He selected several ingredients from his satchel, each chosen for their specific properties and the detailed requests made by the crow. His hands worked, crushing and blending the ingredients with a steady rhythm. The air filled with a potent mix of aromas, a heady blend.

He moved deftly between flasks and beakers, measuring precise quantities and combining elements in perfect harmony. Mixtures were distilled over a low flame until they were placed into their final receptacles.

With every completed potion, Silas’s skill became ever more evident—his knowledge of the craft was vast, encompassing both the mundane and the arcane. He could identify the most obscure herbs by scent alone and knew the precise moment when a concoction reached its peak potency. One would truly be hard-pressed to find an alchemist more skilled than him, a master who could transform the ordinary into the extraordinary with a mere thought and slight touch.

As he completed his work on the rest of the concoctions, Silas turned his attention back to the Ambitious Mimic. The herb had flawlessly assumed the guise of a Bloodmoon Thorn—its leaves now thorn shaped shimmered like polished rubies. Satisfied with the transformation, he carefully placed it into an airtight container, one specially designed to preserve its deceptive appearance until Nyx switched the herbs out.

With that task done, he reached into his satchel and retrieved a specialized sash he had crafted for Nyx. The sash was a masterpiece of utility, adorned with holders for vials, pills, powders, and papers—each compartment meticulously designed for the crow's easy access.

Silas loaded it up with care, placing everything in its designated slot.

"Come here," Silas called softly.

Nyx fluttered over from his perch and landed on the table beside him. Silas helped Nyx put on the sash. The crow flapped his wings experimentally before settling comfortably into it.

"Good?" Silas remarked as Nyx gave an approving squawk.

The preparations were complete.

Nyx, now fully geared up, threw a salute at Silas. The action causing the vials and powders to jingle softly against each other inside his sash. Silas watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Remember," Silas rasped, his voice carrying an edge of urgency, "while we have ample time, it's best to remain expedient in our objectives. You know what's at stake."

Nyx's demeanor shifted instantly. The crow's usual carefree aura melted away, replaced by a solemn nod. The gravity of their mission wasn’t lost on him; he understood.

"Get the thorn safely out and into the container holding the Mimic," Silas continued.

"And look into those journals you saw for any information about where it was found. Once you have them, you're free to do whatever you want."

Nyx bowed his head in understanding. Silas watched as his familiar disappeared into the night sky, a shadow blending seamlessly with the darkness.

Satisfied with Nyx’s departure and confident in his companion’s capabilities, Silas turned his attention to his next task: Getting The Rats to spill some more information for his journey forward.

He moved through the bustling evening streets of Rhysling, heading for the bank.

The introduction of the new currency had injected a temporary vigor into the banks operations, a state unlikely to last after the transition finalizes.

Approaching a staff member stationed near the entrance, Silas asked, "Where to withdraw a payout from the Alchemists' Guild?"

The staff member, a young man with neatly combed hair and an eager-to-please demeanor, gestured towards a staircase. "Second floor, Sir. The guild payout tellers are located there."

With a curt nod, Silas ascended the stairs. He navigated through clusters of people—some agitated, others merely curious about the new banking system.

The woman behind the counter he was pointed to offered a practiced smile as he stepped forward.

"Good evening," she began. "Are you here to make a transaction?"

"Yes," Silas replied, sliding the slip with his account identification across the counter. "The name for the transfer should be Ji."

The teller's smile remained fixed as she took the slip and disappeared into a back room. Moments later, she returned, her expression betraying a flicker of surprise.

"Your total payout shows 75 thousand Reshal," she informed him, her voice tinged with awe.

Silas's face remained impassive. "I'd like to withdraw 130 notes of five hundred Reshal, 75 notes of one hundred Reshal, and the rest in mixed denominations."

The teller nodded briskly and turned to fulfill his request.

She handed several rolls of cash over to Silas. He placed them inside his satchel before turning away and heading towards the entertainment district.

The air here was thick with the mingled scents of roasted meats and cheap perfumes. His eyes scanning for his destination.

Eventually, he spotted it: a bar bearing a unique insignia of one closed and one open eye. To most, it was just another drinking hole, but to those in the know, it was a hub for the cross-continental black market of information brokers.

Pushing open the wooden door, Silas stepped inside. The bar's interior was dimly lit, with barmaids sporting deep necklines weaving through the crowd as they served patrons. Handsome bartenders engaged in small talk while keeping mugs filled.

Silas took an empty seat at the bar and caught a bartender's eye. "A discounted Morning Reminder," he ordered.

The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "We don’t do discounts tonight, but I can offer you a Nosy Witch. One of the cheaper drinks."

Silas matched his chuckle with a smile of his own. "I'll take a Thieves Comeuppance instead."

The bartender nodded and then signaled to one of the barmaids. "Seat this gentleman in a private booth and entertain him while I get his drink ready," he instructed.

The barmaid, catching Silas’s eye with a wink, gestured for him to follow her. Once inside the booth, her demeanor shifted from flirtatious to professional. "What words have value tonight?" she asked.

Silas reached into his satchel and pulled out a roll containing 130 notes of 500 Reshal. The woman's eyebrows lifted slightly but she maintained her composure as she listened.

"Well," Silas began, "I do believe words about the Alchemist Grandmaster have value. Though a whisper of Moonlight Dew and Golden Sun Ginseng have their place in my heart as well." He placed a roll of 50 one hundreds on the table between them.

"A vice of any gentleman is to know the lady that has caught his eye," he continued. "Snippets of history from Artifice guildmember Selen have a weight of their own." With that, he placed the remaining 25 rolls of one hundreds onto the table.

The barmaid fanned herself with her hand before sweeping all the rolls off the table and below her seat into some hidden compartment. She exited the booth but returned within minutes carrying a tray with a drink and several scrolls.

She set them down in front of Silas and gave him another wink before leaving him alone once more.

His focus was entirely on the scrolls before him. He unrolled the first one, revealing intricate inkwork detailing Moonlight Dew and Golden Sun Ginseng. His eyes narrowed as he read about their recent sightings with the master of the Traveling Orchid dance troupe.

Their style of cultivation, niche in its combat application, employed strikes hidden within graceful dance movements.

The notes further detailed the reason behind this peculiar gathering of herbs in his hands.

The master intended to create a faux eternal youth potion called “Everbloom,” a vanity project for his favored prostitute in a brothel located in Sichal.

Silas leaned back, infuriated that someone was using such potent ingredients for mere superficial desires.

He moved to the next scroll, his expression turning more serious as he examined the sparse information on the Grandmaster of the Alchemists' Guild. Despite paying a higher price for this intel, it offered little beyond confirming that the Grandmaster was in his twilight years at 628, his lifespan drastically cut short from an encounter with a Highranker on the Blacklist. The old man was now seeking a replacement, a detail that piqued Silas's interest.

Redundant information for Silas cluttered parts of the scroll, but one significant detail stood out: the new Empress’s desire to integrate Guilds more closely as state organs was causing headaches for the Grandmaster.

This shift indicated an opportunity Silas could potentially exploit.

Finally, he unrolled Selen's scroll, scanning through her history from childhood to her current posting. It outlined her professional trajectory and weaknesses—most notably her penchant for expensive foods. Numerous miscellaneous details about her were dispersed throughout, but one fact grabbed Silas's interest: her most recent assignment had been in Sichal, prior to her arrival in Rhysling. This raised his eyebrow.

Silas closed each scroll and set them back on the tray, watching them turn to ash as he began sipping his drink.