A sea of fog swallowed the cemetery, slithering around every gravestone and marker as though a constrictor's aimless spirit. Light from the full moon cut through its formlessness like a whetted edge, granting the ground a light brighter than that of an early morn. It was a beautiful night, one whose likeness came but a few times a year.
Grover traipsed between the rows for the hundredth time tonight, lost in sinful thoughts of a busty harlot named Griselda. Most of his wealth had gone to the woman over these past few months, leaving him dry of pocket and diseased in his loins. Thanks to her, he'd be working the cemetery until he found himself buried in its soil.
The noise of a snapped twig stirred him from his thoughts.
"Who goes there?" he asked, squinting at the fog.
A man clad in the most peculiar of garments stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just a man with coin, hoping to strike a favorable deal," came his soothing voice.
::::::------::::::
It was the sixth hour past midnight on the twentieth day of the month of linen. The sun was nearly risen, but the fog had decided to stay about.
Tommy stood in the forest near Newhorn's grand cemetery, marveling at his new undead army. It numbered strong at nigh six hundred bone knights, each gussied with faux robes and masks conjured by illusion magic.
The cemetery keeper was an easy man to deal with. At the offer of six talons, he tucked himself away for the night. And at the promise of further wealth, he pledged to dump new bodies in a hole within the thicket rather than rightly burying them. Tommy now had a steady supply of the dead at the snatch of one per talon.
"Advance towards the church," he ordered his army, voice bouncing off the oaks and elms. "But do not go anywhere near the road. Stick to the meadows."
The knights' eye sockets flashed redder than break lights as they jumped to a march. It would take them a day of walking across the northern face of the Starry Hollow before they came upon the church, so Tommy had time to cross some things off his checklist.
Firstly, the alchemist needed to be seen to. It had been a week since their last dealing, and they were now due another.
He blinked his way past the portcullis of Newhorn, around the city's many streets and up to the shabby apothecary that housed his newest investment. The day was still fresh with dewdrops and low of light, but the faint smell of burning tallow meant the alchemist was up and about.
The creaky door granted him entrance to the dusty confines of the small establishment. Waiting for him behind the bar was Oliver, slouched in a chair, matching his gaze with tired eyes.
"Good morning," Tommy greeted him, his voice smoother than buttered silk.
The alchemist rose from his seat. "Mister Bones—it's a pleasure to see you again.
Tommy dropped ten talons on the bar and flashed him a small smile. "A day's pay ahead of time," he said. "Are you ready to begin working?"
Oliver took on a frown. "What would you have me do?"
"Tell me—what's the most addictive potion on the market?" Tommy asked, stroking his twirly mustache.
"Any potion with a restorative effect induces an intense, addictive euphoria. They're expensive to brew, so only wealthy merchants or nobles are likely to get hooked by them," Oliver answered.
"Would a potion that only induces euphoria be cheaper to brew?"
"Significantly cheaper but highly illegal. A group of criminals called the Gutter Rats brewed such potions with gutter water, otter pots, and yellow ear mushrooms. They were hanged and left to rot on the castle's ramparts."
"I assume their potions were amateurish compared to what you could produce?"
"If I had the right ingredients and good laboratory equipment, my potions could render someone immobile with bliss."
Tommy adopted a nasty grin. "Bliss. That's what we'll call it. Write down the ingredients and equipment you'll need to brew it."
Oliver stared at the talons on the table with lowered eyebrows. Then, with shaky hands, he tore a sheet of paper from his journal and inked the tip of his quill. "We'll need at least two hotpots and a sizeable mixer to begin brewing. As for ingredients, I recommend we use sprinch leaves, crabtooth flowers, red ringlets, and mire whiskers. We can tweak the recipe later if it's too powerful."
"I'm assuming the hotpots and mixer will be rather expensive?"
Oliver nodded. "Very. I'd put the total cost at fifty talons."
"And who might I purchase them from?"
"Special ironworkers make the bulk of the equipment while the mana crystals needed to heat them can be purchased from any magic shop north of the River Pane."
"Mana crystals?"
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Chunks of manasteel. They're able to consume and regurgitate magic. They'll boil water for near a week after a mage charges them."
"Smaller and more efficient than a bulky log fire."
"Precisely."
"Once the laboratory is up and running, I'll require your help to begin farming. None of my men are versed in planting and harvesting alchemical ingredients," Mister Bones admitted.
"I can't run an operation of this size on my own," Oliver said with a frown. "And I certainly can't manage a farm on top of brewing."
"You'll be in charge of over six hundred men—far from being on your own, I'd say."
Oliver's eyes widened. "I'm not sure I can—"
"Of course you can. Think of them as tools—nothing more, nothing less," Tommy interjected. "Now, can the ingredients you listed be grown underground?"
"They require sunlight to grow," Oliver replied as though he were talking to a child. "I suppose we could use mushrooms, but they would produce far weaker potions with hallucinatory effects."
"Could we provide the plants with artificial light in place of the sun? The magelight spell, for instance."
"That's an interesting question—one I don't have the answer to, I'm afraid."
"We'll test it later. For now, purchase the seeds we'll need." He snatched one of the many pouches from his belt and tossed it onto the bar. "Thirty talons—will that be enough?"
"More than enough, yes."
"Good. I'll return in a week; the facility should be complete by then."
"Understood, Mister Bones," Oliver said with a slight bow of his head.
Tommy left the man's dinky store and carried on to visit a few of his merchants, making good on his promises to them. Only two were absent the funding he swore to provide them, but they would have it in their grubby hands before the week's end.
The rest of his day was spent consulting the ironworkers of Newhorn, getting estimates on prices for the lab and mining equipment he needed. The total cost of it all neared three hundred talons and would take two weeks to complete, even with the work split among five ironworkers.
All that was left was to play the waiting game.