Itzel side-glanced at him. "Sounds like a very important quest then," he whispered, resting his hand on Vondell's shoulder. "But finish it up quickly. We can't let these freshbloods from Leeds get ahead of us in the oasis," he added, before stretching. He winced in pain as he stretched his back.
"The gods know Ganesha and I can't do much without you," he sighed, walking back to his workbench to collect his tools.
"But before I go, tell me. How are you getting to the plains?" he asked.
Vondell shrugged. "A horse?"
"A horse?" Itzel scoffed, shaking his head. "No." He looked down at his wrist, before searching the pockets of his apron. "Did Azura ever give them back?" he whispered under his breath, staring at the furnace with a thoughtful expression
"A Lord will not ride a mere horse into a foreign city. You are a diplomat, and our highest ranking one at that," Itzel scolded.
"Third highest ranking," Vondell corrected.
"On paper," Itzel shot back. "You will take Jinx," he added, with a softer tone. "As soon as I find her cuffs. Azura never gave them back to me after her forest raid." He sounded slightly worried there, but continued muttering something else under his breath.
"Pass by my villa once you're finished here. I'll have everything sorted out for you," he said finally, patting Vondell on the shoulder once more before leaving.
For a small moment, Vondell stood there, staring at his still-glowing alchemical table in silence. "Something felt... off, about him," he whispered to himself, looking back at the door. It was hard to explain, it wasn't as if he had said anything weird. He just sounded... tired. More tired than usual.
~The last floor must've taken more out of him than he let on,~ he decided, before carrying on with his preparations.
*
Three hours passed, and Vondell's leather bag was now packed with freshly filled vials. He had five black vials of smoke string, five white vials of cleansing elixir, six purple vials of instant array, three green acid elixirs, and three vials of a new poison —based on the traces left in his blood by the assasin.
He would've liked to make more, but he just didn't have enough space to store them. ~If I could just get my coin, I'd buy that new armor set,~ he thought to himself. Thinking of the bespoke armor set he had quoted from a smith in Leeds. It required 600 coins upfront just to consider production, but the smith was the best on the continent and an alchemical-based armor set had never been designed before this.
~Perhaps I should apologize to her,~ he thought, before rubbishing the thought. Helen wasn't the type to accept words as an apology. The only 'sorry' she would understand would be with coin, or him taking the mandate. Neither of which he was willing to give into.
Once he was done, he carefully cleaned the alchemical workbench. To leave a trace of blood, was to leave behind your soul. The gods took blood as sacrifice, and mortals received theirs as power. It was binding, it was blinding; 'blood should be treated with more reverence than the gods themselves.' His mother's warnings were still fresh in his mind. could still remember his mother's warnings.
Yet on this continent, humans acted as if blood were piss, letting it drip everywhere without a care. Perhaps it was because the forsaken here did not practice magics dark enough, cruel enough. But Vondell knew, he remembered; the twisted things that those powerful enough could do. Should they get even a drop of your blood.
As he was about to leave the room, he pulled out the pink crystal blade and looked at it again. "A six-winged butterfly," he whispered. Butterflies drank blood, perhaps there was a relation.
*
Vondell made a stop by Mira's tavern. Despite it being daytime, it was filled with patrons — wifeless miners getting their breakfast before heading to the oasis. She had her hands full just trying to collect all the orders. So while she was in the kitchen, he left a pouch of money behind her counter, enough for the room he slept in yesterday, and the food he had eaten. The patrons knew better than to steal from Mira, and if they had any sense, they would not touch what Lord Black had set down.
Next, he walked down the yellow brick path, searching for the boys who sold milk. He handed them three coin pieces and took a bottle. They protested, arguing for him to take his money back. But his long strides were more than the little boys could keep up with. And Vondell had his drink; it felt soothing against his injured insides.
Itzel's Villa was at the edge of the city. It acted as both the residence of the White Stag Guild and an outpost. They watched the Ruined Forest and, should the arrays that protect the city fail, would protect the outer walls.
It was a smart idea, though now he was burdened with the task of crossing the entire city just to get there. It would've been easier if he had a swift-travel grace, but he had stopped collecting magic a long time ago.
He decided to take the scenic route and pass through the city square, aptly named The Labyrinth. It was a glorified garden, imbued with all sorts of scion parlor tricks to make it seem interesting. Still, it was one of the few places where the residents could forget about their worries.
The hedges, as tall as the city walls, had been recently trimmed, nice and neat, forming a massive gateway that led to a large marble fountain. It was a statue of a great gnarled tree, almost as tall as the hedges themselves, which sprinkled water from each of its leaves. The tree came from an ancient legend, the legend of Antras —the tree that stood alone at the edge of the world.
As Vondell admired the statue, his scars flickered with a crimson-red glow.
~Someone's watching me,~ he thought. It was hard to tell because a lot of people were watching him. He was a massive man, with a black suit of armor, perhaps the only person with black armor in the city, so that much was given.
Still, he scanned the crowds with subtle movements. ~Too open here. Have to get to a closed-off space,~ he thought to himself.
His scars flickered faster with every second he stood still, and faint trails of smoke seeped out of his pores.
~Calm down, Surth. You will be fed soon.~