tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-06-02 09:01:00 |
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Regina’s station for potioncraft was perhaps the most used area in this personal lair of magics, buried beneath the Earth and protected. The main system was a set of connected glassware, with boiling and filtering flasks and graduated cylinders surrounded by vials, jars and corked bottles. Cups for measurement, mortars and pestles of varying sizes, eyedroppers and stirrers meant to withstand whatever concoction brewed, and let’s not forget the witchy cauldron too - a cliche, yes, but sometimes things needed to be tossed into a soupy mess of mojo to achieve a certain goal. With this crypt came a set of ingredients (primarily herbs, and some oils), though she’d gathered some things through the freakshows specific to Orange County. Basilisk scales for one, she still had some of that - dragon ones too from the grapevine of the Magic Guild. More things would likely pop up as time progressed, and Trevelyan seemed to have found a large hole in the dirt filled with all sorts of natural goodies from the world he dreamt. Killian was left to his own devices in her home above ground (gods help him if he left the toilet seat up one more fucking time), and the queen brought the necromancing mage alone. An exchange of tricks was agreed upon, and Regina would always consider herself an avid student in the art of magic - and this was one place where the knowledge was infinite, no one could grasp all of it. But the attempts would be valiant. A snap of the fingers lit the wicks of the candles, and the slow melt of ivory wax began. It smelled like soil in here, stone and smoke. A hint of spices too, but that could be her own perfume. “I’m happy to bring you down here under more leisurely circumstances?” Regina chuckled, sliding her finger across the reflective table they’d gathered around to summon Killian’s spirit shackled between worlds. “Don’t mind the clutter. My queenly counterpart was a hoarder of the arcane.” Mainly for the sake of power to execute vengeance, but plenty things here could be used for good too. Bibbidi, bobbity, boo - there was definitely a lot of magic in one space, and it was here, crackling and zinging in the air and over Max’s skin; it was even imbibed within the very walls of the place, and he remembered that scent. That musty carpets, black soot, green grass growing around a coffin, heated spice scent - something definitely eerie, but ethereal and seductive too. The whole ambiance just sort of called to him in a way. Somewhat reminded of him Skyhold too, in a sense that it was a place for plotting and planning and very personal. “I appreciate the leisurely circumstances too,” he chuckled quietly, giving the edge of the mirrored table a fond pat, a light touch, nothing to smudge the glass. Such pleasant memories of being possessed - and it had helped, so, he couldn’t complain. Speaking of, though, he’d been amused to meet the actual pirate in the flesh - they made an interesting couple, Killian and Regina, but seemed happy. It was nice. He had the mushrooms in what looked like a crinkly, brown school lunch bag, wrapped in damp paper towels - and he mostly remembered what to do, but it felt like it’d been awhile. “Wherever you want me,” Max added, because he didn’t want to touch what wasn’t his. “When I was growing up, in the Circle of Ostwick, I was allowed outside to tend to the gardens, it was my official job - kind of had a green thumb there, but it’s yet to really transfer.” Some skills did. Maybe he’d just have to work a little more at this one. “Set things on either table, it doesn’t matter. And you can relax - I think you have decent enough judgment to not break anything,” Regina assured, grinning without the show of teeth. Nothing profoundly dangerous was just left out in the open, either, considering Henry often ventured down here by his lonesome to pull a musty book and soak up the wonders of fairytale magic and lore. It was alright to touch things, there’d be no surprise asswart to discover the next time Trevelyan ventured to the big boy’s potty room. “I guess you could always grow your own ugly little mushrooms, though? Instead of finding adventure in dangerous tunnels. It’d give that green thumb some practice, and proven to be less dangerous.” Hers didn’t arise until the appearance of the apple tree up above - being a queen was lonely, and tending to the fruits it produced was therapeutic back in her days of royalty through forced marriage in the grand land of the Enchanted Forest. But it flourished and was vibrant and here, people actually did trust her when she offered them an apple red as blood. Most of the time, anyway. “Actually - “ Max took a look around, then went to the closest basin, for the purposes of properly cleaning those ‘shrooms. He hadn’t really touched the fungus since bringing it back from beneath the surface of the Earth - mostly because it was dangerous for those who weren’t immune to the effects of certain nasty afflictions the way dwarves tended to be, after spending eons purposely digging for treasure in the Deep Roads. “I need to clean these first, then grind them up or make a paste - depends what we’re making, but if I pass out, just revive me,” he quipped. Because really, fungus that grew on dead spider carcasses? Um. He carefully rubbed the mushrooms, breaking them apart a little with those would-be potion-crafting hands of his. Botanist, he was not, at least not right now. Getting back into it wouldn’t be too terrible. “I’ve considered a garden, might come in handy. Especially if I keep crafting. By the way, what do you think would be most useful? I can make regenerative potions, or tonics that provide resistance to fire or cold? Then there’s Tears of the Dead - it’s a poison that’s smeared on weapons, meant to cause more damage.” He also assumed Regina was stocked with what other ingredients were necessary, here in her lair - if not the herbs one might find in Thedas, then definitely ones that were close enough. Unlocking the skills to craft was like riding a bike, but she’d be a good guide so he had faith. Oh, she was well stocked, with herbal ingredients from this world and the other. The Crimson Crown, for example, was preserved in a tightly sealed jar - in Camelot, they had used it to communicate through magical barriers but it also has its other uses. According to texts it was also poison, a fertility charm, and something that could aid in astral travel but the overall consensus was that this particular toadstool was dangerous. His comment about a garden piqued her interest, and that was when she took the glass vessel from its shelf. “A garden’s not a terrible idea - if you got the space, I recommend it. I’d actually love to contribute to it if you don’t mind.” Technically she had the space for one here, but then there was also the Henry roaming around and down the road, visits from Niko - she didn’t want anything potentially harmful in any of their grasps, period. As for his question, hm. Regina needed a minute to mull it over, and she sat her royal rear on a particularly large rustic chest looking like it held treasure plundered by pirates. “Regenerative? Wounds are the biggest issues around here, I think. Having healing abilities bottled for consumption would make things a lot easier around here. But as for everything else, are those shrively things a main ingredient for them?” “Now that my house is all finished, I think it’s about time for a garden anyway. A proper one,” Trevelyan mused. “You can certainly contribute - I’ll have it in the backyard, of course, and there’s enough space. Might need some protective spells over it, depending on what is grown - I honestly don’t trust the weather to not turn apocalyptic at any moment.” Since the mushrooms were cleaned and prepared, he was all set - well, mostly. Regenerative potions, then. He’d have to grind up the fungus, so he found the mortar and pestle and got to work, mentally calculating what else he’d need. “The shrively things, no, they don’t go in the tonics - just the regenerative potions, because the mushrooms help them last longer, and they also go in the more offensive ones. Tears of the Dead, and there’s even a potion that uses these mushrooms which can summon a horde of bees.” It was...messy. And of course incited panic, not to mention stings that swelled up and looked like golf balls beneath the skin. Handy in battle, but definitely a vicious sort of attack. “For the regenerative potions though, we need...” Grind, grind, grind. His shirt sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, and teeth worried his lower lip while he considered what would be the equivalent of Thedosian herbs, what Regina might have here. “A dark laurel, something with berries? Red ones. Also what we call elfroot - it’s used in basically everything, and is essentially a weed. For the fire and cold tonics, spindleweed is one of the main ingredients - it grows by water.” Laurels, something with red berries, and something weedy and common for the regenerative potions. Hmmm. Regina sifted through her inventory of herbs, all of them dried and ready to be pulverized into powder. “A potion to summon bees sounds like someone decided to play a prank,” she snorted. “But I’ll bite on the Tears of the Dead. Killian’s got some weaponry he could use it for. I wouldn’t mind experimenting and see what else we can brew up, either.” From the nooks on the wall, she pulled a container of devil’s nettle. Intimidating name, no? It was actually just an old folk name for yarrow, a common plant that were a little pesky in gardens and lawns but also known for its medicinal properties. A bottle of dried berries from the Enchanted Forest, and the laurels - unfortunately they were separate, but she hoped they’d still be a good substitute? “These should work, and what do you use as a potion base?” Could be anything distilled from herbs to plain water (even herbal tea), and it wasn’t uncommon to use alcohol as a potion base either. Perfect. Max examined the dried berries in the bottle, unscrewing the cap and giving a tentative sniff. It was a lot like Prophet’s Laurel, actually - a symbol of Andraste’s sacrifice, its uses scrolled on ancient Tevene parchments. Apparently it had been used as an herb for healing for...well, longer than Trevelyan could even contemplate. He arranged the bottles of what Regina brought down, birch-colored eyes squinted in thought - then he glanced up, with a bit of a grin on his face at her comment regarding weaponry. “I do too, actually. Or, well, my boyfriend just got a spear - he was really excited, so something for optimum damage would be fun for him.” They’d need a few other things, to make that particular poultice, but he was confident it would turn out - and was also good with trying new things, and if it took throwing a bunch of ingredients into a pot of witch’s brew then excellent. Regina’s setup was a lot more elaborate than he was used to - or rather what his dream, Inquisitor self was used to. Hers was a nice blend of magic and science with all these helpful tools, whereas Max recalled crafting being a lot more arcane. “Alcohol as a base,” he added. “Anything strong will do. Vodka, if you have it? I’ll grind up what else we need, then - “ A glance at the glassware, “...definitely new for me. But I’m all for experimenting.” That was how you learned, after all - he appreciated the space for trial and error. It was somewhat of an intimidating alchemical setup, but most concoctions didn’t require the entire use of it - usually, things were done with simpler tools. Others needed more filtering, more bubbling, more cooking, so it was a well-rounded station of equipment. “Oh, how cute, we’ll have to equip our respective men with a little more oomph to their toys,” Regina grinned, this time a show of pearls for teeth and a stretch of apple-red lips. “But vodka, I certainly do have -” Well, perhaps not in this very crypt but she had it above ground, and all it took was the unfolding of her hand and poof. The signature purple smoke, and a bottle Greygoose came to be - because please, did people expect her to have anything less than a top shelf brand? “A little liquid courage to go with the healing,” she unscrewed the top of it, ready to pour whenever he was ready. “It’s a good combination.” He seemed to have a good grasp at what he was doing. If it came out to be imperfect, they’d simply tweak it, but maybe Trevelyan needed to get into the habit of just doing this to re-learn. Like riding a bike, she supposed. Grey Goose - nice choice, definitely. If Killian were of an alcoholic, he’d have been disappointed that the bottle disappeared from his grasp upstairs - as it was, he was actually taking a nap on the sofa with the television on. Very menacing pirate, yes. “Into here, I suppose?” Trevelyan motioned toward what he remembered, from chemistry class, as a mixing beaker - then the substance would travel through the set as it processed, and they’d end up with something useful. Max hoped, anyway. “Vodka goes in, unless you wanted to take a shot first,” he noted, no judgment. Having a nip here and there while mixing potions was probably okay. Then the first ingredient, which was the powder he’d ground up - the deep mushroom fungus, with its iridescent blue shimmering just ever-so-slightly; when he added it to make a base potion, there was a reaction which he was going to take as a good thing. Now to add the rest of the ingredients, but first... A twist of his fingers, like striking flint, and the small flame jumped up, created to heat the mixture as it cooked. “I feel like we’re making meth,” he laughed a little. “While it bubbles though, once everything goes in, I can go over a few Necromancy things. If you want.” So far, so good - nothing was exploding, there was no toxic fumes billowing from the mixture, and she’d been keeping a close eye to make sure Trevelyan didn’t accidentally misuse something. It wasn’t likely; if he wasn’t sure about something, he was polite enough to ask. “There’s not too much in here to spare an extra shot,” she observed, tilting the bottle for that pour. It was fine, though. Regina had been sticking to wine mostly, in solidarity with the rum addict. Not like Killian had asked her to cut back, but she wanted to remove most of the temptation. “But there we go, all that looks promising. You know when you’re onto something when your infusion begins to have this otherworldly brightness.” It could simmer for now. And while it did, it was a good chance to discuss shop of the dead variety, and there was a particularly large and rustic chest (the kind of thing that looked like it held treasure plundered by pirates) her royal rear decided to get comfortable on, legs crossed. “I’m listening and willing, but keep the zombie apocalypse to a minimum,” she mused. “Aside from being a vessel to the dearly departed, what else is up your sleeve with the necromancy?” No danger of a zombie apocalypse per se, but demons? Different story. However, Max would go over that some other time - he really didn’t want to wake up marked with that dreaded Anchor, but was aware there was a very real chance it could happen. He’d like to prepare people as much as possible. But moving on. He stood nearby the concoction as it brewed and simmered, giving it a turn occasionally with one of the stirring rods - keeping an eye on it was important too, since he didn’t want anything to overflow. Or, yes, explode. “There’s a group of mages in a country called Nevarra - they’re the Mortalitasi and have a great respect for the dead, building entire elaborate cemeteries where corpses are mummified rather than burned, like how those who tend to be more Andrastian in their faith do. The Necropolis outside Nevarra City is beautiful - eerie and silent, with everything from gardens to ballrooms. Yet of course no living body occupies the space.” That was just the buildup, of course, sort of the intro to the story - Max was no bard, but he believed in establishing facts and info to couch your main points in. “Anyway, the Mortalitasi dabble in Necromancy and they’re really the main authority - the mages who specialize in it are connected to spirits,” he continued. “Spirits who reside in the Fade, the place where souls go after death. These spirits seek balance, aiding the living before they can pass on to be with the Maker. You know the Underworld is kind of like a weigh station? The Fade sort of is too - there’s a lot of unfinished business there. But that’s where Necromancers draw their spirits from, spirits called to fight in battle. They’re summoned for a variety of purposes - to fight with us, to revive fallen companions, or to boost our own spells and how effective they are.” And there were disagreements about Necromancy, which was to be expected - some mages thought it was cruel to pull spirits from the Fade like that, to do the bidding of those in the living world; other forms of magic worked with the Fade rather than taking from it, but Trevelyan had chosen Necromancy because it was the best way to keep himself and his companions alive - he didn’t need anything flashy, he didn’t need to arm himself with melee weapons for days, he just needed them all to live. “I thought I’d teach you a spell where if an enemy around you goes down, you’d immediately regenerate and heal - it’s handy in a fight, and ensures you won’t go down, basically.” Max hadn’t practiced much with it but, call him paranoid, in case a Breach did happen, he wanted those who were able to learn that one especially - once he taught Revy a few things, he’d definitely teach her that one as well. It’d be good practice now. His introduction sounded very much like a ghost story, didn’t it? But that was the tone of necromancy - something dark, something haunting, and the prowess over death was limited to only the Lord of the Underworld in what she dreamt. Regina listened, elbow propped on her knee, chin in hand. “I’m intrigued,” she admitted, eyebrow raised. It was rare that the queen had ever let an enemy close to her get her down, but things happened - like getting shot in broad daylight, a memory she sourly recalled. “By ‘down,’ do you mean critically injured, or dead? Does it matter if it’s human or non-human?” What her guess was that this trick he intended to teach her involved sucking whatever lifeforce was left from the fallen? A siphon spell of sorts, for healing. It’d be a good trump card to have under her belt - it was a way of staying alive, and for that she’d be an eager student. “It doesn’t matter what the enemy is - it can be human or non-human,” Max replied, with another stir to the potion. It was looking good, very green in that electric lime sort of way - which must mean he was doing something right, since this was how it looked in his dreamworld. “But they do have to die, yes - we’ll refer to it as terminally injured?” His grin was wry. “The spell’s called Death Siphon, but it was a nice way to keep my companions, the ones who I was fighting with, from ever really getting too fatigued or hurt.” The effects of the spell were passive, but they were like a rejuvenation of sorts - helpful, during a long battle, especially when wave after wave of demons were popping out of a rift that Trevelyan was trying to close. “I learned at Skyhold, by a trainer brought in - we met at the war table - and I haven’t taught anyone here yet. You’ll be my first pupil. So, let’s see...” He knew that he’d be doing this, so he went to where he’d stashed his messenger bag and removed the ceremonial skull (only in the OC would walking around with a skull in your bag be a thing), carrying it to one of the tables. “Bloodstone was the jewel I used, to adorn the skull, but it can be any, I believe - any that’s personal to you. Any piece of jewelry.” Max assumed Regina had something like that - but it was part of the ritual, to be able to hear the secrets of Necromancy whispered from the skull’s mouth. “Teaching someone else is a way to hone your craft, I believe,” Regina commented, knowing from experience - she had helped some around these parts get the hang of their magics, and in helping others, smaller lessons were learned in regards to her own brand of witchcraft. A cycle of constant learning, especially here. She lifted herself from the chest and approached the table, rubbing her wrist while her eyes looked upon the skull so casually lugged around. “Nothing’s going to happen to what I pick, is it?” Yes, she had a couple of very personal pieces of jewelry - like the silver band around her neck - but she wasn’t going to use it if it meant something would happen permanently to it. The chain was cautiously pulled from around her neck and she squinted at Trevelyan skeptically. “Because if something happens to this, ghost whisperer, I will flay you alive.” Nothing besides opening a portal to hell - alright, that was a joke, but Trevelyan probably should say that. “No, nothing will happen,” he promised, attempting to ease Regina’s mind. “It’s just the catalyst to get things moving along.” The silver band would do, and he simply placed it upon the skull - on its chin, actually, or where its chin would be. He had a few bloodstone pieces too, that he added to each empty eye socket. Now for the book, an ancient-looking thing that was thick enough to prop up a piece of furniture, hardcover, matching miniature skulls decorating each corner of the square that was the front cover. Very macabre, but what else could one expect from a craft such as Necromancy? “Speak the words from this page, and you’ll hear what you need to in return. Right from the skull, like it’s speaking only to you - and you’ll absorb everything.” It was honestly the strangest feeling, the way it sunk in, but once he cracked open the book the magic literally swirled from its pages and into a light, scented cloud - distinct, that scent of sandalwood, myrrh, saffron. Like something you’d breathe in, in an ancient Egyptian tomb. Cardamom and cedar chests and closets, honey and figs. The skull, admittedly, was a tad unsettling - the structure of it looked a little twisted with its open jaws, the jeweled eyes, the aura it gave off. Nothing malignant, no, but the goosebumps on her arms was proof of its evocative presence. Trevelyan held the book, and her fingers caressed the text, skin against the archaic pages. Its smell was reminiscent to her own books, and the feel of esoteric energy filled her senses; inhaled into her lungs through mouth and nose went right to the bloodstream. Regina followed the instructions without straying, considering the nature of all this - last thing she’d want to do was fuck the process up, and no one knew Trevelyan’s craft other than Trevelyan himself. The script from the parchment was uttered, and with it came a wind whispers whistling in her ear. A disembodied voice, hushed and quiet, and sent a cold shiver up her spinal column. Then came an exhale, her breath visible like their environment was cold when it really wasn’t - but for a second it felt that way. “Lessons from the beyond,” she whispered, coffee-colored eyes somewhat widened; that was a new method of learning things. There were a multitude of other spells, all making up the Necromancy craft, but Trevelyan thought it best to start slowly. With just the one, Death Siphon, and work from there. If Regina wanted to learn more, she was welcome to - there were some useful tricks here in this ancient tome. “Intriguing, isn’t it?” he smiled a little, the whiskey warmth never having left his eyes. There was something about the pull of magic - maybe because he was literally made of magic, all of it reawakening the more he remembered. It was simply a part of him, always would be, across whatever universe and within any existence. “Not that I’m hoping you’ll get a shot to use the spell, but if you do it’s just a nice way to be prepared.” Setting the book down gently, he went to pour the regeneration potion into a couple separate bottles now that it had percolated and was cooled off a little more. Didn’t look like it tasted very good, but that green color was nauseating no matter how you sliced it. “Tears of the Dead next, then?” he asked. He’d be content to spend the rest of the day down here, brewing and concocting. Now that’d he’d gotten back in the crafting saddle, it was like coming home to an old friend. Intriguing was the word for it, yes. Regina didn’t know how long the ‘chills’ from the experience would last, but the sensation was still embedded in her skin, her bones, the ghost of words in her ear - she had to give that skull a lasting look, brow raised, but she supposed that now the experience was over, it was time to gently pull the chain and ring away. Back around her neck, the band over her heart, where it belonged. “It’s appreciated,” she smiled, though now she had to think of something else to teach him besides culinary magic - maybe teleportation, which was a handy way of escaping a rocky situation. In time, however. She imagined the two would have plenty to share to make sure the other was prepared. “But, yes - let’s move on and start making what will make our sharp things more dangerous for our boyfriends.” Let the boys have their fun, why not? |