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 Posted: Thu Oct 23, 2014 7:36 pm
The Incompetant Man
Adventure: Aiding an Alchemist
Malta and Naarhiji)
620 Words
Malta watched the Oblivionite boy leave, her tail switching side to side in satisfaction. She was happy he had his items – that was why he had come in. After dealing with the annoying oblivionite, the boy deserved what he needed, at least.
“What did you do?!” cried the alchemist. Malta turned to face him, her eyes glowing in the gloom.
“I gave him what he wanted.” she said, glancing at the cauldron. Silver smoke began to rise from it. “Shouldn't you attend to that?”
“If he had stayed here longer, he would have bought something!” the alchemist brandished an item at her – his stirring rod. “And now I just lost a customer because of you!”
“Because of me?!” Normally, Malta would have shrunk away and whimpered at the first sign of someone else's anger, but something about this man brought out something unfamiliar and strange.
Anger.
“You're the one that was making the potion wrong!” she snapped – almost literally – at him, “How is it my fault that he left?”
“You said something about the ingredients. You chased him off!” the silver smoke was thicker now, coiling about the foot of the cauldron, and Malta watched it with annoyed wariness.
“Well you were having him put the wrong things in! In the wrong amounts.” she looked back at him “You could have hurt someone if I had let you...” she didn't like how the smoke was moving – almost malevolence, “And what did you put in now.”
“They weren't the wrong things! They were the right things! In the right amounts! I'm a trained alchemist, khehora!” he shouted. Malta could see his veins poking out from beneath the thin skin of his forehead. “I know what I'm doing!”
“Is it supposed to be smoking?!” she asked him, arcing a claw at the cauldron.
He turned.
“Uh.” The silver smoke made its way to them. Malta breathed it in, feeling its magical and natural components try to...
Increase her blood pressure.
The man began to cough, his face florid.
“See? You put too much in.” she growled, exasperated.
“No, I...” He clutched his chest, wobbling. Malta could see his veins bulge. This was, she realized dangerous. “Help...” he whimpered, his empty sockets wide with fear.
She did not like the man, but she would not leave him there in potentially dangerous smoke. She grabbed his cloak and dragged him outside into the open air. He seemed to improve, so she went inside to deal with the cauldron.
It was an easy enough fix, and she was soon able to clean up.
He returned later, gasping, his blood pressure returning to it's former healthy degree. “I'm sorry.” he said, “I just... I try very hard to make my way here. I don't like being told what I can and can't do...”
Malta understood. That didn't mean she forgave him. She was done with him and this place. “I fixed your potion.” she said, “And I think I'll be leaving.”
“No, wait!” he said, daringly touching her foreleg, “Please. I could use the help...”
“You weren't very nice.” she said, turning to walk out the door, “I don't think I want to help you.”
“No. Please... Just reconsider... Hang on.” he dashed into the supply room and came out with a hastily wrapped package. Malta could smell something earthy and something acidic – both unfamiliar. “Its witches chocolate and babosa slime... please. Think about it. I could really use the help and... and I'd pay!”
She took the goods and put it in her carrypack. “Maybe.” she said, walking out of the store, huffily. Maybe.
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Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 5:00 pm
Return to the Wild
Solo
Words: 618
Malta had said most of her goodbyes: She'd said them to Castors family, to the alchemist in his dingy lair, to Naarhiji, to the family with a rambunctious Uruu, and to the many other friends she had met in Obsidian city.
Now, finally, she was saying goodbye to the city itself.
Malta hesitated outside the gates, shifting her battery of rucksacks to fit more comfortably behind her wings, and looked back at the imposing walls that had kept her safe for so long.
The walls had been her salvation and her cage, a barricade against the Mara and, also, the wildnerness that was ultimately her home. It had been like the shell of an egg, both protecting and confining. Leaving it, she felt as though she was hatching.
What did you say to your empty eggshell? How do you tell it goodbye? She wondered. She could not remember her hatching: Maike had told her, once, that she had been unable to break her own shell, and had needed help to be brought into the world, but she couldn't remember it at all.
She could imagine, though, the terror of being confined, of needing to break free but being unable, trapped and suffocated by that which was supposed to keep you safe. She'd started feeling trapped several months ago. At first, it was not much, easily remedied by exploration and, further, by the discovery of the park. The walls, though, were of unnaturally carved stone and they began to close in on her. All around her was stone, lacking in plants, and it soon wore through her admirable resilience.
Eventually, she could not even pretend that the park, a mere shadow of the forest, could help her escape the cramped solidity around her. She'd longed for the forest, with it's living smells and rich colors and open skies.
And so, she had decided to leave. She had not been trapped, not this time - this was an egg she could break free of.
But how to say goodbye to it? What did one say to a city?
“Hey. Khehora.” she turned to the patrolman Oblivionite, who raised an eyebrow at her, “If you're coming with us, best get moving.”
“Oh. Yes. Right.” she said, turning away.
Perhaps she thought, as she took her first steps away, The best goodbye is not a goodbye at all.
She caught up with the patrol, her protection in the uncertain outside, and it hit her – as suddenly as a hatchling's first breath of air or the first shock of raindrops before a storm – that she was not the same Malta that had gone into the city.
She had finally grown into her body, first of all. She could feel the strength in her limbs, the muscle that rippled underneath her skin. But it was not just in body that she had changed.
In the closed confines of the city, her mind had opened. She had discovered things like books and writing and literature, and had learned of the traditions that the non-khehora had. She had learned not to fear them, but to know them as people, just like herself, with fears and anxieties and pain. She had advanced in her craft and learned of the value of the strange bartering tool called 'coin', and that she was worth a lot.
And something else had changed, too... something hard to define. Whether it was something lost, or something gained, was hard to say. But she was different, intrinsically and abstractly different, and, she thought as she followed the patrol into the sparse suburbs and, finally, into the countryside of the dark land, it would be a change for the better.
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Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 6:45 pm
To Create
Recipe Buying solo, Cooking
526 Words
Malta watched intently as the woman kneaded the ground grain, water, and coagulated Sheron milk into a paste. “And this is... dough?”
“Yep!” said the oblivionite woman. She was young, partway through her adolescence, but she had her adult shape already. Her curves strained against the cloth that protected her, Malta assumed, from the splatters of the liquids that seemed to abound in her profession.
“And you are a... I'm sorry...”
“I'm a baker!” laughed the Oblivionite, “Well, I'm an apprentice baker.”
“I think that is amazing... you turn plant and animal matter into a single product that can be eaten...” Malta sniffed the substance, apparently called 'dough', “It's simply amazing.”
“Isn't that what you do?” the baker apprentice asked, “You make potions... you are an alchemist, right?”
“It's not the same...” said Malta, watching longingly as the 'dough' was left to sit, “what you do here smells so much better than what I do...”
The young woman laughed. “Well, sure!” she said, “I'm not working with stinky herbs and goop, after all! It's so facinating! I didn't even know that Khehora did anything besides, um..” the baker apprentice frowned, “Be dragons, I guess.”
Malta giggled. “Well, I know some people who...” she hesitated, “Nevermind.” she looked around her at all the strange contraptions that the Magescian used. “I think I love this place!” she said, with a happy croon, “You're a very nice person for showing it to me.
The two had met only recently: it had started when the woman had dropped her metallic shaped object – called a 'key', apparently, and used to open locks- onto the dark cobbles of the ground.
Malta had trotted over, picked them up, and given it back to her, only to drop her bag of foodstuffs, and Malta had offered to carry it for her. And then, the woman had dropped her key again.
Between the barrage of “I'm sorry!” and “Oh goodness!” from both of them, that punctuated the encounter, they had exchanged names and become... friends? Malta wasn't sure. What she did know was the Oblivionite woman was full of energy, and Malta was happy to be on the receiving end.
The woman opened a warm stone door, sweet smells spilling out into Malta's nose. She sniffed at the browned plates of grain and fruit, curious. “What are these?” she asked.
“Cookies!” the baker held one out to her, “Try it!”
Malta did so, awkwardly crunching at it. It tumbled to the floor in crumbs and she had to lick it up. Once finished though, she looked up at the baker with surprised delight.
“It's good!” she crooned.
“Well of course it is.” said the woman, “It's a cookie. Cookies are always good.”
“What's in it?” Malta asked, trying to figure it out for herself. She could recognize most of the ingredients, but not all of them.
“Well, I'm about to make another batch...” said the woman, “Why don't you watch?”
Malta squealed with delight. “Of course!” she crooned, purring as she watched the cookies being made, taking in every step of the process.
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Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 6:57 pm
Crafting Solo: An Assasin's Request
Rank 6 -> Rank 7
Created: Potion of Elemental power (Dark) x 2
Malta peered at the recipe book, nudging it with her tail. “Is that 'Oil of Argaroo or...” she squinted, “Something...” she frowned at the brew in the cauldron. She was alone again in the incompetant alchemist's lair, trying to figure out the recipes he had written in his little booklet. They were old, and in many different hands, implying that the book had been handed down through generations of the Alchemist's ancestors. Some of that writing, unfortunately, was smeared or illegible, leaving the khehora to guess at their meanings... and with potions, meanings were very important. A single mistake in ingredients or measurements or even how one put the ingredient into the cauldron could turn a healing potion into a poison.
So, being immune to most dangers aside from suffocation, Malta decided to clarify the confusing book with some trial and error. “Lets go with... Argaroo oil.” she said, finding some in the pantry and dripping the gooey, sublimed substance in with a careful claw. She sniffed at her mixture. “Seems fine.” she murmured to herself, “Not sure if it's actually a youth potion, though...” she added the next ingredient, a calcified blob. “More like a joint potion...” she said, observing the way the substance oozed and slithered under her stirring spoon, “Not that that isn't a problem for anybody after a youth potion.”
Did such a potion exist, Malta wondered, a potion that could make you younger? If there was, she didn't know of it. For now, easing the pains of old age would have to do. She moved the mixture off of the fire and let it cool, scratching out the title of the recipe and writing in “Argaroo Oil” and “Joint Pain” with an awkward claw. “There.” she said with a happy little Mrr, smiling at her handiwork, “That should keep things clear.”
She poured the mixture into vials with a funnel and, with a practiced claw, underwent the complicated tasks of stoppering and labeling them. She wished, as she often did, that she had hands, but her labels read, passably, “JOINT RELIEF” and she knew that was what she did. Feeling victorious, she added them to the rack in the storefront.
She turned back to the cauldron, only to nearly jump out of her scales: there was someone there. “Oh!” she squeaked, “H-hello!” she hadn't known anybody was there: she could have sworn that there hadn't been anybody there before. “H-how can I help you?” she said, wary but hopeful that this person would not hurt her. It had happened before in this city, and she was willing to believe the best. For now.
The Oblivionite watched her for a moment. “Do you make poisons?” he asked abruptly. He was clad, Malta noticed, in leather, and he smelled of death and steel. He didn't seem to have any steel out though, a promising sign.
“Yes!” she said, daring to walk past him to her cauldron, “Yes I do! Do you want some?”
“... Lets say... hypothetically... that I do. A specific one. Would you make it?”
“Sure.” Malta didn't know what 'hypothetical' was, but the idea of making poisons was just too much fun. She couldn't think ill of someone who wanted her to make something so completely within her area of expertise! “I'd make it for you. What would you want?”
“It's a magic poison. It channels darkness into a weapon, and smites with the power of the dark lady...” his face was hard to read, “How about that.”
“Ohhh!” Malta said, murring, “Yes, I could make that, Yes indeed!” She knew exactly what he wanted.
“Hmmm... And, if I hypothetically wanted to have it made, how much would it cost?”
Malta blinked. “Um... I don't know?” Prices were difficult for her.
“I'm offering five dragon souls.” he said, his voice was final. “Will that do?”
“Yes it would!” she said, relieved that he'd suggested a price. She started water boiling in the cauldron.
“How long?” he asked, watching the water heat.
“Hmm?”
“How long until its done?”
“Oh...” Malta calculated, “Should be done by evening!” she chirped happily.
“Acceptable. I will return for it at sundown. With your payment.” Malta blinked, and suddenly he was no longer there. She looked for him – behind the shelves, under the books – everywhere.
Slightly disconcerted, she turned to her potion... It was simple enoug: Groda mushroom boiled until it became mush, and then mixed with the soul of a dragon. The clan of the dragon determined what the poison would do and he obviously wanted it to do dark magic damage... and it just so happened she had a few diabi dragon souls handy.
She let it boil, humming happily as she went about other tasks. How odd, she thought, that the man had dissappeared so easily... and had appeared. She hadn't heard him, or smelled him, or even known he was there until, suddenly, he was.
How had he done it...? Magic? It was very peculiar.
Once the mushrooms had become muck, she dropped the dragon soul in, watching the muck turn a gooily glimmering obsidian-and-purple ooze. She stirred it and let it simmer.
Finally, as the sun set and the goop finished cooling, she began to put it in the vials. She had just finished and set them aside when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.
She turned and nearly knocked them over in her startlement.
“Oh! Hello! There you are.” she said.
“Is that it?” he picked up one of the vials.
“Yes.” she said, watching as he put it in his bag.
“There are two.” he said, nudging the other vial warily.
“One batch makes two doses.” she explained.
“I see.” he placed a bag down on the floor, “Your payment. Five dragon orbs...” he looked at the vial, “I only brought the five.”
“Thats fine!” she said, “You can have it too!”
“I cannot pay for it.”
“I enjoyed making it.” she said, beaming, “And it's yours.. I'm sorry, I should have told you.”
“Hmm...” he looked at her for a long moment before putting it into his bag. “Thank you. I will repay you soon.”
“Aww... you don't have to...” she began... but he was gone again. “Oh.” she said, looking around, “Okay.”
That was odd.
A few days later, a bag of five pearls was waiting next to her when she woke up. It bore a tag, written in neat script:
“Here is your payment for the goods you provided. I hope to do business with you again.”
There was nothing more, and Malta decided to not question it. The city, after all, was not a place to question. It was much like the forest in that way.
So, she didn't, and she went about her day...
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Posted: Tue Nov 11, 2014 7:29 am
Siksl'gra's aid and Inverse Graverobbing
Malta and Raemos
247 Words
Malta watched Siksl'gra sleep, curled up in his nest of plants and feathers, a paw arched over his eyes to block out any light that might dare to fall upon them.
Her new companion - she hesitated to call him servant – was proving to be very helpful, beyond companionship. His hands – for that was what they were – could cut up her ingredients far better than she could herself, and his ability to move things with his mind would be very useful for her more caustic reagents.
But, mainly, she thought he was adorable. The way his powerful paws twitched in sleep, the way his large ears framed his sweet feline face, his little bitty twitching tail... adorable. And he was so soft and warm besides that... she thought he was wonderful.
Of course, she would not tell the giogimar so. He seemed like a manly sort of beast, and to tell him he was 'cute' would probably upset him. He was her friend, after all, and she did not want to upset him.
So, she settled for watching him.
Reegel poked his head into her lair. “Malta...” he said, “It's time to go.” She nodded, and started out. Another afternoon and evening of training to make her feel pained and weak.
Siksl'gra stirred, looking at her with one of his large eyes. “Have a good session, Malta.” he said, before returning to sleep.
Malta smiled. At least she had him to look forward to.
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Posted: Thu Dec 25, 2014 4:47 pm
Stocking up
Adventure, Marketplace
296 Words
“And you could have gone lower for that too.” scolded the Giogimar, as they left.
“I didn't want to upset him...” said Malta, looking around her. There were many tents and many goods, overwhelming to the young khehora so long removed from such things. She almost looked forward to the loneliness of the desert after so much bustle. Magescian bustle.
“Malta.” the Giogimar looked at her sternly, his new bauble glittering in the sun, “I thought you had learned that that is no matter. You are khehora, you are their master. They should not be upsetting you...” he sighed, “And besides. You passed your ritual. You are a fighter...”
“Yes, but...”
“But nothing.” the Giogimar laid a gentle paw on her foreleg, “It will be all right. I know you can learn, and so I – as your assistant – shall teach you to be fiercer.” he looked around with feline discomfort, “But in the desert, yes? Away from all these lesser beings.”
Malta didn't think they were lesser – unimaginably powerful was more like it, even the Oblivionites. But she smiled and nodded at her Giogimar. “Yes. But supplies first!”
“Supplies first.” he agreed.
~~~
They traversed from stall to stall, picking up useful potion herbs and ingredients in bulk for further trade down the road, and, of course supplies of food and water. Siksyl'gra objected somewhat to the food, seeing as they could both technically hunt for themselves, but Malta (and the vendor) managed to convince the feline that food would be scarce in the desert and anything they could hunt likely could hunt them back.
They did not linger in the town before they set out into the desert, North by Northwest towards the mountains in the horizon.
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2014 7:49 pm
Crafting Solo: Toxic Mushrooms and Psychoanalytic Therapy
Malta and Detraeus
Rank 8-> Rank 9
Crafted: Basic Poison x 2
375 WordsMalta had been so happy to see Detraeus! It had been a pleasant surprise for the Ysali to have him come to her for help, though the fact that he needed help wasn't so good. She hoped she had helped him as she stood over her cauldron, looking down at the bubbling liquid as it congealed into a slimy, deceptive ooze. He'd had very interesting questions, ones that she had welcomed because they made her have to think about them too. Malta liked to think, and love was one of the great mysteries of the universe. And hate. Love and hate were mysterious things, and both had caused her Oblivionite friend a lot of distress. But he had come to her, and she had helped, and then he had left. Malta wondered what he had left to do, exactly, and what events would be set into motion because of her help. She wondered, too, if he would come back... She hoped he did. If he did, she would have a present, just for him. She crooned happily as she stirred in the powdered and mixed remains of the last few ingredients – bark from a poisonous tree, glowing spores from a twisted mushroom, a piece of usually harmless leaf, pickled in bought vinegar under the blood moon – into the ooze. She crooned again as it turned an eerie purple, then darkened to black, pleased. He would be pleased, too, with her concoction. He had asked her about poisons, and she hadn't been able to get it out of her mind. Potions and poisons – that was what she had done – and it seemed he would want some poisons too. So, she would give it to him, and he would be happy... whenever he came. She let it heat just a little more, and then set her cauldron aside to cool, stretching as the putrid steam rolled off of it. Yes, he would be happy with her gift! It was, after all, a very good poison – her own invention! She started to set up her special plant to make it's woody capsules – so much better than jars or vials – and purred. She was sure he would put it to good use.
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2014 7:56 pm
Back Alley Serums
Malta and Naarhiji
Words
Malta was absolutely tickled... pinkish... to be invited to eat with her friend. As she packed up what she had unpacked in the dark alleyway, she wondered what his place would be like. Would it be pretty? Would it be run down?
As long as there was food and shelter and someplace comfortable to lie down, Malta was fine. She would be spending time with a friend, and that was what would matter. Of course, Siksyl'gra would disapprove, but when didn't he? If he'd found a spot for the night, he would find her. He always did, with uncanny accuracy.
He'd do it when he was good and ready to do so, but she was hungry now and food was... well, food was good and Siksyl'gra would have to deal with that.
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Posted: Sat Jan 10, 2015 9:06 am
A Very Strange Moo-vement
Taming and Poison Delivery to Detraeus (will be sent in when more poisons are crafted)
494 Words
Malta was delighted beyond belief when she discovered that – not only had Detraeus liked her present of a milking sheron, but he had brought his young son over to see her. She hadn't even had to specifically ask, or perhaps she'd asked before without realizing, but she was happy to see the child, none the less.
He looked very little like his father at first glance, and was covered in lumpy scales. After all, his mother was a Dovaa. But he smelled like his father, and he was a tiny, wiggly, inquisitive thing that Detraeus permitted Malta the great honor of sniffing.
And of getting his little fingers stuck up her nose.
She'd sneezed, and then worried because she didn't know what properties her mucus had, but after some flustered and frenzied inspection, she determined, to her relief, that the boy was unharmed.
Thought of poison reminded her of the basket she had nearly forgotten to bring, the basket of poisons that she had made long ago for Detraeus and had continually forgotten in her lair. So, it was a double gift she had offered him that day, the Sheron and the poisons, that he accepted graciously. He seemed happy, a lot happier than he had been when she'd first met him, that strange night in the woods. And that was good.
She was happier too.
She left their meeting feeling cheerful enough to bounce slightly in her steps as she made her way to a suitable spot to take wing for home. Happier still, of course, because she knew they would meet again.
That was always cause for joy.
She didn't tire as easily as she once had, and no longer gasped and wheezed after a long glide In fact, her return home was comparatively comfortable, and she happily told her father the good news – that her present had arrived safely and was welcomed.
He was not, himself, entirely happy that she had taken one of his sheron, but he was happy that it made her happy and, besides, she outranked him now – a crafter to a herder – and was no longer afraid to stand up for herself, so – since they had had a good year and one sheron wasn't much in the grand scheme of things – he didn't oppose it. Family dinner was a lively affair now that three clutches shared in the feast, and Malta soon put all her old worries of the day aside to enjoy her family and their ways.
Another cause, indeed, for joy.
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Posted: Sat Jan 10, 2015 2:54 pm
Over the River
ADVENTURE: Pearl Diving
335 Words
The man shucked the clams as they came in, removing the meat and whatever he found inside. By the time he was done, he was grinning. “Pearls!” he said, showing the shining orbs to Malta, “A whole bunch of them! We probably could have stayed down and got ourselves some Erlkin, but despite your healing and all, that blood was going to attract some unsavory sorts.” He slipped five into Malta's carrysack, which she had left on board for the swim. “Your share.” he said.
“Thank you.” she said, her tail twitching.
“Say, why were you here in our little burg, anyhow?” the man asked, leaning back on his haunches, satisfied with his haul.
“I'm looking for transport to Eowyn.” she said plainly, “I was hoping to get on a boat...?”
“Well, the next one leaves in a few days. Something can be arranged, I bet.” he said, shrugging, “You can stay with us for a bit. It's the least I can do after my hand and your help...” he laughed, “If that had healed wrong, who knows what I'd be doing.”
“The pearls...”
“Were for your help. I'll not let my apprentice live up the fact that an untrained land khehora broke their record for the pearls. The offer of hospitality is just friendly, and sort of pay for the hand. Think of it that way.”
“All right.” she said, too tired to be wary. Swimming was exhausting. She lay down until they reached port, and followed him, achingly, back to his house where she was served food by an irate woman who insisted that she eat every bite. Swimming was also hungry work, and so she did so to the woman's apparent delight.
And then, on a soft rug by their hearth, she curled up to sleep. At some point, during the night, a furry, aloof presence made itself known as it nested between her forelegs, and that was the last thing she knew until morning.
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Posted: Sun Jan 11, 2015 3:33 pm
Crafting: Through the Woods
Rank 9-> Rank 10
Created: Basic Damaging Poison x 2
Malta loved working with fresh herbs, even if they were herbs that were not to be eaten. Out of respect for the cooking fire, she set up her cauldron outside, wanting to keep her skills sharp. Plus, she enjoyed alchemy. It was her love and passion.
She set the water to boil, glad for her cauldron's familiar dull iron sheen and thankful that it had been small enough to carry. It was designed for small batches, and small batches were best. They required less time and effort, and you didn't have to dedicate the cauldron to one thing for hours on end. Just for a few, and then – with some washing and magical cleansing – it was ready for the next batch. Malta didn't know what she would do without her cauldron. It had been with her through so much trouble and turmoil...
She smiled at it as she put some of the herbs to steep in the water as she ground some of the others into a thick herbal paste.
“What are you doing?” Malta nearly jumped at the voice from behind her, and she looked at the Oblivionite woman almost shyly.
“I'm making a poison.” she said, “Just a basic one, nothing too big.”
“Poison?” the woman stared, though technically all Oblivionites stared, since they had no eyes to vary their gaze. “Why would you make a thing like that, here?”
Malta thought. “Well... I had all these poisonous herbs, and I figured I might as well cook up a poison batch while they were still fresh...”
The woman shook her head. “Poisons... ha. What use do common folk have for poisons...”
“Medicine.” the khehora said, nodding approvingly as her herb paste turned out well.
“Medicine?!”
“Mmhmm!” Malta put in the paste, stirring it as she took the cauldron off the heat of her small, cautious fire, “Potions and medicines... they are really just poisons in certain doses. They use the poison to do good things to the body, to fix it when its unbalanced.” Malta explained, “Thats why you shouldn't have too much medicine.”
“Well. I'll be.” murmured the woman, “Call me crazy if I go to another medicine person again!”
Malta was quiet. She didn't understand why the woman wouldn't want medicine. That it was poisonous meant nothing to Malta, and she was sure that such things would have helped the woman in the past. But it was clear to the khehora that there was no talking to the woman about it.
“So.” said the Oblivionite, after a few moments, “What sort of poison are you making?”
“Well...” Malta didn't think that the woman would appreciate it, but she launched into a description anyway. “It has a fluffotton, thistlethorn, and viper vine base – a common base – and I'm trying out a few of the herbs I found in the garden today, to see if they have an effect...” she scrutinized her mixture, “I put a few sunweed and moonweed in. They are good for aches, so if I overdo them, maybe they – with the base – will become numbing agents? Or...” she made a wing shrug, “I'm not sure. I think they'll make something interesting, though.” she said, checking the mixture with her magic and a claw, that she thoughtfully licked, assessing. No numbing agents – she had been wrong. But the moon and sun weed made a tea that was full of compounds that would block anti-poison agents, simply by being bulky. It would not hinder it, and it would be harder to cure. Well, that was good! She would have to find someone to test it out for her...
But who?
That was a problem for later.
“Sounds a lot like making a soup.” murmured the woman as Malta decanted her potions.
“I should like to make soup.” Malta replied, sealing the poisons away and cleaning her cauldron. “I want to cook, you see.” she admitted.
“Poisons and food.” the woman laughed, “That's asking for trouble. Well, I'll show you how I'm going to make the broth for tomorrow, but...” she pointed a demanding finger at the cauldron, “You're leaving that outside...”
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Posted: Tue Jan 13, 2015 11:07 am
Crafting: Getting in Shape
Training Montage
Rank 10-> Rank 11
Created: Elemental Fire Potion x 2All the way in the desert, Malta thought about the events that had led her there. It was not so long ago that she had been angry at another, that she had wanted to hurt someone else. And, subsequently, not so long ago that she had healed that same person. She knew she wasn't a fierce khehora. She had forced herself to be for the ritual fight, but... well.. that hadn't turned out as well as she had hoped. Or, it had turned out better. It all depended on whether she considered going home better than staying. On the one paw, she did. On the other paw, it had been home for so long and the settlement... well, she barely remembered it. She hummed at her cauldron, stirring in the shaved off pieces of groda mushroom into the water, along with the chili seeds and some obsidian sand, stirring it in with a piece of carefully preserved and purified slug slime as a binding and suspension agent. She was no longer angry at the Firani: Naita had helped her far more than the Firani could ever know. In memory of that help, Malta took out one of the Firani dragon orbs that she had collected over the years, turning it over in her claws. It blazed with an inner fire, as passionate and volatile as the khehora of before had been. Malta wondered how Naita was now – it had been a while since she had seen her, and Malta was sure that, in the time span of her journey, the Firani had changed, just as she – Malta – had. Malta was sure that Naita had lost none of her passion, or her endless vitality. She put the orb in the mixture, stirring it until, finally, she cracked it against the wall of the cauldron, feeling it's energies suffuse the mixture and try to escape, to burn and ravage her body. But the potion – and the magic that she had used – held it back. She took it off the heat to cool it, though she knew – since it was infused with elemental fire – it never would entirely. As she waited to decant the mixture into its containers to transport, Malta smiled and looked into her pack, where the magbit furs still lay. All that time ago, she had lied. She hadn't killed the magbits for their fur. All it had taken was buds for food, restraints of vines, and a potion within the food to sedate the magbits as – with careful front teeth – she clipped off the tufts herself and tied them together. She didn't need to kill to hunt, or hunt to kill. Just because it was a material gained from a living thing didn't mean that that life had to end. This was what Malta had learned. And it would, indeed, be her little secret.
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Posted: Tue Jan 13, 2015 11:52 am
Crafting: Under a Desert Moon
Rank 11-> Rank 12
Created: Potion of Pride
The Fire element potion finished and packed away, Malta turned to the next potion, cleansing her cauldron briefly before putting in the new water to boil. She knew she should not use water so, not in the middle of the desert. The water she had brought with her was precious and rare, and could mean the difference between life and death.
However, she also knew that – with her magic – she could glean water out of the plump cacti she saw if she needed to, and there were springs and wells in the Terra Expanse. She could get more water for herself and Siksyl'gra if she had to.
So for now, in the cold, empty misery of the Malro night, she would make her potions for company. Siksyl'gra might have scolded her once, but he was quiet, watching her. The desert both burned and bored him too. She began to grind the pearls into powder as her water heated.
It was odd to heat water in a desert. Water itself was so alien here, and heat so pervasive, that for the first few nights the cold of night had startled her after the blaze of day and held back her sleep. Both blaze and chill were equally miserable to the Ysali, and she longed for the cool of the forest and for the valuable commodity of shade.
Malta sighed and Siksyl'gra moved over, looking over the laid out ingredients and the ground up pearls. “What are you making?” the Giogimar asked. Malta was glad for his company – without him, she felt that the endless sands - burning in day and freezing in night but endless no matter what – would have driven her mad with despair and, because of the lack of prey she could find herself, with hunger.
“A potion...” Malta said, tapping the vial of yellow, mucosal ooze. Slime, from a babosa, a fierce creature of Serenia's forests. Or, so she had heard. “To bring forth inner strength.” Siksyl'gra sniffed at the ooze and wrinkled his nose.
“Why must you use that... grime?” he asked, taking out a vial of water from her pack to drink, “It smells atrocious.”
“Well...” Malta hesitated, mixing the foul goop into the shimmering pearl dust to form a grainy paste, “It has to do with the personality of the animal. It's fierce and unrelenting...” she said, making sure it was mixed thoroughly, “So, for a short time, so will the person who drinks this potion... if I make it right.”
Siksyl snorted. “Who would want to drink that?!” he growled, shaking his head at the waste of pearls.
“Someone who has no hope.” Malta said quietly, “Someone who needs hope.” She prepared the juice of a spined cactus fruit, mixing it and the pulp into the water, cooking it for a moment before removing the pulp, leaving the tea. “Someone who is too afraid to hope.” She began to fold in the thick mixture, feeding her magic in as well to control the potion. “Something like that.”
“Its a potion for cowards.” scoffed Siksyl'gra.
Malta paused, looking at her Giogimar. “I am a coward.” she said quietly, “And I would have given anything for this potion... once.”
“Yes. But you aren't so much a coward now.” Siksyl said, completely unashamed, “You are brave in your own right, khehora. I can see that now. Not so much before, but now... you have a spine, now.”
“I do...” Malta said, stirring in the rest of the glop, focusing her magic into the liquid spell as she added other binding and mood-effecting agents, “But if I had drank this potion, maybe I would have grown a spine sooner. Maybe a fire would have been lit in me. Maybe I would have become a warrior.” she sighed, “I'm glad I didn't, but for others...” she stirred until it became smooth and loose, like a disgustingly shiny cream, “For others it will be a blessing.”
“Ha.” Siksyl scoffed. “Well, if you say so. Let the twolegs buy it.”
Malta smiled at her mixture as she prepared to pack it away, “I intend to.” she said, smiling as she thought of it: of the hope it would provide, and of the life that she might save with this potion. She could do so much good with it, with this one dose of potion. That was what she loved to do, provide hope and goodness to others.
As the mixture cooled, she took some of that hope for herself. She could almost see the mountains on the horizon, and one day – soon – she would be home. One day - soon- things would be better. And this... this, she could hope.
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Posted: Tue Jan 13, 2015 9:03 pm
Towering to the Skies
Malta, Kekeovonnai, Suluksati
208 Words
Night fell as Malta made good time along quiet mountain paths. She could smell it on the wind – the Settlement was close by.
Out of the shadows came a feline shape. “You live.” said Siksyl'gra.
“Yes.” said Malta, “I notice...” she said, after some hesitation, “That you have nothing to do with that.”
“Mmm.” Malta wasn't sure what she had just dared to accuse her servant of, but she did not back down, not even when he fixed her with a look. “And?”
“And I would like an explanation.”
“It was a god. One does not face the gods. If they chose to destroy you, then that is their will.”
Malta growled and kept going.
“I would have been sorry.” the Giogimar called after her reluctantly, scampering to catch up as she continued down the path. He turned away aloofly when she looked at him. She stared, and then turned back to the path.
“Fine.” she said curtly. His apology was accepted – for that was what it was - and it was good to know that the Giogimar would not protect her. Now, she just hoped she had been pointed in the right direction. She wanted to be home. Now.
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 10:39 am
The Fight
Solo
1624 Words
Malta had thought that she would be happier that the Firani was gone, but she was not. The Firani had become a sort of good-luck charm, a partner in her training. Her leaving – through such foolishness as theivery – was an inauspicious blow to her confidence. And she could not afford that now.
“Malta!” the elder called, “Come. We have only three more days.” Malta shivered. Yes. Three more days. Three more days to train until the ritual fight. It was not to the death, she knew, but she'd heard the whispers – a few of the tribe would not be upset to see a 'weakling' like her die. At least, she knew, she was better than before: there were lean muscles beneath her ever present layer of fat, and she no longer gasped and wheezed at the slightest exertion, or cringed from her claws.
“Coming!” she called, gritting her teeth. She wasn't ready yet.
~~~
She still wasn't ready yet. The ritual was this night – she could feel it in the air, a charged sort of feeling that suffused the nearing evening. She could believe, indeed, that Soudana herself would be watching this fight, that the dark lady's gaze would be on the world. On her. Malta trembled – being under the gaze of the goddess of darkness was a terrifying thought. She did not think she would please her – not her.
She was still weak, still unwilling. Fear filled her – she would lose this fight. She would lose terribly.
“Malta. With me.” said the Elder. Malta nearly jumped out of her scales. “We must travel to the site.”
Malta swallowed, feeling her saliva turn bitter with venom already. “R...right.” She followed the elder, overwhelmed by a very fitting sense of doom.
~~~
The arena was before her. Made of pale bone-colored stone, it was ancient, built by hands unknown – likely Oblivionite, since the stones were bound by ancient iron chains. Malta didn't know what it had been before, but this place was sacred to the Shadow's maw tribe, and to the other tribes in the area. Even empty, it was imposing, but now there was a crowd. The glowing eyes of her mother's tribe – and likely her mother herself – blazed balefully in the dark forest. The sky was dark, as well – only the arena shone with reflected iridescent light, casting the bones of the unluckier combatants – scattered along its edges – into imposing silhouettes. Malta was alone – she would be until it was time to walk out there for the ritual. Being alone made it all the more frightening, and she was scared. She was very scared.
“Malta, of Katangi, Alchemist of the Shadows Maw tribe.” she tensed at her name, and at all it implied. “Approach.”
She managed not to stagger or stumble as she walked out into the arena, though she felt very vulnerable. All those eyes on her, all of them seeking some reason for her to be inadequate, some reason for her to be lacking. She wasn't sure if the ones seeking her redemption and acceptance were any better.
Worse, though, were the baleful pair of eyes on the other end, gleaming eerily in the half light of the arena. Her opponent. Who would it be? Who would she have to attack? To possibly kill? Who would be the one to try to kill her?
“Elder Surhur.” Malta blinked at the name, “Approach.” Malta stared as the elder, the same one that had trained her, walked into the arena. The elder gave her a small smile.
“Well, little one. Here we are.” she whispered, “Do as I taught you, and all will be well.”
Malta shivered, then straightened. She'd thought the stakes were high before, but now... now they were higher still. She had to prove herself to her own teacher... against her own teacher. “Yes, elder.” she said quietly.
“Begin.” said the announcer and, with a cry of desperation, Malta pounced, starting the battle with an uncharacteristic bang. She had to – after all, a lot was riding on this, and if she was a coward...
She would lose.
~~~
“It is finished, child.” said the Elder. They both bled from claw marks and scratches, and Malta was uncomfortably proud to see that some of the elder's wounds had swollen. She had lost, but she had fought. She hoped that would be enough.
“The Elder wins.” said the announcer, a khehora Malta did not know, “Malta of Katangi showed well, however.”
“She did.” said the Elder, looking up at him even as she held Malta down. They had fought long and hard, and Malta had been surprised at the ferocity she'd been able to exhibit. To no one's surprise, she'd lost, but considering what she had been only months before... she was very pleased. “She has promise, and enough skill to be accepted by us.” she turned to the crowd, easing the pressure on Malta's side. “We have long had a policy, that even the crafters among us must be able to fight. For a long time, she has not shown such aptitude. But, in this fight, she has proven that her value to our tribe as a warrior is acceptable, and that makes her all the more valuable as a crafter.” she looked at each one in turn. Malta could imagine that the elder knew every member of their tribe. “Do you understand? Do you accept her as one of us?”
“I agree.” said the announcer, “This has my vote. I hereby declare Malta of Katangi to be...”
“Letting the runt into the tribe?! As a proper member?!” the outraged voice was familiar. Malta's eyes widened as her mother appeared at the front of the crowd, “She isn't even as worthy as our Orakoir. Did you know, she couldn't even break her own shell?! She is worthless. Her only good is her potions and gook, and no self respecting member of our tribe would use such things.”
The elder released Malta and looked up at Katangi calmly. “And why not?”
“Poison... potions... medicine... they are for the weak, like her, and not for a strong warrior tribe such as ourselves.” Malta struggled to her feet to stare at her mother.
“Ma... But...”
The dark black khehora leapt with feline speed and grace from the sands and slammed Malta against the face, snarling. “Don't speak. You haven't earned the right to speak, runt.” she hissed.
The elder growled, a warning. “Katangi.” she said, approaching, her every movement speaking of impending violence, despite her wounds. “This is inappropriate and uncalled for. She has just passed her rite...”
“Through cheating!” Katangi howled, “She used her disgusting Ysali magic on you. How can you not be outraged?! It is an affront to our goddess to use anything but our bodies and the magic of darkness.” she growled, fixing Malta with her gaze. “I demand a rematch. I'll fight the runt myself, since I spawned her.” Malta quailed. Against the elder, she at least trusted that the elder would stop short of killing her. Against her mother... she wasn't so sure. “Ha!” Katangi laughed, “Look at her, the coward.” she turned to the elder. “I demand a rematch.” she said again.
“You have no right to demand such a thing.” the Elder's voice was cold, “She has completed her rite, and it has been affirmed by two elders.” she gave the announcer a nod, “The Ritual battle does not allow for re matches.”
“It should, you worm-eared...” the words earned Katangi a slap across the muzzle, and, enraged, she leapt at the elder.
The stands erupted with commotion, and the arena began to flood with tribes members – some for Katangi, some against her, all fighting. Malta had had enough. She turned and ran back towards the tribal grounds.
~~~
All but her garden was packed now. Alas, she could not take her garden with her, but she knew that, when she arrived at the Terra expanse, she could plant one anew. She hefted the pack over her back, between her wings, and looked at her lair sadly. It had been like home to her, that and the garden, and she had lived here for a very long time.
“You're leaving.”
Malta didn't look back at Elder surhur's voice. “Yes.” she said.
“Why? Your rite is over, and you have been accepted.” Malta turned, taking in the Elder's injuries.
“At great cost.” Malta murmured. She padded over and nuzzled the elder, her magic – what hadn't been used to heal her own injuries – leaking out to heal the other khehora. The elder nuzzled her back.
“Not so great. None died, a few were injured, and in the end, my point was made.” the elder purred appreciatively as her wounds began to close, “They will accept you now.”
“I don't like it here.” Malta blurted out, “I don't like the others, I don't like this place, I don't like the violence...” she began to cry, “And they never will accept me. You know that.”
“Mmm...” the Elder murmured. “I understand.” She crouched, bowing. “Thank you, Malta, for staying as long as you did. I, for one, was honored by your presence and your craft...”
“Thank you...” Malta said, drawing away sadly, “And Thank you for training me.”
“It was my gift to you.” she said offhandedly, “Where will you go, Malta.”
Malta looked out into the dark forest. “Home.” she said, and with that phrase, she could almost imagine she smelled the smell of the jungle and the crisp air of the mountains. Home. The place she hadn't seen in years.
“Then I wish you luck, Malta.” the elder said, bowing, “Fare thee well.”
“Thank you.” Malta said.
And so, finally, she left the dark lands behind her for good.
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