Shelby didn’t realize how easy it was to tame humans.

Her experience with the softshells that cleared the irritating flower field revealed a lot. They started out afraid, but a gift of colorful rocks easily won them over. Now they were fetching things for her — vying for her attention and trying their best to please her.

Here comes another one.

This is the seventh softshell to return bearing gifts. They gave her green things, cooked things, and dull metal things. One of the smaller ones even made her a bow and tied it to one of her flails.

She accepted their gifts. In return, she gave them a bit of her time. Some wanted to go on rides, some just talked, and more than a few just sat down and watched her.

They were strange pets. No wonder the master only keeps one.

Of all the ones that offered her tribute — the one nearing her was one she recognized. It was the smallest of the lot and the first to approach her. She later surmised that it was called Riki.

It was a guttural sounding name — easily reproduced even with her limited facility over spoken words.

“ahRi’Ki”, she says as the little one approaches.

“Yes, it’s me, Ricki,” it gleefully responds. “Hello, Shelby!”

“hRi’Ki”

“Yes! Ricki!”

Shelby regrets calling the softshell by its name. It was overly pleased with the mere mention of its name, and now it’s jumping around energetically.

“This is for you.” The little one opens his cupped hands to reveal three small snails.

They were the regular sort — nothing special about them. Shelby often found them in the field inching on the ground and eating whatever they could get to.

Ricki places the snails on the ground, seemingly torn yet pleased with his offerings.

“You might want some other snails to talk to, so I got some from our field,” it explains. “Ma was going to cook them — but I saved three of them. I took good care of them until I could sneak out to go back here.

Shelby stares at the snails, noting the little one’s concern. Sadly, these were — No, they couldn’t be….

The three snails each held a trace of the earth — barely noticeable but still existent.

“They kept me company when I slept. Now they can do the same to you,” Ricki seems to hesitate at the thought of giving them away. He had grown close to his three friends over the couple of days they were together — but it seemed right to place them in a home where they wouldn’t be picked off the ground and then cooked for dinner.

“You’ll take care of them, won’t you?”

Its words barely registered to the pondering snail. The little shells could grow in size and power — but they would need a constant connection to the Primal Earth. She could provide that connection, but it would take them many years to grow in power.

She sends out a pulse of mana. — pure mana that came from her master’s hands.

It was wasteful, and she shrank at the thought of absorbing mundane unclean mana to sustain herself. However, her master was a generous one — and he would probably approve of her getting a few more able helpers. The one his master had was helpful but soft — it couldn’t carry him, much less barge into a wall of enemies. Yes, more able and hard workers were better.

She turns to Riki to give the little softshell another treat of colorful rocks, but it was already speeding off. It waved at her as it ran — and something about its movements made Shelby pause.

No human eye would have noticed it, but the snail’s connection to the Earth made it obviously apparent — the little softshell was gliding on earth as it ran, absorbing mana from its feet and using it for speed and endurance.

Shelby slumps the way that snails frowned. If only Riki knew the mana was tainted. It might not have immediate effects, but small doses of poison over two or three decades were bound to have effects on one’s mind and body — especially on one so little and soft.

She needed to see to her master to explain the situation. She did a bad thing, but he could probably make it right.

***

Quintin Dewmont stares at the red drop in its hands. By itself, it was unremarkable — red, translucent, maybe a bit heavy for its size. Is this what’s causing the commotion?

Their sales were taking a dip this week — nothing serious, but it could be a portent of things to come. There were rumors of a new player in the potion market — one who didn’t exactly use potions.

Adventurers were heading to the Forest of Dun and regaling their peers with tales of drops that were easier to use than potions. Quintin’s contacts managed to get one of these drops — exactly how, he didn’t care.

“The ingredients are common herbs similar to the ones we use in our potions,” explains Silus. The old man was the head alchemist of Dewmont’s Potions Solutions — but identifying the strange drop still gave him problems. “There were one or two substances added to the mix that elevated the healing properties of the herbs — but we have yet to identify them.”

“The magic is layered,” continues a woman. She is a mage by her garb, one of the youngest in the company. “Instead of activating all at once, the magic within the drop is pervasive. Making a single one would require relatively high amounts of mana compared to the amount we use in our potions.”

“Efficacy?”

“A little more effective than our potions,” the head alchemist pauses. “Maybe by ten to twenty percent.” Increasing healing efficiency by that amount was innovative, to say the least — but Silas felt its form was more important than its function.

“And the cost?”

“30 gold at the Scourge’s place — 33 gold in the Solarium,” answers a clerk. “five or eight more gold than our potions, milord.”

The Solarium? Lilac was involved?

Quintin couldn’t believe the Lilac house would openly show its support to the Scourge. They associated with him a few times — but never openly. They touted him as a mere acquaintance, now they were partners?

“Can we reproduce this thing?” he holds the drop at eye level, seemingly trying to pierce through its secrets. He had to admit it had a certain charm to it that potions didn’t have.

“It would take time, milord,” answers the old man. His team of alchemists was working night and day to analyze and recreate the process of creating the drop — they were only missing a few ingredients as well as an intensifying catalyst.

“Why has nobody thought of drops in the first place? They seem rather efficient.”

“It would require a binding agent,” explains Silas, “that would add to the cost.” If he was being honest, it just never came up. Potions were the standard ever since time immemorial — nobody bothered to change a proven thing.

“We also add the cost of vials to the final price,” a clerk adds. “Our deal with the Glassmaker’s Guild has them selling the vials to us at a silver each — but the company lists it at 2 gold.”

Quintin frowns at the explanation. Traditional potions certainly had their advantages — but now, they were being upstaged by a newcomer.

“What about the Alchemist Guild? Surely, the Scourge’s operation is unsanctioned.”

“He is operating outside the city, sire,” Silus explains. “We could use our influence and contacts to dissuade adventurers from buying products outside the city — maybe with official warnings, edicts, or fines.”

“Unenforceable,” Quintin sneers. What use were edicts? The city would have to station guards to monitor the scourge — and even then it would be difficult to stop a determined merchant.

“There was a mention of a giant snail,” he remembers hearing about a commotion that required the Guild’s intervention.

“Irrelevant, milord,” answers the clerk. “The scourge requested testers for his healing drops on the morning before the giant snail was spotted.”

“Don’t rule out subterfuge,” Quintin insists. The snail’s appearance so close to the drop’s testing request seemed more than a bit suspicious. Making a show of finding the snail afterward could have been a play at deception — and a poor one at that.

“How do we proceed with that?” the clerk asks. “Should we send our agents to the Corner Shop™?”

The name was unfamiliar to Quintin, but it was probably the name of the Scourge’s shop. Why would he name it that? As far as he knew, the shop was smack in the middle of the wilderness — with hardly any buildings beside it. Where was the corner?

“Send some of our specialists to find out what they can — discreetly if possible,” he starts. “See if the butler can be bribed with gold or maybe a position in the company — we can always get rid of him once we get what we need.”

Quintin turns to another clerk. “Have our channels offer to buy the recipe or the means of production — or just buy his whole stock if he’s willing! Offer to pay the full 30 gold and add a 10 percent bonus for bulk sales and exclusivity”

After bowing, the two clerks leave the room to relay his orders.

“For now, drop our potion prices to 15 gold and double the production to keep up with the expected demand.”

“Milord, that would strain our supply of raw materials — as well as the alchemists in charge of production and the mages on supplementary enchantment,” Silus warns. “Quality might drop.”

“Who would notice with the lower prices?” Quintin asserts. “We can withstand the loss for half a year — they would probably fold within a month or two.”

Silus frowns knowing the terrible consequences it would have on his workforce. Extended hours and constant mana use would take their toll on workers — and their field harvesters would have to extend their reach to gather enough herbs and other materials.

***

elate

live

Kill.

Let go.

Finish.

Sin —

I.

Fog tell like vile tale...

A cloaked and hooded figure stares at a plaque on the wall, thinking it seemed apt for the place. He expected to go somewhere dark and secret — instead, his search for assassins lead him to a library.

“That’s a bit more complicated than red rum murder, isn’t it?” he gestures at the plaque to the woman approaching him. Was she an assassin or one of their agents?

“Our work is more intricate than mundane murder,” the woman dismisses her jest. “If you wanted someone murdered, common street thugs could do the job — you’ll even save a few coins.”

The hooded figure smiles unseen beneath his mask. He took more than enough precautions to hide his identity for the meeting, and the Guild of Silence had a reputation for secrecy — he was careful to leave no traces.

“Let’s just say I prefer meticulous workers who value discretion,” the man pulls out a pouch, handing it to the woman.

“The name of the target, as well as a proper description,” the woman starts. “Know that this paltry sum would not even —“

She opens the pouch to reveal gems not gold. He isn’t a mere noble — or at least, not a poor one. The cuts of the gems were precise and elegant — each one of them would cost no less than 15 or 20 gold, and there were close to thirty of them in the pouch.

“This sum would suffice,” she admits. “This pouch could pay for two — maybe even three assignments.”

“I only need one person eliminated,” he says grimly.

“A nobleman? A renowned adventurer?” the woman asks. “You’re paying a lot of money for one job.”

“Sebastian, the Scourge’s butler.”

“All this, for a butler?” the woman asks. The assignment seemed suspicious — especially with the wealth the man was offering.

She offers the pouch back to its owner. “Get some thugs to handle him, the Guild of Silence won’t stoop down to kill a simple butler.”

“I don’t need killers —I need messengers.” The man’s voice turns cold. “The money isn’t for the kill — it’s for the method as well as the resulting display.”