Iago stood at the mouth of a massive cave, withered grey vines dangling from the top like saliva, stalactites hanging from the roof like teeth. He drew his cloak tighter around him as a moaning wind blew in towards the cave from behind him, and he attempted to suppress a shiver.

He failed.

The pages of the brown book fluttered in the wind, forcing him to hold them tight at the edges. He managed to get to the page he was looking for and started reading it for what must have been the thousandth time since he undertook this borderline suicidal task. The name at the top corresponded to the first name on Dannious’ list, the one that the chief thought was most likely to assist them in their fight.

Rappiccini, The Orphan.

He glanced at the illustration, but quickly moved on to the more pertinent information. He was about to see the real thing anyway, he supposed.

Rappiccini lives in a gargantuan cave in the northern jungles, which he seems to never exit. He is intelligent, and with all old ones, ancient. He became enamored with humans and especially the practice of Alchemy centuries ago and spends his days performing ungodly experiments on anything unfortunate enough to wander into his abode. He experiments upon regular beasts without warning, but refuses to experiment upon sentient beings without their consent.

However, be cautious: relying upon this self-imposed restriction is foolish. His motives are incomprehensible to any but himself, and he could just as easily decide to abandon them as he could abide by them until the Forest decayed into desert.

Rappiccini is obsessed with creating the most powerful medical salves and draughts, and to an extent he has succeeded. He has created a number of extremely strong recipes, ones that human alchemists would sell their souls to learn. He has had close to an eternity to perfect these recipes, yet he is never satisfied with the result.

He has one goal: To create the ultimate healing draught, one capable of granting the consumer immortality, invulnerability to all ailments, and more.

Why he works towards this goal is unknown. However, ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ has theorized that due to Rappiccini’s lonely life, he seeks to create a world of immortals, beings who can match his lifespan, as well as the complications that come with existing in his vicinity.

Which brings me to his Awakening:

Rappiccini is a being of change. Simply existing in his presence for extended periods of time causes uncontrollable mutations in living beings, and over longer periods even the immutable world around him changes; stone liquifies, the air itself turns into a cloud of insects born from nothing. Anything is possible if Rappiccini is given enough time.

However, this is not simply a passive quirk. If he touches something, he is capable of inflicting direct mutation to it, either letting it run rampant randomly, or attempting to direct it in a specific manner. His early attempts at creating healing materials consisted of simply overloading creatures with mutation and hoping something useful came of it. Centuries of this passed before anything useful came of his attempts, and centuries more before he could intentionally create the results he desired with any manner of consistency.

We are currently unaware of where he has disposed of his failed creations.

If you decide to contact Rappiccini, remember this:

Do Not Touch.

Iago snapped the book shut and slipped it into a pack at his side, beside the list and some scattered supplies. He cracked his neck in both directions, made sure his sword was secure and ready to be drawn at a moments notice, and began his descent.

He was thankful for his Master’s eyes as he walked through the darkness; he didn’t want to carry a torch or anything that might antagonize the Old One, or anything that might invite experimentation.

The interior of the cave was massive. It was deep enough that Iago couldn’t see the end of it, the ceiling high enough that he couldn’t make it out beyond the stalactites that dipped low enough to enter his vision, and possibly hundreds of feet in diameter. It was colossal, and absolutely empty. There were no bugs, no flapping bats, no hibernating bears, not even any opportunistic moss. The stone of the cave was limestone tinged a slight green, pocked and pitted from centuries of erosion. The stalactites above dripped water to puddles below in a consistent rhythm, the largest of which could pass for moderately sized ponds. It was the only sound in the cave.

Iago tensed and untensed his grip on his sword as he walked deeper, swinging his head rapidly to try to take in his surroundings. He didn’t want to be caught unaware, when a moment of absent mindedness could lead to his uncontrollable mutation, and subsequent death.

Or worse.

Finally, up ahead he saw light. Dim hooded lanterns were hung along long lines that stretched across the vast entirety of the cave, bathing what looked to be a laboratory in orange sunset-like flickering light. Three long wooden tables stood, and for the first time Iago saw signs of Rappiccini’s presence.

The tables were warped and wrong. One was covered in various trinkets and scientific equipment that now was melded into the wood itself seamlessly, as if these tools of metal and glass had grown from the oak table naturally. Another had deep cracks that glowed with red light and emitted soft whispers. The last one’s corners were slowly dripping off with four puddles of liquid wood collecting at their base. Among these tables were scattered cages, vials, cauldrons, and various alchemy equipment.

To the left of the laboratory was a sharp drop off, fenced in with barbed wire at least fifteen feet high, in addition to the stone walls themselves, with multiple layers until it was almost solid. Iago could barely see the inside, which seemed to consist of a sandy floor scattered with red splotches. His nose twitched in anticipation of what he might smell.

To the right were stacks of more cages, running along the wall further than Iago could see, and stacked just as high. Long wires ran from the ground to the ceiling bearing lights every few feet, illuminating all the way to the ceiling he couldn’t perceive.

The cave continued further, but the sudden light blinded him beyond the laboratory he saw now.

He stepped up to one of the tables – the one covered in trinkets – and attempted to pry one loose. It was stuck fast, and when he pulled away, his hand carried a thin layer of dust.

The lights suddenly began to waver, casting strange long shadows across the laboratory. Iago looked up at the lights to see what was going on, and a malformed visage stared back.

He hung like a spider from his many limbs – too many that Iago couldn’t count them all through his shock – from the various long cords which he had assumed were only for holding up the lights.

Rappiccini.

The creature’s face resembled a human’s, but malformed. The cheeks were too sunken, the head entirely, spotlessly bald. The forehead was far too long, and had six strange bumps like the markings on a die. The eyes shifted colors at random, but not just the iris – the white of the eyes shifted as well, and only the black of the pupil remained constant. A thick pair of circular spectacles rested on a sharp pointed nose, below which a bushy white mustache spread across the upper lip, matching his eyebrows. All in all, it seemed like the face of an elderly man as seen through a twisting miasma, and then sketched upon a page. After a moment of brief silence, the being spoke.

“Ah, has a new mouse stumbled upon my burrow?” Rappiccini’s voice was elderly and scratchy, and his mouth did not move as he spoke. “No, no, not a mouse. A human! Yes, yes, a human. How peculiar…are you an alchemist? Yes, you must be an alchemist! An alchemist, come to sample the genius of Rappiccini, are you?” The irises enlarged and deflated in rapid motions, focusing deeper on Iago. He felt laid bare, like the eyes were seeing more than just his appearance.

“No no, not an alchemist. A pity. A warrior, perhaps? A sword at his side, and the eyes of a predator. Interesting, the manners of creatures that stumble across my domain.” The head receded from his own, and Rappiccini dropped to the ground, holding himself up by a mass of long, bending but otherwise human arms. The mass of arms, along with the rest of his body, was covered in patchwork clothing messily sewn together, the seams clearly visible and splitting apart in many places. There was no consistent color; not that anything stayed consistent around Rappiccini for long. His eyes still stayed locked on Iago, cold and piercing, holding a depth behind them that Iago could scarcely comprehend, but held no warmth.

“I’ve never experimented upon a human before; I wonder what could be created…” One of his hands appeared instantly in front of Iago’s face, the thumb an inch from his forehead.

“Would you give yourself to science, young Iago?”

He couldn’t hold in his terror anymore and burst into a cold sweat. He stepped back and drew his sword in a flourish, his blade whipping through the space the thumb occupied, but he felt no resistance.

Rappiccini stared at the bark-like blade of the Ancestor Tree and stood perfectly still. He cocked his head as he looked at it and back to Iago with renewed interest.

“Ah, you come bearing the Artifact. Very peculiar, I wonder if he knows its use?”

“How did you know my name?”

A rasping laugh came from Rappiccini, and he leapt atop one of the wires with the gracefulness of a circus performer. “Ah, he knows so little, but I know much. I read it in your face, in the way you examined my things, in the angle of your furrowed brow, in your weary stance. I learn and I know, young Iago, that is what I do. I research and compile, until one day I will complete my work, and the world will change.”

He leapt back down and wandered over to one of the cages, flinging the door open with one hand while another instantly grabbed what was inside. A snow-white bunny struggled in his grasp.

He set it on the dripping wood table, pinning it down with two arms while a third pressed its thumb to its head. It squeaked.

The air of the cave warped, bending and stretching like a long strand of thick sap, and a nauseating feeling overcame Iago. A moment later it was gone, and where the rabbit once was, something different sat.

The new rabbit had the same white fur as before, but beneath the surface it was malformed. Bones jutted and pushed against its skin, straining under the surface as they forcibly grew too long for its own good. Its legs continued growing, until eventually there was an audible pop, and one came off.

Instantly, a new leg began to grow in its place. Within moments, it was like nothing had ever happened.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

“Hm. Unending. Good.” Rappiccini picked up the rabbit and its spare legs off the table and put them in a different cage. The rabbit no longer squirmed, instead staring sightlessly forward.

The Old One turned back and looked down on him from the wire above. Iago didn’t even see him move.

“Idleness does not befit the one carrying that Artifact. Tell me, why have you come? Surely the time has not yet arrived, has it?” He looked longingly back at the rabbit. “I’ve had so little time…” it murmured.

“Time for what?” As soon as Iago spoke, Rappiccini brightened, and his bushy mustache rose in joy.

“Ah! So, it is not yet time. That is good, that is good; we – no, I have time yet. But if not that, what is it you seek? Are you ill?” The eyes scanned him again, and Rappiccini shook his head.

“Not ill. Then what?”

“Do you know Dannious, the Chief of this Forest? He sent me.” Dannious wasn’t technically the chief of the entire forest, but he was chief of the Beasts within it, so it wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Ah! Sent by the Herald. I should have guessed; you carry his scent and more.”

The Herald? He would have to ask Dannious what that meant when he returned.

But…then again, maybe he shouldn’t. Once he wouldn’t have hesitated to ask Dannious about something he heard in the Forest, but after what Grandfather Cornelius told him, he felt wary. There was more to the rat than he knew, possibly more than anyone knew, save others as old as him like Nubias.

“The Forest is under attack. Perhaps as we speak. An army of humans have come to our borders and seek to capture or kill all of the Beasts within.”

He watched Rappiccini for any reaction, but the man simply stared back, unblinking.

“Why should I care for the squabbles of children? I will continue my studies as I always have. I am not much of a fighter, and the prospect of new test subjects…” unmitigated glee appeared on his face, and Iago winced.

“They will come for you as well, and they won’t stop until they have killed or captured you. They have hundreds of Mages with them, humans with the powers that could harm even one such as yourself.”

“And what would you wish of me? I’ve already said I’m not much of a fighter; how could I assist you in this war, young Iago?”

“Your draughts. It’s well known that you are a…talented alchemist, and with such powerful healing as you can offer, we would lose far fewer Beasts. We might even be able to match the humans, for a time.”

“Bah!” he waved a hand, “Those old things? Failures, in my eyes, not even approaching the majesty I will one day create. But I must admit, you have intrigued me. These draughts are a paltry thing to one such as myself, and I could supply you with many. Tell me: these humans. Do they have alchemists among them?” He adjusted his spectacles and leaned in close.

“They do,” Iago said cautiously. He didn’t want to lie; he wasn’t sure if the creature would be able to tell, but it didn’t seem impossible. “I have seen them myself, in fact. Dozens of them.”

Rappiccini stroked his beard and nodded once.

“Very well. I will agree to help you, but in return I have the following demands: One, anything alchemical in nature is to be delivered to me. That is to say potions, equipment, and especially Alchemists themselves.” Iago nodded, though privately he hoped they never had to deliver an imprisoned Alchemist to whatever hell Rappiccini would inflict on them. “Second: I have a job for you.”

The cave felt much colder than it had a moment ago.

“You have a…job for me?”

“Yes, that is what I said. A job for the wielder of the Artifact; there have been others of your ilk, but they were before my time. I have never encountered one myself. I’m interested in what you can do. Call it an academic curiosity.”

Iago swallowed hard once and nodded. “What is it you would have me do?”

“My refuse pit has recently become unusable. One of my failed alterations is aggressive and has attempted to attack me each time I’ve tried disposing of another failure. I want you to kill it.”

“It’s so powerful that you can’t kill it yourself?” If even an Old One couldn’t deal with it, what hope did Iago have?

“As I’ve said multiple times, though it seems you have ignored it, I am not much of a fighter. Though, there is an additional complication. This creature has proven…resistant to further mutation. And getting close to it is not something I’m interested in. I have many arms, and I would like to keep it that way.” He nodded to Iago’s sword. “But with that, paired with the shared Beast’s power I see within you, you should be able to make short work of it. I’m confident. Sure of it.”

That sounded suspiciously reasonable, to his ears. And simple. Rappiccini seemed like neither.

But did he really have a choice? The fate of the Forest might rest on this decision. If the price he had to pay was some alchemical resources they had no use for and killing a mutated animal, that was cheap compared to the lives of every Beast in the Forest.

When he thought of it like that, there was really no choice at all.

“I’ll do it.”

Rappiccini grinned wide, revealing an empty mouth bereft of teeth.

“Very good. Shall we begin? I think we shall.”