Sighing, Zel dialed back the coyness and asked an earnest question: “Just one thing; how do I know you won’t use my blood for some of that sympathetic magic you mentioned earlier?”

“I avoided asking for a strip of your skin so this wouldn’t come up, but I suppose I can’t expect you to know that blood alone doesn’t work as a sympathetic link. Sure, blood can amplify such a link, but not facilitate it on its own. Hm… Can one of you four perform contract rituals? That way I could just agree to not do what you’re concerned about me possibly doing and we can all be on our way.”

“...Not that I recall, no,” Zel shook her head, picking up her tablet and opening up the inventory. “I do have a Black Contract, though.”

“That’ll work, so long as you’re alright with locking off the contract slot for as long as I have your blood,” the witch nodded, paying no mind to the, by modern standards, rare artifact.

A raised eyebrow and a question came from Zefaris: “Slot? I thought this thing just had a nebulously defined number of limited uses.”

“Sort-of, but only in the short term. A Black Contract can maintain up to seven agreements, and once an agreement is voided for any reason, the slot it occupied will begin a recharge period of five to ten years, depending on conditions; three years if you store it in near a leyline well. I’ll probably be done with the blood in a couple months once my dragon-tree’s next blooming cycle comes around, so that should be no problem.”

“Ten years isn’t exactly a short time, but that’s… Good to know,” Zel uttered, retrieving the contract from storage as she did. Simultaneously, the witch cleared out space for it on the table.

Its black fabric sprawled out over the surface, the formulation of the contract was comparatively quick and painless compared to the back-and-forth struggle Zel had experienced with Von Wickten. The agreement sealed, Zel took the scroll back and stored it while the witch stood up, opening one of the cabinets and from within retrieving a black-bladed knife along with a stone vessel and several eldritch-looking seals. Setting these on the table, she said: “One moment, I’ll bring your half of the exchange.”

Zel and Zef barely had the time to take a good look at the implements with which the Smoke Witch meant to extract her blood price.

“...Didn’t think I’d ever wish we had one of Makhus’ huge, brass syringes,” the blonde remarked.

Zel shrugged: “It’s just a knife.”

The door slid open soon enough; the Smoke Witche entered with a stone coffer resembling a miniature sarcophagus. It was visibly ice cold; its surface covered in rime and vapor rising from it.

“What’s in there? A dead ice fairy?” Zel asked jokingly.

The witch shook her head, taking it entirely seriously: “I wouldn’t trade something like that, don’t flatter yourself. It holds the memory of a great Borean ancestor; I levied such deeply personal effects for my services, back in the day. This one was the payment for my aid after Ankhezia ripped the ice sheet open with their Suncage Grid.”

She set it down on the table, reaching for the knife and stone jar as she continued: “Hold out your arm.”

Zefaris asked: “...They paid you with the source of some powerful shamanism technique, then? What did you do to levy such a price?”

“I assisted in the cultivation of plants that could grow through permafrost while feeding from volcanic vents,” the white-haired witch shared, pressing the tip of the knife into Zel’s skin. She allowed herself to be cut, so that her body wouldn’t automatically try to pull the wound shut. It only took a tiny cut to make blood pour out for this same reason. Cold washed over her hand as the blood drained from it and into the stone container; while this transpired, the Smoke Witch went on.

“The Borean Oases were probably the biggest mark I’ve left… Well, some of the plants, anyhow. I can’t take all, or even most of the credit. The animals are all up to the Revenant King’s wisemen, it was hard to believe the mutations they induced through ancient rituals.”

“You sent Jorfr away because of this, then?” Zel asked.

“He did stink… But yes. Call it insurance, knowing how strongly Borean shamans tend to feel about their ancestors. Bring it to the Revenant King. It will guarantee you an audience and compel the king to either grant a boon or at least permit you to do whatever you need to do, go where you need to go. After that… Odds are the memory will be returned to the clan and your Borean friend will be able to commune with his ancestor from a position of leverage, as one of the vikings who returned him to his homeland.”

“...Vik-what?”

“It’s just an archaic Borean word for those who travel far from Borea; adventurers, raiders, traders. There, all done. Store the vault, I’ll get you a Vitae elixir to make up for the blood loss.”

The Smoke Witch’s Vitae Elixir was entirely unlike that which Zel was familiar with; the process was similar, as were the effects, but it was warm and tasted good. Not great, but good - a realm of difference from the taste of cold blood. Unexpectedly, the Smoke Witch all but forced both the recipe and the spices involved on Zel when the beast-slayer asked, handing over seeds and growing instructions for the spice trees involved alongside copies of her truly extensive notes on the plants’ alchemical and arcane properties.

When she questioned the sudden change in policy, the witch said: “Your payment is spreading my work. Plant the trees and use the spices, they’re as good as nonexistent if they don’t spread.”

Around half an hour later Jorfr and Victor returned, steaming and smelling a great deal better than before, entirely dry save for their hair. The Smoke Witch escorted them out of the mansion that instant, using her smoke-construct to take them just outside the Boundaryless Forest a ways to the east. With a simple point in the direction of the mountain pass around the woods, she was gone, walking into the treeline and vanishing in a burst of smoke.

With no other reasonable option, the party continued on their planned route.