Post by Eldrin/Vai on Dec 5, 2017 17:58:02 GMT -6
The alchemist awoke from his reverie with a gasp. The fumes which had induced his trance had cleared by this point, so he merely corked the offending vials and began to tidy up his mess.
The camp was situated in a remote stone alcove, a cleft in the floor of the desert, that was all but impossible to see from a distance. Inside, was a veritable oasis, even including a freshwater spring with fish swimming inside. Abundant foliage surrounded his camp, including several plants that were definitely not in their natural biome. The alchemist had created his own garden, and through some unnatural means, kept them alive and healthy. It was a gypsy camp, if ever there was one. A totem at the center held a massive tent aloft. The totem was carved all over with the faces of tribal deities, and horrid monsters, and painted in a thousand different vibrant colors. The canvas had been the sail of a great pirate ship at one point, but now it was the roof of an alchemist’s field labratory. It was a scarlet affair, with gold designs swirling across its expanse. The tent was patched all over, with every pilfered cloth scrap and flag the mind could imagine. The result was a patchwork canvas of haphazard design and every color on the spectrum. It was an absolute abomination of design. It was perfect.
Inside, the alchemist had set up several tables, each covered in vials, alembics, and various other crystalware used for his craft. Swirling, bubbling, and steaming liquids of varying colors and viscosity were commonplace. A bookcase held many storied volumes on the subjects of alchemy, botany, and natural philosophy… as well as a well-worn leatherbound journal. A small cot in one corner was covered in various furs and pelts for warmth in the cold desert nights, and a single, rather gaudy, pillow of blue silk and cloth-of-gold, stuffed with swan feathers. Near the bed, hung a polished looking glass.
The alchemist peered into the looking glass for a long time, studying his own visage. He had changed much, and yet not at all. His scarlet eyes still shown with the wildfire of the thief. The corners of his mouth still curled with that mischievous smile. Yet his eyes were tired, and wizened by knowledge. He shaved, using a pewter basin and a straight razor, then decided it was time for breakfast. His trance had lasted all night… but he was not tired. The experience had strained his mind so much that he had grown too tired to sleep.
Pushing aside the curtain that served as his ‘front door’, he walked out into the bitter mountain air, and the cold light of a winter sun. The sky was cobalt blue, with little pearl wisps of cloud floating lazily across. He was just about to light up the fire pit, when he heard a sound. The crunch of feet in the sand.
The alchemist in him reached for a small philter in his pocket, filled with an effervescent blue liquid… and the thief reached for the ornate kukri dagger in his belt. But then... he gasped, and his defences went down.
"Oh my fuck," he grumbled in a voice crackling with disuse. "That's a face I haven't seen in a long time."
The camp was situated in a remote stone alcove, a cleft in the floor of the desert, that was all but impossible to see from a distance. Inside, was a veritable oasis, even including a freshwater spring with fish swimming inside. Abundant foliage surrounded his camp, including several plants that were definitely not in their natural biome. The alchemist had created his own garden, and through some unnatural means, kept them alive and healthy. It was a gypsy camp, if ever there was one. A totem at the center held a massive tent aloft. The totem was carved all over with the faces of tribal deities, and horrid monsters, and painted in a thousand different vibrant colors. The canvas had been the sail of a great pirate ship at one point, but now it was the roof of an alchemist’s field labratory. It was a scarlet affair, with gold designs swirling across its expanse. The tent was patched all over, with every pilfered cloth scrap and flag the mind could imagine. The result was a patchwork canvas of haphazard design and every color on the spectrum. It was an absolute abomination of design. It was perfect.
Inside, the alchemist had set up several tables, each covered in vials, alembics, and various other crystalware used for his craft. Swirling, bubbling, and steaming liquids of varying colors and viscosity were commonplace. A bookcase held many storied volumes on the subjects of alchemy, botany, and natural philosophy… as well as a well-worn leatherbound journal. A small cot in one corner was covered in various furs and pelts for warmth in the cold desert nights, and a single, rather gaudy, pillow of blue silk and cloth-of-gold, stuffed with swan feathers. Near the bed, hung a polished looking glass.
The alchemist peered into the looking glass for a long time, studying his own visage. He had changed much, and yet not at all. His scarlet eyes still shown with the wildfire of the thief. The corners of his mouth still curled with that mischievous smile. Yet his eyes were tired, and wizened by knowledge. He shaved, using a pewter basin and a straight razor, then decided it was time for breakfast. His trance had lasted all night… but he was not tired. The experience had strained his mind so much that he had grown too tired to sleep.
Pushing aside the curtain that served as his ‘front door’, he walked out into the bitter mountain air, and the cold light of a winter sun. The sky was cobalt blue, with little pearl wisps of cloud floating lazily across. He was just about to light up the fire pit, when he heard a sound. The crunch of feet in the sand.
The alchemist in him reached for a small philter in his pocket, filled with an effervescent blue liquid… and the thief reached for the ornate kukri dagger in his belt. But then... he gasped, and his defences went down.
"Oh my fuck," he grumbled in a voice crackling with disuse. "That's a face I haven't seen in a long time."