unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Eventually, the pot ceased the boiling, and he permitted it an opportunity to cool, for the molten heat to permeate away under shadows of trees and the occasional bramble of his incantations. From there, it was easy to pour the proportions out, some for him, some for Ray, another potion assembled, topped off, and capped, the lids tight and secure for storage. Glancing at the little line formed, he nearly laughed – because some days he didn’t know how he ended up in these directions. She must have sensed he wasn’t quite done, because there was almost an insistence layered within. The Sword did manage a smirk, careful and precise. “I only have one more request,” and then he’d leave her be – their bargains struck. “Is there anything that could cause limb paralysis? Or loss of control?” Perhaps something numbing, making the adversary incapable of contorting, of utilizing, their motives, their stratagems, for they were too busy attempting to move. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Ray

A panther in the night,
A fire burning bright

Ray's brow furrowed at that last one before she gave a small sigh. "You really like to request difficult things. There are numerous plants that can work as sleeping potions, delirium inducers, and paralyzers. But nearly all are lethal." She gave a small, cynical chuckle. "Coming up with something for the sleeping and delirium is one thing, but this? You can't just come up with a paralyzer that only paralyzes limbs. If a poison paralyzes you, it paralyzes you. And I mean it paralyzes everything, including your diaphragm, heart, etc." She explained, thoughts racing.

Ray pulled out her books again and flipped to a page, and pointing to a diagram of deceptively simple looking plant. "This is hemlock. It's the best thing for paralyzing but it's highly lethal. To get it to do what you want, we need to seriously dilute it down. And I mean to an absurd level." She started writing down instructions, and dosages for the individuals that Deimos noted previously. Ray continued her explanations as she wrote.

"We're going to grind the mature plants down, excluding the seeds, into a paste. And then we're going to dilute it with the amount of water per dosage that I've written. That is the best that I can do. But you need to keep an eye on your victim, ok? If they look like they can't breathe or something else severe presents itself, you need to give them this." She handed him a small vial of shimmering liquid that was clear but had the words 'Lethal Poison Antidote'. "It's my own brew and it should save their life. And bring the victim to me after as well. Actually.." Ray paused and pulled out a handful of identical vials, thrusting them at the Sword. "Take these too. They should work on any of the mixes we've made. Just please be careful with this last one especially."

the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existance becomes an act of rebellion
-Albert Camus

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The inquiry had clearly shown his ineptitude towards plant life, though he tilted his head and grinned sheepishly as Ray sighed. Perhaps it was too difficult, and he hadn’t taken any regards into other organ systems shutting down – no way to pinpoint limb by limb, portion by portion. The Sword’s lives had been centered around warfare, and not preserving any individuals on the battlefield, save for his own comrades. But the herbalist continued to humor him. While she retrieved her books, he topped off the last poison cap, and turned his attention to the hemlock, and the instructions given, granted. Once more he drew out his own, wiling away at the notes – diluting until it was nearly nothing. In the back of his mind the beast understood this concoction would have to be a last ditch effort; if they could come up with naught else in schemes and moments. His hands took the offered vial and read it, his smile flattening into nothing at all – grim, perhaps, behind the stoicism. Then the rest too, ensuring they were lined neatly by him, with all the other labeled assortments. “All right,” he accepted – and again extended his palm until there was a gilded moment, and a matching hemlock plant within its calloused sanction. His eyes went from the flora and back to Ray – considering. “What do you use to grind it?” Those mortar and pestle things? master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Ray

A panther in the night,
A fire burning bright

Deimos' sheepish grin only made Ray shake her head with mild exasperation. She was at least thankful that he seemed to be absorbing her warnings. Maybe he'd even heed them. The herbalist certainly hoped so. The things that the Sword had requested were no laughing matter. The capability to harm practically cloaked the vials. But  from how diligent his note-taking was, and from how they'd prepared the concoctions, Ray was hopeful that they wouldn't be misused. Beyond their intended purpose that is.

As the hemlock plant manifested, Ray gave a nod. "Yes. A mortar and pestle. And you have to wear gloves. Don't take any unnecessary risks with this one, ok?" From his grim expression, she doubted that Deimos would.

the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existance becomes an act of rebellion
-Albert Camus

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame At the notions, he nodded again, indicating his understanding before venturing further into the crags of his memories. D’art’s mortar and pestle was the only thing significant, and he strived to create it from those little images of lives beyond this one. They too appeared in his hands, before being placed down, and at her last warning, conjured two pairs of gloves as well, offering her one in case she went about touching the herb as well. Once the protective measures were in place, he grabbed the hemlock and put it within, and set about orchestrating, grinding the leaves into their proper paste. The Sword would occasionally lift it up for her inspection, uncertain and a bit more delicate with this one, in regards to how it was looking, if things were done properly, and if it had been managed correctly. “Is it ready for the water?” came upon this last round of motions. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Ray

A panther in the night,
A fire burning bright

Ray put on her gloves and carefully monitored Deimos' work. She had to make a few adjustments to his tempo and force but overall the Sword had it covered. When he asked about water, it was right on time. Nodding, Ray grabbed the water and carefully put the calculated amount into each labeled vial. "Alright, so were going to take a teaspoon's worth of the paste and put it into each of these. After that, we'll seal the top and give it a good shake."

That would likely be the end of that brew and Ray hoped that her calculations were correct. Hemlock could be devastating if something went wrong. But the pair had been careful and  methodical, so she wasn't too worried about such a case occurring.

the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existance becomes an act of rebellion
-Albert Camus

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Diligent, patient, and composed, he waited until he’d been given directions, instructions, and adequate levels, before their procedure continued and persisted. He went for a teaspoon’s worth of paste, controlling it well, lofting and then plunking the elements into the water and vial. Tops were sealed thereafter, checked several times to ensure nothing would fly off, and with gloves still on his hands, he grabbed two and began to shake them accordingly. “For how long?” He presumed it would be until the mixtures absorbed and combined into one another, some act of fusion to alleviate any nuances of shifty business – but he’d leave the notions to the expert. Any misgivings remained firmly in the back of his mind, already certain these measures would be a last resort. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Ray

A panther in the night,
A fire burning bright

Ray continued to watch Deimos' action carefully, not allowing a single mistake. As he properly added the paste, she gave a small smile. "Just until it dissolves and becomes homogenous. Then it's ready." With all of the portions divided out, Ray too began to give the other vials a shake.

The final potion complete, Ray wiped the sweat from her brow before eyeing Deimos. "Whatever you plan on doing, just promise me that you'll be as careful as possible. I'm glad you're not looking to accidently kill anyone, but don't forget that it's a possibility with these." She gave him a small grin. "Is there anything else that I can help with? If not, feel free to ask some other time. I'm in Torchline so just send a letter or something and I'll meet you somewhere." Ray had heard about his ban from entering the city, but business was business.

the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existance becomes an act of rebellion
-Albert Camus

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame With everything finalized, vialed, and sealed off, Deimos took a moment to glance over the wares for both of them. Created, contorted, labeled, there was a small amount of pride in the notions, semblances, and potions – mostly because he’d never accomplished anything of this magnitude before. Potency and power were one thing – subversive, sneaky tendencies and no overwhelming bout of magnitude were something else altogether. His eyes lifted and shifted back to Ray, and he gave her another solemn nod, arranging the containers carefully, so she’d be able to take her portions home with little issue. “I promise.” The warnings had been there, and he’d act accordingly. “No, I believe I am set. Thank you very much for your guidance and wisdom. It is much appreciated.” He tilted his head, pondering, before letting it all flicker away for another day. “Be careful with yours too,” he added with a slight grin, before shifting his cranium toward his companions, and marching back the way they’d come; laden with specious supplies. {FIN <3} master of nothing place; of recoil and grace