esotericas

For once, being a slow reader was a gift. As Alasdair pored over his friend's publication, he began to pick apart the intricacies of the Kortrevich's words. He smiled.

"Ready fer another dose o Ayrian madness?" Questioned Alasdair, showing the flyer to his sweetheart, Lorina Varoche. @bumblefina

"An alcheme is nothing, as you just made the word up," Responded Manon, crunching on a handful of Petran grapes. "And an Alchemist is me, which you already know."

VOL. 1 TWO ACADEMIC EXPLORATIONS & THE BEGINNINGS OF UNDERSTANDING EX OFFICINA ALCHYMISTAE BEING, BY NATURE OF ITS NAME AND ITS WRITING, A STUDY ON THE PART OF MY APPRENTICES, HER ROYAL HIGHNESS ELENA NOVELLEN AND HER GRACE ROSLIN BARUCH, FOR THE PURPOSES OF INTRODUCING THEM TO THE FUNDAMENTALS OF ALCHEMICAL STUDY, AND TO STUDY AS A WHOLE. -= ҉ =- nderstanding the world is a skill fundamental to Alchemy. Without the skills to discover the nature of things around them, an Alchemist would never be capable of enacting Alchemical processes, of creating their own recipes. Understanding is what transforms Alchemy from a tool with which to create potions, to a lens by which a scholar would view the world. Although my students have not yet advanced enough to learn Alchemy itself, setting the groundwork for understanding is fundamental to their education. For this, their first project, I have tasked my students to choose an organism, seek to understand its nature, and then explore the contradictions inherent within. These are their explorations. he writing that follows is the work of students, and the base information has been fact-checked, however these pieces are the work of analysis and opinion, and should not be taken as factual in themselves. I ARACHNID ENGORGEMENT & PROLONGED LIFE ithin the depths of the realm, cramped within cracks and crevices and caves which wind and spread further than descendant knowledge, an unknown kingdom reigns supreme over the darkness–a kingdom of spindling legs and sharp fangs. Spiders with white eyes and pale flesh wander the internal parts of the earth, awaiting the next doomed descendant or unknowing animal who wanders down into these depths. Dubbed the “Araneolus Veneni Incrementi,” this creature is newly discovered upon an expedition which brought a group of descendants, Humans and Elves alike, down into the cave systems in search of a missing Bokolo - a beloved companion of the Elven people. fter several days of extensive research and experimentation, I uncovered how the spider venom worked. These spiders lack much strength, perhaps due to the lack of sunlight within the caves, yet their venom is more deadly than the bite from the arachnids jaws. Like normal venom, it infiltrates the body of its victim, although this specific venom differs as it does not seek to kill its prey immediately. If anything, the venom simply weakens the creature it has attacked, although it seems to prolong the life for the victim for some time. Some sort of variation of this poison actually produces the muscles of the victim to become engorged, doubling if not quadrupling the size of the victim from its normal build size. It could only be predicted that this engorgement is meant to produce more food for the spiders to consume, especially seeing as it is seldom often an unknowing victim will wander into the deadly grasp of these arachnids. This is their evolutionary gift of creating more food for their family in order to grow themselves in size of numbers. s horrific as this arachnid species may be, I find it a bit ironic how fearful I was upon my study of this species when a similar way of life exists within our own Canonist kingdoms. Cattle breeding and poultry farming actually holds a significant similarity of a descendant species raising and bulking up a creature for consumption. Raising an animal from birth to full maturation can be seen as a form of companionship if not for the inevitable fate of a particularly sizable animal that is slaughtered for its meat in order to feed a group of people. These parallels between humanity and these arachnids, which we dub monsters, stand to represent all that must change about our perception of ourselves, and the world. Perhaps we are the monsters, for acting as these beasts do. Or perhaps we must learn to sympathise with creatures such as these spiders, despite of their uncanny appearances. Regardless, it seems evident that a change must be made. We may see ourselves as just and in the right to kill an animal in order to survive and expand our bloodlines, but we surely should not hold such disdain and disgust for creatures who do the exact same thing in nature to survive. – ELENA OF BALIAN ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ II HUMAN HYPOCRISY & FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN ature is often viewed as a harmonious system with a delicate balance of different forces that work in unison to create a diverse system to thrive within. Yet there is a concept often overlooked, as with closer inspection it can be noted that duality is also inherent in nature where opposing forces coexist and intertwine, indicating a sense of reliance upon the other. An example of such a concept can be found in the Mandragora, a plant which has the reputation of halting movement by excreting paralytic spores into the air, while the root accelerates the growth and healing of skin. It is this contradiction that I wish to expand upon further in order to understand how nature can embody duality. ne possible explanation for this function of the Mandragora is that the relationship between harvesting the Mandragora and its reproductive abilities makes it beneficial to further growth. hen one fells an oak it frees its seed, housed in the many acorns which hang from its branches. It is from these whence a new tree shall sprout, if watered and blessed with God’s light. Perhaps, then, these spores may have a similar function, scattered to the wind upon the death of their host to ensure the survival of the Mandragora. As the acorn or the seed dons a husk to guard itself, it is not unreasonable to suggest these spores coat themselves in poison much to the same effect. f this theory is true, then the spores released into the environment might beget a new Mandragora, and thus the paralytic spores could be a defensive mechanism to ensure germination. From the perspective of Man, this might appear inconvenient, but it would ensure that once the plant dies and is uprooted, a new one will grow in its place to create a new source of the root. This would create a sustainable harvesting system that allows Mankind to benefit from the plant’s healing properties while also ensuring the species will thrive in its environment and not be eaten by wildlife before it is capable of releasing further spores in its maturity. t is not a secret that throughout history, mankind has attributed many rewards in life to be hidden behind danger or require great effort to obtain. Whether it is by design of God or from nature itself, this creates a complex relationship between danger and reward, where benefits must be weighed against the potential risks. This phenomenon described is not only limited to the mandragora plant, as we can see countless examples of such throughout nature; a predator must take great risks to capture its prey, but it is rewarded with sustenance and life. One might insist that this pattern seems to be woven into the very concepts of nature itself, suggesting a greater purpose or design behind it. Perhaps it is with this that the challenge and danger inherent in obtaining rewards is meant to test the perseverance of life itself, ensuring that reward is offered only to those who are truly worthy of its fruition. – ROSLIN BARUCH CLOSING THOUGHTS t is my hope that, although these ideas remain as ideas alone, the thought behind this lesson will carry on. To understand is to know, and knowledge is power. It is Human to fear that which is unfamiliar, but the process of overcoming such fear and seeking to understand the unknown provides not only valuable insight, but fundamental skills in reasoning and observation, and the potential for true goodness, which is what any who seek influence over the world must aspire to. o be good without knowledge is to be weak. To be knowledgeable without goodness is to be a danger. It is only when these faculties are united that we may truly serve Mankind. ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ SIGNED, Her Ladyship, MANON YVAINE GODUNOV Court Alchemist of the Petra, The Star Lord, the Ghost of Guise, the Starling Stag, Her Royal Highness, ELENA CASIMIRA NOVELLEN The Princess Royal of Balian, Countess of Rosemoor, Mother of Beetles, and Protector of the Bokolo, Her Grace, ROSLIN ANNASTAS BARUCH Duchess of Valwyck, Countess of Ayr, Viscountess of Voron, Baroness of Laval and Riveryn, Lady of Jorenstadt, Guardian of the Hanseti Coast,

Manon Yvaine’s breath weighed heavy in her chest as she read the missive. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw her husband’s face, nor felt the warmth of his arms. Permissible, both. It had been love once but that love had turned to ice, in the years before he left. Illness. As if. Alyona’s name, penned on the bottom of the death of her father. Some sort of irony to be found there, but Manon was perhaps too preoccupied to notice it. "Promise-maker, and promise-breaker both." The rosy memories of a forbidden romance escaped her recollection, there in the self-imposed prison of her own mind. Manon did not remember walking, hand in hand. She did not remember the stolen kisses, the daring escapes, the evenings spent side by side at taverns across the continent. She remembered the recent days. An empty bedside, children so used to the absence of their father that they have stopped asking for him. Manon remembered Courts, Duma sessions, curses and orders, ignored in equal measure. The Alchemist laughed to herself. It echoed off the stone walls of her underground laboratory. Rang out of the glass of the windowpane. Whistled out through the ventilation shaft. It was a laugh that left the air humming. "Good riddance, mon corbeau." The notice let off a pleasing stream of sparks as it burned.

"Nice," said the Court Alchemist, reading over the missive.

"It's Haeseni, not Haenseni. What sort of people are they hiring these days?" Muttered Manon Yvaine as she paged through the horoscope.

Manon Yvaine wonders where her invitation is...

Manon Yvaine pens a letter to Guy's father about his son's alleged misbehavior...

A CALL TO THE ACADEMICALLY-MINDED [!] Throughout Almaris, the observant few would find small fliers, penned in an elegant hand. The back of each flyer would bear a simple five-pointed star. ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ [CLOSED] s is so often the case these days, the quality of Alchemical teaching, and of Alchemists, has depreciated in the Human realms. Scholars are not chosen on merit, but on the basis of wealth, class, and social connections. I have waited some years for a suitable student to happen upon my path, but none have made themselves known. Thus, I have turned my attentions to locating one myself. would prefer applicants be old enough to begin their Alchemical tutelage within a few years, and young enough still to be properly taught. This range is flexible, however an age of 10-25 is ideal. Students are not required to be Human, or to live in Human nations, however my intent is to provide Humanity with proper Alchemical education, so race & nationality will be taken into account. ll applicants must bring me three items from the following list, and the stories of how they were obtained, interpreted as they best see fit: ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ THEIR MOTHER’S MAIDEN NAME, MADE CONCRETE A MOONBEAM THE TEARS OF A RAVEN MIRROR-BREATH THE SONG OF A MAIDEN DAISY A PORTRAIT OF TIME ICE-FIRE THE OPPOSITE OF A NECKLACE MANKIND’S FOLLY ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ one of the items may be Alchemical or magical in nature, or secured by violent or unethical means. There are no right or wrong interpretations, only those that are interesting, and those that are not. I will not keep any items of sentimental value to the applicant. NO ASSISTANCE MAY BE GIVEN BY OTHER PARTIES. y choice (or choices) will be highly subjective, and will also take into consideration the quality of the applicant’s conversation, as well as their reasons for wishing to learn Alchemy. student would learn not only the basic Alchemical arts, but would also receive a rounded education in medicine, arts, mechanics, botany, and the religions and cultures of the world, Human and not. he items and explanations may be submitted remotely, however before I make a final decision, we must have spoken face-to-face. DIRECT LETTERS TO: Manon Yvaine Godunov IV Amadea Avenue, Karosgrad, Haense ( esotericas ) ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ ⊢–––––––––––––––––= ҉ =–––––––––––––––––⊣ SIGNED, Her Ladyship, MANON YVAINE GODUNOV The Star Lord, the Ghost of Guise, Alchemist in Residentia at Valwyck, the Starling Stag,

"Why does everyone think Yvaine is my surname?" Manon Yvaine asked, with a mild shake of her head. Still, she smiled on the invitation, and then forwarded it to a friend, alongside a note requesting they be her plus-one.

Adelaide gave a fond nod, palm on her husband's shoulder. "I'm certain she'll succeed."

As Manon Yvaine heard news of the duel, a weak sigh crept from her chest. She murmured an oft-spoken phrase, with as much care and worry as every time before. "You'd better not die, Marius Audemar." It echoed off the cold stone walls of her lab, empty save for herself. "One man can only escape death so many times, but... let this not be the day your luck changes." Manon set aside her brewing and pulled out a piece of paper, settling in to write a letter to that disgraced Prince.

Alasdair smiles.

"There is a letter for you." Came a mechanical voice, twangy and ill-tuned. An automaton stood in the doorway of Manon Yvaine's laboratory, folded slip of paper in its mechanical hands. "Read it to me, Diomid." Bade Manon, as she bottled a potion. "The Barony of Verskaya, loyal to the crown... "Well. Unsurprising, all things considered." Manon concluded, as Diomid finished reading the missive. "I suppose I ought to write to Wolfgang... And see to the children. Get my coat, I'll be off to Verskaya."

Manon Yvaine looks forward to her daughter's future legal career...

Manon Yvaine read the missive aloud to her daughter Alyona, @ibiou and gave the girl a proud smile. "Look! You did it, Lena."

A scholar read over both missives on the subject, with roughly equal apathy. "Nobles," She mused, "are all the same. They act as if they're polar opposites from one another, but at the end of the day... mmh." The papers were tossed aside, and the scholar returned to her work.

"A remarkably uninteresting death," observed one Manon Yvaine, as she scanned over the missive, "for a man of his character. You'd think he'd go out with a bit more.. panache."

Alasdair emerged from Lake Voron, soaking wet, and watched his siblings as they conducted their... very Canonist ritual. He waited to throw up until he was alone again.

POTIONS AND MORE NOW OPEN! -= ҉ =- With the renovation of the south side of Karosgrad comes new business, and this is one of them! Hidden Treasures is now open, and will be selling Alchemical brews, treated gear, jewelry, weaponry, and a rotating stock of variety items. Custom orders and commissioned potions are taken when I have the time, so please write if you’re in need. Hidden Treasures is located at the docks on Amadea Avenue, on the way to Reinmar. You can’t miss it! SIGNED, Her Ladyship, MANON YVAINE GODUNOV The Star Lord, the Ghost of Guise, Alchemist in Residentia at Valwyck, the Starling Stag, Baroness-Consort of Verskaya

Alasdair peered down at the missive, grubby hands staining the paper. With his mother's help, he sounded out the names of his friends, and... a third sibling? He would have to investigate...

VOL. II “PERHAPS THE GREATEST FACULTY OUR MINDS POSSESS IS THE ABILITY TO COPE WITH PAIN. CLASSIC THINKING TEACHES US OF THE FOUR DOORS OF THE MIND, WHICH EVERYONE MOVES THROUGH ACCORDING TO THEIR NEED.” (OOC: THE EVENTS CONTAINED WITHIN ARE KNOWN ONLY TO THOSE INVOLVED. DO NOT METAGAME. QUOTES TAKEN FROM PATRICK ROTHFUSS’S ‘NAME OF THE WIND.’) I SLEEP “First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.” -= ҉ =- “What renders you so skeptical?” “There are many answers to that, which one do you want?” “Them all.” The room is dark, a dark so deep that the space, small as it is, seems infinite. Mists swirl around, the voice of the mentor ringing only in her head. It doesn’t feel real. -= ҉ =- An image emerges, assembling itself like pieces of machinery twisting into place, knitting together. A little girl, wild white hair and large, tired eyes, dressed all in white. YOU ARE THE YOUNGEST OF SEVEN CHILDREN. YOUR FATHER IS A MONSTER. Muffled shouting, distant. The locking of a door. YOUR MOTHER IS GONE. Waves crash. YOUR STEPMOTHER. . . A wedding. The chapel is empty, save for a knot of children. The air is icy. WELL. STEPMOTHERS ARE WICKED IN TALES FOR A REASON, I SUPPOSE. The images crumble away, pieces removed to be re-used elsewhere. THERE IS A MONSTER IN THE WOODS. A shadow, indistinct, darker than the deep black of the room. THE MONSTER PROMISES YOU SOMETHING YOU HAVE NEVER HAD. A child's pinkie, interlocked with a finger made of twigs and bone. A COMPANION, IT SAYS. IT ASKS FOR A LIFE IN RETURN. A LIFE FOR A LIFE. A girl no older than seven watches as a woman is devoured alive. A porcelain doll clutched in her arms. The doll blinks, and smiles. MANON MEANS BITTERNESS. NEITHER OF YOUR PARENTS CONFESS TO CHOOSING YOUR NAME. Once more, the images crumble. YOU TELL A SINGLE SOUL OF WHAT THE MONSTER IN THE WOODS SAID TO YOU. Clasped hands, perhaps older, ten, eleven maybe. One Manon's ice pale, and the other a sun-touched brown. THE MONSTER KNOWS. IT OFFERS YOU ANOTHER TRADE. ONE LIFE FOR TWO, THIS TIME. YOUR FRIEND, THE SECRET-KEEPER, FOR THE TWINS. Baby girls. Warmth and affection. YOU REFUSE. AND? YOU LOST YOUR FIRST HOME YEARS BEFORE. Oren falls to Acre. Walls crumble. NOW THIS ONE LOCKS YOU OUT. Karosgrad, snowy and windswept. The gates slide down in front of a teenaged Manon, clad all in black. YOU RAISED YOURSELF ON STORIES OF FATE. YOU HAVE TURNED FROM YOUR PATH. YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE REFUSED. Pale hands gripping a sword, blade held to the throat of a teenage boy. Terror in his eyes. BUT YOU BELIEVE IN FATE, STILL. YOU HAVE STRODE OFF THE PATH, BUT NOW THERE ARE NO OBSTACLES IN YOUR WAY. A young man, murdered in the Karosgrad square. Manon watches. An Elven woman leaves her child to burn. Manon watches. THERE IS YOU, AND THERE IS THE WORLD. The siege of Karosgrad, Inferi and Haeseni locked in battle. Manon stands, armoured, in the middle of the field. Untouched. Untouchable. She watches. YOUR CHILDHOOD WAS ALL LIES. MAKE-BELIEVE AND PLAY-PRETEND. YOUR TEENAGE YEARS TOO, DESPERATE TO MAKE PEOPLE FORGET THE THINGS THEY SAW. ALL OF IT WAS FAKE. Catty smiles, drinks on rooftops. Dresses, velvet embroidered with stars. Princesses, jewellery. Clockwork marvels, butterflies with flapping wings. NOW NOTHING IS REAL. The images dissolve. AS IF THERE WAS A PANE OF GLASS, BETWEEN YOU AND THE REST OF THE WORLD. YOU ARE UNTOUCHABLE, BUT. . . SO IS EVERYTHING ELSE. -= ҉ =- “I do not actually feel the things I feel, or touch the things I touch.” “Glass is made to be shattered. Your passiveness to all that happens has made you distant.” II FORGETTING “Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.” -= ҉ =- The glass keeps you alive, you tell him. You should be dead, dead a thousand times over. You used to think it was Fate keeping you alive, that you had a higher purpose to serve, but now you know that’s nonsense. “At what cost? To be made an observer in your own life? When does this become death itself? There is little difference between the two.” It’s still your life, you insist. You still feel, anger, sadness, love. You still exist within yourself, just not to the rest of the world. “Then this glass wall does not exist. You contradict yourself. To exist within yourself makes it impossible for anything to truly affect you. When you see your husband, do you feel nothing? What about your children?” A wall made of mist swirls before you. Beyond it, Sviatoslav. Alyona, Aelita, Anatoliy. Family. You turn away. The wall is there so that you do not need to think about this. About feeling. But a misty hand pushes you back, forces your gaze onto them. “Complacent. Content to live in your ivory tower. High up above it all. You do not question it? You hide away from the notion, the buried knowing, that you do feel.” It doesn’t matter what you feel, you tell him. Intentions mean nothing, feelings mean nothing, it is only actions that matter. Feelings are nothing. You bury your face in your hands, hiding. Beyond that wall, more figures. More faces. Alphonse. Earnest, Rel. Nikolas, Marius. Wolfgang, Ophelie, Emelie, Mathilde. Viorica, Giovanna, Valdemar, Georg, Isadora. A forest of people, of friends, of family. You hunch your shoulders, hiding from the faces that stare down at you. All of them watching. From the mists, more hands emerge, clawing at you, talons tearing your hands from your face. “It matters. There is one thing that keeps you above consequence, stowed away. Yourself. They feel doubly in your absence.” They do not care about you. You wrench yourself away, pitiful, like a kicked puppy. They do not care. You don’t matter, that’s the point. More hands, tearing you apart, pulling at hair, hands, skin, filled with all his rage. “What idiocy do you shroud your mind in? You are not this stupid, Manon Yvaine. Look at this through the lens of an Alchemist, not the lens of yourself.” You can’t. You shake your head. You want to forget, to let it go. To be nothing. Better nothing, you tell him. Your voice cracks, and you sob. Better nothing than what you are. III MADNESS “Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.” -= ҉ =- “WHAT ARE YOU?” “WHAT DO YOU KEEP LOCKED AWAY?” “COWARD.” “WEAK.” “SAY IT!” “ANSWER YOURSELF, RECREANT.” “YOU BUILT THAT GLASS WALL AND BLAMED ITS CONSTRUCTION ON THE WORLD.” “BREAK IT.” “SMASH IT TO BITS.” “There is no me. Whoever she was, she's long lost. Manon has been dead since I was five years old, and Yvaine was a- a fantasy to begin with. I do not know. I don't KNOW-” “THEN BUILD YOURSELF ANEW. FORGO THE FACADES,” “FORGO THE FAKE NAMES. BE BIRTHED INTO SOMETHING NEW.” “A PERSON WHO YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF.” “I can't leave it all behind. What if this time I DO feel like he loves me, what if this time I'm important? I want to be given what I deserve, without having to beg for it, to grovel for it. Is that so much to ask?” “THEN THE WALL ISN'T REAL. IF IT IS TRULY BUILT UP AROUND YOU, THEN. . .” “SVIATOSLAV DOESN'T CARE FOR YOU. YOUR CHILDREN ARE AMBIVALENT TO YOUR EXISTENCE.” “CAN YOU, IN ENTIRE UNYIELDING TRUTHFULNESS, SAY THAT?” “Sviatoslav cares for me because I made it so. It's not real. I just. . . I do not feel loved. And that's not fair. I have never felt loved.” “WHERE THERE IS HAPPINESS, THERE IS MISERY.” “LOVE IS TRAILED ONLY BY HEARTBREAK.” “DARK IS ALWAYS CAST ASUNDER BY LIGHT.” “THERE WAS NOT ALWAYS THIS DICHOTOMY, MANON.” “LIGHT WAS ONCE SEPARATE TO DARK. THEY DID NOT MIX AND TRAIL ONE ANOTHER ALWAYS.” “THE SCALES CAN BE TIPPED, TO FAVOUR ONES ODDS. IN EITHER WHICH-WAY.” “And am I to sit and wait until the scales choose to tip in my favour?” “WHO WOULD TIP THEM, IF NOT MORTAL MAN?” “YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE THE CHOICE.” IV DEATH “Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.” -= ҉ =- A warped dagger. A torn root. Black silk. A burnt candle. Silence. MANON STARED AT THE OBJECTS, SHOULDERS SLUMPED IN UTTER, ENTIRE DEFEAT. AND SHE STARED. THE LIGHT BURNED LOW. MANON DIDN'T BLINK, BARELY BREATHED. FINALLY, SHE REACHED OUT AND SNATCHED UP THE PIECE OF SILK. SOMETHING TOUCHED MANON'S SOUL. HOPE. MANON CRUMPLED OVER ONTO HER SIDE, WEEPING INTO HER HANDS. “THE PAST STAYS ON YOU THE WAY POWDERED SUGAR STAYS ON FINGERS. SOME PEOPLE CAN GET RID OF IT BUT IT'S STILL THERE, THE EVENTS AND THINGS THAT PUSHED YOU TO WHERE YOU ARE NOW.” ― ERIN MORGENSTERN, THE NIGHT CIRCUS

Manon Yvaine reads the missive in her lab out west, allows herself a moment of self-satisfaction, and then returns to brewing.

Manon is so excited to be an auntie :)