"Unleash your creativity and unlock your potential with MsgBrains.Com - the innovative platform for nurturing your intellect." » English Books » "The Thralls of Fate" by Alan Harrison

Add to favorite "The Thralls of Fate" by Alan Harrison

Select the language in which you want the text you are reading to be translated, then select the words you don't know with the cursor to get the translation above the selected word!




Go to page:
Text Size:

Alchemy wasn’t necessarily magic, but it was often referred to as an “augment” to healing. Potions and solutions did little to heal a wound or cure an ailment on their own, but there were some forms of sicknesses that even the most skilled healer couldn’t cure with their hands. As a result, most white mages were well versed in both.

If blood potions were legal, then most healers would be out of their job, Morrígan realised, carefully weighing out six ounces of willow bark. She added these to a solution, along with a measure of spores from a strange fungus, and the solution simmered softly as she added heat. She sang under her breath as she added seeds to the scales.

 

Willow for the fever,

Poppy for the pain,

The healers keep on healin’,

But we still all die the same.

 

She preferred making blood potions to proper ones. There was a certain magic in Human blood that came alive when mixed with the right ingredients: magic that would always be stronger than normal alchemy. She often wondered if there was a simple blood potion that could cure the consumption that even Yarlaith didn’t know about. Recipes for illegal potions were hard to come by, and it was likely that there was more out there than those listed in his notes.

Morrígan double-checked all the ingredients. The fungi spores were the only components of the potion that were supposed to cure Mrs. Mhurichú, while the others eased her suffering. The woman was still sick, though, and sometimes it seemed as if all their hard work was just keeping her barely alive.

It would be a kindness to let her die. Morrígan stole a glance at her patient, who coughed and groaned under the mask. Like Morrígan, Mrs. Mhurichú hadn’t seen daylight for weeks. What kind of life have we left to give her?

Morrígan reached for a pen and inkwell and labelled the bottles in big, clear letters.

And besides, we’d put her body to good use.

 

And besides, we’d put her body to good use.

I was away, at Mount Selyth’s peak

When the tower pierced the sky.

From there we watched, but none dared speak,

‘Til Lord Himself did cry:

“The hubris of man does not compare,

To the scale of Simian pride.

But dare they add to this Sin’s height,

And see their Lord defied?”

So Seletoth went to the City of Steam

And beheld the Simians in sight.

But in silence we stayed at Mount Selyth’s peak,

Dwarfed by the Tower’s height.

 

Yes, the Tower stood taller than Mount Selyth’s peak,

Before it was felled from within.

And for one short breath, Lord Seletoth’s might

Was eclipsed by the Shadow of Sin.

 

Excerpt from The Fall, AC 157

 





Chapter 9:

The Chimera

Accounts of Necromantic practises date back as far as one-hundred years after Móráin’s Conquest of Alabach.’

Morrígan read by the light of a sinking candle, while shadows of twisted limbs danced across the cavern walls.

‘The earliest known Necromancers were healers of the Mage’s Academy of Dromán, although they were ignorant of their heresy at the time. Cadavers were used for white magic, in training and in practise, up until AC 145. Under today’s legislation, all healers and alchemists from those days were as guilty of Necromancy as Earl Roth himself.’

Are sens

Copyright 2023-2059 MsgBrains.Com