A new chapter for Scars is here! Sie-thyne comes to the king’s aid, but she’s not happy about it, and we finally get to see why she’s been so tense about the whole affair (and that Khy-kala’s suspicions about the Tellian court have come true). For a brief snippet, check out the part below but for the full story, there’s the link above.
Enjoy!
~
The Jherlander looked to Letha next. She gave him a curt, but confident nod. “You’ve both heard of the panacea,” he began.
“An elixir that cures all ailments? I knew a fellow who used to sell phials of it. Ten good men died for each one, dangerous expeditions venturing deep into forbidden lands, with each batch brewed by a sorcerer who was on the run from the church or whomever.” He waved dismissively. “He was almost as good a storyteller as myself.”
“What did he say his potions were made of?” Justir asked.
Kevac arched an eyebrow at the unexpected question. “What he told people it was made from? It varied. In reality, it was a blend of various herbs, tonics and common potions. A little alcohol, a little bit of fairy dust for a kick. Add a couple drops to your morning broth and you’d be warm and tingly all day. Worked well enough to bewilder and impress the marks. Stories changed as often as his recipes. Came from forgotten knowledge from heathen gods, usually. All but lost after the fall of the Samoeshan Empire, or when the Church destroyed the false faiths that came before. Sometimes he’d sprinkle in a bit of blood magic. The scandal helped sell it. Towards the last little bit when he was in business, he started telling marks that this was a secret of the elves, recovered from their lands.”
“Let me guess. He didn’t get out of business willingly.”
“Aye. Found in a back alley, throat cut. Always figured one of his customers tracked him down after figuring out his ‘panacea’ was booze, drugs and a pile of feel-good.” Kevac shook his head. “Didn’t shed any tears, myself. He played the game, and that can happen if you lose. Desperate people are easier t’ sell to, but…” he shrugged. “Always seemed a bit unseemly, you know?” That was as much moral condemnation as he was willing to offer. The little man was a thief, liar, conman, cheat, arsonist and had more than his fair share of blood on his hands but he’d never stooped to selling fake cures to dying men and women or their families. Nonetheless, there was still the honour of thieves.
Justir nodded. He ran his fingers through his beard. “Whether or not the panacea truly exists is a question the paladins have never been able to answer. Many men have died or spent their lives in vain searching for it, but a long time ago, we learned that though the panacea may not be real, the elves have the next best thing.”
~
My patreon / subscribestar / twitter
Proximal Flame's Fiction 