¤ Potions and Poisons

Once again, that subdued excitement in the open air arena.

Once again, the breathless wait for red silk to touch ground.

Once again, two nearly anonymous beings, poised for fight and flight. Masked with white porcelain, they were only distinguishable by the vastly different wings on their backs, one with a pair fully feathered while the other possessed a pair iridescent and frail looking.

The former held a tall staff of smooth grey wood that ended in a sharp point, an orange gem glowing brilliant at its knob. The latter, however, was armed with a sleek looking crossbow of sorts strapped to his right forearm, a gift from Daedalus. The boy had revelled once again in his genius for all things mechanical as he handed Wing the custom-made and modified hand crossbow, helping him strap it on for his first trial.

‘Here’s the cradle for the round of bolts, you slot in the canister just like that. Remember, push then slide, don’t just shove it in, else the bolts might get jammed. This is the sighter, and here’s the lever you push down to unfold or fold the arms. It helps make this baby easy to conceal, not that you really need it for the battle, but you know, I thought I might as well add that special feature in. I even used the least dense metal I could find to reduce the weight… Oh, and here’s where the quarrels will come out-‘

‘I know which end of a crossbow the arrows come out from, Dae.’

‘Mmkay, just checking. Anyway, once you place the bolts properly, you don’t have to worry about reloading and re-cocking after every time you shoot. I used high tension memory metal in its springs to make it self cocking, and this sweet thing can also self-reload from the canister after every shot in one-tenth second. Of course, that is only until the round runs dry. Each round has twenty bolts, and once the bolt exits, the canister will turn on this thing here, and this will lock it in place, and the spring will activated to cock the weapon. And there’s this super cool thing I have to show you, because when you run out of-‘

‘You left out one important thing, Dae.’

‘Really?!’ Daedalus was almost panic-stricken at the thought that his design might have something flawed in it.

‘Where’s the trigger?’

Wing smiled behind his mask at the memory of the half-horrified, half-murderous look that Daedalus shot at him, as he brushed his thumb lightly over the trigger that fitted snugly in the curve of his hand. Of course he had known where it was, the crossbow’s design was an intuitive one, but someone needed to break Dae out of his rant, or no one would ever hear the end of it.

‘This is so completely one of a kind, so you better take care of it like it was part of your own arm, Wing. If it comes out broken from the battle, you can consider our friendship over.’ Those were Daedalus’ last words on the crossbow, given together with one last tug at the leather strap that secured it to Wing’s hand. The grin on the shorter mortal’s face made that solemn promise moot, of course, but Wing suspected that Dae would indeed feel heartbroken if his creation should come to harm.

The crossbow was a necessary weapon. Wing had limited magic; the most he could do was to form shields to ward off magical and physical blows. However, his forte was that he was a talented potioneer. The Academy had stores of magical herbs and ingredients that any apothecary and Priest would kill to gain access to, and Wing was able to create a large variety of potions from these that had various magical effects which were very much sought after.

He had some of his more formidable concoctions tucked away in his belt, alongside a spare canister of bolts. It was unlikely that he could have time in the battle to replenish once the precious twenty bolts already loaded ran out, but Wing figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.

Then, red silk fell from open hand, and there was little time to muse anymore.

A flash of bright green caught his eye, and Wing ducked to a side, feeling a slimy cool sensation brush his cheek as a ball of poison missed him by the skin of his teeth. He swung around immediately and fired off a bolt. The arrow flew wildly off mark to arch uselessly into the ground, as Ferra vanished from his place in a flash of teleportal energies.

Ferra reappeared a few feet from Wing, spheres of bright poisonous green spinning around him in controlled orbits with one spinning right in the palm of his hand. He could not speak, but Wing could imagine the sneer his foster brother’s mask would be hiding.

What he couldn’t imagine was how bad the humiliation would be, if he lost to Ferra.

A gesture from Ferra sent all the spheres careening off their orbits, and they sped towards Wing in a blur, splashing at his feet and exploding into a sickly green fog. At the same time, Wing snatched a vial from his belt and threw it on the floor with a loud smash even as he shot upwards with a stroke of his wings. A cool white mist rose from the smashed glass, quick fingers of purifying spells tangling and neutralising the poison, dissolving the green fog into opaque white smoke.

The mist fogged up Ferra’s view for a moment. He backed away, warily watching his surroundings. A flicker of movement through the mist made him cast a spell gesture, but his shielding spell came too late and suddenly, there was a stout crossbow bolt growing out of his shoulder, rooted in agonising pain and a thin trickle of blood.

‘First blood is drawn.’

Ferra snapped the crossbolt clean with a growl. It hurt like the Lava Dungeons, but he could not afford to nurse the injury.

There was a furious exchange of poison bolts and crossbow bolts, most failing to hit their marks as their targets’ swift shields foiled their attempts. Ferra was fast becoming frustrated and exhausted; Wing could tell from the rigid way his foster brother carried himself. He had fought alongside and with Ferra enough times to know it.

For a poison mage whose arts required the subtlety of patience, Ferra was a very impatient specimen and was prone to rash moves. He darted forward, barely dodging a flying crossbow bolt, drawing on his mana to form a ball of poison spells in his hand. He twisted around sharply and landed a blow on Wing, the poison from his hands dissolving gleefully into his foster brother’s bare skin.

The two combatants now separated, each airborne on his wings a few feet from each other. A moment of dizziness made Wing falter; the poison now running amok in his veins was as impatient as its master was, and acted quickly. The entire arena watched as Wing dropped to the ground, then to his knees, his iridescent wings quivering gently as he crouched before the hovering Ferra.

Was the fight over, then?

‘Combatant, will you continue fighting?’ The master of ceremonies’ calm voice floated out across the large arena.

Wing fought the overwhelming urge to let his eyelids fall, forcing himself to stare at the dusty floor before his own knees. He had only so much time to get back to his feet before the master of ceremonies would declare him incapable of continuing the duel.

But Wing was not known as a potions adept for nothing. He had successfully concocted at least a few dozen antidotes in his career, and had studied the magic of poison well enough for that purpose. There was also this useful little spell he had picked up along the way…

Fast-acting poisons had weaknesses that could be exploited, more easily so for this particular variety of poison that was now working its way through his body now: Ferra could hardly use a fatal poison in a trial combat, could he?

The problem with these rapid poisons, Wing thought as he tried to keep himself calm and reached out to his mana. They make their presence in you be known so loudly. It was a bit like having young children screaming their heads off in joy as they ran into a giant’s garden to play. And lucky I have earplugs.

Even as his body cells recognised the poison and tagged its invading molecules, he rapidly wove a dispelling spell with some small spell gestures, careful to keep his movements hidden from Ferra who continued to stay in the air overhead. Sending the web of the purifying spell after the molecules of poison, he caught them in their merry havoc and stopped them, forcing the poison off its magically mediated course and under his control.

‘Combatant, will you continue fighting?’ The second and last enquiry from the master of ceremonies. If he had to ask one last time, the combat would be forfeited, in Ferra’s favour.

Ferra couldn’t help but smirk behind his mask. Now, brother. Wasn’t this fight a little too ea-

Ferra’s eyes widened in shock as he saw Wing spin upright to his feet. In a blur of movement, Wing swung his hand crossbow around and unleashed two bolts in quick succession. One bolt found lodging in Ferra’s thigh even as the fairy snapped his great wings apart to take himself higher into the air.

Wing lifted up the edge of his mask briefly and spat the bitter mix of bile and blood in his mouth out onto the dusty ground before swiftly gulping down a vial of antidote retrieved from his waistbelt. That was the worse of the poison taken care of; any further purification would have to wait for the attentions of a Priest.

A flicker of a shadow from above cued Wing, and he dived away promptly, forcing Ferra to perform a fantastic bit of manoeuvring to prevent himself from crashing to the ground. Without missing a beat, Ferra rose up into the air again, and cast at Wing a series of magic claws with a wave of his staff.

The shield that Wing threw up withstood the first few claws, but the next claw crunched through the shield, and it crumpled like so much thin paper before a rampaging Balrog. Agonising fire seemed to burn viciously into his chest, and Wing looked down to see his white tunic stained red where it had been torn open.

It took Wing another heartbeat before he overcame the shock of injury, but Ferra did not give his foster brother even that luxury. He teleported right up to Wing, and unleashed yet another fog of toxic mist.

With open wounds, Wing was at a higher risk of being poisoned, and Ferra had hoped to exploit that fact. He was sorely disappointed though.

Wing swiftly threw down yet another vial, which caused the air around him to explode into cackling life, the air molecules rapidly freezing and crystallising to form a tall dome of ice around the potioneer that blocked out the mist. The toxic green mist lapped almost angrily around this solid wall, cheated of their victim.

‘Instant Ice Shield, just a smashed vial away!’ Wing briefly recalled Aurora’s amused chuckle from when she first witnessed this particular potion’s effects. She had helped make that potion, infusing her elemental magics of ice into the concoction during its brewing at Wing’s request. There was also this other potion that Aurora had helped in as well; they had to get Madam Spiruna’s help since it was not in Aurora’s mastered element, but it had been Aurora’s idea… Now for some bare earth. Wing fumbled at his waistpouch.

Meanwhile, the ice dome kept Ferra away from Wing as well. Enraged, Ferra simply attacked the dome viciously, ice chips flying off from the surface of its walls as his magic claws dug ferociously into it.

With a dramatic crack, the ice dome exploded outwards, throwing Ferra a distance away. In its place, there rose a hulking body of pale stone-grey and dusky coal-black. The mixed stone golem’s limbs creaked audibly at its joints as it climbed to its clumsy feet. Labouriously, it lumbered towards Ferra, the spheres of poison the fairy hurled in self-defence splashing harmlessly against the impervious stone surface of its gigantic body born of earth and magic.

It was not until the stone golem had moved close enough to swipe at him with one giant fist then did Ferra have the presence of mind to duck away. He barely avoided the blow, straining at his wings to bring himself higher up into the air.

But his flight was cut short by a crossbow bolt that whistled just right past his ear. Another one grazed the skin of his shoulder, forcing him to veer sharply downwards and around to avoid a third bolt. Wing was on the ground, feet planted squarely on the floor as he sniped at his foster brother. Snarling, Ferra waved his staff in a spell gesture, swiftly bringing up a shield that scattered the bolts-

-then click! A terrible sound, painfully audible to Wing, rang out. The round of bolts loaded in his crossbow had finally ran out.

Damn.

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Oh hoho. Two months since last chapter, and I had to revive this monsters, right?
Never thought I’ll post this, but hey, miracles (or nightmares, if you rather) happen.
Gaaah, ihatewritingfightscenes. *goes off to eat poisonous muffins* T___T

Here’s the obligatory cookie to tide you over the horror of reading the above. *hands over*