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The alchemist

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The Zaunite alchemist sat behind his desk in his makeshift laboratory in a hastily dug trench, separating out measurements of coloured crystals to the flickering light of a lantern. Despite a near full moon, the cloud cover warranted their use. The crystals, in right amounts would eventually serve as catalysts in many of his experiments and he took great care to have exactly the right amounts of crystal in each pile. He adjusted the round glasses on his face, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose before continuing with his work. Having been given an offer he couldn’t refuse, he had been quickly shifted from his laboratory in Zaun to the battlefields of the Noxian army, so he had gotten used to these little hops across Valoran and the necessities that came with them, such as measuring these himself rather than them being ready on delivery to his laboratory back in Zaun. Upon successfully making several measured piles of stacks, the alchemist syphoned each away into individual vials, which he stoppered. Having done this he rose to his feet to check on his assistant, no real cause for alarm but it was always nice to know what he was up to.

However, as he made his way over to the other end of the trench he heard the fighting resume beyond the Noxian camps that sat at the front line. So the Ionians were counter attacking, hard by the sound of it. The alchemist stopped and looked up patiently. Surely, he thought, surely it wouldn’t be long before- a thunderous blast lit up the night sky orange and blood curdling screams began from what he reckoned was the further end of the battlefield. A grin twisted his features as his nose tingled, sensing his latest endeavour of war finally at work.

He would not get another chance like this tonight. “I’m going to try and bring us back an unfortunate” the alchemist called over his shoulder to his assistant, grunting in reply as he poured over his own work. Climbing a ladder out of the trench into the Noxian camp, the alchemist looked beyond at a complete war zone. The orange haze of his latest chemical bomb lingered across the battlefield even as in ate through everything it touched. Already, Noxian soldiers were walking among the dead and dying to execute any remaining Ionians that were crippled or too weak to flee. He knew he had to hurry before the soldiers completed their work and they had set a steady pace. Walking through the Noxian camp, he approached a soldier leaning doubled over, wheezing heavily, clearly under the influence of his latest experiment. Despite wanting to study him further, the alchemist reminded himself time pressed and he forced himself to walk on. As he passed, the soldier wretched violently and brought up a torrent of blood, bile and as the alchemist was pleased to see, at least a little lung.

The green Ionian field was now nothing more than an expansive muddy mush mixed with blood and bodies, the acrid air of the bomb finally giving way to the musty smell of death and the screams had lessened to moans. Trudging through the mud, the alchemist was thankful for his Zaunian trench boots as he made his way through the front line to find someone who suited his requirements. Scanning the battlefield he took note of the effects of the bomb and other wounds of war, memorising them for later use. You can never know where inspiration can strike from, he mused, only that you surround yourself in your environment and look. The alchemist finally spotted what he was looking for, a soldier with clear physical degradation due to the effects of the bomb but still this one lived, the only problem was this Ionian was about to be executed by a Noxian soldier! The alchemist advanced forward and raised his voice “Hey you- stop!” There was momentary stillness in the vicinity until the Noxian lowered his axe and turned with a scowl, but it died on his face as he took in the mane of silver hair, the carefully trimmed beard, circular glasses and dull grey trench coat marked with a dark blue stripe across the middle that identified him as an alchemist of Zaun. The alchemist made sure his voice was crystal clear as he addressed the Noxian and tilted his head ever so slightly to the left. “I need him.” The Noxian swallowed as the alchemist continued, “would you please grab a comrade in assisting you in bringing this one to me” he gestured to the defeated warrior. Fully aware that his actions were being carried out by multiple soldiers as he spoke, he walked over to the Ionian. “I’ll be seeing you soon” he said, as the defeated warrior could only look on in horror as the alchemist strode back to his laboratory in the trench.


His assistant spoke up, “should we not do something immediately with this one?” he waved restlessly to the bound figure occupying the work bench. “It has been a length of time and for all we know he could die at any moment.” The words sounded forced as if the assistant himself did not really believe them himself but it was only because he was bored, as the alchemist had required him to watch the Ionian prisoner and record any changes that had occurred to his body since he had been brought in, which was almost two hours ago by now. Bound and gagged to prevent ‘unnecessary grievances’, the Ionian had done little but moan and clang in his chains keeping him bolted to a table. The alchemist himself had been immersed in his work calculating and drawing up revisions for his next experiment. He looked up from his papers in the moonlight, the clouds having dispersed giving way to an all encompassing pale glow. “Have some shred of patience my assistant, for the most interesting of things take careful time and planning and are worth waiting for.” The assistant put his calloused hands on his hips “even if you don’t tell me, your valued assistant, what it is you are working on?” The alchemist grinned and almost said yes, but supposed he could relieve at least some of his assistant’s growing impatience. “Have at it soon eager one, set up a retort over a light flame as we shall soon begin to speed brew my latest potion and test its effects on our Ionian here, we’ll just have to keep an eye on him.”

The alchemist and his assistant toiled away preparing the potion, but the alchemist’s plans were without fault and they worked swiftly until he was happy with the result. After filling a conical beaker with a measure of the green-grey potion, the two of them made their way to the side of the trench where the Ionian was held. Upon seeing the two approach, the Ionian resumed his futile shaking of the shackles that kept him in place. The alchemist spoke, addressing him. “What this we will test” he began, holding up the beaker “is this potion’s ability to solidify open wounds caused by my last experiment, as if set by concrete.” The Ionian made a noise but he continued. “Assistant, see how in these larger wounds the blood pools? This is an injury that will certainly cause his death were we not to intervene as we shall and make it more premature. It shall be interesting to see the effects of the potion on blood and whether it helps carry the potion through his body for a more immediate death. I shall observe and record while you do the pouring.” With that the alchemist offered the beaker to his assistant. The scruffy haired man looked absolutely delighted to be in his position as he advanced on the prisoner, the Ionian understandably less so. “But first” interrupted the alchemist, putting an arm on his assistant’s shoulder to halt him, “we shall test another thing.” He removed his arm and strolled around the trench.

“While we have had you here, I could not help but notice, Ionian, that this left arm of yours is still in a fairly un-spoiled condition and it would be a real shame to simply let that go to waste now, would it not?” The alchemist stroked his beard then turned to a small box, which he opened, withdrawing a reel of black thread and a glinting surgical cutter. “It shall be perfect, in fact, for me and my enthusiastic assistant here to test what has been in the back of my mind for a while now, that is, to test this potion on recently stitched wounds.” The Ionian made a noise that could have been a cry and the alchemist nodded, as if in agreement. “Mmmm, I know for a fact that the Ionian healers do not have enough magic to often complete their work so are often forced into this method.” The alchemist waved the thread around in emphasis. “Nor can that damnable witch be everywhere at once” he spat. The alchemist could feel the anticipation from his assistant rubbing off on himself and took a moment to calm himself before resuming. “I honestly did not believe I would get this chance so quickly after devising the potion, I thought I would have to wait until the Noxians fully overran you to pick up someone in your condition. Do be advised though, you will experience the probable effects of this potion on your more vital areas eventually and you shall hopefully die a gruesome and painful death when you do. But for now…” the alchemist paused, as he moved his face down to the Ionian’s, his glasses two shining orbs in the resurgent moonlight as he held the surgical cutter up to the Ionian and gnashed the blades menacingly, “Let’s make this fun.”

My second bit of League Fan Fic and the first one posted here. I wish I could do something to change the way the paragraphs look without breaking them up much more.