Ethaumy

Alchemy is a field unlike any other, a paradoxical fusion of pragmatic reason and fantastical speculation. Its outcomes are precise and reproducible, yet susceptible to the whims of lunar phases, the precise arrangement of ingredients, and other obscure externalities that seem to strain against logic and common sense. The writings of alchemists do little to clarify matters, each cloaked in paranoid cyphers unique to the alchemist who scribed them. Thus, alchemy remains a hodgepodge of science and magic, accessible only to the most methodical madmen and meticulous dreamers - quite literally, as several in the field attribute their Great Works to visions in their slumber. I can still remember my first encounter with this esoteric art when I was just a little girl. A traveling circus act had arrived at my village, one that had somehow recruited a down-on-his-luck alchemist as a side act. The cryptic wizard had performed an infusion to gift a stone with properties of wax, and then myself and the other children watched in awe as he melted that same stone with a simple match. To the others, the infusion was a parlor trick and nothing more, but to me it was an act of power - a showing that the fundamental properties of nature were merely suggestions to be manipulated by those with the knowledge to do so. It was a defining moment that changed my perception of the world. Nature became something ugly and imperfect, a desperate cry of longing for a more perfect designer. For years I would pour over forgotten passages in yellowed books to gleam what little I could, transfixed by the promise of recreating what I saw that fated day. Finally, I cobbled together a rough transmutation table even carving the symbols of the four basic elements into it marked as 🜁, 🜃, 🜂, and 🜄. I had placed a stone in the center of the table and wax by the 🜄, hoping to channel water's essence with which to confer wax's liquidity onto stone as I had seen so long ago. Adding sulfur as the catalyst to perform my first reaction, I had been met with only bitter disappointment when I found that such infusions were fundamentally transient and lasted no more than thirty seconds at most. My dreams of bending nature to my will were shattered, and yet I was driven onward by the desire to one day realize my own Great Work, my Magnum Opus, as had been so glorified in the books read by an impressionable mind. "Some things never change..." I remark, chuckling humorlessly to myself as I whittle away with a small knife. "Nearly a decade later and here I am still carving my own alchemy tables. That old sod won't keep me from reaching my potential, even if I have to do it in secret." The 'old sod' I'm referring to is none other than my mentor, Herman Megistus, whose tutelage I was all too eager to seek out when I came of age and left home. Being surrounded by alchemic textbooks and artifice was a source of excitement without end, but after nearly three years here, that excitement has been transformed into resentment towards the old bastard. My dreams, once so radiant in my mind, have been dampened by day after day of lectures on cautionary practices, the proper way to clean an alembic, and other banal alchemic drudgery. "And if I have to distill aqua vitae ever again I swear I'll...!" I shout into my empty workshop, verbalizing my frustrations aloud. "But it doesn't matter. The old man doesn't have the mental faculties to keep track of all of us. And many late nights in the archive have allowed me to crack some of the cyphered texts. I'll do some real alchemy yet. Starting with this..." My carving complete, I step back to admire my handiwork. A '𝓠' now joins the other four elemental symbols on the alchemy table. Quintessence. The fifth element that was never taught to me and had to be dug up in the archives. The most volatile element and the key to such wonders as panaceas, thaumaturgical homunculi, and even the fabled philosopher's stone. Of course, right now my only goal is to acquire some. I take an unconscious rat I managed to catch in the cellar and place it on the center of the table. "It seems like for all his caution Megistus would care more about the rat problem," I mock bitterly, before bending down to look at the rat. "Verminous pest. Those alchemical fumes will keep you fast asleep and your sacrifice will lead me to greater things. In a way, this is the most noble life you could have as a rat, to be broken down into your base parts." Arranging the salts as shown in the old textbooks, I add sulfur to begin the dissipation process. The familiar glow and crackle of the catalytic powder signifies the beginning of the alchemical process, only for the light to intensify rapidly, as if I had created a star in my workshop. The sudden burst of light sears my vision, leaving me momentarily blinded by its brilliance, but as I stagger away and clear the sun spots from my eyes, I am able to observe no trace of the rodent and none of its essence either. "Something's wrong..." I muse, not finding a trace of the living component, "That which is cannot be destroyed, only changed. Did the rat's essence transmute into light itself?" My thoughts are interrupted by revelations bordering on the divine. In my mind's eye, I can picture complex artifice and intricate alchemical processes converging to a single point. For the briefest moment, I feel as though the path to making the philosopher's stone is revealed unto me, but then it vanishes as quickly as it arrives, leaving me with only with a splitting headache. Then comes agony. Every sensory input is suddenly magnified to unnatural levels, as if my familiar workshop is conspiring to overwhelm me. I fall to the floor and clutch my skull, trying to drown out ear shattering crackle and blistering heat of something as faint as a flickering candle on my desk. The experience lasts less than a minute, but feels like hours, and even when I feel my overactive mind dies down, I still feel jumpy, half expecting the pain to return any time. I consider myself to be fairly stoic and unflappable, but something about what I just went through leaves me deeply shaken. Somehow, the pain feels like an intentional distraction, a red herring to draw my attention from some darker intrusion into my psyche. I'm left with the vague and unsettling impression that those of thoughts supreme alchemical marvels were not my own. But if not mine then whose? Is there someone - no, something - else in my mind? Despite the trauma brought on by the experience, the anguish of losing those fleeting thoughts of ingenuity leaves a much stronger impression. I find myself wishing I could recall what so shortly ago was known to me. After all, such hallucinations could lead me to my Magnum Opus. "Still..." I murmur, my voice of self-preservation crying out warnings too dire for me to ignore. "I should talk with someone about this. Not Megistus. That fool would see to it that I would never touch a transmutation table again. That was... unnatural. And I get the feeling it will happen again. Perhaps one of the other students? Ugh. Alchemists are not the most social sort. And what if they try to use me? To exploit my knowledge and secrets? Or they report me to Megistus? Damn it! I can't trust another alchemist!" I stagger out of my workshop and into the hallways of the tower, feeling a mix of defensive paranoia and panic. For once in my life, I have no idea what to do next. Maybe if I can just make it my chambers, this experience will become just a fleeting nightmare. Somehow that doesn't seem likely.