Magic and Alchemy

The Secret of the Royal Alchemist

In the heart of Danfelgor, where the streets twisted and turned toward the royal palace, there stood a tower unlike any other—a tall, slender spire of dark stone that shimmered faintly under the light of both sun and moon. This was the home of Mirek the Alchemist, one of the most revered figures in the kingdom, known throughout the city and beyond for his discoveries. But despite his fame, few had ever glimpsed the man himself - people spoke of him with awe and a touch of fear, for he was said to be a master not only of alchemy but also of strange, arcane magics.

Mirek had arrived in Danfelgor many years ago, his origins unknown. Some said he had come from the distant southern lands, others that he had studied in the hidden libraries of the north. But whatever his past, it was his discoveries in Danfelgor that secured his place in history. The greatest of these was his finding that the copper mined near the city—copper that had long been the backbone of the local economy—was argentiferous, containing silver in its veins. This discovery alone was enough to bring great wealth to the city, but Mirek had gone further. He had devised a method to separate the silver from the copper, a process so complex and secretive that even the King himself had no knowledge of how it was done.

Mirek’s laboratory was the subject of countless rumours. The few apprentices who had trained under him spoke of machines powered not by gears and pulleys alone, but by forces beyond the natural world—whispers of arcane glyphs, enchanted metals, and strange energies harnessed from the very elements themselves. But the apprentices were bound by oaths of silence, and Mirek trusted none of them with the deepest secrets of his craft.

King Baldan, who ruled Danfelgor at the time of Mirek’s greatest discoveries, was both grateful for the wealth that flowed into his coffers and uneasy about the power that Mirek held. Though Baldan was a wise and capable ruler, the thought of an alchemist wielding both magic and technology, with knowledge that no one else in the kingdom possessed, troubled him. The silver flowing from the copper mines had transformed Danfelgor into an even wealthier city, and the King’s power grew with each ingot of silver minted, but he could not help but wonder: what if Mirek’s loyalty shifted? What if this man, who answered to no one, could harness his alchemy for purposes beyond the King’s control?

It was on one cold winter’s night, after a grand feast in the palace, that Baldan summoned his most trusted advisor, Lord Varelan, to discuss the matter.

“I cannot deny the debt we owe to Mirek,” said the King, pacing before the great hearth in his private chambers. “But he grows more secretive by the day. His tower is locked to all but a few, and even those who serve him seem to know little of what goes on inside. Do you think it wise, Varelan, for any man to hold such knowledge and keep it from his King?”

Varelan, a man of sharp intellect and cautious nature, inclined his head thoughtfully. “Your Majesty, it is true that Mirek’s power lies in both his genius and his secrecy. But so long as he remains loyal to the crown, we reap the benefits of his work. To pry into his methods may turn him against us.”

“And what if he already harbours ambitions beyond his station?” Baldan’s voice was low, filled with concern. “What if his knowledge gives him the means to seize power for himself?”

Varelan considered the King’s words. “Then perhaps it is time we sent someone to discover the truth. But not through force—Mirek’s trust cannot be broken so easily. We need someone clever, someone who can gain his confidence, perhaps even an apprentice who can learn more of his craft. If we understand his methods, we may safeguard the realm.”

And so it was decided. Over the next few weeks, the King’s court discreetly arranged for a young man named Elandor, a promising scholar and alchemist, to be introduced to Mirek’s tower as a new apprentice. Elandor had a sharp mind and a curiosity that was both his strength and his flaw. He had studied at the city’s great library and showed great potential, but most importantly, he had no obvious ties to the crown, making him the perfect candidate to infiltrate Mirek’s inner circle.

Elandor’s arrival at Mirek’s tower was met with little fanfare. Mirek, as ever, was distant and absorbed in his work, barely acknowledging the new apprentice beyond a few perfunctory instructions. The laboratory was a wonder—full of strange apparatuses that glowed with faint, otherworldly light. Machines whirred and hummed, and shelves lined the walls, stacked high with vials of strange liquids and jars of unidentifiable powders. Glyphs and runes, etched into the very stones of the tower, pulsed with faint energy.

Days turned into weeks, and Elandor learned much—but not the true secret of Mirek’s process. Though the master alchemist was demanding, he never allowed his apprentices to see the final stages of his work. The separation of silver from copper was always done in the deepest chambers of the tower, where only Mirek himself entered. Still, Elandor’s sharp mind pieced together bits of information. He noticed the strange interactions between the magical symbols inscribed on the machines and the more mundane mechanical processes. He understood that the magic did not merely enhance the machinery—it was woven into it, a symbiosis of arcane power and technology that allowed Mirek to achieve the impossible.

One night, while the city of Danfelgor slept under a blanket of snow, Elandor’s curiosity overcame his caution. He waited until the tower was silent, and Mirek had retreated to his chambers. Slipping through the shadows, he made his way to the lower levels of the tower, where the master’s secret laboratory was kept. The door was sealed, but Elandor had been observing closely over the weeks and knew how to undo the glyphs that protected it—though not without risk. With trembling hands, he touched the etched symbols in the correct sequence, and the door clicked open with a faint sigh.

Inside, the laboratory was bathed in an eerie, silver light. Strange contraptions filled the room, but Elandor’s attention was immediately drawn to a large cauldron in the centre, where copper ore, glowing faintly, was being separated into two streams—one of molten copper, and the other of pure silver. Hovering above the cauldron was a series of intricate magical sigils, swirling slowly, guiding the process.

In that moment, Elandor realised that the secret of Mirek’s alchemy was not simply in the machinery or the magic alone—it was in the balance between them. The magic was delicate, precise, and required a deep understanding of both natural and arcane laws. It was not brute power, but finesse that allowed the silver to be drawn from the copper. The separation was not just a mechanical process; it was an act of transformation, where the magical energy infused the materials, altering their very nature.

As Elandor stepped closer, captivated by the beauty of the process, he suddenly felt a presence behind him.

“You’ve come further than any before you,” Mirek’s voice was calm but tinged with disappointment. Elandor froze, caught in the act. “But you do not understand the price of what you seek.”

Elandor turned, his heart racing. “I only wanted to understand, Master. To learn.”

Mirek’s eyes, dark and intense, fixed on his apprentice. “Knowledge is not the problem,” he said. “It is what you would do with it. I keep these secrets not for my own power, but because they are dangerous. The balance between magic and machine is fragile—too fragile for the greed of men.”

Elandor hesitated. “The King… he fears what he does not know.”

“And that is why the King will never know,” Mirek replied sharply. “This knowledge, this power, is not meant for crowns or thrones. It belongs only to those who understand its weight.”

For a long moment, Elandor stood in silence, the truth of Mirek’s words sinking in. He had thought of the process as a means to wealth and prestige, a way to earn favour with the King. But now, standing before the shimmering light of the alchemical transformation, he understood that some knowledge was too dangerous to be wielded carelessly.

Mirek turned away, his voice softer now. “Return to your studies, Elandor. You are not ready for this.”

And so, Elandor obeyed. He returned to the upper levels of the tower, his mind reeling with the enormity of what he had learned—and what he had nearly unleashed. He continued his work as an apprentice, but the desire for secrets no longer burned within him. Instead, he devoted himself to understanding the delicate balance Mirek had spoken of, knowing that true mastery lay not in power, but in wisdom.

In time, Elandor would become a great alchemist in his own right, but he never spoke of the night he entered the secret chamber, nor of the things he had seen. Mirek’s methods remained hidden, known only to the master himself, and the city of Danfelgor continued to prosper under the wealth brought by silver and copper. But the true legacy of Mirek was not the silver or the wealth—it was the understanding that some knowledge is too dangerous for those unready to wield it.

And so, the tower of the Royal Alchemist stood tall, its secrets safe, guarded not by walls or locks, but by the wisdom of those who understood the balance between magic and the world.

Doktor Heinrich Berghof, Perfidienforschungsgruppe, Universitaet Aarbergen - Panrod

The Rise of the Magocracy in Danfelgor

In the heart of Danfelgor, change was brewing. The city had always been a place of trade, craft, and learning, but with the rise of alchemy and magic, a new class had emerged—one that wielded arcane knowledge and the power to reshape reality itself. This new elite, the Magocrats, were alchemists, wizards, and scholars of magic who had discovered ways to fuse technology with the forces of the mystical world. Their creations, powered by magic-infused devices, made life easier for many but also concentrated unimaginable power in the hands of a few.

Among the common people, there was growing resentment. These Magocrats, who had once been scholars or eccentric inventors, now held positions of great authority, not only in matters of science but also in politics. The Gorak, once the undisputed ruler of Danfelgor, found his influence waning as the Magocrats provided the city with wonders—such as enchanted transportation, alchemical medicine, and even the ability to control weather patterns for agriculture. In exchange for these miracles, they demanded a seat at the highest levels of power.

The Magocrats' Rise

The Magocratic Council was formed, ostensibly to regulate the use of magic in the city, but soon it became clear that the Council was becoming the real power in the city. The working people, once the backbone of Danfelgor’s economy, found themselves increasingly dependent on the magical devices that only the Magocrats could provide. In the markets, magical wares replaced handmade goods. In the fields, enchanted tools replaced the hands of labourers. The people of Danfelgor were becoming servants to the very magic that was supposed to improve their lives.

The leader of the Magocratic Council, Archmage Serulius, was a formidable figure. He had risen from a humble background, but through mastery of alchemy and magic, he had made himself one of the most powerful individuals in the city. His vision was clear: a society governed by the laws of magic, where those who understood the forces of the world would rule, and those without such knowledge would serve.

"Only those who can bend reality to their will," Serulius once declared in the Gorak’s court, "are fit to rule over it."

The Tensions Rise

For the non-magical citizens of Danfelgor, life had become a bitter struggle. Artisans, once revered for their craftsmanship, now found themselves pushed aside by magical artisans who could produce perfect works in a fraction of the time. Farmers were displaced by machines that could till fields with no human intervention. Even in the taverns and inns, magic-fueled automata served drinks and food with mechanical precision.

A resistance began to form among the working people. Led by Kalden, a blacksmith who had once forged the finest weapons for the city’s soldiers, the resistance grew out of frustration and necessity. Kalden and his followers in the Ironworkers’ Guild, saw the rise of magic as a threat to their livelihoods and their dignity. They began meeting in secret, plotting how they might undermine the Magocratic Council and reclaim their city.

"Magic may control the elements," Kalden told his followers, "but it cannot control the human spirit. We must remind them that we are not machines to be replaced, but people with pride and purpose."

The Philosopher's Warning

Meanwhile, the philosopher Kentumirto, who had long been a voice of balance and reason in the city, watched the growing divide with deep concern. Though he was not gifted in magic, he understood its power and potential. Yet he also saw the dangers of a society where knowledge became a weapon of control.

Kentumirto began to speak out against the Magocrats, warning that their unchecked power was eroding the very foundations of justice and balance that Danfelgor had once prided itself on.

"Wisdom does not come from power alone," he told his students. "True wisdom is the ability to see beyond oneself, to use power for the good of all, not just the few. If we allow the Magocrats to reshape our society without question, we will lose more than our livelihoods. We will lose our humanity."

His words resonated with many, but they also drew the ire of the Magocratic Council. Serulius saw Kentumirto as a dangerous agitator, one who could stir the people into rebellion. He began to move against the philosopher, spreading rumours that Kentumirto was in league with the Ironworkers’ Guild, plotting to overthrow the city’s order.

The Clash

Tensions peaked one winter’s night, during a festival in Danfelgor’s central square. As the people celebrated, Kalden and his followers staged a protest, marching through the streets carrying banners that read, “Danfelgor belongs to the people, not the Magocrats!” The Magocratic Council, fearing an uprising, sent their enforcers—magically enhanced soldiers known as the Arcanum Guard—to break up the protest.

What began as a peaceful demonstration soon turned violent. The Arcanum Guard, using spells and enchanted weapons, attacked the protesters, who fought back with conventional weapons and the sheer force of numbers. Fires broke out in the square, and the clash between the two sides threatened to spread throughout the city.

Amidst the violence, Kentumirto stepped forward, standing between the two warring sides. His presence, though unarmed and unguarded, brought a momentary pause to the conflict.

"Enough!" he cried out. "This is not the way of wisdom. The power of magic was never meant to be wielded as a tool of domination. Nor should we seek to destroy that which can help us. We must find a path of balance."

His words rang out over the square, and for a brief moment, both sides hesitated. Kalden lowered his hammer, and even the Arcanum Guard paused in their assault. Kentumirto’s plea for peace resonated deeply, but it was the next move that would decide the fate of the city.

The Resolution

In that moment of stillness, the Gorak himself appeared, flanked by his royal guard. Though he had allowed the Magocrats to rise to power, he had never fully relinquished his authority. Seeing the city on the edge of civil war, he knew he had to act.

"I will not allow this city to be torn apart," the Gorak declared. "Magic has brought us great wonders, but it must serve all the people of Danfelgor, not just those who wield it. I decree that the Magocratic Council will be reformed, with equal representation from both the magical and non-magical citizens of the city."

It was a bold move, and one that neither side fully expected. The Magocrats, though furious at having their power curtailed, knew they could not openly defy the Gorak and the citizens without risking further serious unrest. The Ironworkers’ Guild, while wary, saw the Gorak’s decree as a step toward fairness.

In the months that followed, the Magocratic Council was restructured, with representatives from the merchants, the craft guilds and the working people given seats alongside the Magocrats. Magical knowledge, previously restricted to the elite, was made more accessible to ordinary citizens, making it somewhat easier to study the arcane arts.

A New Era

The city of Danfelgor, though scarred by the conflict, entered a new era of cooperation. Magic and craftsmanship began to work together, with alchemists and artisans forging partnerships to create wonders that neither side could achieve alone. Kalden’s guild grew in influence, becoming a powerful voice for the working people, while Kentumirto’s teachings on balance and justice became the guiding philosophy of the new council.

Serulius, though bitter at the loss of control, remained a figure in the city, realising that power lay not in domination but in compromise. And though the tensions between the elite and the citizens would never fully disappear, the city had found a peace—one built on the idea that power, whether magical or mundane, must always serve the greater good.

However, in time, nearly all of the alchemists left Danfelgor, and no-one knew where they went.

The Alchemists And The Shaman

It wasn’t usually very difficult for a stranger in the docks of Estasea to pass unnoticed amongst the noise and the loading and unloading, but some of the dockhands in the River Harbour began to see a particular man more and more often. He wasn’t particularly conspicuous in himself, apart from a trimmed red beard, but he was seen in the taverns and along the quays quite often, and didn’t seem to have any obvious reason for being there. Mostly the dockers registered his presence and thought no more about it, but some of them started to wonder what he was up to.

The Blue Dolphin sat on the bank of the Estasea River, its weather-beaten beams and window shutters clearly having witnessed countless gales and rainswept nights. The tavern was full of rivermen, traders, and dock workers who came for the ale, gossip, and for respite from the piercing winds off the river. Its owner, Jorvan Beltheer, a burly man with a beard as broad as the stern  of a river barge, presided over the establishment. He veered between stern discipline and quiet generosity, and he had been known to help a regular down on their luck by silently forgetting a tab. The stranger with the red beard took a room there on a weekly basis, cash down, meals extra if required.

One day, in the taproom of the Blue Dolphin, as he brought the man another pint of ale, Beltheer inquired in what he hoped was a casual tone, as to what had brought the man to Estasea.

“I can hear from your speech that you are not from round here - are you on business or pleasure?”

“I’m a trader,” the man replied, “I’m spending some time in your beautiful city because I’m thinking of setting up a depot here. Currently I am not really doing any trade with Estasea and I’m trying to assess the potential.”

“What d’you think so far, then?”, asked the landlord, as if he was just making conversation.

“Oh, I think there’s potential here, real potential.”

The landlord would have been satisfied with that, but an hour later a small detachment of the City Guard entered the tavern. They stood in the middle of the taproom, looking round, until they spotted the man that the landlord had just been speaking to.

“That’s him,” said the Serjeant, pointing, “With the red beard.”

Two of the guardsmen approached the man’s table and asked him to accompany them. Once the group had left the taproom, there was a burst of speculation.

“I knew he was trouble, first thing I saw him,” said one docker.

“Yeah - smugglin’, most like.” said another.

“Well he said he was a trader,” said the landlord, “so I don’t know. We’ll see. Might be nothing much. All his things are here, and he’s up to date paying for his room, so I’ll leave it a day or so.”

However, the man with the red beard returned to the Blue Dolphin later that day, just as if nothing had happened.

“Sorry to have to ask, sir, but what was that business with the Guard all about earlier? You’ll understand that I have to be careful about who I let my rooms to, no offence like.”

“No, it’s quite alright, I understand - it was a case of mistaken identity. You won’t hear any more of it, I can assure you. I’m parched, though - can I have a pint of ale please?”

And, for the time being, that was that.

It was an evening thick with river mist when another stranger walked in. He was tall and wrapped in a black cloak, his eyes dark beneath the brim of his hat. The murmur of conversation in the taproom stilled for a moment as he strode toward the bar and tossed a few coins onto the bar counter, requesting a room. Beltheer’s keen eyes noted that the man’s hands were not calloused and also that he had a thin, pale scar across his jaw - a rapier cut. He was clearly not a dock hand or sailor. Beltheer nodded, took the coins and handed him a key. The stranger’s gaze swept the room, lingering for a heartbeat on the red-bearded man in the corner.

Many faces had passed through the docks of Estasea over the years, but few had left as strong an impression as Captain Ilvar Renholdt, a seasoned old sailor who had spent most of his life navigating dangerous waters. Renholdt was well known amongst the river sailors and traders for his navigational skills and a knack for predicting foul weather out at sea. What was known only to a very few was that the old captain also used his eyes and ears on behalf of the Estasean Special Committee and had done so for many years.

Next evening, as the sky turned dark with a foreboding of rain, the man with the red beard received a message from the captain, requesting a private meeting at The Silver Lantern, a  tavern near the Estasean docks known for its strong, home-brewed ale. Renholdt’s tone in the message was uncharacteristically urgent. The red-bearded man arrived to find the old captain sitting in a dim corner, wearing a seaman’s cap and a heavy peacoat that smelled of sea salt and tar. The tavern was half full, but the other customers were too deep in conversation to pay attention.

“Captain Renholdt,” the red-bearded man said, pulling up a chair. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Renholdt glanced up, his eyes weary. “Aye, Dryfor,” he replied, his voice rough from years of shouting commands over the waves. “I have, sort of.”

“What’s this about?” the red-bearded man, whose name was indeed Dryfor, asked.

Renholdt took a long swig of his ale before speaking. “I’ve come across somethin’ I never thought I’d see again—a relic from the old days, when the alchemists turned their black arts against each other.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, carved box. Inside was an amulet, made of dark metal and adorned with symbols that seemed to shift in the flickering candlelight.

“What is it?” Dryfor asked, leaning in for a closer look.

“It’s a talisman of power,” Renholdt explained. “Forged by the shaman of the north. They called it the Eye of the Storm. Supposedly, if you know how to use it, it will summon all the power of the Storm Father. The alchemists stole it but presumably never worked out how to safely use it. Everybody thought it was lost years ago, but somehow it resurfaced.”

“How did you get it, then?” Dryfor asked.

“It was found by chance, as far as I can make out, and it was being held by people who had no idea of its meaning or power. They didn’t know what it was, so I didn’t think they’d miss it”

“You stole it?” Dryfor said.

“If I hadn’t, someone else surely would - there are several groups of people who would very much like to get their hands on this amulet. At least I want to return it to the people to whom it rightly belongs - the shaman of the Storm Eagle people, who created it a long time ago. There are some very dangerous people looking for this amulet.”

“One of Gitcni’s men is staying in the Blue Dolphin - presumably, that’s not a coincidence?”

“No, but there are far worse than him after it, I can tell you. Get me another pint of ale, and I’ll tell you a story.”

“Among the tales of the power struggles years back in Danfelgor, one story remains relatively unknown - the history of the Order of the Black Sun. Nearly two decades ago, nearly all the alchemists were driven from Danfelgor after a failed attempt to take over the governing of the city. A faction, now known as the Order of the Black Sun, had tried to control the city’s magical resources and gain power for what they believed was a higher purpose. They wanted to create a new order led by those enlightened in the lore of alchemy and magic.”

Renholdt continued, “They failed, and their leader, Melaeron, was banished along with his followers. Some were hunted down and executed in the years that followed, but others escaped. They fled north, beyond the borders, where, using their magic, they built a hidden fastness in the snowy peaks from whence they looked out over the land and the seas.”

“The members rebuilt the Order in secret, perfecting their craft and gathering knowledge from ancient scrolls, going deeper and deeper into dark regions of hidden knowledge. Word of the rediscovery of the Eye of the Storm somehow reached Melaeron’s ears - I don’t know how , but I suppose that word that it had gone missing must have got out. Anyway, he saw an opportunity to take revenge, and claim the power he believed should belong to the Order. The Black Sun have been sending agents into Estasea, posing as traders, scholars and craftsmen. They’ve infiltrated the city, searching for clues about the Eye’s whereabouts. I’m sure they don't know that I’ve got it.” Renholdt took a sip of ale.

“Some members of the Order of the Black Sun, came here as craftsmen at first, offering potions to heal ailments, but slowly, they’ve wormed their way into the very fabric of Estasea, gaining influence over merchants and even corrupting some of the city officers with gifts of charms and elixirs. The core members of the Order have left the mountains now and have taken up residence in an abandoned hunting lodge outside the Rural Margin. With their magic they swiftly turned it into a fortified redoubt, which won’t be easy to take by conventional forces.”

“Melaeron has always been obsessed with the old ways,” Renholdt explained. “He believed that the alchemy of Danfelgor had become stagnant and corrupted. He saw the Black Sun as the true heirs to the mysteries of the arcane world—and now he wants to make that vision a reality. The Black Sun failed twenty years ago in Danfelgor, so now they’re trying again, here in Estasea”

“What is Gitcni’s interest in all this?” Dryfor asked.

“He wants what Gitcni always wants - power. He doesn’t understand, or doesn’t want to understand, that the amulet can only be used safely -safely - by those who really understand how. It’s not simple, but Gitcni will try it if he can get his hands on the amulet. Of course, I don’t intend to let him do that.”

“So what’s the plan - how are we going to stop the Black Sun?”

“There is only one person I know that can confront them with an older, more elemental force. We need Tolgai Storm Eagle, the most revered  shaman of all the tribes, the shaman of The Tree. Few people here in Estasea would know where to find him, so it’s something I must do myself. It's been many years since I last saw him, but I’ll return the amulet to him, and I’m sure he’ll help us.”

“That’s all the information I have for you today - report it back through the usual channels and I’ll be in touch. Take care - we’re living in a very dangerous time. See you soon - I’m going back to my bunk now, I’m tired.”

Unfortunately, his words about the danger proved to be true. The following day word had reached all the taverns of the waterfront that the river had lost one of its best-known characters. The body of Captain Renholdt had been found floating face down in the harbour. No-one knew what had happened, but some said that he had been drinking very heavily the day before. Most people thought that he had drunkenly fallen into the harbour late that evening and drowned, but Dryfor knew better. The old captain hadn’t been drunk when they parted, and he was on his way straight back to his ship, which was tied up near the Silver Lantern. Dryfor was sure that Renholdt had been killed, which left two major problems. First, where was the Eye of the Storm? Second, how was Dryfor going to reach the shaman of The Tree?

Late that evening, the man with the rapier scar confronted Dryfor in an alley close to the docks.

“I know who you work for, Dryfor - where’s the amulet?”

“I assumed that you took it after you killed the Captain - I’m sure Gitcni will reward you generously for it.”

“Gritcni’s not a generous man, my friend.” The man shrugged. “He’ll probably punish me for failing to get hold of it. I didn’t kill the Captain, though. Actually, I thought you must have.”

“Does Gritcni know that the Black Sun’s agents are close by? If you didn’t kill Renholdt, they must have done it.”

“That’s possible - do you really not have it?”

“No - the Captain held onto it - he intended to return it to the tribes. He said that’s where it belongs.” 

“Well, maybe so, but that's not going to happen, is it? Let’s pool our resources - I’ll share anything I find out if you’ll do the same? Deal?” 

He held out his hand. Dryfor didn’t really trust him, but it did no harm to shake his hand. At least they were both on the same side as far as the Black Sun was concerned. Very soon, however, all talk of cooperation became irrelevant as a blast far louder than thunder was heard all over Estasea.

The first demonstration of the alchemists’ power came that night when a massive explosion rocked the buildings around the Grand Market. It wasn’t an accident - the Order had unleashed a controlled blast to demonstrate their power. Next they declared themselves, and threatened the city with destruction if their demands were not met. Their arrival was marked by an ominous eclipse. The city was plunged into an unnatural orange half-light as the alchemists began to weave a dark spell over the city.

The next day, there was a sudden outbreak of a strange illness, then a mysterious fire consumed the mansions of several of the nobles, and finally there was a string of disappearances – all resulting from the alchemists' dark magic. The ruling council of Estasea tried to launch an armed response, but the city guard, who were not equipped to combat dark magic, suffered heavy losses as they attempted to storm the alchemists' stronghold. Melaeron’s followers launched golems crafted from magically enhanced metals, which charged through the streets like creatures from a nightmare. Worst of all, they poisoned the waters of the Estasea river, killing all the fish and endangering the water supply and food production. The city was in absolute crisis.

The Estaseans had long maintained trading posts amongst the tribes of the steppes, but rarely had much other contact with them. However, one man, a fur trader named Baros Velm, was known to have family connections to the Storm Eagle Clan. Dryfor sought him out, and told him everything, begging him to seek out Tolgai and bring him to Estasea.

“I’m sure this is the only way to fight the Black Sun - if this doesn’t work, Estasea is lost.”

Baros agreed that they should go to The Tree. He was one of the few people in Estasea who knew where it was located and together, he and Dryfor rode out to the steppe to seek out Tolgai. When they found him, the shaman was reluctant, but during a conversation in a dialect that Dryfor could only barely understand, Baros told Tolgai that the alchemists had corrupted the sacred river, and he agreed to help. Without further words, he went into his felt tent. When he emerged, he was dressed in a floor length robe covered in beads and feathers, a cloak made from a whole bearskin, gloves and shoes made from bear's paws and an eagle mask. He started to beat his drum rhythmically - pacing and chanting in time to the drum.

“He is in the spirit world now, walking the Ghost Road - he neither sees us nor hears us. He is transformed - one with the Storm Eagle. All he is conscious of is the Tree - it connects the three worlds, with its branches in the sky, its trunk on earth and its roots in the underworld - and we must wait until he has completed the ritual. There is nothing we can do now but wait -he very rarely leaves The Tree, and he will not leave now until he is clear that the spirits are with him.”

Tolgai’s spirit journey took hours. It had taken them nearly four days to reach the Tree and complete the ritual, and it took another three days to return, by which time things in Estasea had got much worse.

When Tolgai arrived in Estasea, the city was almost closed down, with the alchemists' golems patrolling the streets as terrified citizens barricaded themselves indoors. Tolgai told them that the Black Sun’s power was overstretched and overwrought, unlike the elemental energy he could command. The Council spoke to Tolgai - as he addressed them in a strong steppe dialect and expressed himself in images, Velm translated.

“The zhaela of the Black Sun is horse that has been ridden too hard, too long. They spread too little grilled lamb on too much over-stewed barley. Their khuvari and trahemi are milk that has been kept too long and separated. They have flaws in themselves - they need the zhaela like a wounded eagle needs the sky. I bring spirits.”

Velm clarified - “He says that the Black Sun have over-used their magic and spread their power too thinly. Their rituals and incantations are complicated and over-refined and have lost potency, and they themselves have become addicted, dependent upon their own magic. He says his power is strong with elemental spirits”

When Melaeron delivered a second ultimatum—demanding the surrender of the Council—Tolgai summoned a fierce storm over the Black Sun’s fortress, with rain, lightning and gale-force winds battering the alchemists’ lodge. The storm was imbued with Tolgai’s magic, designed to disrupt the alchemists’ spells. His magic, rooted in the raw power of nature, was a stark contrast to the alchemists' effete conjuring.

Tolgai, with eyes that held the power of storms, confronted Melaeron, who, arrogant in his power, underestimated Tolgai's elemental magic. His lightning-fast strikes, his ability to summon storms and lightning, undid the alchemists' over-crafted spells and many were struck down by bolts of lightning. 

As the storm raged, Tolgai entered the alchemists’ lodge - Melaeron unleashed his deadliest creation, a huge golem powered by an unstable alchemical core. The monster seemed unstoppable, shrugging off the wind and lightning.

Tolgai transformed into his spirit guide and totem, the Storm Eagle, and swooped down, clawing the golem with talons of lightning. Then Tolgai struck the alchemical core with a blast of spirit energy, causing the creation to implode. Velm and Dryfor stood by, stunned at the display of sheer power.

As the alchemists tried to flee, Tolgai confronted them and after a fierce battle, the City Guard bound the alchemists hand and foot and took them before the Council, who banished them far beyond the bounds of Estasea’s lands, on pain of death should they dare to return.

With the alchemists defeated, Tolgai was exhausted and slept for twenty hours. When woke he met the members of the Council but refused any honour or reward from the Estaseans, declaring that he had acted only to protect the sacred Danfel and restore spirit balance to nature. He returned to the steppes, leaving the city to rebuild. The Council were quick to enact strict laws drastically restricting the use of alchemical magic, in the hope that such a crisis would never occur again.

A year later, back in his felt tent under The Tree, Tolgai drank tea with Baros and Dryfor, who brought news that the waters of the Danfel were pure and life-giving once again. Baros gave Tolgai a golden eagle amulet as a symbol of the city’s gratitude . Then Tolgai asked Baros if the Eye of the Storm amulet had been recovered after Renholdt’s death.

“No,” said Baros, “We still don't know who killed him, and we have no idea what happened to it. If we had it, I give you my word that we would bring it back here where it belongs.”

Tolgai closed his eyes, and tilted his face to the sky, spreading his arms wide like the wings of an eagle.

“Until the vorea comes back to us, there is no certainty of peace. I will make dothuli khasri , send smoke up to the sky and commune with the spirits, but the eagle must return to his eyrie. Until that time, there can always be more conflict.

So it is, and so it will be - that is all.”

The Interface Between Alchemy and Technology in Perfidian Society

In Perfidian civilization where magic and alchemy gave rise to technology, the interplay between the mystical and the scientific created a unique cultural, philosophical, and technological landscape. Here is a model of how magic and alchemy could have interacted with and even fueled the development of technology in the Perfidian world, with an important caveat - there is much that we do not know.

 
1. Foundational Concept: The Symbiosis of Magic and Alchemy

In the Perfidian civilization, magic is an inherent force of nature, governed by rules much like physics in our world. Alchemy, as a structured magical discipline, acted as a bridge between the arcane and the practical, blending the spiritual essence of the world with physical science. Alchemists and wizards would function much like scientists and engineers, experimenting with natural and magical elements to create new technologies.

Alchemy is not just about transmuting matter, but also about understanding the metaphysical properties of elements, the essence of life, and the manipulation of time and space.

Through alchemical research, this civilization could have developed the first seeds of technological advancement, beginning with basic tools and devices powered by magical principles, and later evolving into more complex machinery.

2. Technology Rooted in Magical Laws

In Perfidia, the natural laws that govern magic were as rigorous as the laws of physics. These might have included principles like:
The Motion that flows through the world, acting like an energy grid.
Elemental Affinities (fire, water, air, earth, etc.) that dictate the fundamental forces, although these four elements should be understood as a duality of dualities, ie fire against water, air against earth.
Runes and Sigils that serve as the language of magic, akin to code in computer science.
Alchemy’s role here would have been discovering how these magical principles interact with physical objects and materials. Early technologies would have blended natural elements with magical enhancements. For instance:
Light Stones: Stones infused with alchemical luminescence spells which could create light sources, powered by ambient mana in the environment.
Constructs and Automatons: Golems or mechanical creatures would be created through a combination of alchemical metallurgy and enchanted cores powered by magical runes, able to perform simple tasks, forming the first robotic-like labour force.

3. Magical Metallurgy and Enchanted Tools

As the Perfidian civilization advanced, alchemy would give rise to advanced metallurgy. By infusing metals with magical properties, they could develop materials stronger, lighter, or more flexible than ordinary metals. These materials would become the foundation for a range of magical technologies, from enchanted armour to airships.
Etherium: A rare metal that could be imbued with magical properties, allowing it to conduct The Motion, enabling the creation of conduits and circuits that could power magical devices.
Arcane Engines: Machines fueled by alchemical reactions that harnessed the power of magical elements—such as fire, wind, or even life force itself—to power transport, energy grids, or factories.

4. The Rise of Arcanotechnology

At some point, the fusion of alchemy and magic would have evolved into a sophisticated branch of technology known as Arcanotechnology, a system where magic is treated much like a power source or a natural resource. Much like electricity or fossil fuels in our world, magic is extracted, refined, and harnessed to power increasingly complex inventions.
Magical Computing: Crystalline networks or enchanted books that could store, retrieve, and process magical information. Rune logic could function as the equivalent of binary code, allowing the creation of "magical computers" that stored spells and alchemical recipes.
Motion Circuits: A system of channels or pathways built into devices that carry The Motion to power spells and enchantments. These circuits could have been the precursors to electrical circuits, creating enchanted machinery that was programmable and highly efficient.

5. Alchemy and the Birth of Chemistry

As alchemists delved deeper into the nature of materials and substances, they eventually began to uncover the underlying principles that govern them—much like early scientists discovered chemistry. Alchemy transitions from a purely magical practice to a blend of mystical and empirical science. This led to breakthroughs in medicine, agriculture, and materials science.
Elixirs and Potions: The creation of potions that heal wounds, extend life, or even alter reality could have evolved into more advanced biochemical compounds that enhanced physical and mental abilities or provided energy.
Arcane Biotechnology: Manipulating the life force through alchemical practices could have led to magical forms of genetic engineering, where plants, animals, and even humans were altered to be stronger, faster, or more resilient.

6. Magitech Industry and Society

As arcanotechnology became mainstream, Perfidia would have seen the rise of industries similar to modern-day tech sectors. Factories churned out magical devices, airships soared through the skies, and everyday citizens used enchanted tools for communication, transportation, and entertainment. Some notable advancements could have included:
Motion-Powered Automobiles: Personal transportation that uses magical engines to utilise The Motion, allowing for long-distance travel without traditional fuels.
Teleportation Circles: Public transport systems based on magical teleportation networks, where citizens were able to travel vast distances by stepping through enchanted portals.
Magical Communication Devices: Crystals or enchanted mirrors that allowed real-time, long-distance communication, much like smartphones, using mana-based networks.

7. Social and Political Impacts

The rise of technology fueled by magic and alchemy would likely have reshaped the civilization’s social structure. The mastery of magic could have become both a source of political power and societal division:
Magocracies: A government system where those who control magic, such as alchemists or powerful wizards, hold political authority, leading to potential tensions between the magically gifted elite and the non-magical working class.
Mana Extraction Industry: With increasing reliance on The Motion as a power source, Perfidia could have faced ethical dilemmas regarding the over-extraction of natural magical resources, leading to environmental crises or social unrest among regions where magic is scarce.

8. The Technological Singularity

As Perfidia’s magic-fueled technology advanced, it could have reached a technological singularity where the boundaries between magic and science become blurred. This might have resulted in:
Sentient Constructs: Golems or magical beings that evolve consciousness due to their advanced rune programming, leading to debates on the rights of magical beings.
Ascension through Alchemy: The ultimate goal of many alchemists, where technological and magical knowledge converge, allowing them to transcend human limitations, either through immortality, becoming beings of The Motion, or creating pocket dimensions and alternate realities.

Conclusion: The Cycle of Innovation

In Perfidia, magic and alchemy would have sparked the initial flames of technological innovation, guiding them toward a world that blends the mystical and the mechanical. Over time, Perfidia would have grown to harness both magic and science, creating a culture where the arcane and the technological are inseparable, each shaping the evolution of the other.
The Perfidian world would have been rich in both wonder and conflict, as the philosophical, ethical, and practical implications of magic-technology challenged the civilization’s core beliefs,which could have driven them toward either utopia or dystopia depending on how they chose to wield the power that they created.

Doktor Heinrich Wunderwaldt, Perfidienforschungsgruppe, Universitaet Aarbergen-Panrod