Welldark

Willt and I took the same two stations as we always did. There was nothing forcing us to do so. At the beginning of the semester, the alchemy class had been almost completely filled. After three weeks, we had gone down to about half, about 25 people, which was the number we were currently hovering at. All teachers expected such a development. Since classes weren’t mandatory, anyone who felt disillusioned or unmotivated to attend a particular one could just not show up. They weren’t required for graduation either.

Cosmic Universities, unlike regular universities, didn’t prepare their students to enter an academic field. The primary purpose of Welldark was to teach its students in the Dimensional Truth in a safe and controlled environment. Because that was an endeavour best approached carefully over a long stretch of time, additional courses had been established to educate the students in whatever they might fancy. Welldark, in particular, demanded a minimum of battle and diplomacy training as well. Anything else was on a voluntary basis.

Grades and such would be printed out in a document after graduation, but such a diploma was only of use if one decided to stick to the explored and civilized worlds that knew about Welldark. The knowledge itself was the reward for attending the courses.

Alchemy was useful, that’s why I went there and kept coming. I had considered dropping out of a few of my classes. The stern influence of my Queen kept me motivated. Esther wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it if I wasted two hours playing video games. Annoying, at times, yet ultimately positive.

We had gotten comfortable and were chatting about nothing in particular, when the teacher came in. He was a middle-aged man of good looks. His head was as hairless as his chin, although he could on some days be seen with a bit of stubble in both places, proving that he was doing this by choice. A well-fitting suit covered his body and he carried a lab coat over his shoulder.

Fluidly, pushed his arms through the sleeves. As he closed the buttons, he raised his voice, like he always did at the start of these lessons. The magic in the room carried it to every corner, “Say it with me, students,” he demanded.

A chorus of bored, excited, neutral, bothered, and yawning voices accompanied him during his next sentence: “”Alchemy is an art of the outcome, many roads lead to one goal.””

“Very good!” the teacher, Temerian Lerezen, continued with his ritualistic start. “In chemistry, there are often several ways to refine a desired molecule – several paths one could take to create the compounds desired. In alchemy, the same principle is amped up to twelve-thousand. Alchemical concoctions are created by a process of transmutation, the elements used valuable not because of their physical but their esoteric properties. To succeed in creating the desired outcome in alchemy, one must reach an end-state by balancing the magical and symbolic attributes of the ingredients.”

I leaned against the wall behind me. In the absence of a backrest, that was the best I could do to sit relaxedly. Temerian continued his spiel about the way alchemy worked. The first five minutes of his lectures were always the same. Drilling those fundamentals into us was advisable, yet I was bored every time he brought it up. I went back to listening when something new was being said.

“Alchemy is a mysterious art. Because the value of the ingredients is symbolic, our own perception influences the outcome of the brews. A grand master may be able to substitute materials of equal magical potency for another, strictly by believing, truly believing, that they hold the same esoteric value. In its entire history, Welldark has only produced three such masters, one of whom is the current head of this branch. For us normal alchemists, our characters, our subconscious beliefs, alter the final brew in small or large ways. This depends on your affinity with the brew and the enthusiasm you put into it. Alchemy is a pursuit of the heart. Many formulae can be followed to achieve predictable results, but treating this art as a hard science will only get you so far. A true alchemist gives themselves to the passion of creation.”

I nodded along. Passion was a word that I was passionate about. What he described, this influence of one’s emotions and character on the brew, was called the Gestalt Effect. I had stumbled over it before, during my private studies. Obviously intent could not fundamentally alter the nature of a concoction. All the Gestalt Effect did was add or emphasize a few properties. For example, a healing potion brewed with a lustful intent may be particularly effective at treating the side effects of a rough lovemaking session, such as sub-drop. Besides that, it was still a healing potion.

“Today, we’ll make a potion renowned for its reactiveness to personality.” Temerian connected his Ashod to the laptop that was in turn connected to the board behind him.

At first sight, it looked like a plain old chalkboard. The moment the magical communication was established, the grey surface wavered like a calm pond getting disturbed by a small stone. Once the ripple had reached the edges, the entire screen was activated and showed us how Temerian clicked around in search of a file.

“The professional name of it is the Jekermen-Welde Potion, which might appear on the test but is not something I actually expect you to remember. We refer to it as the Lotion Potion. I assume all of you have heard about body lotion before – the Lotion Potion is a brew you can drink and it instantly treats an area of your body as if you had been consistently applying lotion to it for a year. The Full Lotion Potion would do the entire body without fail, but that’s for the third semester.”

I had hoped for something a little more exciting. Not that the described effect was without its benefits. As a strapping young lad, my body was still in perfect condition. Age would take its toll with time and such a potion would do wonders in keeping my skin (and the skin of my haremettes) taut for several additional years. If it even came to that. There were ways to prolong one’s life using magic.

If nothing else, it would make for good practice.

The teacher found the file he required and the screen soon showed two lists. On the left was a step by step of what to do to get to the potion. On the right was the actual end-state of the potion. ‘Stable water, whimsical oil, dashes of sanguine and an essence of rejuvenation,’ I read. Already, I reached for Alchemica Esoterica, Version 43. The book listed the symbolisms of common ingredients, as well as their magical potency.

“You will create the potion twice today,” Temerian instructed us. “First you will follow the instructions on the left, that will get you to the potion guaranteed. Second you will attempt to reach the desired state of the potion by using your own methods. Like always, if you have any time remaining by the end of the task, you may use it as you please. Now, come to the front and fetch your materials.”

Willt and I remained seated, while the majority of our (almost exclusively female) class moved to the front. We were in no hurry to get our materials. Idle, however, we were not. My friend was repeatedly glancing up to the list and grabbed various tools and contraptions to be used later. I first glanced at the list, then at what he had chosen, and then grabbed either the same or very similar tools and contraptions. As was already established, this line of work was up Willt’s aisle. I was just happy I could keep up with the reasoning without asking.

“Hey there, Willt,” purred one of our female classmates, approaching us with her box of provided materials. She had dark grey, almost black skin and a slender, elegant body. Her hair was primarily black, with white streaks interspersed. The last segments of her fingers were claws of a polished horn-like material and her feet were that of a running bird, like an ostrich. “Mind if I work next to you?”

“By…” Willt cleared his throat and pointed at the empty station to his right, “…by all means.”

“Hi Melternykina,” I greeted her. A mammonette, she was a female greed demon and someone who I had talked to numerous times in the past three months. Each of those times had been either with Willt in the room or the conversation had been about Willt. From what I heard, and I heard practically everything when it came to the friends I shared an accommodation with, she had talked with Arlethia already too. Interest wasn’t as solid as it was between me and Aclysia, regardless there was something here.

If nothing else, she often joined us during alchemy class.

“Melina,” she corrected me swiftly and gave me a pleading gaze. Covertly, I nodded. It was a silent signal between the two of us that I would keep my mouth shut for as much as was inconspicuous. Removing myself entirely from the scene was a path I was also open to. However, if Willt didn’t have me as a proverbial lifebuoy, his awkwardness was certain to stifle conversation.

That being said, I could and did leave for tiny bursts.

“I’ll go get our stuff,” I announced and pat Willt on the back. Then I winked at the smiling mammonette. Greedy as I was, I could also play the wingman. Luckily, there were enough women for all of us and, if I was being honest, Melina wasn’t my type. Her face was too sharp for me and private conversations had revealed her to be on the dom side of things. Neither were necessarily a dealbreaker, but I could chase other women who were closer to my preferences.

“Ah, Karitas,” the teacher greeted me, when I had made it to the podium.

“Morning,” I returned, while grabbing two of the wooden boxes, stacking them so I could carry them more easily. Before I lifted them up, I halted. His tone indicated that he wanted something from me. Words to confirm this swiftly followed.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but today is the last time I will supply you with the ingredients for the Ephrogaea Pill,” he informed me. “Your enthusiasm is great, but we can’t just throw rare ingredients at students endlessly. Our stockpiles are only so big.”

I sighed, having anticipated that this would come eventually. “I understand.”

“Drop me a message before next week and I’ll prepare the materials for another project,” he promised me. His tone switched to the amused, “Perhaps you should go for something less ambitious.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” I answered and then made my way back to our workbenches. By the time I placed Willt’s box on his bench, Melina had completely enticed him to help her figure out what utensils she needed to go through the steps outlined in the guide. She did need that help. Truthfully speaking, she was pretty mediocre at alchemy. Her primary motivation for attending appeared to be Willt. Which, as far as I was concerned, was valid enough.

Left to my own devices, I focused solely on the task at hand.