In Practice

Corrienda dipped her hands into the water, waiting for the sensation of cool, sweet wetness that never came. Not that she expected it, of course - the leatherworker who had cured these gloves had assured her that they were completely impermeable. It never hurt to make sure, though - she was about to be handling substances that were much more dangerous than water, and the reassurance let her relax a little.

The jar on her right held a viscous liquid that was a dusky red - mammoth blood, but blood that contained a powerful antivenom. She'd spent weeks extracting it and distilling it, and it was finally in a state that it could be used in other experiments.

The jar on the left, however, was much more sinister, almost glowing an unnatural green. This was a sample of the Forsaken Blight, the chemical weapon she was trying to neutralize. Barrels of the stuff had slaughtered both sides of the conflict at Angrathar, and more recently it had been used to obliterate the coastal town of Southshore, where she herself had once lived and worked.  Even a small dose could be deadly, and her leather gloves were the least of her precautions. Indeed, every inch of her was covered in protective leathers, save her head, which sported a gas mask to guard her from the fumes.

She hoped it would be enough. For all her research on the plague and her associated side experiments, this was actually the first time she was working with the Blight itself. The prospect rather frightened her, but it was a necessary step in her research.

She carefully set up the beaker she'd be using for the experiment, then eyed her workspace critically. There were so many unknown variables for this experiment - what proportions did she need to use? Was another catalyst necessary? Would there be explosions or other side effects? And most importantly - would it actually work?

Corrienda worked steadily over the next couple hours, varying proportions and exposure to heat, light, and water, making sure that everything she tried could be easily duplicated in the field. Some mixtures were obvious failures, with the antivenom fizzing and bubbling away or simply disappearing altogether. Nevertheless, after she had exhausted all her possibilities, she had fifteen vials of mixture to be tested.

Corrienda stood and stretched, then walked overto the animal cages. Her colleagues had procured a large quantity of rats - vermin that would be exterminated anyway - so she could test the effectiveness of her mixtures. Unfortunately, the possible results weren't a simple binary of dead or alive. There was also a whole spectrum of "plagued" to worry about, anywhere from  "will recover naturally over time" to "instantaneous transformation to undead." Corrienda had argued strenuously the wek before that only healthy animals could be used for testing if they were to gauge the exact effects of the mixture.

As she examined the rats, though, she couldn't help but remember a raid on the Undercity she had participated in a few years ago. The apothecary lab had been much larger, of course, but it was quite similar to this one - various beakers and vials of potentially dangerous substances, the alchemical tools used for experimentation, and cages upon cages of innocent creatures who were pitifully resigned to their fates, but still lit up with hope when they had seen their potential rescuers.

With a start, Corrienda realized she couldn't go through with the testing. It was one thing to milk the mammoths for anti-venom - she had known the precise dosages to ensure their healthy survival. But with these rats, she'd be testing knowing that they likely would not survive. It didn't matter that they were already on an animalian death row - her druidic sensibilities screamed against this affront to nature. She tried to tell herself that it was a necessary step that would end up saving thousands of lives, both animal and humanoid, but that reasoning seemed hollow now that she was confronted with the dilemma.

Shakily, Corrienda backed away from the cages. She quickly sorted and labeled each of her mixture vials, then tore off the now-suffocating gas mask and gloves, and ran for the door. She'd have to finish cleaning later. She'd also have to leave detailed instructions about what to do next for someone who had the fortitude to do what she could not. For now, though, she sat on the porch steps and wept, her tears mirrored by the never-ending Gilnean rain.