Poison Sage

Twenty.
Each new brew was to be a test of endurance, and of skill. They were the Trial Poisons- each hand crafted, hand brewed and personally tested.  The task was simple enough to explain- one simply downed a vial of a toxic poison known only as one of the Trial poisons.

Eighteen.
The real challenge came in what one did with the vast stock of unlabeled herbs and other powders within the store room, while the poison worked it's magic. If one desired to pass the final levels in order to become a Sage, one merely had to discover and make the antidote. Simply spoken, but never an easy task.

Sixteen.
Saraóre eyed the vial of gently bubbling liquid as it perched on the edge of the small table. The vial of unnaturally deep blue liquid  stared back, taunting him. Saraóre wrenched his eyes away, suppressing a groan of pain as his innards protested the addition of the poison that he had ingested a short hour earlier.

Fourteen.
The blue antidote needed to cool to well below a boil before it would reach its peak potential. Saraóre temper on the other hand, quickly grew short as the waves of pain grew closer in number, his body close to beginning to shut down.


Twelve.
It was one thing to brew an antidote to a deadly poison, even if under extreme time challenges or duress, but quite another when the poisoned victim was yourself. Saraóre knew the pressure altogether too well. Of the four Trial Poisons, this was the fourth that he had ingested- a task that no other Sage had even thought of attempting after passing their own admittance trials. The task was no different- the brewing process no more difficult, but each time the sheer power of the poison nearly swept him off his feet. The fourth Trial Poison was no different.


Ten.
Rhythiat stood silently in the corner of the chamber, forcing himself to remain there despite his every instinct telling to do otherwise. Anyone with any amount of skill in healing could tell that Saraóre rapidly crashed as the minutes ticked on. The brew was a potent one- so potent that he had long argued against it's use within the Trial Poisons, but to little avail. When Saraóre began to sway slightly, clearly off balance, Rhythiat could contain himself no longer and stepped forward.

Eight.
"If you won't let me do anything, at least sit."
"No." Saraóre spat back. "I'm fine."
Rhythiat openly laughed. "You're shaking like a leaf, and you've gone paler then I've seen you in a good three months. You're not fine."
Saraóre cursed, refusing to look at the vial that held the end to the suffering. "Eight minutes, that's all it needs."
"You've had the poison in your system for too long!" Rhythiat exclaimed. "You'll not be thinking straight by then!"
Saraóre looked Rhythiat in the eye. "You don't think I realize that? How many of the dundering fools who end up with this Poison as their Trial will take a few minutes extra."


Six.
Saraóre shuddered slightly, his whole frame shaking with the effort as chills set in, only exacerbating the sharp pain that radiated out from his spine. Minutes later, the world began to slowly spin, tilting out of proportion only to return to normalcy  a moment later. Saraóre grimaced, cramming his eyes closed against the shifting shapes. Blindly, he groped for the chair that Rhythiat had pulled out earlier, legs trembling as the muscles weakened and gave out. The Guild Healer frowned, but watched from a short distance, as protocol required.
"Saraóre?"
The elder Sage did not reply immediately. When he did, it was clear to Rhythiat that Saraore had not heard him. Further attempts went nowhere, and when Saraóre head dropped to his chest, Rhythiat sighed in tight frustration, immediately taking up the count that Saraóre had kept.


Four.
Though he had lost all coherent thought in the wake of the pain that now coursed through his body, Saraóre knew the moment that Rhythiat forced the vial bright blue liquid down his throat, thanks to the man's cool fingers gently massaging the motionless muscles to accept the antidote. As the still-warm liquid made its way down to his stomach, waves of soothing numbness spread out across Saraóre body.

Two.

Rhythiat looked on in barely avoided distaste as Saraóre entire body spasmed once, then fell limply back on to the chair. The expected unconsciousness had arrived, leaving Rhythiat to wonder whether he had gotten the antidote down Saráore's throat in time or not. His duty done, Rhythiat set the vial back on the table and left, silently closing the door behind himself as he strode down the halls to his own set of chambers.

Zero.

The Trial Poison that Saraóre had been so adamant to test, and that Rhythiat was so adamant against him testing, caused death like symptoms after only a few minutes of ingestion without the proper care. The heart slowed dramatically, breathing slowed, and thoughts stopped completely if left untended. A deep unconsciousness followed until the victim could be forced to take the antidote. If not, a slow death of starvation and suffocation followed. Saráore knew this. Rhythiat believed it.


Result.

Twelve long hours later, Saráore stirred for the first time since loosing consciousness. It was always that way- first a stirring as the body woke up, then the agonizingly slow process of figuring out where he was. He blinked, and then twitched a finger, gingerly testing for pain. Fingers passed, and so he went on to test the rest of his body. No pain, and so no injury. Saraóre sleep-muddled thoughts cleared a short time later. Poison. Antidote. Saraóre arched an eyebrow, reviewing his assessment of his body. No worse for wear, all things considered. He smirked to himself, then pried himself out of the chair that he had resided in for the past day. From previous experience, he knew better then to stand quickly. In a quarter hour's time, Saraóre returned to his chambers, thrilled by the success. Four highly toxic and oft times deadly Trial Poisons, and he had succeeded in passing all of them. Though there was truly no title to claim for such a feat, Saraóre felt the same pride nonetheless. No others had made it this far, and if he had anything to say  about it- none would. He was, after all, not just a Sage of the Guild, but the Poison Expert. Everyone else had every right to fear him.