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>anons rolled a 3 – reagent failure, bad luck
>anons rolled a 6 – well, you’ll see.
In the candlelight of your hut, you take stock of your reagents – but find it wanting. Your lips curl in mild disappointment, feeling inadequate. Were Spathion here, she would no doubt castigate you mercilessly for your lack of determination. However, she'd be only too quick to note that the working of φύσις requires a blade-like will - there is no rooms for doubts or hesitation in such matters. Tonight is one of the rare nights where your inspiration is lacking, and your chants to Hecate might falter. Your usual good humor has also failed you - the image of the trampled sheep from your conversation with Labostas has haunted your thoughts, as well.
If you are to capitalize on the summons later in the phase, you must be prepared, but to work a ritual in your current state or attempt pharmokopeia would invite disaster. Better then, that you slip out into the night and make use of the time as best as you can – seeking reagents and magic herbs. You quickly change out of your noblewoman’s chiton and cloak into something more practical – a set of hides and leather skirt. While it offers little practical protection, you are nimbly and more surefooted without the hindrance of your cloak about your ankles. Without a second thought, you arm yourself with your father’s knife and your bow and make your way out into Nyx’s domain.
Despite the darkness, you’ve found that you can see quite well by the light of bright-tressed Selene, daughter of Hyperion – and so you make your way through the dark footpaths and deer trails of your country.
In only an hour, you manage to check three sites where you had found poisonous Aconite in the past – but it seems that these plants had not yet spawned additional violet flowers, and so you move on. Deeper across the fields and hills of the east, you make your way to the rogue Corsican pine, the only one known to you. Every so often, you freeze to a standstill – listening for signs of approaching men or beasts. Here too – you are denied – some creature must have consumed most of the pinecones scattered underneath the limbs of the tree. Squinting, you scan the boughs themselves – but find that the pinecones are underdeveloped, given the current season. None of them have the subtle lustre of power that would provide for another ritual of Dionysian Frankencense. You curse in frustration – but then you hear it. The sound of a footfall in the bushes, to your right!
>more coming
