The basement smelting lab of the Artisan Guildhall smelled of hot river sand, bubbling saline alum. The deep, clean, ozone-like warmth of crystal-hardened bio-aether.
On the central stone studying table, lit up by four suspended brass hardened carbon-iron lanterns and the focused beam of Arthur Vance’s razor-sharp headlamp, rested the prize of the campaign: the core of the Disaster-Alpha Hive Gorgon.
The object was roughly the size of a regulation rugby ball, weighing thirty-two pounds. It wasn’t a lump of dull rock. It was a fine, detailed, geodic sphere composed of thousands of tightly packed layers of deep-mantle dark rock, interwoven with crystal-clear veins of glowing azure-and-gold aether. Having been flash-frozen by Arthur’s cryo-sabot and then slowly steadied in Calder’s chelate bath, the core was fully purged of the toxic. That turned to stone sulfur that had corrupted the living beast. It radiated a soft, steady warmth that made the loose iron needles on the instrument tray hum with gentle deep ringing hum.
Beside the table, Arthur stood clad in a clean leather potion-made apron, his sleeves rolled above his elbows. Supported lightly by his hickory cane, his movements were steady and deliberate, his careful trauma instincts fully re-engaged.
Dr. Morrigan Calder stood across from him. She held a set of diamond-tipped orthopedic core-drills and three empty pocket-sealed Pyrex collection flasks.
