Not Quite Equivalent Exchange {Watermark}

[Mortar Retort]

Retort rolled up to Hoofington in a chartered pony-drawn carriage hired from Canterlot – after much haggling over rates. The recent trouble coming from Ponyville has raised all prices and Retort refused to walk the long way around Ponyville to Hoofington. It was a precarious journey, but the threat from the invaders wasn’t enough to stop the pony from his goal. Throughout the trip, he kept staring at a little glass vial filled with sickly ichor pilfered from the battle field where Eclipse fell. It captivated his attention, such beauty in its design. It was so seemingly simple yet so devastatingly powerful in its grace and elegance. Retort had to learn the secrets to craft such mixtures and there was only one pony he believed could help him.

The carriage rolled into Hoofington in the late evening – the air lingered with tense precursors of the danger just past the Everfree Forest. The quiet town felt eerily so. Retort peered out from the cabin, whistling to the driver to pull over beside a residence just inside the bend in the road. The carriage rolled to a stop and Retort popped out, throwing his saddle bags over his back.

“This the right place?” Asked the earth-pony driver, giving the house a glance over. He hoped desperately that this was it, the trip was draining and wanted to get back to Canterlot with all due haste.

”That’s what the little slip of paper I ripped from the census report states!” Retort explained, retrieving the pilfered paper in his bag and reading it over once more. ”Just wait here, I’ll throw in an extra bit.” Retort trotted up to the front door, looked left and right of the door frame then raised his hoof to the door and gave it a few quick raps. ”Hello? Anypony home?” He rapped his hoof against the door once more.

[Red Charge]

As Retort arrived at the borders of Hoofington, he noticed a massive transparent dome surrounding it, as they moved to enter they were held up by two mages dressed in red, who examined them, their cargo and scanned them with magical spells before allowing them through. They passed through the dome harmlessly, but Retort could feel a moment of searing cold as he passed through it. The dome it appeared was made entirely of ice.

Meanwhile he could notice all around Hoofington tiny water-made hominids running around doing all sorts of chores and helping the ponies set up tents and temporary structures as well as reinforce the borders of the city. Ponies were going all around working hard to ensure the security of their community. He also noticed a lot more of those mages in red patrolling the city and helping the ponies and water-golems with their magic. Finally he arrived at his destination and knocked on the door.


"Who upon my door does knock, dressed in a fez and an unsightly smock." A voice rumbled from within, "Such insolence, is no small feat, you may come in, just wipe your feet!" At that the door opened, leading to a darkened living room, all the furnitures covered with cloth, an eerie green light coming from the direction of the basement. The house seemed to be pretty much abandoned otherwise, with a fine layer of dust coating the floor. Not the cleanest of places.

Retort could instantly recognize the scent of herbs brewing, the aroma was strange and exotic, something Retort never smelled before. Possibly involving very exotic and expensive magical plants and concoctions. The door from which the light was emanating was sturdy and made of steel, as if to survive explosions and the such.

[Mortar Retort]

”My apology, Sir. I realize it’s late.” Retort entered past the thresholds, wiping his hooves as was commanded. His gaze shifting around the less than slightly room, with its thick coat of dust and covered furniture like a house long abandoned. ”Name’s Mortar Retort, alchemist from Canterlot. And I take it you must be Watermark, correct?” He smiled warily, flirting with excitement. So many prospects for the future, so much knowledge that may be had. The scents in the air and eerie green glow emanating from beyond the ajar steel door would suggest this to be him.

”Forgive me for arriving unannounced, but I am hoping you could help me something. You see…” His horn glowed while his saddlebag shifted as a little vial of ichor floated out. The sample of Poison Joke concoction from the battle. ”I was lead to believe you had a hoof in making this, derived from Poison Joke, used in a large water golem? I was hoping then, if this is true… if you could teach me, please.” He removed his fez, holding it against his breast as he asked. The pony was having trouble hiding his nervousness. ”I’ve been an alchemist for years, but I just can’t break this slump quagmire I’ve found myself in. My personal formulas are missing something, I driven myself into a wall figuring out what to do. I’ve read everything I could, I’ve tried every possible variable and all for not – and the occasional explosion. I need help and you, I believe, are the stallion to do just that. Uh, if you’ll have me that is. I swear not to take up much space.”

[Red Charge]

"Water, Fire, Air and Dirt, flipping magnets, how do they work? I can teach you what you want to know, on the condition you'll not just use it for show." The voice said, beckoning Retort into the open steel door, where a dark grey unicorn with ocean blue stripes tattooed on his fur was leaning over a large cauldron, his face lit brightly by the green liquid's glow as he stirred it measuredly.

"Come in, traveler, have a seat. It is my pleasure that we two meet." The green liquid stirred in the cauldron almost hypnotically. Mesmerizing. "Here's the first thing you must do, can you guess what it is I stew?"

[Mortar Retort]

Retort hadn’t quiet expect Watermark to be the rhyming type but who was he to complain, the pony was seemingly willing to teach him a thing or two – and for that, he was overjoyed. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. With a joyful skip in his step he followed the voice past the steel door and to the source of the glow. The smell from the brew was delightfully pleasant, though the glow was unusual for the scent it produced.

Once past the door, he was surprised to see that the rhyming pony wasn’t entirely a pony at all – or so he gathered. Part zebra, so he appeared. That would explain the pony’s slick rhymes and alchemical prophecy. Was rhyming the secret he’s been missing? He’d have to practice that. Retort approached and sat opposite Watermark, gazing into the bubbling, swirling concoction. His nose flared as he took in a deep breath, distilling the scent. He closed his eyes and thought on what he smelled.

”A bite of piper nigrum, a tingle from allium porrum, a pressing of allium sativum, a touch of laurel, sprig of petroselinum crispum, perhaps just a taste of thymus…” Retort peeked, watching the stew for a long second before taking another whiff.
”Generous portion of apium graveolens and dacus carota. There is also some brassica rapa and of course some brassica oleracea. Finally, I sample a few a solanum tuberosums in it as well. All rounded out by a pinch of sodium chloride and just a spot of salvia officinalis in a stock. Why, what you brew is a vegetable stew!” Commence rhyming practice.

[Red Charge]

"Indeed!" Watermark said, "Now to wonder what you think, would you like for me to fetch you a drink? Alcheny i... Oh to hay with it. You thirsty?" Watermark asked, turning on the light and dispersing the green smoke.

[Mortar Retort]

Deceit, fabrication, utter lies! The pony was never stuck in rhymes, not once, all for show! Thank Luna, Retort couldn't bear to learn that also. He nodded with thanks, "If the smell is any indication, sure it will be great. And yes, please! Water with a smash of lime, if you have it." He asked, sitting patiently beside the bubbling cauldron though burning with questions. "So am I correct, you are the pony who made the cult's Poison Joke ichor?"

[Red Charge]

"Indeed," Said the striped unicorn, summoning up effortleslly some water, freezing the outermost layer of it to create an ice glass and then adding a small slice of lime and levitating it towards Retort. "Well, that specific Ichor was made by one of my students really, but under my tuition, naturally." The grinning red cloaked mage said. "I most definitely can instruct you on how to make or unmake that dastardly concoction. Just try not to, uh... rub things over your face while you're around... I don't want to be responsible for any facemelters.

[Mortar Retort]

Retort grimaced, how in Tartarus did they know about that less than favorable moment. He took the lime pressed water with thanks, wrapping it in magic as it floated near his lips. ”Well… glad I am in the right place. Though I desire for more than just that ichor. I want the mechanics behind it, the understanding to its formulas. I wish for to know everything you do. You see…” Retort hung his head with a heavy burden, remembering back to a time that was most joyous and troubling for him. The time of #4 and the poor pony subject. ” I tried to make Ambrosia once. I used all the knowledge I had, every resource at my disposal and in the end… all I did was hurt another. A poor filly who was willing to try the concoction – I failed, of course, horribly so. Every since that day, I haven’t been able to make another potion worth a horsefeather. I trapped myself in a failures rut; can you please help me? I have never seen such remarkable formulas since the dusty tomes spoke of the days of the Alchemist; when I broke down your Poison Joke ichor, it was as if I was staring into the eyes of Celestia herself. Filled with awe inspiring wonderment.” He sighed, ”It’s a lot to ask, I know. But I promise not to let you down and whatever happens to me, I can sign a waiver absolving you of any wrong-doing. Not like I haven’t had a few concoctions blow up in my face before – what is a little burned fur and frazzled mane when one is in the pursuit of the noblest of sciences!”

[Red Charge]

"Ah the most noble of of sciences, yes, yes... Just make sure you don't release any 'noble gasses' while around here. Can't stand that." Watermark said, "Very well, do you have your equipment, or am I supposed to let you destroy mine?" Watermark asked, his tone a teasing one. He brought an assortment of flasks and books as well as his time table and journal. Keeping track of things was always important when teaching.

He seemed to ponder a bit before he said, "Just one thing, don't try to make any more ambrosia. Its price far outweighs its benefits."

[Mortar Retort]

”Oh, I brought my own things. As much as I could fit on one pony-drawn carriage, which reminds me. One moment, please!” Retort hopped up on his hooves and quickly trotted out of the room and for the door, flicking it open with the magic from his horn and returning back outside. A few minutes later Retort steps back inside with a very strained pony in tow, carrying upon his back several steamer trunks. His knees were shaking, hooves trying their best to grip the floor without slipping and inadvertently being crushed in the splits. Retort, on the other hoof, had just a doctor’s style bag hanging from his mouth. He set it down near the door. ”Just set it down right there” The straining pony sighed and collapsed, the steamer trunks a jumble atop him. “Excellent! Here you go.” Retort rummaged through his saddle bag and placed a hoof-full of bits in the floored pony’s hoof before stepping back into the room with Watermark.

“There we are, everything has been brought in.” He sat back down on his flank beside the bubbling cauldron as he had before. “Yes, about the ambrosia, I was foalish. But enough out that sordid business, where can we begin. I’v*muffle* rouh*muffle* ”Retort was once more rummaging through his saddle bag with his head, pulling out his own journal of formulas and notes, “Phh, my own notes.” Dropping the bound journal between Watermark and himself.

[Red Charge]

"Good, you're prepared. Where should we begin, well... mix me a basic potion! I want to see you work.But keep it basic, trying to impress me with a failed complex concoction isn't going to do you much." Watermark said with a grin, Walking round the room and collecting some ingredients of his own for his use.

Hr ponfrtrf got s moment before pulling out each ingredient, as though still contemplating what to make. In the end he had quite the assortment of reagents gathered on his own table. With a wave of his magic horn, the cauldron he was using emptied itself into a large pot, which then floated off to the refrigerator. "For our food break. Delicious soup is good for the mind!"

[Mortar Retort]

”Alright then, let’s see what we have.” Retort hopped to his hooves and went to gather some basic necessities from his luggage in the foyer, returning only when he had procured his mortar, pestle, a few other basic tools, and his base. He floated them over to the table with Watermark’s reagents and begun to work. He wanted to keep it simple, simple enough. He opted for a basic unicorn magic enhancer. Fairly easy without being too plebeian like a health potion or rash cream, it didn’t need a reduction or distilling, it would however taste right awful. Scanning over the provided materials, he took what he needed from the bunch and begun to grind away, pummeling a mixture of herbs into a fine paste. A pinch of this, half a hoof of that, a bite and grind and spit of that. Sprinkled with some of that yellow dusty stuff and added to the bottle with the base. All now he had to do was heat and shake, for which he did, and finally strain into a fresh bottle to get rid of all the spent and otherwise useless refuge left behind.

”Here we go, one simple magic enhancer for your pleasure.” He said, sliding the bottle of green-yellow ichor to the center of the table.

[Red Charge]

There was much that could be said of Watermark's grin, but it was simply impossible to define it, no matter the situation, as 'not creepy'.

"Drink it." The half zebra stallion said, "Then cast a Virtuoso spell." Of course by that Watermark meant a spell to create music where there was previously none. The basement could use more ambiance after all. If Retort had prepared the formula correctly, then his spell would easily be able to adjust itself to the environment and be heard at a pleasant volume all around the house. If he had failed however, there was a high chance of both of them going deaf from a botched spell. Figuratively, of course.

The striped pony looked enthusiastically at his trainee, he was constantly observing the method in which Retort conducted himself. There was much to learn about one from the way they practiced their craft. After all, the pony's craft represented the pony just as much as their Cutie Mark did.

Watermark adjusted his fez, which of course he had only just summoned and continued to survey the unicorn before him patiently. Waiting to see the effects of the concoction he had procured.

[Mortar Retort]

Retort was stubbornly unaware of Watermark’s grin, yes, he noticed it of course, but his mind was far to cluttered from him to consciously acknowledge its creep factor. He was more focused on his work, not wanting to make himself look like a complete foal in front of a potions master – last thing he needed was to be thrown out for failure, especially now that his carriage puller had recently sustained a back injury.

”Drink it…?” Retort gulped hard, running a litany of possible side-effects through his head. He had a strange knack for recalling the worst aspects of potions more so than their positive attributes. ”Well then, down the hatch.” The potion became wrapped in a dark blue glow and slowly floated to his lips. He let slip a nicker, then threw back the vial, letting its contents pour down his gullet. It, thankfully, had a pleasant taste jasmine taste with a floral finish. He shuddered, swishing his head side to side and then waited a few moments before trying the spell.

Now for the spell, of course Watermarked had to request something Retort hadn’t done in ages – possibly since he was just a colt. He much preferred the sound from his gramophone – it felt richer than magic-induced music, more alive, as if it was really being played by a pony in the room. Just flawed enough to create a sense of life, not like the perfect and sterile sound emitted by a Virtuoso spell. But that was neither here nor there. Retort thought for a moment on it, deciding on a strings ensemble, it would be sharper should he fail but least it wouldn’t boom like brass or percussion and definitely not pierce like knives with woodwinds. Also he much preferred strings. His horn alight with magic as he mustered the spell, filling the room with a soft shower of glittery flickering lights. As the visible sign of the magic faded, it was slowly replaced with the building rise of a viola concerto.