Knossos walked briskly through the sprawled city of tents that made up the Northern Army's camp outside of Summerhall, his young, anxious assistant trailing behind him eagerly and hauling a heavily ladden leather bag on their back. The camp was loud and rowdy with the merryment of the many Clansmen, singing around their campfires the traditional songs of the North. However, the camp less busy than it would have been otherwise, being late in the night and with no plans for assembly until dawn. The moon was out in full though, and there was plenty of light to be had between it and the many fires burning brightly in the camp, and Knossos with his smoldering red leather vestments stood out in sharp contrast to the gray, black, and white coloration of the Starks' own cloth and banners. He received many strange looks, and had already been stopped twice by bannermen demanding what his business was. A forgeigner traipsing around camp on the eve of war was apparently seen as suspicious, but he had met their challenges with a simple statement.

"I am here at the behest of the king to assist the movements of his bannermen, and I have business with Lord Brodrik Stark."

One guard followed Knossos as he continued to stride through the camp, while another ran ahead to inform Lord Brodrik and his guards of the approaching alchemist. When Knossos and his assistant approached the Lord's tent, the men at arms issued no challenge to him, though they did not move to permit passage.

Calmly, Knossos reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, he held it steadily in front of him and read aloud.

"I, Wisdom Knossos Argider, Vanguard of the Alchemist's Guild of King's Landing, request audience with Lord Brodrik Stark, son of Dorrhen Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, to discuss the impending movement of his men and the Dornish campaign by order of Daeron II Targaryen, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." He folded the parchment, returning it from where it had been.

Of the two men-at-arms sitting on wooden stools outside the entrance to Brodrik Stark's pavilion, wearing leather armor with the Direwolf of House Stark upon their chests, only one even looked up from the steaming bowl of stew that they were eating in the late hour after the introduction of the Alchemist. Both were tall, strong, young men of Winterfell: Murch and Mycah, both normally hunters at Winterfell. Murch was dark haired, Mycah blonde.

It was Murch who looked up, his dark eyes staring for a long beat before he wiped his mouth with his hand, shield and spear of both leanining on the pavilion behind them. "Did you have to read that because you'd forget all them titles otherwise?"

Inbetween mouthfuls of steaming hot stew, Mycah snickered under his breath. 

"Yes." Knossos said with a complete deadplan, apparently either failing to notice their humor, or to care. His assistant scowling behind his back. "Now, please relay my request for audience to your lord immediately."

Murch looked past both Alchemists, nodding his head upward in that direction, raising his voice to reach the approaching Lord Stark: "Lord Brodrik! You got visitors. They have to write things down to remember them, yeah, so go slowly with these two?"

Brodrik Stark acquainted himself with a small, coy, smile as he approached his pavilion; the only difference between his garb and that of his two guards being the summer cloak he wore in addition to the leather armor. "Thank you, Murch." By the time the Alchemists would have turned to look, Brodrik was already walking past them and into his pavilion, "Do come in, my Lords."

It was courtesy, and courtesy alone, the way Brodrik addressed the two men. But then, of all the Stark children, it was Brodrik most known for courtesies. A bedroll covered in furs, his armor upon it's stand, and a small table with a wash basin and several bottles of wine, with four metal cups, were all that decorated the interior of the pavilion--save for perhaps it's most impressive sight: a sheathed Ice, leaning against the armor on it's stand.

Brodrik went straight to the basin, wanting to clean the sausage grease from his fingers. With his back to the two, he began speaking. "Wine? I've got nothing as good as you'll find in Summerhall, but it's wine just the same."

"I do not drink." Knossos said simply. "May my assistant clear your table? There are a few items of interest I need to present to you, which may prove useful in the coming campaign." Said assistant had turned faintly red and was still blinking rapidly from having been addressed as a [i]Lord[/i], and had an anxious look about them - apparently due to the leather bag they were carrying, which they held tightly and with far more caution than was warranted for a normal field satchel.

Even such an unusual request was not enough to turn Brodrik Stark until he hands were cleansed, and wiped dry using the bottom of his cloak. Then Brodrik took the basin, tossed it's water into a far corner of the pavilion that sat empty, placed it on the ground, then repeated the process of placing items from the table to the ground until the table was clear. Then he took the table up, turned, and walked to the center of the large pavilion and set it down before the two. 

Having an assistant do what would take him mere moments seemed silly to Brodrik Stark, to any child of Dorrhen Stark more used to doing for themselves all that they could before asking a servant to do it for them. Most nights, in Winterfell, Brodrik even fetched his own supper. 

With a slow, sweeping, gesture of his hand Lord Stark offered the table to the two Alchemists to do as they would before he simply waited, and watched--his eyes staying on the assistant with a new found intensity. The assistant's crimson faced turned an even darker hue, and anxiously turned their eyes away from Brodrik as Knossos gestured for them to lay the bag on the table. With cautious motions, the assistant opened the bag, revealing a cotton woven sack inside, which they unrolled on the table - revealing three items, each also bundled in an additional layer of cloth. The assistant carefully pulled back the copius amounts of fabric to reveal their contents as Knossos spoke.

"I would advise great caution while examining these, Lord Stark. If the two pots were dropped or damaged, all three of us would die instantly." Knossos said in a plain voice devoid of any particular tone, unduly nonchalant for having just mentioned how the items he had brought into the tent could kill them all. The assistant finished unwrapping the last item, and Brodrik got his first good look at them.

The first was a bulky clay vessel, wound in a strange net of copper and with a rod of the material running through it, ends sticking from both sides where two lids were adhered. The second was another, smaller and egg-shaped clay vessel with no distinguishing features. The third was a chunk of some kind of mineral, though one side of it had been sharpened into a fine edge which gleamed in the faint light of tent.

"Right," was all Brodrik said, his hands coming together behind his back--where he intended to keep them. Suddenly he was wishing his sister were present, if only so she could tell him what in Creation he was looking at. "...what are they?"

"As was discussed at the King's gathering earlier this evening, the Dornish may likely poison desert wells as our forces push into their territory. This pot here," He motioned to the pot wrapped in copper. "Is a rea..." He paused for a moment, looking absent minded before a light fired in his eyes and he continued as if there had been no pause. "...arcane vessel which harnesses the power of Summer's lightning. We have had trouble finding any practical weapon applications so far, though we have used it for the purposes of purifying water due to our distillery businesses. There are many ways of cleansing water found in the wild for drinking and cooking, but few for removing poisons. When used with another arcane vessel, not present here, this vessel can remove any and all substances from water run through it. The purity of the water treated should be absolute - nothing that is not water would exit the vessel." He gazed expectantly at Brodrik once he had finished.

There was only one follow up question that Bodrik could think to ask, in that moment: "And if damaged, dropped...it will explode?"

"Nothing quite so glorious. No, the person holding it would convulse, suffocate, and expire. Dangerous if mishandled, but not if used as a projectile." Knossos answered. "It might start a fire if there was enough fuel nearby, though it would be a lesser flame than what could be produced by other means."

"And the other items?"

"The other vessel, through which the water being treated would have to be poured, is rather large and would require its own pullcart. The materials used in its constr...enchantment are very fine, and require expertise to make and repair. One device could treat hundreds of gallons of water, but is admittedly hard to use and prone to being damaged when moved. The Alchemist's Guild would be pleased to provide and maintain enough devices for the King's forces to ensure a safe water supply in Dorne, but we will require coin and labor for our purposes."

[i]Ah[/i], was Brodrik's immediate thought, before it's inevitable following thought: [i]I wonder if Vittoria's already had this presentation.[/i] "Understood. The other two?"

"This one," Knossos said gesturing to the egg-shaped pot, "Is a vessel containing the concentrated essence of an alchemical vapor we call Miasma. In Essos, it is referred to as Chlorine by other Alchemists, though few know if it. If this vessel were ruptured - or shattered after being fired by an arrow or launched by a catapult - the Miasma would be released. Depending upon the size of the vessel used, the vapor's reach could extend from perhaps two armslengths to eighteen. If inhaled, the vapor dissolves the lungs and its parts along with the throat, mouth, and nose, resulting in suffocation and death. The miasma dissipates quickly, and after lingering for several moments, the air would clear, leaving no danger for anyone else who approached."

"Lord Stark, Snow approaches," came a call from Murch just outside the pavilion's entrance. A few moments later, red eyes flashing into sight from the glow of the pavilion's brazier that sat in a corner of the pavilion, providing most of the light within. 

Like in Winterfell, the direwolf's appearance meant that Vittoria was asleep. It was only then that the direwolf would go and run and roam. The beast was the size of a pony, it's oversized snout sniffing into the air as it moved around the two Alchemists, the table, and Brodrik himself before it simply stopped, and sniffed at the table.

When it looked from the table to Brodrik, it met his eyes: "I don't suppose I have to tell you the danger present on that table?"

The direwolf said nothing, as Brodrik expected. With the mystery of the third item left to him, Brodrik returned his attention to the Alchemists. "The third?"

Knossos did not even spare a glance for the direwolf, seemingly unaware of its arrival, its examination, or of Brodrik's regard for it. The assistant, however, beheld the creature with the usual mixture of fear and awe befitting its ferocious majesty, their look of anxiety heightening even further.

"This third item is a material which is normally only forged in Oros, and there is called Tamahagane, or Oros Steel. It is measurably stronger and lighter than regular steel, with similar resilience and flex - and, most importantly, far sharper. A forged edge of Oros Steel is only faintly less keen than that of Valaryian steel. Reports from Oros say that a blade made of their steel can cleave through three men in one strike, even when wielded by a child. It is also demonstrably less affected by corrosion and wear."

With a nod, Brodrik did what Starks do best: he cut to the quick of the matter. "The steel is interesting, and it would seem prudent to bring it to a skilled Smith in order to see the extent of its usefulness and application. The second item, however lacking in honor, may prove useful to other gathered forces. And the first, also of..." Brodrik paused, until the word for it found him: "doubtless benefit, would not do for our task--mountain passes, goat paths, harrowing those who would harrow the supply lines." 

A task, he had found out just hours ago, the Wull considered beneath them. "Given the manner and terrain of our orders, doubtless it would break and be more danger than benefit. Have you presented any of this to my sister, Princess Vittoria?"

"No." Knossos said. Then, seeing no reason to elaborate, he plowed on along a different track of thought. "As for the first and second items, I am not presenting them for the North's specific use. As you have said, the Starks and their bannermen will be responsible for securing the Red Mountains and establishing supply lines for the other houses. I am asking you to dissemenate the items and supply them to the other forces as necessary."

"Ah, then I refuse." He was certain a explanation would be in order: "I am not in constant contact with the other forces, nor do I know many of them. It would be unwise, and taking time I need to spend doing other things, for me to try to explain items and their uses to the Lords among this host. I suggest talking to my sister, or her husband, and have them pass down the information from their lofty royal platform."

"Lord Stark, I am not asking for you to teach others. I am asking you to fulfill your duties to the crown and resupply the other house forces. The procurement and people needed to make use of these goods would be handled entirely by the Alchemist's Guild, and the other forces would be properly informed through other channels. While Lord Viserys does command one of the King's armies, he is not in charge of provisions or logistics, and I am uncertain as to what influence Lady Vittoria might have in such movements." A trace of emotion had finally appeared in the alchemist's countenance - annoyance. "The supply lines are tasked to supply the armies of the king, and you are in charge of them. Regardless of whom the Alchemist's Guild wants to supply these goods to, it is you we have to negotiate with."

"Prince Viserys," was Brodrik's only response for a number of long, silent, moments before his eyes went from the items presented to the Alchemist who was quickly overstepping himself. "My forces are charged with protecting supply lines, not the supplies themselves. And that is only part of our duty, duties I do not require you to attempt to educate me about."

"Also, Princess Vittoria. For a lowborn man constantly in the presence of those with a higher birth, I would think your courtesies more sound than they appear to be." There was no anger, nor irritation. Just a chilled, deep, tone known to Starks of Winterfell. "My sister has the ear of both King, and Hand; both of whom do seem to respect her expansive knowledge on many subjects, including the 'higher mysteries'--such as they are. The crown will have final say on supplies, not those tasked with protecting them. If that is all?"

Knossos' assistant had gone from red to winter pale the instant Brodrik had corrected the alchemist's form of address, and had taken measured steps towards the tent flap as his icy tone stalked in the conversation like a direwolf baring its fangs.

Knossos himself, however, appeared merely nonplussed. Either the man had ice in his veins already, or his darkened skin helped to hide any tension he was feeling. "That will be all, I suppose." He said, his voice having assumed a neutral tone once more. He motioned for his assistent to clear off the table.

The assistant didn't move.

Knossos turned to look blankly at the assistant again, as they stood frozen in place with apprehension and fear - and they simply looked to Brodrik, silently asking both for permission and for mercy.

Brodrik smiled, "There is no need for hesitation, I assure you, all is wel--"

And then, like that, the smile was gone. It was lower than a whisper, at first; a distant noise that drew Brodrik to immediate silence, his hand rising to signal the Alchemists to silence as well as he waited, and listened.

Then it came again, louder and unmistakable, cutting through the night air sharper than steel. The drumming of the drum circle stopped, the revelry out in the camp stopped. Then it came again, yet louder...a sound that chilled Brodrik to bone. A sound he had heard before. That of a man being burnt alive.

The direwolf was already out of the pavilion, Brodrik right behind; Murch and Mycah had put their stew aside, sheilds and spears in hand. "My Lord, that screaming..."

Brodrik's eyes skimmed the dark horizon, and there he found it: closer to Summerhall than the Northmen's camp, upon one of the only hills within sight of Summerhall: from a distant, it looked no more than six burning sticks planted upon the hill. But as the screaming continued, horrific and haunting, Brodrik knew.

"Mycah, sound the alarm."

"STARK!" Brodrik whirled, only to find the Wull and three of his men on horseback. Brodrik's reply was a wave: [i]Go.[/i] Before the motion had even finished, Wull put his heels to his horse, and off they went. 

"Murch, my horse. And a horse for the Alchemist leader." Few, Brodrik reckoned, knew fire better than the man. Brodrik found the man with his eyes. "Go and help the others investigate this horror."

Then another sound bellowed through the air: horns from other camps following close behind Mycah's horn blow. There would be little sleep tonight, the night before Daeron's attempt to conquest.

When Brodrik looked around, he saw no direwolf. [i]The Princess is awake, now.[/i] They would all be awake, now.