Maire Virtanen begins researching how to create a more potent version of [b]Dyvella's Mercy[/b], a weak but versatile healing salve. Her goal is to brew at least a dozen vials of this new mixture. She also returns the [b]10 goods[/b] she took on her expedition to Clan Aonghus' stores.
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[center][b]Consequences[/b][/center]
The end of the Rain Season had finally arrived, and Maire couldn't have been more delighted. Clan Aonghus had been living in the Hidden Valley for four seasons, but the events of Rising Rain had shocked the alchemist. Not long after her expedition returned home, Maire overheard several clansfolk gossiping about the high price she'd paid to find a new source of sweetgrass. Two lives for two seasons' worth of sweetgrass did seem like a poor trade, but the councilwoman was taken aback by how well-informed the smallfolk were. She'd done everything in her power to ensure any stories about what had transpired were stories she'd created. Listening to some one-eyed hunter mutter about how Longshanks had sacrificed himself so "that gluttonous sow of a woman" could escape had filled Maire with rage. Instead of lashing out, however, she'd leapt into action. Well, waddled into action.

After conferring with the god-talkers, the raven-haired alchemist had been permitted to speak during the funerary rites for both Alban Brennus and Uric Myrost, the gallocman who'd fought the monster to give the rest of the party time to flee. The overweight urlandi spoke passionately about the selflessness and valor of these two heroes, though she also took pains to remind the clan how unexpected the entire affair was. Nobody, except the holy Tuad Rithe, could've seen this coming. Luckily, Tristan Jory, the other warrior chosen to accompany the expedition, fully supported and believed Maire's retelling. Whenever someone asked him how Uric Myrost died, the young gallocman would claim he'd met his end while protecting the bravest woman in the clan.

Maire Virtanen.

Unfortunately, not everyone was convinced the alchemist didn't deserve some of the blame for the clan's losses. The Brennus family's patriarch was dead and, despite Maire's standing offer to help whenever she needed it, Fiona Brennus openly accused the councilwoman of negligence. The grieving mother of five claimed Maire should've sent scouts ahead of her wagon to ensure the road ahead was safe. If Maire had a jewel for every time she or the Council had been blamed for something they had little control over then she would've been an incredibly wealthy woman. This particular accusation was especially galling, however, because the alchemist had been so involved in the daily lives of Alban and Fiona's children. She'd taught Jaina, Marta, Cerys, Hope and Serena Brennus how to read for the love of Bodi! They'd spent hours in the Blue House's sitting room with Clan Aonghus' oldest scrolls and a platter of freshly-baked bean buns, puzzling through the convoluted prose and rewarding themselves with a treat whenever they navigated a difficult passage. Jaina, Marta, and Cerys often spent more time eating buns and mooning over the clan's gallocmen then reading, but Hope and Serena excelled. The two younger Brennus girls loved reading tales of bygone heroes and ancient battles fought by their clan's ancestors. Serena even expressed an interest in learning more about alchemy after reading a story about Ulster Hardheart, one of Clan Aonghus' most talented alchemists. Now that their father was dead, Maire had a suspicion she wouldn't be seeing the Brennus children anymore. Fiona wouldn't allow it.

To make matters worse, the kerns were sharply divided over the incident at the Barrows, which was what Cathair Doyle had started calling the region. Of course that slimy toad would be the one to think up a name for the place where Maire's reputation had taken a severe blow. Undoubtedly, he was also responsible for nearly a dozen kerns showing up at Maire's Mansion a week after the attack to demand why she hadn't taken more gallocmen with her. She'd calmly told them most of the clan's fighters were traveling to Stormpeak with Eliz, though this answer didn't satisfy the unruly group. They'd wandered off eventually, helped along by the sight of Gwen looming over her mistress with a spear in her hand, but the memory of the encounter sent a shiver of fear down Maire's spine. What if the kerns had been angry enough to attack her? Gwendolen could make a spear do things the alchemist didn't believe were possible, but one woman couldn't stand against twelve farmers. Thankfully, a few days after this incident, fifteen herdsmen visited Maire to let her know they didn't blame her for Alban's demise. She couldn't have known some hideous beast was waiting to make a meal of the poor man. 

It was good to know that some people, like Tristan Jory, still had enough sense to listen to Maire's carefully worded account of the Barrows' tragedy.

Of course, the entire affair still weighed heavily on the alchemist's mind so it was no surprise that she felt exhausted as she listened to the Council discussing potential solutions to the excessive rainfall drenching Clan Aonghus' lands. Plucking at her green-dyed woolen robes so they sat more comfortably across her gut, Maire shifted forward and peered intently at Dunlad as he spoke. She liked the kern a great deal, and many of his suggestions were intelligent and practical. An alliance with the older man could potentially remove the threat of Eliz and Ardghal altogether. An interesting thought. 

At any rate, it didn't take a god-talker to figure out where the rainstorms came from. While Maire had aggressively tried to stifle the story of the Barrows attack until she could reshape it to her liking, Eliz wasn't present to do the same with the account of her interactions with Clan Stormcaller. It was common knowledge at this point. And a certain alchemist may or may not have encouraged clansfolk that owed her a favor to make the whole thing sound much worse than it was. Politics aside, it was obvious to Maire that Clan Stormcaller was avenging their wounded pride by sending storms to drown Clan Aonghus.

It was as simple, and horrifying, as that.

Once Dunlad finished talking about taking a diplomatic journey to Clan Andal's holdings, Maire said, "I believe you all have the proper idea about this unnatural rainfall. We should start by diverting the river, which some call the Beatha River after our ancestor's word for "life." I do feel, however, that trying to construct a moat or even a basin would require too much time and manpower. Some of our strongest clansfolk are still following the dark child...pardon me, Councilwoman Eliz. What we need is a simple, effective solution. For now, let us dig a ditch to guide the water away from our homes. A temporary solution for a temporary problem." 

The raven-haired alchemist gripped the sides of her polished thornwood chair and looked at Serhiem, her voice carrying a slight edge, "I do not think it wise to trust Eliz, who is clearly the cause of these storms, to commune with the spirits or the Tuad Rithe about our troubles. We all know who is behind this deluge, and they should be our focus. Clan Stormcaller has taken offense to the way a member of this Council treated them. I see two choices before us, but we could easily do both. We should send a sizable peace offering to Clan Stormcaller. Perhaps a wagon of fine foods and treasures one can only find in the lowlands? I also believe the god-talkers should speak to the spirits about what actions we can take to quell the storms ourselves. If the Stormcallers refuse our peace offering we must have another solution prepared."

Pulling up the hood of her splendid robes, which were decorated with tiny rubies cut into the shape of blood droplets, Maire said, "Also, Chief Serhiem, I would like to discuss a private matter with you at my home whenever you have time. I know you're busy, but I think I have an idea that would benefit all of us. It would require your approval and skills, however." The heavyset woman tapped one sausage-like finger against her lower lip and then said, "Oh, and Dunlad, would you also do me a small favor? During your visit to Clan Andal's territory, which I wholeheartedly support, could you mention the benefits of binding our clans together through marriage? I would be curious to hear their response. Do not press the issue, though. I believe Clan Aonghus has suffered enough thanks to the unnecessary forcefulness of certain Council members." 

Maire grinned widely and sat back in her intricately carved thornwood chair, the seat groaning beneath her immense girth. There was a carving of Luigibad tilling a field somewhere near the base of the throne-like chair. Alban had whittled the image into the wooden seat a week after Maire joined the Council. He'd never stopped smiling as he worked. The alchemist's grin faded and she let out a low sigh. She hoped Longshanks' spirit had found peace amongst the Tuad Rithe and the ancestors.
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As soon as the meeting ended, Maire waddled through the pouring rain towards her shack, her thoughts already turning to her latest endeavor. She intended to discuss two topics with Chief Serhiem when he arrived. The formation of a proper warband to further investigate the Barrows would be costly, but if the chief organized it and gave it his blessing than nothing was impossible. In truth, apart from the vicious monster and the runestones' eerie red light, the alchemist didn't remember much about what had happened at the Barrows. What would Bodi, the courageous Huntress, think if Maire didn't at least attempt to "hunt" for the truth? Considering the fate of her sweetgrass expedition, however, the alchemist knew she should distance herself from this new venture. Perhaps she could provide support in the form of potions and salves? Some clansmen wouldn't leave their homes if they saw an ill omen. What would they do if they knew Maire Virtanen was involved with a new adventure aimed at uncovering the secrets of the Barrows? They'd probably shit themselves.

Regardless, Maire had already devised a plan to ensure the next group that visited that accursed place wouldn't meet the same fate as the first.

About a year prior to the clan's exile, Maire had been toying with the idea of improving the formula for Dyvella's Mercy, a basic healing salve the clan used to close small injuries. The thick, silver-colored sludge took roughly two days to work, and the alchemist knew most warriors rarely had two seconds to wait around for the mixture to heal them. She also knew there had to be a way to make Dyvella's Mercy work faster. Almost any alchemical formula could be improved upon with the proper materials and conditions.

Furthermore, Maire intended to ask Serhiem to talk to Fiona Brennus about offering one of her five daughters to Clan Andal. Maybe not right now, but at some point in the near future. If the Andals were open to the arrangement, why not bind the clans together through marriage? All of the Brennus children were beautiful, and they were rapidly approaching marriageable age. Fiona would never consent to the idea if Maire suggested it, but Chief Serhiem might be able to persuade her.

Groaning as she pushed open the door to her house, Maire nodded to Gwen, who was sharpening her spear by the fire pit, and said, "[i]Daor[/i], I want you to kill and cook the fattest chicken in the coop. Use the blue peppers we brought from Urland to season it. Serhiem has a weakness for blue peppers, and I have a feeling he'll be paying us a visit soon. I have work to do in my laboratory, but I want you to let me know if Serhiem or anyone else arrives. Do not let them inside until I'm up here, understand?" 

The red-haired thrall bowed and set her spear down before heading out into the rain to get a chicken from Maire's small coop. Lowering the hood of her sodden robes, the alchemist smirked as she lumbered towards her backroom. It wasn't entirely safe to have her alchemical laboratory set up in the cellar, but there was no help for it. Her house was too small to offer her the privacy she needed to conduct her more dangerous experiments. The raven-haired alchemist whispered a quiet prayer to Yvene as she trudged into the backroom and opened the trapdoor leading down into the cellar. Maybe the Pearl-Haired Goddess would consider the loss of Alban and Uric as a fair trade for successfully brewing a new salve?

Maire decided that, if this worked, she'd call the final result Maire's Mercy. It had a nice ring to it.