#aurelienstarter

Venerior's face was still smarting from the loud smack that resonated outside the club. "Baby, wait, we can go to Breadsticks instead -!" Too late, he was gone. Craig was a dream, but apparently, bringing him to a vampire bar to get passed around three sets of fangs was a step too far for a fifth date. Sullen, depressed and damn near inconsolable, Venerio sighed dead air from his lungs as he tried to consider just why it was that he was so consistently unlucky in love. When was someone going to love him... For him?

"Oh, Aurelien," he scrawny, and there wasn't much meat on his bones; low iron didn't account for the most savory of meals, but he made up for it with the sweet scent of his fey blood. "you didn't hear all that, did you?"

In the remnants of what was once the blood orchard he'd cultivated alongside Zahrya, the veil between the mortal realm and the Otherworld was impossibly thin. Across the fey forest it had dwindled, but here most of all it was possible to simply slip through to the other side. The manifest didn't fear the accidental arrival of any demonkind, but instead was more fixated upon the fauna from the Otherworld that was bleeding into the mortal realm. Magical and mundane foliage crossed paths, muddled together, and with the Spring through the Summer would sprout even more interesting subjects.

For the alchemist, Alastor had resolved to ensure this would happen with some choice varieties. When it came to mystical components not all flowers were created equal, a rose grown under a lamp did not hold the same properties as one captured from the wild, and the same could be said for the flowers that bloomed from the brush of magic and those that came about naturally.

"Not many people come out this way." Then again, the eladrin likely wasn't most people, "It's dangerous," Alastor looked over his shoulder from his position on the ground, "even for you and your new abilities."