Ruslav nodded. "Da. We can use it in the creation of more 
complicated imbuements, or we could use it directly." 


Arturo cocked his head to the side. "Directly?" 


Ruslav smiled. "Not every application of Alchemy is precisely a 
transfer of power. You can also transfer that power in to a lower 
state. Some of the power that you were transferring expressed as 
wind, when you were imbuing this coin, yes?" Arturo nodded in 
agreement. 


Ruslav handed the coin to Adebeyo. "This is more your area of 
Invocation. If it was Aequeous, or Igneous, | could but..." Adebeyo 
stepped forward, and grasped the coin. 


"Of course, Elder. Behold." He placed the coin between his palms, 
and spoke in the Second Language, the syllables flowing easily like 
music from his lips, as a slow breeze emanated from his hands. The 
breeze picked up, a strong wind emanating from between the 
Elder's hands for a few moments, before building to a huge gust, 
picking up several loose papers and flinging them across the room. 


Arturo stood beside Ruslav, awestruck. "Was... was that magic?!" 


Adebeyo let out a deep, heartfelt laugh. "No, Mr. Genuomo. It was 
Alchemy. Any two-bit sorcerer is just tapping in to the Aethers 
somehow. They just don't know it. Any dabbler can throw fire or 
wind around. It takes one of the Wise to do something constructive 
with it." 


Ruslav led Arturo out of the door to this office, which he now shared 
with his erstwhile apprentice. "Do not worry, Arturo. You will be 
capable of such things with time, and study." 


... The application of Invocation is a trivial thing. Anyone can fling firestorms 
around, just as anyone can slap them down. Such things are for dabblers. 
The true power, to create, to Imbue, to find a way to transmute. These are the 
foundations of alchemy. Leave the fireballs to the ‘wizards’... 


-Excerpt, A Treatise on the Applications of Alchemy, Perenelle Flamel 


"Elder Diaghilev?" Arturo's voice was hesitant, as he looked up from 
his book. 


"Da Apprentice?” Ruslav didn't look up from his notes, as his pen 
scratched slowly across the page. 


Arturo stood, bringing the book over to the other reading desk in the 
library. The section they were in was restricted by Level 4 order. 
Specifically, Ruslav's order. He'd kept everyone except himself, 
Arturo, Adebeyo, and presumably anyone with a higher clearance 
out of this section for the last fifty years. 


Having an apprentice around had certainly helped keep it cleaner, 
but it also meant fielding lots of questions. "This book references 
techniques to harness the Aethers, and lists quite a few more than 
five. Is that correct?" 


Some questions were more difficult to field than others. "That is a 
complicated question. At the time that book was written, yes, there 
were more than five Aethers. The five existed, as purer forms of the 
others of course. Igneous and Terronous Aether comprised most of 
the Metallic Aethers. The same for lesser Aethers of wind, water, et 
cetera." 


"So... what happened to them. Neither you, nor Elder Adebeyo talk 
about anything other than the five Aethers." Arturo sat down at the 
seat across from Ruslav, and settled his little notebook on the newly 
dusted surface. The tiny book had to only have four or five pages 
left. 


Ruslav made a mental note to provide the Apprentice with a more 
suitable book. Or at least, how to make a more suitable book. 
"Arturo... some things are difficult to explain. | am not sure you are 
ready to truly know all of the mysteries of the Art." 


Arturo's face grew tighter, and he set his jaw. "You told me when | 
became your student, | could ask you any question and you would 
not lie to me. You would tell me the truth." 


Ruslav sighed, and muttered under his breath, "I did. The truth is 


very long, and complicated. The short version is, a long time ago, 
myself, Adebeyo, and many other Alchemists did... something 
important. Something that changed Alchemy itself. It made things 
like using the Aethers, or even feeling them significantly more 
difficult." 


Arturo's eyes grew narrow. "You... did this? Why? Why would you 
make Alchemy harder on purpose?" Ruslav could see the anger 
rising in the young student. Learning Alchemy had not been easy for 
the young man, and the six months since he'd arrived at the site had 
been filled with many frustrating days. 


"It was necessary. When you are at least a Journeyman in the Art, | 
promise, | will explain why. For now, that will have to suffice." 
Ruslav's heavy brows were steady as he looked the young man in 
the eye. 


A time ago, Arturo may have snapped at the Elder, but he took a 
deep breath, and nodded, returning to his desk. "Thank you for the 
instruction, Elder." 


A long minute passed in silence. Ruslav sighed, and stood, walking 
silently to a shelf behind his own desk. He retrieved a slim volume, 
entitled Darkest Entities of the Aetheric Currents. He walked over to 
the young man's desk, and sat down heavily across from him, 
opening the book. "What do you see?" 


Arturo looked over at the book, written in a tight runic script depicting 
the concepts of the Fifth Language, the language of knowledge 
itself. "I can't... quite read it. | am sorry Elder. My Fifth is still coming 
along." 


Ruslav nodded, "Da | translate." He flipped a few pages, his fingers 
sliding over the gold trimmed volume. "This is the Scarlet King. Do 
you know who or what it is?" 


Arturo shook his head. "I do not know this Scarlet King." 


Ruslav nodded again, and slammed the volume shut. "Da this | 
know too. Do you know why?" 


Arturo shook his head, drawing back slightly. "No, Elder." 


Ruslav leaned back, and closed his eyes. "Because of what you 
asked me about. A very, very long time ago, we sealed the Scarlet 
King, and many others behind the Great Seal. It was... a very 
difficult thing. Many Alchemists perished in the attempt. Many more 
turned against us, and did not accept the Circles' decision to enact 
the Great Seal. It was open warfare between factions of the circles." 


Arturo's eyes were slowly widening. "War... fare? With Alchemy 
involved?" 


Ruslav continued, nodding. "Da, Alchemy. Before this seal, terrible 
things were possible. The Scarlet King was one of those terrible 
things. After the seal, the Scarlet King was not a problem anymore." 


Arturo leaned in slightly. "Wait, how? How is this possible?" 


Ruslav closed the book, shook his head. "Later. You are not ready. 
That will have to suffice for now, Apprentice." 


Arturo looked down at his small notebook, and nodded. "I see. 
Thank you, for your instruction Elder. | appreciate your candor." 


Ruslav stood, and returned to the shelf, sliding the volume home. 
His eyes lingered on the spine. Darkest Entities of the Aetheric 
Currents — Lord Henry Percy. Ruslav's eyes narrowed slightly, 
thinking back to the conflict. 


Those were dark days indeed. 


...Obviously Ruslav is a deluded fool. The Great Seal is as much a myth as it 
is a terrible idea. His rank of Elder has always been suspect. Elder Hayyan 
conferred the title and the circles honored that wish out of respect for the 
great master, but let's be honest here. The man is an unknown, a dabbler, 
spouting ridiculous hypothesis that have no basis in fact... 


-Excerpt, A Letter to the Esteemed Circle of The Wise, 1693 CE 


Ruslav took a deep drag of the cigarette in his hand, the smoke 
filling his lungs with a dark vapor-like substance that superficially 
resembled smoke. Adebeyo had created the false cigarettes 


overnight with Ruslav's help. The stimulating effect of the alchemic 
tobacco allowed him to see the currents of Aether with his naked 
eyes. It was beautiful. 


Adebeyo looked out over the snow-covered valley behind the Site, 
and took a drag on his own. "I never get tired of looking at that. 
You?" 


Ruslav nodded, and smiled slightly. "Never. How can one tire of 
such beauty?" 


A few moments passed as both men took in the twisting and 
dancing currents. Here and there a small stream of the Igneous 
Aether would slide along the distant road beyond the bridge leading 
to the entrance to the Site. "What do we tell Mr. Genuomo? He's 
going to be curious about the war. And if we do not tell him, he could 
end up siding with—" 


Ruslav held his hand up. "I know. This is possible. We will do what 
we must. Guide the young along the path to wisdom, and what not. 
Have you contacted the Sixth Circle?" 


Adebeyo nodded, taking another drag, and looking up at the moon, 
a blazing orb of Aether currents. "I did. They are with us. Do you 
think—" his voice trailed off for a moment, before resuming. "Do you 
think we did the right thing?" His eyes rested on the people below, 
walking in and out of the site. The faintest trail of Aether currents 
could be seen flowing around some of them. People who were 
experiencing inspiration, or a sudden burst of energy maybe. 


Ruslav nodded without hesitation. "I know we did. Elder Hayyan was 
very clear about what needed to be done. | was going to carry out 
his will whether | wanted to or not." 


Adebeyo looked over at Ruslav, the glowing Aether currents shining 
out of him like a lighthouse. Every time he looked over at the man, it 
showed off him like a star. "What... is it like? The compulsion?" 


Ruslav shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know how to describe it. It's 
just part of me. Always has been. Ever since Elder Hayyan breathed 
life in to me, the Takwin, | have just... known. What to do, and what | 


must maintain. The Great Seal is not just a goal for me. It is the 
purpose of my life." 


Adebeyo nodded, and looked back up at the sky. "I envy that... 
clarity of purpose sometimes. That bell-clear knowledge of what you 
must do." 


Ruslav took the last drag of the cigarette, and stamped it out on the 
floor of the parking garage. "It is both a blessing and a curse. | 
always know what | must do. But | always must do what | know | 
must. Very little... freedom in it." 


Adebeyo reached out, and patted Ruslav on the shoulder, as he 
walked back towards the Site, the snow crunching under his heavy 
boots. Ruslav's eyes returned to the sky, the Aether currents flowing 
through and past him like a torrent. 


...Lord Henry, with all due respect, Elder Diaghilev is every bit as qualified 
as you are. You'll have to learn to get along with him. Ruslav Diaghilev has 
mastered every aspect of the Art, and as such, the petition to promote him to 
the Seventh Circle, to fill Elder Hayyan’s vacancy has been approved. His 
death was keenly felt by the circles, and all of us are happy to offer the 
position he leaves to Ruslav... 


-Excerpt, Reply to Lord Henry 


« Finding Balance | Channeling Flows | Restoring Harmony » 


Chaos Praxis 


Light? 


There was light. 


Lights blazing to bathe, bugle call. Ten minutes to the cafeteria. 
Mandatory. 


The usual. He slid his feet over the bedside and moved to his 
dresser. The same inconspicuous white shirt, black slacks, white 
socks, black shoes. Not that he had a choice. But he would've 
chosen it anyway. Seven minutes. 


He then made his way over to his desk. He frowned. Two pens. He 
placed them and a fresh one into his pocket. Six minutes. 


He moved to leave when he remembered to check his ears. He 
found a tissue in his right. He tossed it in the trash bin, brushing his 
hair to cover that ear, and he left. Four minutes. Right on time. 


Head down. His to heys. Disgusting impressionistic 
blueredgreygreen splatter to snow vinyl! floors; hallway to cafeteria. 
Pick up box. Sit at the same seat. Open box, retrieve food. One 
hand eating other undertable pass pen one to contact, foot tap pass 
pen two. Pen three doodle on box. Done. 


Finish eating. Byes to seeyas. Toss box, head to hallway, to room; 


disgusting impressionistic blueredgreygreen splatter to crimson vinyl 
floors. Head up, sit at desk, work. 


Blood? 


There was blood. 


It happens. He was used to it tracing the curvature of his jaw. 
Nothing more than a trickle from his ears. 


Not that it wasn't bad, or that he didn't wince from the warm onset. 
He closed his eyes and swept the document with his left hand, 
black-out in his right. He got to a small bump, sighed, and set to 
work expunging it. 


Once finished, eyes open. Still accurate enough, he placed it in his 
other work, and pushed off from his desk to rest for a moment. 


He took out his pocket knife. 
There was blood. 
It happens. 


He'd put the pillow from his bed against his mouth, and... 


He'd always hated this part. 


He'd always hated this part. 


He'd plunged the knife into his ear. Enough to cause a reasonable 
bleed. He retracted it. 


If he didn't, people would get suspicious. One of three reasons for 
people to bleed in this place. One, sickness, he wasn't sick. Two, 
self harm, grudgingly accepted. Three... He didn't know what to call. 


Words, some kind of words. They had made some words hurt him. 
Just enough to make him think he was dying, to make him (almost) 
head to the infirmary. 


on humans, and it is recommended that personnel not enter the 
enclosure if SCP-811 has not fed in over 16 hours. 


No invasive medical procedure may be performed on SCP-811 
outside of emergency situations in which such a procedure is 
required to save the subject's life. Minimally invasive procedures 
require review and unanimous approval by SCP-811's assigned 
medical team and the current project head. See Document 81 1-b for 
a list of substances that may be administered as medication to 
SCP-811. 


All requests by the subject are to be reviewed by both an overseeing 
animal enrichment specialist and at least one Level 3 personnel 
before approval, and the review should not take more than 48 hours, 
unless exceptional circumstances dictate otherwise. 


While SCP-811 is not generally aggressive unless it feels hungry or 
threatened, all handling personnel are to be cautioned that it is still 
an opportunistic ambush predator, and safety precautions must still 
be taken to avoid possible injury or infection. All personnel entering 
the enclosure must wear full-body, non-organic biohazard suits and 
breath masks, and must be in groups of at least two. No personnel 
are to enter the enclosure if they have open wounds or sores 
anywhere on their body. Those suffering from asthma or other 
respiratory-affecting conditions are prohibited from entering the 
enclosure without a signed note from a physician with Level 4 
security clearance. 


As far as research indicates, SCP-811 cannot cause serious injury 
to anyone properly wearing their biohazard suit. Anyone who 
removes any part of their biohazard suit while still in the enclosure, 
for any reason at all, will be subject to disciplinary action, up to and 
including reassignment to a project that would not be adversely 
affected by their status as an amputee. 


Description: SCP-811 is shaped similarly to a human female with 
disproportionally long and thin limbs and a slightly-bloated 
abdominal region. It is 171 cm tall, and weighs just under 47 kg due 
to its strange physiology (see Addendum 81 1-2 for details). Its skin 
has slight abrasive properties, and is a mottled green color that 
serves to camouflage it among the reeds in its natural habitat. Its 


He was better than this. He gripped a tuft of his hair and tugged. 
Such a simple thing. Such a simple, costly, painful mistake. He'd 
learned early on in his job that the hurt, that reality bending had tells. 
A color change here. A tactile anomaly there. Tiny bumps you can't 
see but can feel. 


He'd thought, he'd thought ahead, was one step. The first time it 
happened he panicked, and he did the same thing he always did. 
Self harm was common enough onsite. High stress. You had to get 
through the day and if it works they don't care and he didn't care 
because it worked.