Negative Dearth stood alone.

Their withdrawal from the accord with their colleagues to join the mercenary army had left them bereft of allies and in dire need of new resources. While they had expected attempts on their life, the other Merchant Princes had chosen to steal contracts from them. This had left them with two choices: either rejoin the accord or find new contracts. In their desperation, Negative Dearth chose the latter. The offer had been extravagant for so small a charm. A Generic Pheromantic Attraction Extract, or, as their human clients called it, a ‘love potion,’ was trivially demanding in its production, unlike its aimed counterpart. Still, despite the insignificance of the product and the extravagance of the price, they were coming to regret their decision.

In that sense, therefore, it could be argued that Negative Dearth stood alone. In a much more real sense, one did not meet with clients such as these without proper support and protection. Their private guard was present if discreetly so, and the surrounding hills were peppered with Marskman clones. Negative Dearth stood as alone as they dared. And when the solitary robbed figure came gliding on smoke from the eastern path, Negative Dearth was glad they did so. Even the sight of the carts filled to the brim with broken, half-rotten extremities did not change their mind. Rows of them came behind the floating cultist, carried by rotten corpses of horses and bulls – ancient sacrifices to their so-called god, if reports were correct.

“I come with a new offer from my master.” The creature, half-rotten itself, floating on a wave of sickening incense smoke, spoke with obvious disdain – as if somehow an Exile was more of an affront to the cosmos than its own sickening existence. Not waiting for an answer, it went on. “He offers five times the price for the creator of the elixir. Accept,” it commanded, and its dry tongue smacked with displeasure in its mouth, as if insults and curses were barely being held back.

“Your master wants a Pheromancer?” Negative Dearth replied. “For five times the price?”

“Accept!” the thing said again.

No, Negative Dearth almost said. Almost. Five times the price…

The exchange would have ramifications; potentially grave ones. Negative Dearth would pick, of course, from their own retinue, someone like Diminutive Returns would serve well, so technically it was within their rights to make such an exchange. But should the Sovereign ever find out someone had exchanged a living Pheromancer… Unless Negative Dearth somehow managed to put a positive spin on it – if, for instance, the Sovereign wanted an excuse to engage the dead ones – it would potentially spell deletion. Worse, Abomination.

But this implied that the Sovereign would find out and for five times the price… That would provide Negative Dearth some much needed relief; comfort even. They would be able to reclaim some of the contracts lost to their colleagues.

Their mind racing with the possibilities, Negative Dearth drew breath and opened their mouth…