The Alchemists of Mechanisburg

(Inspired by a post I saw on tumblr, which for the life of me I cannot find again in order to properly credit.)

From the beginning Mechanisburg was a city of alchemy. Ht’rok-din, the first Heterodyne, settled there because it intersected three major alkahestry lines. Its people made their living through banditry and raiding, and soon horrible stories began to arise that claimed the Heterodynes were unholy sorcerers who used black magic to preform miraculous feats.

Anyone who knows anything about alchemy today would recognize the stories of horrible fused monsters, walls being torn down with just a single slip of paper, and of the city’s cathedral being built in a day, as merely ancient examples of alchemy being mistaken as witch-craft.

Today, Mechanisburgers no longer spread terror and death to the surrounding lands. The city in fact is now a hotbed of tourism, and milks both its bloody and alchemical history for all its worth. Maps sold to tourists will proudly boast things, such as the supposed fact that the entire city is actually a giant transmutation circle.

It’s true too.

If you stand at the top of one of the observation towers, you can see it. A gigantic transmutation circle laid out in the walls and streets of the city. Those that have ever come close to creating a philosophers stone will recognize it. At least in part.

Mechanisburg has a long and bloody history. Anyone who would brave the very deepest depths of Castle Heterodyne would find a spring bubbling up from the ground. It’s water is red as blood and glows with power. The Heterodynes call it the Source of the Dyne. Anyone who died within the walls of Mechanisburg will find their soul trapped, trapped and channeled into this spring. This spring is the secret to how the Heterodynes of old became such powerful alchemists, and were seemingly able to flout the laws of alchemy.

There are few who would recognize the gates of Mechanisburg from anywhere else. Those that can, would realize what it implies. Human transmutation has never been taboo, it been a proud tradition for centuries. The Heterodyne’s chimera soldiers, the Jagermonsters, have always proudly been a volunteer army. Every Jager that swears the oath knows the procedure will be painful, they know that there is a ninety percent chance they will die. Yet young men and women have been lining up for centuries in order to subject themselves to alchemical transformation so they could better serve their lords.

A river flows from the castle. Many think its source is from a spring deep under the castle. They are right. Long ago Egregious Heterodyne devised an array to transmute souls into water, and from that day forward a river has flown through Mechanisburg. The castle itself is alive, it speaks and moves and rearranges its rooms, hallways and deathtraps at whim. Centuries of careful maintenance have kept the soul of Faustus Heterodyne housed within the very stones of the castle as the undying guardian of his family and their secrets.

But the most frightening thing of all, is that these secrets are not secrets, at least not to the people of Mechanisburg. Every week, sermons in the Red Cathedral speak of every Mechanisburger’s “Second Service” to their lord and city, and of the alchemical value of the human soul. The Jagers are respected citizens of Mechanisburg because of the ordeal they went through and the transformation they underwent, not in spite of it. The old bloodstained alter of the Red Cathedral is carved with a transmutation array, the same one built into the city itself. (Many an ancient enemy was sacrificed on that alter back in the old days.) That same array is tattooed on the bodies of many Mechanisburgers as a sign of their loyalty to the house of Heterodyne and their acceptance of their second service. Every year, a festival of thanksgiving is held for the ancestors of the city, in thanks for their sacrifice in making the waters of the Dyne continue to flow.

In fact to many outsiders, the people of Mechanisburg seem superstitious. For they seem to credit their dead ancestors for everything form keeping the street-lamps lit, the walls and defenses in good repair, and the river flowing towards the sea.

It’s the truth after all.