Putting it mildly, you were getting sick of being buffeted about by rogue gusts of wind on the makeshift trireme. Sailing just above the choppy waters of Styxias, concealed by the veil of Evernight from random prying eyes onto the sea, the pitching was becoming nauseating. Thirteen minutes ago, a sudden wind shear nearly swatted you out of the trireme like a bothersome insect.

It was common belief that a Chrysos Heir’s golden blood echoed their god-like powers in subconscious ways… but it was getting even more ridiculous. There were only so many times one could be tossed about like a rag doll before surrendering to the bitter night.

But you knew that the rivers, the seas, the storms and winds were chaotic, because she was. Your head shot across and followed a figure as it banked to the right, and under the moon’s all-seeing and illuminating natural light that shone over the vessel, bestowing it and the vast Styxias around you with an unearthly glow, you could clearly see the inimitable Chrysos Heir to the Coreflame Phaguosa grace the dorsal upper deck of the triemere.

“Surprised to see me?” Hysilens asks rhetorically, her voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of crashing waves against the hull, caressing your ears as a welcome sign that there was certainty over your suspicions. “I made my rounds around Marmoreal Market and got ourselves a drink. Plentiful, if you catch my drift.” she finishes with a wink. Clearing her throat, she materialised a small, ornate bottle and two chalices, using the former to fill up the latter.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you accept it and take a sip. Your mouth immediately punishes you for your heresy. The ambrosia burns its way down your throat, causing a bout of coughs and sputters as you nearly double over.

“Careful now,” Hysilens stifles a laugh as she tapped the side of the Chalice with her nails, creating a tinging sound not before she sank a long draught from it — long enough that it were drained, “The Chalice of Plenty deals grievous damage over time.”