The recipe is as follows:

 Gather as much of this blue mold as You can, and cultivate it. It usually takes several weeks, so I explored ways to hasten the process. I created a concoction of Lycans Flower extract, mixed with camomile and wine sugar, which had the desired effect.

 The environment had to be moist and the mold required enough bread or fruit to consume. With the use of this ''growth'' serum and some Astral induction, you could visually see the mold's movement. Fascinating!

 The proceeding task was to increase its potency. The fermentation process had a significant positive effect on its efficiency. I combined a slight pinch of ''white fertilizer'', more wine sugar, a small pinch of yeast, a bit of salt, and some water. After a forced fertilization process, the mold had become strong, however, the issue of duration was still present. It simply could not survive after ingestion. Also, after stagnating for more than an hour, its abilities lessened.

 Thus, I added the ''Kybilhat mushroom''- a fungus, which grows all year round, on exposed tree roots. A parasite of unrelenting tenacity! Its paste is used in the University alchemy labs, to isolate and prolong alchemical reactions, in case of a necessary, sudden alteration.

 It took 3 attempts to get the correct measure, yet eventually, as it broke down and blended with the other ingredients, I could see my extraordinary genius shine once more!

 After a day of fermenting, where I occasionally used the Aastral arts to move the process along, eventually, a liquid had formed, which after filtrated, had a yellow hue to it. To be honest, it reminded me of urine.

 Yet do not worry, it was far from it.

 The substance itself could have sufficed, yet its longevity was still not acceptable. Taking several more attempts, I learned, that half distilled wine, mixed with the mold ferment, shaken, stirred, and heated till evaporation (Not fully boiled) left powder of an icy pink substance.

This was the medicine! The remedy to all suffering.

 It took little persuasion for Arvel to consume another substance. Unexpectedly, a fever broke out once more. I had run out of any herbs to ease it, so I had resigned him for death. I think he had long since given up himself. Yet, after about 3 hours of suffering, the man fell into slumber.

 For Arvel, the next day passed in the squatting position and he complained about internal pains, which, as annoying as it was, showed that he had regained some of his previous vitality.

 2 days later no new tumors had appeared, and the premature ones had faded. His skin was mending, he was eating again and complaining as usual. This time about headaches.

 I provided Arvel with another dose and told him to apply the mold to his tumor soars. The man still has not learned gratitude, to this day!

 After another night of feverish sleep, the man seemed rejuvenated to his prior health. It took 4 days to get him back on his feet. I was curious as to how well other people would weather this blight, with my aid provided, of course!

 So, now with the help of the first successful subject, I moved on to the next step- Spreading the word! With holy men roaming the streets, I would make the lowborn come to me. It was time for Sabinian to bring his name into the world!

 It was a slow opening. Arvel had taken it upon himself to save his hometown, by convincing people to come to me. While he was preaching about his great savior, I kept myself busy by making the medicine day in and day out.

 I named it- ''Astarazul''. Meaning 'stardust' in Elder Speech.

 Arvel had completely failed to bring back a single person, as many still believed the Fraustian method to be the only way. He never was the charismatic type. Until a man followed the simpleton and brought his elderly mother along.

 Once he referred to me as ''The beggared hermit'' and sneered at the rumors being true, I began reconsidering my offer of aid. Be that as it may, before I could chase them away Arvel helped himself to the premade Astarazul and shared it with the elderly woman. I would have scolded him, deservingly so I'd say, however, I would soon learn some important details about my creation.

 An exact amount per dose is required, for the medicine to be as intended. If given too much, which occurred here, the subject will perish. If given too little, the effects would be meager. The exact amount is half a spoon, which must be swallowed with clean water.

 Now, after the passing of the elderly woman, our reputation could not be considered the best. One particular evening, Arvel returned with a broken nose, as people had begun calling him a heretical charlatan. To think, some would believe so easily...

 This, somehow, had hurt my own pride, as I had truly put my heart and soul into this research. Also Arvels health... and all that.

 The situation was becoming apparent, we needed to paint our sullied reputation in a better light. And what better way than to help someone. Even against their will.

 We committed precisely to such a tactic! With some sleep elixir still leftover, we sent an infected mother and her son into the unconscious. After which we carried both of them to the tower, under the guise of nightfall, of course. From there, we applied the moss to their tumor blisters and politely forced the medication into their systems. It was, after all, for their own good.

 Curiously enough, on the second day of the procedures, a girl came to us, begging for help. She seemed barely able to walk, as the tumors and fever had nearly driven her to the brink.

 Who would I be, if I rejected a willing participant!

 This was spectacular, as now we had 3 subjects. What I learned had put our current situation into a more tangible perspective. After the procedures, the boy died, yet his mother still lives. She was, indeed, bitterly saddened about the whole ordeal of a dead son, but she still draws breath, and can always make another one.

 What was rather curious, was how the third subject, the girl, who was closer to death than anyone, also managed to persevere. Her face, regrettably, was severely crippled, yet her life continues. Perhaps she was of Arvels kin...

 The girl, unlike the woman, left us with praise and appreciation, swearing to tell others about it. And soon enough, indeed, there was a line of people waiting, desperate, to be saved by me!

Who am I, to refuse them?

 After close to a week of treating countless subjects, I had made several observations.

 Firstly, You lowborn must understand the importance of clean hands, when dealing with illness or injury. The sheer amount of soap I was forced to share... Embarrassing really! Then again, I am talking about Arvel's kind...

 Secondly, the survival rate of the procedure seems to be about 60%. I treated about 20 people through the week, and 8 of them succumbed to ''The Pus Rot''. Considering its prior lethality- a good statistic.

 Finally, Astarazul seems to be a medicine, which kills the body's natural resistances together with the sickness. I noticed this, when a couple of healthy men, more so than Arvel at the time, died before the second dose. Usually, I administered 3 doses per person, as that seemed to be the generally correct amount.

 Seems like during the procedure it is necessary to administer aid from herbal remedies as well, to keep the innate immunities strong. I believe Arvel only survived due to my tinkering with many MANY substances on him.

 HA! He should be loyal for life! This is the second time I save his life. Show some damned respect, you buffoon!

 Concerning Arvel, he fell ill once more, after the last subject had departed. Meaning, one is not immune to the blight, even if they've survived it. However, there does seem to be increased resilience, as the symptoms disappeared in half the time as before.

We were soon invited to set up shop in town. Many had perished, their houses stood empty. Thus, a man had offered us his late neighbor's house, as lodgings. Not only would it be more comfortable, but we could also reach more people, as in many cases, the disease had impeded people's ability to even stand, much less walk.

 I cannot lie, as tempting and rational of an offer as it was, a strange part of me did not want to leave these ruins...

 yet I am no fool, so we did anyway! There is nothing I deserve more than comfort, after weathering that accursed winter. It is a birthright!

 It took us a day of moving our belongings before we eventually could enjoy the warm rooms and soft beds. Also, Serbus seemed pleased with her new lounging arrangements, as she stretched and purred by the crackling fireplace.

 What a useless animal... yet, by now, it would feel strange to not have her around.

 That same day, due to the contagiousness of the disease, we prepared masks, which had an elongated beak, containing herbs and filters. We also began to wear our winter coats when dealing with further subjects. All to minimize direct contact, for Arvel's sake, really.

 Any supply problems we might have had were soon solved, as thankful citizens began bringing us gifts, food, ingredients even money, and some offered their aid. Someone even brought me the previous physician's alchemical tools, making the production of the medicine easier.

 I did try to educate Arvel on its production, yet, after his first and only attempt, he made the decision, to leave it up to me. After witnessing this one attempt... He made the right decision, let's leave it at that.

 One kind older man, who owns a brewery, brought me a 10-year-old wine. The bliss...

 Perhaps lowborn have some value after all.

 The smile on my face was wide and genuine, as our reputation had spread like wildfire and it would only be a matter of time before Lord Heimerich himself knocked on these pinewood doors of ours!

 Regrettably, our first guest of any stature was not Lockrifta's ruler, not even an advisor but the filthy parasite, who brought this plight onto these pitiful lowborn folks.

 With the escort of 2 burly, muscle-brained holy knights, Bishop Linchester knocked DOWN our pinewood door! Hinges and all.

 ''Well, that was rude.'' I tried to give him a piece of my mind, yet was quite crudely interrupted.

 ''What sort of heretical rituals are You doing on these Holy grounds?'' Something along those lines.

 As You might have surmised, he wasn't particularly happy we had achieved in a month what they had tried for years. It was very clear why they were here, supported by the visage of a pyre being constructed on the other side of our door frame.

 I also believe the man had scared himself, as when he had barged over our doorstep, instead of facing two of the rumored pagan men, he was faced with a couple of crowlike figures.

 The way his voice wavered confirmed it.

 ''I-I have come here to enforce the order of Lord Heimerich and the Great Prophet, Fraust, and purify this domain! Heretics! Hand over all-''

 Arvel never let the poor bastard finish, as with a very polite 'Shut the fuck up!' the Bishop was forced into shocked silence

 ''Excuse me?'' The tone of his voice and the surprise on his face makes me laugh to this day. There is nothing more pleasurable than putting people in their rightful place!

 ''You are excused!'' I waved my hand in amusement, seeing his face turn tomato red. I had to press further.

''What? You put a mere man above Your God? Quite the blasphemy, Bishop. How can we ever trust such a sinner?'' I stayed composed, as my hands were preoccupied drying the bottles and vials. It had angered him even more.

 ''Silence You imbacile! This is a direct order!''

 ''Incorrect! A direct order comes from either the Lord himself or a document signed by said Lord. To me, it seems like You, kind sir, are trying to take my possessions. That is what we call burglary.'' I gave him a smirk, but now thinking back on it, he probably didn't see it due to the mask.

 ''This is not a discussable matter! What You have is of the Demonic. We are only here to save You! This is a direct order from God.'' The man smirked with the utmost delight.

 ''Thank You! yet, we must truly decline. I am sure Your salvation has many benefits, however, I do quite enjoy my current arrangements.''

 ''Oh, You misunderstand. We weren't asking!'' He gave me a stern look, as he signaled his men to seize and, no doubt, destroy all I'd worked to get.

 As the holy knights came closer, one recoiled in agony, as a crossbow bolt had buried itself in his shoulder. I'm sure Arvel had aimed for the head, the crosseyed sod. Even so, the man succumbed to the pain and growled, almost tumbling over the door they had just knocked down.

 This only hastened the other warrior's advances while the Bishop drew his sword, surprised by such proactive defiance.

 I can't be bothered to recall his ramblings and countless titles he spat at me. What I will say, is that this was the moment I had to finally prove myself.

 ''Please!'' I stated clearly, charismatic composure filled the room, as my powerful voice echoed. ''Let us cease this barbarism, and hold this conversation outdoors. Shall we?'' I inquired with a court nod towards my door frame, as I removed my mask, placing it on the table.

 The Inquisitor seemed pleased if a bit cautious, as he ordered his men to leave the building, dragging the injured one to his feet. I followed without resistance, only giving a signal for Arvel to lower the freshly wound crossbow and get to fixing the door. This would be quick!

 As much as I had heard up to that point, Bishop Linchester came here as the leader of the Inquisition unit, who are those tasked to scout out and destroy anything of ''unholy'' character. He was an overweight, middle-aged man, who limped on his left leg while twirling a thin mustache. His talents consisted of a loud voice and theatrics while giving orders. I suppose one could call him charismatic, yet all I saw was a little man, crawling through a big world, blind and lost as to where he should be. A jester, nothing more.