Another of our shipments was intercepted before it even left the Undercity. My trembling informant had not yet found the source of this offense. Very well--what I lack in mercy, I'll make up for in patience.
In the cultivair, I enclose three seeds in a bell jar, tinged with the vibrant green of swirling Sump fumes. From tragedy sprouts triumph.
The informant returned long past the intended hour, though I knew the name before the words left his lips.
Beneath the bell jar's glass, new leaves drink the fetid fumes and curved shadows of buds show at their bases.
The gentle footfalls across the cultivair's cobblestones announced my agent's arrival. I placed the package in her heavily gloved hands.
Within were my humble regards to 
4 Chembaron Eramis, accompanied by decorative blossoms so delicately formed and boldly tinged that only the sharpness of their scent might betray their noxious origin. The mighty are not born, but cultivated.