Effervesce - 1.6

What makes a potion?

Not in the dream world, in the many video games that the other girl played, but a potion in reality. I couldn’t have been too far off base since I got a class about it when trying something similar.

Last time I boiled things in water, which was all I had, but this time I used the thick, clear liquid created by my new class ability [Create Alchemic Base]. Since my [Daily Ingredient Box] gave me a blue-grey goop, a green mushroom with a fluffy cap, and something similar to wheat stalk, I would try something simple.

The question of the day was ‘what makes a potion?’ and one part of that riddle was quantity. I was limited to three ingredients and my alchemic base, all created by my cooldowns. While my [Create Alchemic Base] made a cup’s worth every hour, so I assumed that was the minimum required for a potion, how much ingredient was needed?

My stomach was turning over just thinking about drinking another ‘potion’, but at least this wasn’t made up of dead graverat. It shouldn’t be nearly as bad.

Onwards for my hopes and class ranks!

First, I cracked the firecoals together to start them up, put them in a stone bowl, and put my copper pot on top of them like last time. It really, really wasn’t a good setup, however, so I would need to find something else soon.

After pouring a cup’s worth of alchemic base into my copper pot, I went about bringing it to a boil.

While waiting on that, however, I took my stone shiv borrowed from Jorge and cut the green mushroom in half from cap to stem. Hmm, next was either some of the goop or to throw in a stalk of not-wheat.

The blue-grey goop jiggled menacingly.

Not-wheat it was! Now, did I have to chop the mushroom and stalk up, grind it up, or put both into the boiling alchemic base whole?

“This time I would do it whole, and next time I’ll cut them up,” I muttered to myself. To discover what I needed, I had to try everything at least once.

“How long do I wait?” I asked myself as I watched my stalk of not-wheat and half my green mushroom boil in a thick clear liquid. Occasionally I’d stir it, but even after five minutes nothing happened.

Waiting another five or so minutes yielded nothing more except that my ingredients had nearly disintegrated in the boiling alchemic base, unlike water which might’ve simply cooked them. Wait, was that it? That they needed to fully melt into the thick liquid?

True, I had never seen a potion in my dreams that wasn’t pure liquid…

I sat there at my table for a while, occasionally stirring my mix in the copper pot with my stone shiv, idly thinking upon what I needed for the future besides ingredients. If I was patient enough, I could get by with just my first two skills in time, so the next step was tool improvement.

I wasn’t sure how they were used, but in my dream world they had complicated glass tubes and bottles filled with colorful colors used for alchemy. Well, at least that’s what it looked like since most of the games instead used a menu and progress bars. Since the theme appeared consistent across many games and fantasy, however, there had to be something correct about it.

Though they also always included magic, and I had none of that.

Sometime during my wandering thoughts, my mix in the copper pot had fully liquified and turned the thick, clear liquid a yellow-green color! It was so quick I almost didn’t notice.

I quickly took the copper pot off the firecoals to let it cool, all the while staring at the… was it a potion? The colors were bright, honestly some of the brightest I’d ever seen outside of Stoneheart.

Was it okay to drink something that bright? I mean, it wasn’t like it was glowing! No, it was just… vivid… yellow-green… It kind of looked like vomit.

I clutched my stomach as it shook in fear. Calm, calm I say, how dare my stomach turn traitorous in the name of experimentation! I carefully poured the thick yellow-green liquid into a stone cup.

Ready to drink.

…Did I drink it while it was still hot? They were often stored in vials or bottles in my dreams, so maybe freshness was important? My nose itched as the faint smell of sweet, earthy scent came from the potion.

Maybe it wouldn’t taste that bad? Just a sip, a small sip, to see if it was as nasty as the thing I made days ago.

Carefully, slowly, I brought the stone cup to my lips and sipped a small amount.

My dreams of the other world, of the girl who definitely wasn’t me, had influenced me a lot. Education, age, sights, words, tastes, and so much more that children in my reality wouldn’t, couldn’t ever experience. Maric often said I was mature for my age, and Jorge and Helen talked to me as if I was their age, not the ten year old I was.

Even if I never felt older or mature.

Due to my dreams, however, I could put words to this taste. It was sweet, even if I’d never had anything sweet in my life, with a hint of earthy peppermint. A strange combination that left my breath burning my nose in a good way, and soothed my sore throat far more than mere water.

I set the empty stone cup back on the counter and took a moment to savor the taste.

Maybe I was wrong, that potions weren’t my lifelong goal, and I should’ve chosen a cooking class. Dreams… the dreams of the otherworld could never do reality justice.

“Eva?” asked Helen. I nearly jumped out of my seat as I whirled around like a cat who caught the pet canary. Helen had finished her nap and was in her usual spot full of crudely carved animal stone anime figures, but now she was watching me intently.

“Y-Yes?”

Helen got up, gently setting her newly upgraded carving knife aside, and made her way over to me. A girl of few words and fewer expressions, some people found it hard to read Helen since other people emoted so strongly.

A lot of it was in the eyes, I learned. Helen rarely acted without purpose, every movement filled with intent, which I knew hadn’t always been the case. Before, she had been quiet and rarely bothered anybody, but after getting whatever her class was, it changed her.

Her eyes were focused, but she approached me kindly so I wasn’t in trouble. Helen’s fingers glided over my cheeks as her eyes flicked to the empty potion cup, then back to me. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes?” It was true, I didn’t feel anything odd. “Why?”

Stupid question to ask when I had been bedridden with something that would’ve likely killed me without Maric’s skills after my last experiment. Everybody had every right to worry, and it was worrying in itself that I wasn’t.

Helen slowly took hold of my hair that I kept brushed behind me, although I always used my fingers since I didn’t own a brush, and held it so that I could see it. “See?”

My hair was long since I’d never cut it. I mean as long as I was tall, so roughly four feet, and I always wished for something like hair bands or ties from my dreams to keep it controlled. It was an inky blackness, often blending in with dirt and stone when it shed everywhere.

This hair was not that; it was a vivid green. The very same green as the other half of the mushroom, and since I couldn’t see what little hair on my arms underneath the dirt layers, I quickly plucked some from my eyebrows.

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Green.

“It worked!” I yelled. My hands took hold of Helen’s and I couldn’t, wouldn’t keep the grin off my face. Sure, maybe it would still make me sick, but it worked! Something happened that wasn’t just poisoning myself! “It worked, Helen!”

Helen wasn’t as ecstatic, her eyes searching me over. “Not sick?”

I leapt off my stool and twirled around just to see my newly green mess of hair fly everywhere, filling my vision with stringy, unkempt green hair. The laugh bubbling up from my formerly-upset stomach had me spinning harder just to keep the green within my sight.

It worked!

Helen watched me for a moment then immediately went to get Maric. Okay, that was fair, Maric would have to see me eventually anyway, but my victory would not be diminished.

My potion worked, even if I had no idea how it worked, why it worked, or the fact that all it did was change my hair color. Was it permanent, did it have side-effects, or even additional effects beyond changing hair color? Could I do other colors?

What ingredient changed the hair and which one was strictly color? Maybe the mushroom did both and the not-wheat did something else? Was it the mixture that did it, and the ingredients did something else by themselves?

Oh the questions were bubbling up just like my laughter and giddiness. I needed more ingredients, more skills, more and more and more.

I stopped twirling as Maric came out of his room.

Ingredients were something I now got daily. Skills would come in time as I ranked up. This potion, although useless and silly so far, was one step toward my eventual goal: health potions.

It was at this time I wished for one more thing that I couldn’t get. Oh, what I would do for a notebook and pencil, anything to begin documenting my notes because remembering everything was going to be so imprecise and difficult.

For now, maybe I could write using soft white stone on the walls?

“Evadne, dear, are you alright?” asked Maric. Yes, there was worry in his tone, but there was also curiosity, a lighthearted joy for me that was just like Maric. He was the one who encouraged me, listened to me even when I didn’t think anyone paid attention.

“For now,” I said because there was valid reason to be worried. “But did you see? My hair is green! I mean, I’m not sure how long it will last, or if it’s forever, but it was my first one and it worked! Worked, Maric, and I wasn’t wrong!”

He smiled his usual smile. “Yes, I can see that. It is a very pretty green, why, I don’t think I’ve seen something similar in years.”

“Well I don’t know about pretty, but it is very green,” I said as I began calming down from my victory rush. Green, huh? Yellow like the not-wheat would’ve been better, that could be played off as a bright blonde, but nobody here had green hair.

Helen stepped off to the side as Maric gestured with one hand for me to follow. “Would you join me for a little chat in private, Evadne?”

His light, airy voice didn’t sound worried or like I was in trouble even if I suddenly felt like it. No, Maric was very forward when he was disappointed, I knew that clearly from past experience.

Helen went back to her carving, but those intent eyes tracked us until we disappeared into Maric’s room.

No matter what age I was, I would always be a child next to Maric. His wispy body that stretched seven feet tall, the way he glided when he walked was so confident and elegant, that coupled with his nice leather clothes always made him feel refined.

His room, likewise, gave off that air. No wooden furniture in here, still all stone like everything else we owned, but he did have finer stone here. The softer white stone, carved with flowery or flowing engravings, made up his desk, stool, bed and dresser.

Besides that, there were dozens upon dozens of strange trinkets and knick-knacks all over his room. Some he managed to attach to the wall, others filled his tables and upon his desk were dozens of small books.

Last time I was too nervous when meeting Maric, but only now it struck me as odd at how many books he had. Actual books, with a variety of covers from wood to leather, with pages from thick parchment to thinner yellow paper.

I had no clue how expensive books were, but I knew for a fact that we as a family couldn’t afford these. Maric also rarely left home, and when he did everybody knew why.

It was only due to me getting my class that I could fully understand that the books and maybe even the trinkets were a result of a creation skill. Maric was T-1, after all, a full tier above me, and if I could have both a creation skill and ability, what was his skill capable of?

He sat down on his bed while gesturing for me to take the stool at his desk.

I obeyed like the order it wasn’t and started fiddling with my green hair.

“Calm, Evadne, you aren’t in trouble,” said Maric with a chuckle as he crossed his hands in his lap. “No matter how unwise it was, nobody here will prevent you from your class, least of all me. Now, as you know we keep our classes private even to each other. Do you know why?”

I shook my head. It always seemed silly to keep details like that from each other since we were family. Skills were a bit more public because we spoke them to increase their power, but while I knew several of Maric’s skills, I knew exactly one of Helen’s. I didn’t know either of their classes.

“It goes beyond simply trust, Evadne, because while it may not seem like it now, the class you choose speaks volumes of who you are,” explained Maric. “And there are classes that can do volumes with that knowledge. Class knowledge is guarded for this reason.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Why would class knowledge be hidden? I had some questions on why I didn’t know things that seemed obvious, but was it because they actually weren’t?

Maric’s features softened, and his airy sigh made my heart hurt. My eldest brother deserved the world for what he devoted his class to, and I hated the fact that he would ever sigh like that.

“Not all classes are equal, even at the lowest tiers. I know you, Evadne, because I have watched over you. Just like I know every child who lives here, and will know those who have yet to come,” said Maric with a deep exhaustion.

“Because I will never ask of you something hypocritical, I will tell you my class. I make you promise nothing, and only ask you to keep it secret,” said Maric. “I am, to my forever regret, a [Caretaker of the Lost]. Not that I regret my class, only that it exists.”

My breath hitched as I tried to understand. Four words long, even if words didn’t equate power, indeed said a lot with just that. That it was of ‘the Lost’ and not ‘Lost Children’ like I felt it should’ve been also said a lot.

“I… think I know what you mean,” I muttered. “About revealing a lot.”

Maric nodded sadly. “And that is simply the name, not everything else that can come with classes.”

I bit my lip. “I am… a, well, it doesn't really sound great, but I’m a [Destitute Amateur Brewer].”

“So you achieved a class that can truly fulfill what you talked about?” asked Maric with a bit of wonder.

“I think so, no, I know so.” My green hair was proof of it, if not the fact that my class has the word ‘potions’ in the description. “My class ability can make the core thing I need, and my first skill even gives me a little box of ingredients every day!”

Maric’s eyebrows raised up. “Two creation skills, and even a class ability?”

“Wait, is that not normal?”

Maric chuckled while running a hand over his hair. “Classes have a variety of strange functions, with class abilities being a more common one. At T-1, dear, not T-0. As I said, a class reveals much, and I believe it is the ‘destitute’ part of it that will likely influence the creation abilities it will offer.”

“Oh.” That made sense, I guess. I didn’t really think about that too deeply.

“The words each class has are very specific, and very powerful. Brewer implies the method as well as the limitation, or even the potential for more. Amateur as well implies there are heights that you are not qualified for as of yet,” explained Maric.

He continued after a deep breath. “You, dear Evadne, are starting at the bottom, but can rise so very, very far if the world allows you to. I am sorry that I personally cannot help you with much, but if there is anything I can do, please never forget to ask.”

My throat hitched as I threw myself off the stool and hugged Maric. Truly, honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better older brother. “Thank you, thank you for everything. I love you, brother.”

Maric’s hand rested on my head as he gently combed his fingers through my green hair. “I love all of you, and wish I could do more. No, I know I could do more, but I am scared.”

I hugged him tighter.

“I don’t want to burden anyone with my own troubles, least of all the children, but it’s right in front of me,” whispered Maric longingly. “Tier 2, a mere moment away, and all it would cost would undoubtedly be the lives of those here.”

To have his chance at something better be right there at his fingertips, only unable to touch it for fear of those he cared about.

“But if I must burden someone with it, to my forever regret, it will be someone I trust. Even if you are ten, even if you have had your class less than a week, I believe in you, Evadne,” he said before returning my hug. “I hate myself for even asking it, but you are the only one on an Artisan’s path. So many, like Jorge, Helen, and Thomas have chosen other paths, and Beatrice continues to distance herself from us.”

Maric’s voice wavered as he clutched me tighter. “Yet to hear a child, years ago, speak of drinks that could heal injuries and cure illness, even if it was a dream of hers? To see the effect of that, today, that could lead into more possibilities?

“...To see someone who might be able to support me, in turn?” Maric breathed out shakily, controlling himself. “I despise myself for asking this, but please grow quickly, Evadne. Grow, and someday, let me grow as well.

Tears came unbidden as I dug my face into Maric’s thin chest.

“Please?”

I nodded, over and over, unwilling to look Maric in the eye. Unwilling to see what my eldest brother, my father in all but name, looked like in what was maybe his weakest moment.

“I will.”