Chapter 82: He Who is Doing it Best

What kind of player is most suited towards the Herbalist class? Most do not realize but this class is actually nearly equal in difficulty and academic rigor as the Mage 1 and Mage 2 classes. True, the Herbalist is not relying on the highest of intellects in order to achieve their levels, but it does take a severe understanding of flora in order to progress. A Herbalist may be pouring over their textbooks late into the night, experimenting on different plants for their potions, and then the next morning have to leave their abode in order to gather more ingredients.

Keep in mind that none of the Herbalists Abilities or buffs increase combat ability whatsoever. The player who accepts this Class is, essentially, guaranteeing themselves a life of needing help from others when it comes to fighting. True, a Herbalist could change contracts when their time comes, but that would mean they are severely underpowered and would be no match for those who have been fighting for some time. Of course, future contracts could lend themselves to offensive and defensive abilities. The two choices a Herbalist is given upon completion of their contract is Herbalist II, and the Alchemist. Alchemist gives the player not only superb potions which can buff themselves, but also always players to turn certain metallic objects into gold. The cost of such an ability is high, and so most never become rich this way, but it is enough for an Alchemist to keep themselves housed and fed whilst they pursue their science.

So, to answer my question above: the player who chooses Alchemist must be disciplined and diligent. They must also place their science and their art above themselves. They must be both active in the current knowledge of their craft and also a contributor towards it. And, most importantly, they must know to be supremely careful when testing potions never before consumed by players. New potions are discovered every year, and many of them are dangerous to humans. Please, if you take this Contract, just ensure you are adhering to the safety protocols of potion making outlined at the beginning of this chapter.

Esem Survival Guide, Herbalist Chapter, Nosterly Quarter

The lab, as he liked to call it, now that the others were gone, was littered with test tubes, vials, cuttings from plants found on his nature walks, and discarded food he had forgotten to finish. In the center of the table which he fancied his workstation, was a potion which glowed a soft blue, and pulsed like a deep sea jelly fish trying to illuminate the dark waters of its home. It smelled of blueberries and mint, and he had been staring at it for the better half of an hour as he poured over his potion making book. The book was opened to a page entitled “Historika Partisular,” on page 235, but he kept switching to page 72, which was entitled “Bomba no Mansa”, which had a picture of a skull and cross bones above a black looking potion artistically drawn to dissuade players from trying it.

“Oh, Marlon,” he muttered to himself. “Have you learned nothing?”

He grabbed the potion from its holder and, after a final sniff, downed the entire thing in a couple swallows.

Not so bad, he thought to himself, smacking his lips. A little hard on the mint, but overall he thought it tasted wonderful. He gently sat the vial back on the table and then drummed his fingers on it’s hard wood.

He waited. He could not feel any effects.

“Well,” he said to himself with a sigh. “That was a big load of nothing.”

Just as he was turning around, and just as he glimpsed outside the laboratory and spied the night sky, its stars twinkling in heaven, he collapsed.

Darkness consumed him.

Marlon awoke with a start. He was laying face down in his lab, and the morning sun was heating his face and its light stung his eyes.

“Opps,” he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. He glanced disgustedly at the potion book and then summoned his journal.

Fusion #134

Passed out for the night. Potion did not work. No scales or horns to speak of. Do not try again.

He sighed as he closed the journal. It disappeared with a poof and he tossed the pencil on the table beside the vial of the failed potion.

“At least this one works,” he muttered as he made himself a pick me up. The dark brew bubbled to life as he added the necessary ingredients, and he wondered to himself what Chase and the others would think of this improved concoction when they returned. Though it was still not as nice as coffee, it did have a brilliant mind altering effect which made one sharper and more mentally agile, or so he thought. The only thing he hadn’t worked out yet was the jitters which came after the third cup.

Potion done, he poured it into his only mug and stepped outside into the light. He had to shield his eyes but soon his vision came to him, and he surveyed the courtyard of Fort Lazerpail.

Since the rest of the guild had gone to Birchtown for their Contract Tournament, he had taken it upon itself to alter certain parts of the fort. Now, instead of empty space around the edges of the courtyard, plants which he had difficulty finding in the forest had been buried in the ground. He had found Moonlit bulbs and Tallow Drip, and even some Portly Ivy which now clung to the walls. Most of the plants would not sprout for some time, but at least the Dazer Daffodils he had managed to replant when he came across them during a nature walk in the woods.

“Oh dear,” he muttered as he ran his hand across a potted plant near Moonshine’s stable. It’s normally golden leaves had a brown ring around its edges, and the soil was dry.

He ran back into his lab and summoned his journal again. He found his entry for “Fusion #134” and began to scribble furiously:

Turns out I was out for longer than a single night. Judging by the Timithious plant I have not watered it in three days. Apparently the potion was far stronger than I imagined.

He berated himself for a fool as he found a jug of water and returned to his plants. He found similar signs of neglect on all the plants, and watered each one heavily, praying that the lack of water would not be the end of them.

When he was done, his stomach growled like a wild tiger encountering a fat pig. Also, watching the water soaking into the plants soil, made his mouth began to feel like a desert, dry and nearly dead.

Over the next hour Marlon found himself devouring the preserved venison which Chase had left behind and washing it down with water from the Lazerpail well. He had never been so hungry before in his life.

Or maybe I have but I just can’t remember, he thought to himself with a chuckle. Or was it a chuckle? Perhaps it was the desperate frustration of a man who longed to figure out how he came to be which bubbled out in mirth. None of the other Banes appreciated his thoughts on Esem, or where the hell they had come from. Everyone but Amelie would just roll their eyes when he brought it up, and Thomas had once told him, “give it up, old man. I didn’t even know the word ‘existentialism ’ before I met you. We ain’t figuring out nothing.”

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At the thought of the guild, he wandered back into the lab to check on some potions he had made. Though his long sleep likely did not disturb them, he wanted to make sure they were all right.

On a shelf against the wall of his lab were six potions which he had begun making as soon as the others left. He took the lid off the first one and took a whiff. It was a potion of Solid Might, and was for Brent. He knew the lad would appreciate it when he returned. He checked the other two for Claire and Alex, and each smelled identical. The next potion was smaller than the others, and smelled of lavender mixed with grass. It was for Amelie and was a potion of Mana Remixing. The potion book said it was ideal for scrounging up mana in a mage who had expended most of theirs on spells. Thomas’ potion was a cheeky one called “Steps of Silence,” and smelled like leather and appeared dark and soupy. It would allow him to step quieter than a mouse for about an hour.

“Last but not least,” he said to himself, and then thought how he really needed to stop speaking allowed when no one else was around.

He removed the lid on his pride a joy. It was a light green potion and had been incredibly tricky to brew. The potion was called “Eye of the Hunter,” and would make anyone be able to spot a fly on a horses behind in the middle of a moonless night. Chase would no doubt find this one useful and praise him for a genius.

For a while he imagined the guild returning to Lazerpail and being wide eyed with amazement at all he had accomplished. He had achieved his fifth level five days after they departed for Birchtown, and he was sure his sixth was soon on its way to his journal. When that happened he would unlock the Detoxify ability, and no plant would be able to poison him. He was sure that his ability to make potions would only increase by leaps and bounds, as experimenting on himself, as he had proven when he passed out, was not something to be trifled with.

If only Chase had consented to bringing me a couple goblins as guinea pigs, he thought.

He returned the potions to their places on the shelf, and, at the thought of the goblins, went back outside and found the map of the goblin encampment within the box which the guild had left behind. He pulled it out and scanned the forest, making a path for himself which avoided any of the little monsters. Once his path was memorized, he returned the fading map to the chest and went about gathering supplies for his nature walk.

An hour later he was in the forest, gently cutting some leaves from a shrub. The forest was quiet, and the leaves gently crunched under his heel. Despite the sun, the trees shielded him from it’s heat as he worked. Winter would be bearing down upon them in only a couple months, but today the weather was mild. He hummed to himself as he worked.

He absentmindedly scratched his cheek and was reminded that he needed to shave, something which he had been neglecting since the other Banes had left. The truth was, with so many ideas coming to him concerning potions he typically forgot to bathe or even to feed himself sometimes.

“And that should do it,” he said to the shrub. He gently stroked one of its leaves which he had not cut. “Thank you very much.”

He placed the leaves with the utmost care within his bag and then patted it as it closed shut. He then made to return back to the fort, and this time allowed himself to whistle as he did so. The goblins were far away, and any fears he had of the other finding his mangled corpse due to a goblin attack usually melted away after he had found a particularly good plant. Marlon was fine, and no such foul event would occur to him, at least today.

“Solomon, Dredman, Karkren, and Spade. Brothers not in blood but in arms and loyalty. We have returned to Fort Lazerpail,” he said, as he approached the entrance. The rock wall vanished and the familiar tunnel revealed itself. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls as he walked, and for the first time that day his knees were beginning to hurt. He nearly limped through the last bit and quickly shut the door behind him.

“Mother, I am home for dinner,” he said.

The gate closed, and he was home.

Since when did I start thinking of this as home? he wondered to himself.

He went back into the lab, but one look at his potion book turned his stomach as he remembered the failed potion which had knocked him out for three days. He gently closed the book and then looked around for a bottle he knew he had left in some box. After some rustling around, he emerged from the lab and sat against the tree in the courtyard. He surveyed his kingdom, such as it was, and then popped the cork on his bottle.

The liquid tasted like beer, but stung like whiskey, and left him with an almost out of body feeling.

“Wow!” He said. “Well done, old man!”

The most fun he ever had was making potions not listed in the book he had been given on Training Island. This one was the latest of concoctions which, at least to him, was a suitable replacement to alcohol. He took another swig which burned like hell but immediately imparted its effects.

The courtyard took on a blueish hue, and he giggled to himself. Was it a cloud over head? No, the potion was having a mild hallucinogenic effect, which surprised him. He thought he had rid the drink of that property but clearly not.

Last time I saw some little red men running around my feet, he remembered. He checked the ground, but saw no such delusions prancing around.

Deciding to be prudent, and not waste the entire bottle in a single hour, he placed it down beside him and then summoned his journal. He removed the pencil which had been behind his ear and turned to a page which had numerous scribbles and words marked out.

Song of the Seven Banes

In the axial age of Esem

in the year of 984

There was a guild which stood alone

and were warriors, to their core

True, one was fat

And another but a boy

But all in all the were mighty

and made the world their toy

Fair Amelie, she was a healer

And Chase, he led the crew

Claire, was a bit on the stoic side

But together, they always knew

To train and fight, and fight and learn

There was no better way

To leave their mark on mysterious Esem

Oh! The banes would have their say

And who was their prime motivation?

The one who kept them from fallin’?

Some called him old but we know him well!

He was the genius, they call Marlon

“Ah, he who is doing it best,” he sighed contentedly. What better way to live life? What better way to enjoy ones own company? While others scurried to and fro across the world in search of public approval, the only thing one ever needed was the pleasure of ones own company. He really needed to get the young members of his guild to understand that.

The sound of a door opening grated across the courtyard.

“Speak of the devil!” He yelped, getting to his feet. They were back!

He took another gulp of the bottle and the world seemed to tilt to the side, and then righted itself. He blinked a couple times and then returned the cork to its place.

The door was open, and Marlon could make out movement in the tunnel. He excitedly walked to the center of the courtyard and awaited the guild. He had so much news for them, and was eager to finally have someone to talk to after so long. Silence was golden, but having an ear or four to regale was certainly a pleasure as well.

“Um,” said Marlon. He held up the bottle and squinted at it, and then at the person who emerged from the tunnel. “Chase, I am afraid I have accidentally poisoned myself whilst investigating a curious shrub. Why do you look like a very beautiful woman? And where are the others?”

“I’m not Chase,” said the woman. “But he certainly has some explaining to do.”

“Ah, sorry, Amelie,” said Marlon apologetically. “Well, don’t tell that hypocrite I was downing this stuff like its the fountain of youth, eh?”

“Sure,” said the woman. “But I’m not Amelie, either.”

“Oh, hello, Claire.”

“Nope, wrong again.”

“Well, what name did the fair Emissary give you, my Lady?”

The woman had auburn hair and the softest green eyes Marlon could ever imagine. She looked at him with some amusement and crossed her arms.

“My name is Christie, and how in AIONs green earth did you get into Lazerpail?”