“Young Prince! How are you feeling today?” Haemish asked kindly to the young boy of nine.
He had been lead from the Alchemical Lab through the many, many corridors in the Palace to the rooms of the youngest Prince of the Frelaine bloodline. They had been a powerful house since the Great Civil War many years ago, well before Haemish’s time. His Imperial Majesty King Borowyn of House Frelaine had been the Imperial Advisor at the time but when he had seen the kind of man “Mad King” Gaustaff Kristor had become and how he was tormenting the citizens of his nation he had decided it was time to take over and get the country back on track.
In his 435 years as reigning King so far, he had changed the populace from a cowering wretch of people to a major power on the continent of Fryst. While Darf had always been a small nation compare to its Neighbouring nations, it was a rich nation in terms of natural resources and mining opportunities. What had been owned by the crown for many decades and not exploited properly for the country’s benefit was now working like a well-oiled machine with the companies extracting the resource and paying fair but abundant taxes to fill the royal coffers. It was a system that had been working and further refined to near perfection over the centuries.
As for the neighbouring nations, they had been negotiated expertly into beneficial trade agreements by the king himself who as the previous Royal Advisor; was far more business-minded than many of the previous monarchs had been. While many of the larger surrounding countries had been waging war with each other on their shared borders, Darf was left unharmed and continue to benefit from all the trade flowing through it to opposing countries as neutral ground. Of course, the Darf coffers benefited from that as well.
The trouble with the Prince had started one month prior, something he had ingested had given him the status Diseased and nothing that the Healers or Alchemists had administered had done any good to him, the Diseased status had persisted. It had now fallen to Haemish to find the still evasive solution.
The boy was curled up in bed and looked pale and gaunt. He was weak from the extended bought of illness and none were clear on how it had happened. Levelling up or evolving his class had not worked. None of the usual solutions had worked, and now the prince was too weak for the Swordmaster of the court to keep training him.
Now healing only provided a temporary respite and so far blood samples that had been tested had yielded no meaningful results. But none in the kingdom were a Potion Master of Haemish’s renown, and he had a unique skill to his class that allowed him to distil an antidote from the poison itself. He had kept it a secret up till now, thinking the Alchemists of the Palace were dithering about but would find a solution. He would need to take matters into his own hands and hide his antidote until he could discern what its make-up was.
His skill Distil Antidote while powerful also had several very specific requirements which made it difficult to use. First, it required a Level 100 Potion Master and as far as he knew, he was the only one who had made it that far on this path. Meaning that one needed to be at least a Level 100 Alchemist and then choose Potion Master as a speciality and then level that to 100 as well. Second, it required the sample of the Poison to be freshly distilled. Third and finally it required at least 3cm3 of the Poison to create the Antidote. Just from the first requirement, there was no one else in this country or as far as he knew any other of the surrounding countries that could do what he was capable of.
Many would capture and imprison him for the single skill he had that he had spent a lifetime working towards. He had found a book of lore that explained in great detail what the Potion Master was capable of and what its specific requirements were. But that book had been lost in the explosion and as far as Haemish knew it was the only copy in existence. A lifetime of work and it had gone up in smoke. He hadn’t been worried though, one of the first skills he had earned a fledgling Alchemist was Memory Trap and so anything he read or wrote would be filled away for safe keeping in his mind. He would take this secret to his grave. It was the reason he preferred to live in isolation and did not want to get involved with many people though he did feel the longing.
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“Master….Haemish…..thank you….for com..ing.” The boy wheezed out.
Haemish had seen Boren Frelaine from time to time over his nine years. The boy had always been sickly and despite his father’s best efforts had not been able to achieve much. The youngest of the Progenitor Kings brood, he had been born with below-average abilities and stats. A generally weak constitution and for the first time in history a -10 Luck stat. This had plagued the boy through his years and with his Luck gradually getting lower and lower with the days, months, and years due to the way Luck operated it had become a slippery slope that Boren had no hope of climbing. Already at only 9 years of age, he was at -100 Luck. Haemish pitied the boy.
Initially, the King and his wife had been shocked that such a thing could happen and so that had immediately commissioned Haemish as a well-known Alchemist to find a solution but of course, -10 Luck was not an ailment, not a foreign entity and so had not been able to use Distil Antidote to cure it. Over the years Haemish had managed to concoct many brews that reduced or nullified the effects of Luck and the Prince had taken them but they were either very short-lived or ludicrously expensive, enough to bankrupt a kingdom or the ingredients themselves were extremely rare and Haemish himself had only been able to collect a small amount at great personal expense or mortal peril.
Luck was a curious beast. Most didn’t even have the stat but for the few that did, it had become an incredible boon. Unless you were born with it already negative. Haemish himself did not have it and didn’t want it but no one knew what made the stat appear, like luck itself it was unclear who and what would trigger it.
“You are welcome your Highness, I would like to take a sample of your blood if you don’t mind. I should be able to understand and work out a cure from it.” Haemish said.
“Of course Haemish, I do not have much left though it seems, please do what you need to.” Boren rasped through tired breaths. His dark eyes had bruises under them like he hadn’t been able to get any sleep. At his age he needed it.
“Thank you, Your Highness. This will take but a moment.” Haemish looked at the bruised arms of the prince, normally healing would have fixed that but his condition did not seem to allow that skin and tissue to be repaired.
For a nine-year-old boy, a child by all standards and even more so when one considered that most powerful individuals lived for many hundreds of years. His dignity and poise in the face of this level of torture were beyond admirable. Haemish found he had developed no small amount of respect for the lad, he would do everything he could to protect and help the boy to overcome his poor luck at birth. He would not let Boren suffer unless there was nothing else. If Haemish was honest with himself after the first few lacklustre attempts to reverse or solve the negative Luck situation he had given it up as a lost cause.
Perhaps it is time to delve into that again… his inner turmoil betrayed his lack of confidence. He was at a higher level now than he had been and with that came significant improvements to the quality and capability of his Potions. Maybe he needed to give it another look. If he talked to the King he should be able to get some funding for the project, he wanted to help the Prince and this was something only he could do. If it ended up pushing him further along his path that was a definite benefit as well.
Haemish took the sample from the child’s leg closest to him, it was one of the few places he could take a sample, Boren whimpered feebly at the draw but did not move otherwise.
Forgive me, Prince, I will find a solution for this and get you back up and about. It was more of a promise to himself than the Prince but it would suffice to firm up his resolve in finding a solution. …even if I have to give away some of my secrets to do it.
“Master Haemish, are you alright? Have you taken the sample you needed? I need to heal the Prince if you are done!” Marasa Brean had been watching him like a hawk the entire time and now her sharp tongue seemed to skewer him to the spot. Haemish was quite a bit older than Marasa but something about the waspish women unnerved him.
“Yes, yes…quite right, I am done. Thank you! I will get out of your hair….your way, get out of your way.” Haemish was flustered by the abrupt tone of dismissal in the woman’s voice. Good grief, she was nothing like Haren! He had found out that Marasa was indeed related to Haren, his older sister in fact, and completely the polar opposite of that man.
“Prince Boren, are you alright? I know that Haemish is not well versed in taking blood samples, I hope it didn’t hurt but he insisted that he need to take the sample himself. I will heal you now if that is alright? Don’t worry we are doing….”Marasa’s soothing and matronly voice wafted out through the closing door behind him as Haemish rush away as fast as his dumpy legs could carry him.
Psychotic woman! How could she talk to him like that and the next second she was soothing the Prince. No one could change moods that fast! His discomfort changed to anger in the blink of an eye, but that was different, of course, it was. He was nothing like Marasa!