Sign: Snake
Buffs: Serpent’s Kiss (Romance twice as easy)
Debuffs: Curse of the Unspecified (Start the game with no gender, no name, and no other identifying feature)
EXP: 1,266
Alchemy
Coagula (LVL 1, 34 SKP)
Solvé (LVL 0, 39 SKP) Ready to level up!
Theoria (LVL 1, 33 SKP) Ready to level up!
Botany
Sowing (LVL 0, 5 SKP)
Tending (LVL 0, 70 SKP) Ready to level up!
?
Cooking
Fire (LVL 1, 28 SKP)
Water (LVL 0, 39 SKP) Ready to level up!
?
Homesteading
Fire Tending (LVL 0, 7 SKP)
Tidying (LVL 1, 107 SKP) Ready to level up!
Mending (LVL 0, 15 SKP)
Speech
Logic (LVL 1, 23 SKP)
Linguistics (LVL 0, 41 SKP) Ready to level up!
Cajoling (LVL 0, 10 SKP)
Total SKP: 441
Inventory:
Auros: 2.65
Cards of Destiny: 5 of ?? Discovered
Names: 4
Evengeline, The Pure Snow (Holly)
Vitas, The Wind Thief (Sparrow)
Gillygad, The Stitched-Up Wonder (Pitchfork)
Zinia, The Serpent’s Caress (Snake)
Passive Skills:
(Theoria LVL 1) Pure Substances: Some metals are especially luminous. Some hands are more precise than others. These hands shall become sharpened scalpels, made of the most luminous Silver. Higher maximum Quality points are possible for all potions.
(Coagula LVL 1) Coalescing Membranes: The membranes of the parts which make up the whole shall be in accordance. Ingredients combine more smoothly, producing higher quality potions.
(Fire LVL 1) Ignited: The Elemental branch of magic lends this Sorcerer the ability to cook faster using fire. Prepare fried or baked meals twice as quickly. Get burnt less.
(Tidying LVL 1) Dirt Buster: The magical branch of Purification lends this Sorcerer the ability to ‘Bust Dirt.’ Dust and grime accumulate at an infinitesimally slow rate on objects you have cleaned.
(Logic LVL 1) Rhetoric: The magical branch of Entreatment lends this Sorcerer the ability of heightened ‘Rhetoric.’ The structure of your arguments is smooth, regular, and orthogonal. Spirits and people are more likely to agree with you.
Spells:
Wild and Overwhelming Growth (LVL 1) Accelerate the growth of plants and fungi. Enchanted plants grow ten times faster (Overwhelming Influence), BUT enchanted plants sometimes disregard their original form.
Mated With A Strong Bond, Lesser Baptism (LVL 1) Skill actions performed by the enchanted object grant the Sorcerer one-fifth of their SKP and EXP (Strong Influence) but the objects must be enchanted in identical pairs.
Just as the enchanted house from the first pages of Ma Chère settled into a rhythm after a few faltering steps, I found myself getting along with the poppets better and better every day.
They weren’t quite as frightened of me as they were upon our initial meeting. But sometimes, when I opened a door and caught them unawares, or perhaps got too close, they suddenly dropped what they were doing and looked up at me, their tiny shoulders shivering.
My initial hypothesis for this was simple: I towered over them. They were both only just over a foot tall, and I must have seemed a veritable giant to their small, flat-black eyes.
They craned their little faces upward every time I spoke. It was hard to decipher the doughy configurations of the minuscule faces, but I thought I saw awe and a shyness borne of intimidation on their features whenever I spoke.
Because of this, I tried never to be too cross with them. I did not like that I frightened them, and I did not want to reinforce it.
On that initial day, the poppets’ first, after I had fed the dolls tea and toast (they finally tried the crispy, buttered bread, but did not like it nearly as much as the sugary tea), I put the dolls to work pruning the monster plants I had enchanted with Growth.
I showed them how to use scissors to prune back the plants, and nervously watched as they handled the sharp shears, and tried it themselves.
Hansel held the branch out, bending it down, and Gretel swiftly snipped it.
They looked at me, blinking their eerie eyes, seeking approval.
“Yes, exactly like that!” I told them and smiled, and the dolls burst into jubilant chatter, of which I could understand nothing.
I brought Ma Chère out to the solarium, so I could read and supervise the dolls’ work.
The soft and reassuring snips of the scissors and the merry sunlight playing on the the pages of Gigert Giger’s confessions lulled me into daydream reverie, and I felt myself looking over the shoulder of the Master Enchanter, as he lived his life in the pages of his book.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Where have you been, young Sorcerer?
Don’t you wish to know the rest of my sorry tale?
Alas, I know the answer. I know you do not.
After this, there are no more spells. Turn away now, curious Sorcerer, only heartbreak and shame lay ahead. The shame, the strangling heat of it, will drive you mad.
Naturally, I kept reading.
But, it seemed the author was telling the truth. After having finished sharing the instructions for creating poppets, he gave no more practical advice or recipes, or spells. It was only about Gigert and the poppet that he created: the eponymous Ma Chère.
The story moved on to how, after much experimentation, and dozens of smaller poppets, Gigert finally came upon a winning combination.
I read along, and although I had no plans to make any more poppets, I found myself eagerly awaiting to see how Gigert would modify his ‘Baptismal Ritual’ that he detailed previously, to create his cherished doll.
But I was quickly disappointed.
I will keep her secret and alive within my heart. No one shall have Ma Chère. And no other man shall have any like her.
No, you will not find within these pages the recipe, the instruction for creating a thing like her. It is only for me, and I shall keep it. I have always had a propensity for jealousy.
However, despite this statement, the very next page described how Gigert shaped his doll. He pointed out how every doll he had made before Ma Chère had been no bigger than two feet, standing straight. He decided, for his new enchantment to work, Ma Chère would have to be at least four feet tall.
Make the poppets bigger, if you can. But of course, never as big as yourself. You do not realize, Sorcerer, how much size plays in the estimation of our station in life. The Sorcerer must tower over his creations. Always.
I knew I was onto something with my hypothesis. Gigert confirmed it. Size did matter, in some ways. There was something that struck me about the comparison. Something that itched and scratched at the back of my brain. Tess towered over me, didn’t she? And, of course, even after me and the Sorceress began to get along, her long shadow still intimidated me.
As I thought about the height difference, a creeping suspicion wove through me.
Tess was so much taller than me. So was Solomon. Most people I met were.
I scrunched my eyes and concentrated. Have I met any adults that were shorter? I didn’t think so.
I suddenly imagined the Sorceress with a doughy shape on the kitchen table, only this time, I was the shape. Of course, she would take care to shape me to be smaller than herself. So that I would always know who was the master.
I frowned.
I was being ridiculous. Surely, I wasn’t a poppet.
But the worry didn’t quite depart from me. If I was a poppet, what then? What would the Sorceress have me do?
The uncomfortable answer came to me quickly and clearly.
Ages ago, I remembered asking Cheerful about what Mistress Addlebern wanted from me while she was gone, and I was stuck, locked up in the house on Austere Way.
"Mistress, kind mistress, left you instructions! Things to do, things to get done, while she’s away. She said, keep the house spotless, the larder full, and the store turning money!"
If I had to leave this house, I realized, that would be exactly the kind of instructions I would give to Hansel and Gretel.
I shook my head, and chuckled. There were so many reasons why I couldn’t be an enchanted poppet. I knew that I bled, for instance. I had nicked and scratched myself, accidentally and on purpose, more than enough times to know that underneath my skin, there was blood. If I was made of dough, mud and water, how could I bleed?
I felt like I knew how my own poppets must see me. Even if I am kindly, there will always be a gulf between me and the dolls, just as there is one between me and Mistress Addlebern.
I had looked up from Ma Chère, thinking of what me and the poppets have in common. It took a couple of moments for my eyes to adjust, and my mind to return to reality.
“No, don’t eat that!” I couldn’t help but shout.
The poppets had found a stray vine, from one of the enchanted plants. This vine had a smattering of berries, all different shapes and colors, hanging like teardrops from the fragile green stalk. The enchantment I used to grow my herbs had the side effect of producing entirely foreign subcomponents in the plant.
Just as I looked up, I saw Hansel pick a crimson berry and pop it into his mouth.
Both poppets jumped when I yelled, and I saw them start to shake. I ran over, and tried to pry the berry out of the poppet's mouth, but it was too late. He had swallowed it.
“Oh, no, what if that’s poisonous!” I cried, “I don’t have any medicine, what are we going to do if you get sick?”
It was all my fault, I realized. I had not told them that they could not eat stray fruits. And the poppets, they didn’t know any better.
I looked with pity at the two, tiny dolls, holding each other and shaking again.
I had an uncomfortable recollection of a similar situation, when I had eaten a Belladonna berry into my mouth without thinking, and got sick. Aleister had to warned me not to stick things in my mouth, because some plants could kill me.
I shook my head again.
I am not a poppet, I reminded myself, because I bleed. I have blood. I have seen it.
“I’m sorry for yelling. Let’s leave this for now,” I said, pointing to the plants, which still needed pruning, “and go to the kitchen. I’ll make you more tea.” I said, and ushered the dolls out of the solarium, carefully watching Hansel for signs of illness.
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Hansel was vomiting bright pink chunks onto the kitchen table, and I was freaking out. My dolls had been conscious for less than a day, and I had already gotten one sick.
I didn’t have medicine to give Hansel, but I did have something else.
I quickly pulled up Old Toad’s, and searched for potions that help with poison.
I found several, but after looking at the descriptions I settled on a potion called Broth-Soothe. It settled upset stomachs and helped with minor, organic poisons. To my elation, I didn’t have to waste time solving riddles to open it.
I read through the instructions quickly, and found the necessary ingredients. All it took was some Balm and Allheal. Thankfully, I had both.
It was a very simple potion. All I had to do was boil large quantities of both herbs, preferably fresh. I had enchanted both with Growth, so I had more than enough herbs to spare.
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The potion was ready in a few hours.
Hansel was laying down on a quilt in front of the fire, and Gretel was busy stroking his back, as the sick poppet shivered and made soft groaning noises.
I took the Broth-Soothe off the fire, and poured it into a container. I was supposed to speak the name of Ladle over it, but I did not know that name. All I could do was trace the sign of Opening.
I quickly waved away the message about experience and quality improvements, noting that I had gotten the standard 35 EXP and an awful quality rating. I knew I needed to learn the Name behind Ladle, to improve it. Hopefully, the potion would still work.
I brought a teacup full of the stuff to Hansel, and helped the poppet sit up. The dough-clay of his forehead looked moist, like he was sweating profusely.
I gave him the cup and he took it with both arms. The potion sloshed around as the cup shook. Hansel took a big sniff before drinking and…
He made a face that suggested he had smelled something foul, and thrust the cup away from him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, which was dumb, because of course the poppet couldn’t answer.
He shook his head, and pointedly shoved the teacup in my direction. I took it from him, so that the potion didn’t spill.
“You have to drink some, it will make you feel better.” I said. How does one convince an enchanted poppet to take his medicine?
The little guy folded his hands over his chest, and looked away from me.
I was at a loss. I had no idea how I could convince him to drink the potion. Short of holding him down and forcing him, I was out of ideas. And I did not want to force him.
Suddenly, the poppet uncrossed his arms, bent over, and violently retched more pink chunks all over the quilt.
The other poppet, which I had named Gretel, started chittering, and waving her hands frantically.
I thought she was waving and ranting at me, so I answered. “He has to take the potion, it will make him feel better!”
She kept on chirping. I realized then, that she was yelling at the other poppet, Hansel.
I let the poppets have their back and forth.
The sick one, Hansel, shook his head again and again, but Gretel just kept talking. I didn’t know what she was saying, but I could tell that Hansel was losing his resolve. It took maybe five minutes, then the little guy hung his head, and stretched out his arms to me.
I didn’t waste a second, and shoved the teacup full of Broth-Soothe into his arms.
He took a tentative sip, then another, and then his eyes shut and his clay mouth formed a perfect frown. I could almost understand the chittering sound he made. It sounded like he said: ‘Yuck.’
He held the cup out. I took it. The poppet didn’t throw up anymore, and I counted it as a victory.
Before putting the new potion away, I took a sip myself, seeing what all the fuss was about.
My face stretched into a grimace, and I wanted to spit it back up.
“Yuck,” I whispered.
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