Chapter 12

I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in myself. My comrades had shared the loot amiably, but I hadn’t paid much attention to what I’d gotten. Everything seemed a bit gray to me. Perhaps it was the dungeon. Perhaps I was just being hard on myself.

We weren’t often punished from the lingering poison. Whenever the poison exacted its toll on us, we all felt immediately sick, and our health bars slowly drained as we made our way back to Klayvale. I had to use Boera’s banner to replenish my mana. I had zero potions remaining. When I could no longer heal the party, things got a bit tense.

Clara was furious with me and she let her feelings be known. Alisander and Poppo were silently fuming, wallowing in bitter resentment towards me. Marcian was quite short with me, but remained the kindest.

I didn’t know I was supposed to be the one to deal with poisons. I should have known, right? I mean—I am the healer. Healing is more than just wounds. I gave a great sigh, feeling utterly worthless, even though we finally stepped onto Klayvale city limits, which should have lifted my spirits.

We’d just returned from a dark and long path that cut through kilometers of forest. Farms were laid out in a geometry of patchwork. In the morning sun, a condensed haze shimmered silver behind Klayvale city in the distance. Snow fell on our sleeves.

The poison acted once more. All of us except for Marcian groaned in agony, and lost another health point. Angry eyes were cast my way each time we were afflicted, and twice more until we finally arrived in the city at noon.

Upon arriving at the trading post, we disbanded.

“Listen guys, I’m sorry that I couldn’t help us with the poison,” I said sincerely and with deep remorse. I felt like a failure and it weighed heavy in my heart. I didn’t want to hurt people. Especially those who might be my friends. They suffered because of me.

No one said a word. No one even spared a glance my way. They just left, heading into the trading post, probably going straight for the alchemist’s booth. I needed to go cure myself of poison too, but what was I gonna do? Sit there in line behind them while they just ignore me?

I was bummed.

A split rail fence zig-zagged around the perimeter of the trading post. Snowflakes amassed upon the wood. I was freezing, but I leaned back against the fence, just to give myself some time to be sad for a bit.

Not ten minutes later, Marcian came up to me and handed me a potion. The liquor was yellow and effervescent.

“Cure poison,” he said.

He wore half a smile and leaned against the fence beside me as I chugged the potion. It was bubbly and tasted of banana skin, though nowhere near as astringent.

I felt instant relief. As though a thousand needles were removed from my body. I’d been holding tension in my stomach against waves of nausea, and that tension released. I could breathe more deeply, more freely now.

“Whew. wow,” I said. “Thanks, but how much do you want for it?”

“No worries,” Marcian said. “Alisander and the others are gonna report you to the recruiters booth. For being unprepared.”

“Are you serious?”

Marcian gave a single nod. “I won’t though. I understand what it’s like to be in your shoes. I’ve only been doing this for a year now. We should have asked you more questions. We could have even helped you out some too. We assumed you were prepared with the basics.”

“Basics hunh. I’m guessing the rest of your party doesn’t see things that way?”

“They’re upset. They’re going to look back one day and feel bad for reporting you.”

“What does that mean? What’s going to happen?”

“Nothing really,” he said with a shrug. “Your reputation will go down a few points. Unless it keeps going down, it shouldn’t affect you for now.”

“Did you try and talk them out of it? I don’t want my reputation to suffer.”

“I’m not their babysitter.”

For some time I said nothing. We watched the mesmeric fall of snow, until I started to shiver.

“Anyways,” Marcian said, launching himself up off the fence. “I thought you did fine. I’m gonna catch up with everyone. Look into poisons before you do anything else. Oh—and buy yourself some winter clothes.

It was too cold to ignore the fact that I needed winter clothes. While my heart sluggishly dealt with my most recent adventure, I eventually went into the trading post and found myself a nice table to lay out my loot.

I’d received a bundle of cheese cloths, a wooden flute, 47 silver, an amethyst, a pair of rusty daggers, and a beautifully vivid mana crystal.

After flowing my mana bar open and absorbing the crystal, it imploded into oblivion. It was worth 8 mana points, bringing my new total to 65. My target of 700,000 felt lifetimes away. Especially since I needed to perpetually improve my weapons and gear by investing permanent mana.

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I groaned when I remembered that something was wrong with my Five of Gryf ribbon, so I brought the flagstaff over to the healer’s booth in search of help. A bald woman with long bronze eyelashes eagerly helped me.

“It won’t work when you call its name?” she said. “You’ve been sure to strike the isolation rune after calling the ribbon’s name?”

“Yes.”

She unclasped Five of Gryf from the circlets and cast an impressively layered mana ring above her counter. The tattered silver ribbon floated in the center of the ring as though underwater, and reflections of her mana wavered over the item. Two circles of gold brackets materialized over the ribbon. One of the circles floated higher than the other and contained 2 brackets. The other circle hovered over the power level rune with two brackets as well.

“I see the problem,” she said, withdrawing her mana bar into her palms. The ribbon fluttered lazily down. She caught it before it touched the counter and clasped the chain back through the circlet of the flagstaff.

“Is it broken?” I said.

“No, it’s still in very good shape, rather clean too. The problem is that since you leveled it via the power rune, it’s no longer Five of Gryf.”

I stared blankly at her. What on Felke was it then? It was the same ribbon I’ve had since the very beginning.

She leaned in and said, “The power rune has two levels. So it’s now called Seven of Gryf. It heals 7 points per casting right?”

“Yea,” I said, feeling a bit dumb.

“Then there you are. It wouldn’t cast when you called it Five of Gryf, because the name changed when you leveled it. The isolating rune beneath your flagstaff couldn’t activate the ribbon since Five of Gryf essentially no longer existed. Try it now.”

I cast my mana bar into a small circle and turned to the crowd growing in the trading post. I aimed randomly and said, “Seven of Gryf.” Then I tapped the flagstaff to the floor and 5 points of my mana bar traveled in the blink of an eye to the isolation rune. The ribbon lashed in a violent wind that touched nothing but the fabric. A small pair of silver bird’s wings fluttered briefly over a random adventurer's head.

“Thank you,” said the target, hidden in the crowd. “I’m quite alright though! But I appreciate it!”

“Anything else I can do for you,” the bald healer said with a genuine smile.

“That was brilliantly simple. Thanks for that,” I said.

With great thanks I left the booth and took care of the rest of my inventory. The cheesecloth sold for 10 copper, the flute sold for a silver, I accepted a single silver for the pair of daggers, and I kept the amethyst. There was no reason to keep the gem. I simply enjoyed looking at it. I thought maybe I would gift it to Winnie when I visit home before returning to the Beginners Guild of Magic & Lance. I thought she might enjoy it immensely.

My new coin was now 93 silver and 30 copper.

For 40 silver I was able to buy a waffle stitched black cloak. The cloak itself was 25 silver, but I’d really wanted a gaping hood. Then the weaver sold me on the idea of a drying rune which was another 10 silver.

It was nice not having been the one to spend an entire mana point on the rune, but 10 silver was steep. The cloak was midnight black and the waffle stitching was so deep that I could hide the tip of my thumb in each waffle pocket. The cloak wrapped across my shoulders and in front of my clavicles. There were two wooden toggle buttons that secured the cloak comfortably. The hood was so large that it draped over my shoulders.

“Oh crap,” I muttered from my table in the middle of the trading post.

My flagstaff holster prevented the cloak from spreading across my back. The best I could do was slide the holster a bit to one side which remained exposed to the elements.

Adventurers around me equipped their weapons in all sorts of manner. I was the only one with a flagstaff, but tons of warriors had massive weapons they simply carried in one hand.

After deliberating over a tankard of creamed ale, I decided to sell the holster and simply carry the flagstaff. I netted 1 silver for it.

There were still other things I needed, such as refilling the empty potion bottles that clattered in my bag, and maybe buying a few cure poisons, but I wanted to gather myself before going on another dungeon run or quest again.

After finishing up my creamed ale, I sought out the alchemist. Three men manned the alchemist's booth, and the shortest of them was happy to take the time to chat with me.

“Waldor,” he said, thrusting out a hand in greeting.

“Tosin,” I said, matching the strength of his grip. “I had a question about cure poison. I kinda let my party down because I didn’t have any cure poisons or anything and I’m looking for advice going forward.”

“Ah, the most overlooked healing. Yes. That you’ve come here, I wager you’re lookin for potions aye?

“Yea, I guess so.”

“There are tons of different poisons out there and they all work differently. You’ll want to find yourself a book of afflictions. Pricey, but it has all manner of symbols you’ll see on your health bar—If you’ve got a Healing Lens enchantment—I’m assuming you—being a healer—you’ve got that aye?”

“Yea, I do. Lvl 1 Healing Lens enchantment. Where can I find this book?”

“Well we sell them here. 50 gold per book. You’ll see descriptions for all manner of afflictions and poisons. There’s a bit of lore in each book, and tips on dealing with specific afflictions.”

“50 gold!”

“Aye. That’s just for the most recent update. For 500 gold, you receive a clone copy of the master. Any afflictions that are added to the ongoing list—it’s ongoing, naturally—are updated in your copy as well.”

“I-I can’t afford that. I can’t even afford the one for 50 gold.”

“Here’s what I’ll tell you then—no other way around it—buy yourself as many cure poisons as you can. We sell em for 10 silver each. Or…”

“Or?”

“There are some runes that cure poison. Those are usually divine made though.”

Waldor pointed at my flagstaff articles.

“You seem like a collector there. I recognize Borea. Do some sniffin round, put your wee legs to work and find a temple that’ll grant you a ward, or a cure poison item or somethin. Meantime—get yourself some of our cure poisons—they’re the yellow kind.”

“Alright. Two for now then.”

“20 silver, young healer—healer I say, but you’re dressed rogue-ish you are.”

I counted out the twenty silver in exchange for the bottles of yellow cure poison. I gently buried them beneath the empty bottles in my bag, careful not to break any.

“Any other advice,” I said.

“For sure—get yourself an inventory pouch. Not only will you be able to store more, your GLASS bottles will fare better.”

With that he gave a wink and turned his attention to another waiting patron.

“That’s right,” I mumbled as I turned from the booth and began making my way upstairs to my rented room. “Garmar had mentioned getting an inventory pouch.”

I gave another great sigh as I passed the bar and climbed the stairs.

“Great, I’ll have a single copper to my name by the time I return to Verglade city.”