Apothecaria Winter week 13 pt 3

I open my eyes in a room that is absolutely freezing. My breath forms faint, ghostly plumes in the morning air. The heavy traveling cloak pulled over my shoulders did its best, but looking over at the hearth, the glowing embers from last night have completely died out.

I shiver as I climb out of bed. First things first: warmth. I kneel by the hearth, clearing away the dead ash and carefully stacking fresh wood over the kindling. After a few tries, a spark catches, and a bright, crackling fire springs to life. I grab the little kettle and after washing it and filling it with water I put it on the stove to boil.

While the water heats up, I retrieve my satchel from the floor corner. Digging through it, my fingers find a small, tightly tied pouch of tea leaves I brought from home. I drop a handful into my tin mug just as the water begins to bubble and steam. Pouring the hot water over the leaves, the sharp, comforting aroma of herbal tea fills the small room, instantly making the cottage feel a little more like a home.

Taking a slow, warm sip, I look around. My sweeping and dusting from last night successfully cleared out the thick blankets of cobwebs and grey dust, but the place is still a chaotic mess. Jars, parchment, and tools are scattered everywhere.

I set my mug down and decide to bring some order to this sanctuary. I start with the tables, picking up the glass bottles and scattered reagents. I carefully wipe down the sticky glass bottoms, categorize the ingredients by color and type, and align them neatly along the shelves of the middle bookcase.

Next, I move to the writing desk. Loose sheets of parchment, old sketches, and blank logs are splayed across the wooden surface. As I begin stacking the loose papers into a tidy pile, a folded, heavy piece of parchment catches my eye. It was hidden right beneath a stack of blank ledger sheets. Turning it over, I realize it is a letter addressed to whoever took over the cottage.

My heart beats a little faster as I unfold it and read the messy handwriting of the previous apothecary:

"If you're reading this, I'm probably missing... or dead. Let's hope just missing. 

I wish I could be there to explain all this in person but life takes unexpected paths. Hopefully my Grimoire will be enough to guide you. 

So first up, welcome to High Rannoc! It's a nice place, even if the people can be a little disaster prone. You'll be taking my place as Village Witch and will be responsible for curing them of whatever injuries or diseases they've managed to pick up. Thankfully curing folk ain't that hard. Just a matter of finding out what's wrong with them and checking what reagents work for that."

I stare at the parchment, the warmth of my tea forgotten for a moment. A missing witch, a disaster-prone town, and a heavy grimoire waiting to be opened. I focus my attention on the massive, leather-bound volume resting at the back of the desk.

My fingers trace the worn cover before I gently lift it open. The heavy pages creak as they turn, revealing a hand-drawn map neatly tucked inside the front cover. It details High Rannoc and its surrounding wilderness, cleanly marking the boundaries of where an apothecary can safely forage.

According to Martina's notes, there are four immediate locales I can access right now for my gathering trips:

• Glimmerwood Grove, a nearby woodland pulsing with ambient magic.

• Meltwater Loch, the chilly waters fed by mountain runoff.

• Moonbreaker Mountain, whose steep, rocky slopes loom over the valley.

• Hero's Hollow, a local dungeon that holds a strange allure for rare ingredients.

Further out on the edges of the parchment, the map shows other regions deeply shrouded in mystery or blocked off by hazardous terrain. the witch has explicitly noted these as inaccessible to a novice like me: The Cloud Isles, Blastfire Bog, Dreamwater Depths, and a completely unnerving, warped territory labeled simply as The Strange.

I flip past the map and dive straight into the body of the text. I lose track of time entirely, spending quite a while turning page after page, completely engrossed in the wealth of knowledge left behind. The grimoire lists every single reagent native to these lands, detailing exactly what conditions they cure, their magical properties, and the precise methods required to prepare them—whether they need to be ground down in a mortar, distilled in the alembic, or boiled in the cauldron.

Coincidentaly these three tools are present in the cottage so I will have what I need to at least start treating patients. That calms me a little, I didn't really bring any tools thinking my teacher would have the necesary instruments but now, without a teacher in site it means that I'm going at it completely alone. I don't want to start panicking so I get up and go outside to see to the cow and chickens.

(All images were created with AI)