Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 6

I brush the garden dirt off my skirt and pull a small, leather-bound notebook from my apron pocket. It is time to face the music and write down a definitive list of the property’s flaws. I walk slowly from structure to structure, making a grim tally of everything that needs attention.

The cottage itself needs immediate work: there are two broken windows in the front and one in the back, several missing roof shingles, and judging by the water stains on the bedroom ceiling, a leaky roof that will cause trouble during the next heavy storm. I trudge back over to the greenhouse and count at least a dozen shattered glass panels. The perimeter fence has rotted posts, the barn doors are practically falling off their hinges, and the chicken coop still needs a secure new latch and wire mesh. To top it all off, every single wooden surface is desperate for a fresh coat of paint.

I stare down at the long list, and a heavy, suffocating wave of sadness washes over me. My shoulders slump. I flip to the back of my notebook where I keep track of my coin, and the reality of it hits hard: I simply do not have the silver necessary to fix any of this. I am completely broke, and a village witch cannot buy glass or lumber with good intentions.

For a few minutes, I just sit on the front steps, staring helplessly at the overgrown yard, feeling entirely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of this fixer-upper.

But sitting here weeping won't mend a fence. I tuck the notebook away, stand up, and tie my hair back securely. If I cannot afford to build or repair yet, I can at least clean.

I spend the rest of the afternoon waging war against the property's neglect. I rip out the thick weeds invading the walking paths, pile up the dead branches scattered across the grass, and carefully gather up the sharp shards of shattered greenhouse glass from the dirt. By the time the sun begins to dip below the trees, my hands are scratched and my back aches terribly, but the yard finally looks cared for. The debris is cleared, the soil is visible, and the cottage looks like someone actually lives here now. It is a small start, but it is all I can do for now.

(All images were created with AI)

Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 5

The morning air is crisp, and my fingers are slightly sore from yesterday’s milking, but I manage to complete my chores successfully. I toss grain to the clucking chickens and carefully fill a bucket with fresh, warm milk from a remarkably cooperative Shelby. With the morning tasks out of the way, I decide it is time to map out the potential of my new land.

I take a slow walk around the perimeter of the cottage, stepping over stubborn weeds and wild patches of grass. Just past the edge of the cottage wall, I spot two clear plots of soil meant for gardening. One is distinctly smaller than the other, both currently choked with a carpet of invading weeds, but the dirt beneath looks rich and dark.

My feet carry me over to the dilapidated greenhouse. Stepping inside, the sight of the shattered glass panels and empty, dust-covered tables makes a heavy wave of sadness wash over me. It is such a beautiful structure left to ruin. Determined to find a silver lining, I start rummaging through the old wooden drawers and storage crates pushed against the back wall.

My search pays off beautifully. Tucked away in a tin box, I discover small paper packets of onion, tomato, and strawberry seeds. My heart skips a beat when my fingers brush against one last packet labeled Songberry seeds. I know this name instantly from my hours spent studying in the Academy —Songberry is a vital reagent used to cure MOOD ailments in patients.

I spot a couple of sturdy clay pots stacked under a workbench, and a practical idea takes hold. I can grow these right here. That way, I will eventually have some fresh veggies to eat, and I will always have at least one reliable reagent on hand without needing to trek into the wilderness.

I bring the pots over to the light, fill them with scoopfuls of soil, and carefully press the onion, tomato, and strawberry seeds into the dirt, patting them down gently. Carrying my precious Songberry seeds outside, I clear out a section of the smaller plot and tuck them into the earth where the sun hits just right.

Finally, I do one more sweep of the greenhouse storage and manage to find a small pouch of leftover wheat grains. I head over to the larger plot, scatter the grains across the tilled earth, and cover them safely.

As I wipe the dirt from my hands, a warm sense of pride washes over me. I smile, incredibly grateful for the long summers I spent in my teens learning the basics of gardening back in the bustling city of Fawcliffe. That knowledge helped me at Starlight Academy too. While I didn't know much about reagents, I knew how to prepare the soil, water and care for the little plants and harvesting them too. Several of my peers had trouble wih all of this, especially the ones that didn't like to get dirty. Our Apothecary teacher wouldn't let us use reagents unless we grew or foraged for them ourselves, those were very valuable lessons. I might write a letter to proffesor Rosalind, she might be able to give me advise. I miss my Academy days!

(All images were created with AI)

Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 4

I head to the corner table, scoop up a small bowl of grain from one of the tidied jars, and push open the front door. The cool air hits my face as I step out onto the path, looking around for the chickens.

But as I round the corner toward the lopsided coop, my heart leaps straight into my throat. There is a strange man standing right by the fence, casually tossing handfuls of seed to the clucking hens.

"Ah!" a loud, undignified scream escapes my lips. 

I drop the bowl, spin on my heel, and bolt straight back inside the cottage, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me. My back hits the wood, my chest heaving as I try to process what just happened.

"Hello? Miss Apothecary?" a booming but friendly voice calls out from the yard. "Don't be scared! My name is Burke. I've just been seeing to Martina's animals while she's been away."

Burke. I press a hand to my forehead as the name clicks in my memory. I vaguely remember Mr. Pelton mentioning a Burke during our long walk yesterday. He said someone would be by the next morning to help me get settled with the livestock.

Feeling incredibly foolish, I smooth down my skirt, adjust my glasses, and slowly crack the door open again. I step outside, offering a sheepish smile. "I'm so sorry about that," I call out, walking down the steps. "I'm Merivale. The new village apothecary."

Burke gives a hearty chuckle, waving off my apology. He is a sturdy man, clearly used to hard farm work. He gestures toward the spotted cow grazing nearby, who chooses that exact moment to do a clumsy, energetic little hop.

"Good to meet you, Miss Merivale. This lovely lady here is Shelby," Burke says, giving the cow a fond pat. "Don't let her size fool you—she gives quite a lot of milk, and she loves to jump around when she's happy. And these chickens and the rooster over here will keep you well-stocked on eggs, of course."

He looks around at the sagging barn roof and the cracked greenhouse panels, rubbing the back of his neck sympathetically. "Tell you what. I can stick around for a couple of days to help you get your bearings and teach you how to milk a cow properly. I can also take the extra milk and eggs with me to sell at the village market so you don't have to worry about it."

I look back at the rundown barn, then down at my own hands. I have absolutely no idea how to milk a cow, and a quick mental tally of the repairs tells me I am going to need every single coin I can get my hands on to fix up this property.

"That sounds wonderful, Burke," I say, a wave of genuine relief washing over me. "I would appreciate the help immensely."

(All images were created with AI)

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)

Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 2

 

Mr. Pelton leaves me to look over my new property. I turn around slowly to face my new home. The sight of it makes my stomach do a nervous little flip. It looks so silent, dark, and imposing that I find myself taking a step backward. I am not quite ready to open that heavy wooden door just yet. 

Instead, I decide to inspect the rest of the property first, adjusting my heavy apothecary bag on my shoulder as I trudge through the invading weeds.

My first stop is the barn. The wood is weather-beaten and gray, and as I peer inside, I can see light filtering through wide gaps in the roof planks. It is going to leak terribly the moment it rains. Right next to it, the chicken coop sits lopsided, its wire mesh torn open and the latch completely rusted through. A lone rooster and three hens are busy pecking at the weeds nearby, paying me no mind at all.

I walk along the perimeter, clicking my tongue as I note the state of the fence. Several posts are completely rotted out at the base, leaving wide gaps that our local grazing cow could easily wander through if she felt motivated enough.

Finally, I step up to the greenhouse. It breaks my heart a little to look at it. So many glass panels are shattered into sharp shards on the ground, and the inside is completely empty, overtaken by vines and dirt. Repairing this is going to take a small fortune in glass alone.

With no more excuses left outside, I finally walk back to the cottage door. My fingers tremble slightly as I push it open.

The air that hits me is thick, stale, and freezing cold. I step inside and my boots leave clear footprints in a thick layer of grey dust. It is incredibly dirty and rundown. Cobwebs drape like lace from the wooden ceiling beams, and the hearth is a dark, cold cavern of old ash.

I manage to light the chimney and the stove to get a little extra heat and my dismay worsens. The place looks even worse in the dim light that now surrounds the cottage. 

I refuse to sleep in total filth. So I wander around the cluttered space, navigating past a lumpy, stained old couch and shelves overflowing with messy jars, until I finally spot a worn-down broom leaning in a dark corner.

Holding my breath against the rising dust, I set to work. I sweep the worst of the dirt into a pile near the door and use an old rag to dust off the writing desk and the edge of the tables. It is a small victory, but the room already feels slightly more human.

By the time I finish, exhaustion settles deep into my bones. I walk over to the corner where the bare bed frame sits. There are no sheets, no blankets—just a stark, exposed mattress. I sigh, too tired to care, and climb onto it, pulling my heavy traveling cloak tightly around my shoulders.

As I lay my head down, the sharp, unmistakable smell of musty fabric fills my nose. I close my eyes, block out the chill of the dark chimney, and let sleep take over.

(All images were created with AI)

Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 1

It took over three weeks to get to High Rannoc. The ride wasn’t great, there were a lot of rough patches along the way and it was very very cold. Traveling in winter isn't the easiest but inside the carriage with Melinda and her daughter Carrie wasn’t so bad. They are traveling to the neighboring town to take over the bakery Melinda's grandmother left her. We have a lot in common what with both of us going to a new place to start a new life. She barely knows how to bake but she’s still embarking on this adventure and I just finished classes at Starlight Academy and this will be my first foray into being an apothecary.

It’s around 6 p.m when the carriage arrives in High Rannoc, Melinda and Carrie continue on to Bucklebury and leave me at Town Hall. I say goodbye to my travel companions and enter the small building. 

Inside there is only one room, a secretary (I assume) at a desk and another gentleman further back also at a desk. I approach the first person, a middle-aged halfling female with bright orange hair and piercing gray eyes. She greets me and asks my reason to be there. I respond by pulling out the letter that was sent to me by the Apothecary Council. She takes me to the man in the back. He is the mayor of High Rannoc, his name is Pelton and he is going to take me to the cottage I will be living in. He’s a gentleman of the old sort, walking tall beside me with a stiff posture, gesturing broadly with his cane as he speaks about the village’s history.

The cottage is outside of the village, and it takes us about an hour once we leave the safety of High Rannoc to reach what will be my new home. I feel that there’s something the Mayor isn’t telling me bercause everytime I ask about my mentor he changes the subject. Maybe they are very mean, or lazy and will have me doing everything for them…

But when the path finally twists open to reveal the actual property, I forget everything I was thinking about. The plot of land is vast—much larger than I anticipated—but it quickly becomes clear that nature has been trying its best to reclaim it. The entire place looks incredibly worn down, practically begging for a fresh coat of paint and some desperate structural maintenance. A wooden perimeter fence runs along the borders, though it sags heavily and lay completely broken down in a couple of places, inviting the valley right into the yard.

As we walk up, the first resident to greet us is a beautiful, sweet-faced dairy cow who stands chewing lazily near the path, completely indifferent to our arrival. Nearby, a loud, colorful rooster and three speckled chickens are pecking idly at the weeds invading a small, overgrown plot of wheat.  

A small, weather-beaten barn and an attached chicken coop sit off to the side, both sporting loose planks and rusted hinges. Further back, a dilapidated glass greenhouse stands like a skeletal ruin, several of its panels cracked or entirely missing, letting wild mountain vines creep inside. Right by the front door of the cottage someone had at least attempted some smaller cultivation. A cluster of weathered clay pots sits on the porch, tightly packed with sprouting onions, leafy tomato plants, and a few trailing strawberry runners showing tiny hints of red. 

I’m starting to feel very nervous about this whole thing, especially because there doesn’t seem to be anyone living in the cottage, I don’t think anyone has lived here in a while. 

Mr. Pelton clears his throat, offering a polite, slightly apologetic smile.”I feel I haven’t been completely honest, you have been asking for a mentor, but we don’t have anyone. Martina, our previous witch is nowhere to be found, she dismantled things here and left the animals in Burke’s care. He’ll come over and talk to you about them, as for the cottage…”  he hands me a heavy iron key. "She's got good bones, Miss Merivale. Just needs a touch of care".

Looking at the chipped paint of the cottage and the wild, unkempt land, I adjust my heavy backpack, push my glasses up my nose, and smile back. It is a massive project, and my hands are going to be covered in splinters, dirt, and paint by the end of the week.  But looking out over the mountains, listening to Shelby's low moo, I know I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

(All images were created with AI)