Luck: 0
Charisma: 0
Well, he hadn’t exactly been blessed with good fortune since arriving here, he thought to himself. And nobody liked him anyway, so charisma seemed pretty pointless.
Once he’d absorbed the contents of the messages, the gold lettering evaporated and he was able to focus on his surroundings.
He was lying down on a hard, narrow bed looking up at a vaulted beamed ceiling made of wood. The room he was in was dimly lit, and smelt of mould and wildflowers. It was cramped and smoky, and dried herbs and plants hung from pegs on the walls around him.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Matias got himself into a sitting position and winced as pain stabbed at his spine and lower body.
“Awake at last,” a grizzled throaty voice said from the shadows beyond the bed. “You’re lucky you can move at all. The Lady is not merciful to those Alders who stray from her teachings.”
“Who’s there?” Matias demanded. “Where am I?”
“Kept the use of your voice too, I’m impressed,” the voice chuckled. “I once knew a druid who was a little too fond of dwarf ale. The Lady turned his tongue into a branch as a consequence.”
The voice wheezed with laughter at the thought, and a large gnarled hand reached out from the gloom to turn up the oil lamp that was sat on a nearby table. Matias’ eyes widened as he took in the face of the man who had spoken to him. It was as ancient and as gnarled as his hand, with a thick brow ridge that jutted forward like a craggy promontory to which the straggly white wisps of an unbroken monobrow clung. Eyes of firebug yellow danced with intelligence beneath the heavy brow. The rest of the face consisted of a wide, bulbous nose and large rubbery lips framed by a shaggy morass of greasy white fur that covered his head and tumbled down over his ears before joining with the fur flowing down from his chin and over his chest.
“What the hell are you supposed to be? Bigfoot?” Matias said, now getting over his initial shock.
“My name is Sour Root,” the creature said. “I’m familiar with the term Bigfoot; it’s a rather archaic name sometimes used to describe my people, but I prefer Sasquatch. I am an Ancient Sasquatch in fact.”
“That’s real swell for you,” Matias said in a sarcastic voice. He grimaced as he heard himself speaking. When did he start sounding so whiney? Maybe it had something to do with the charisma loss. “Where is this place? The last thing I remember is being on the road outside Ironthorne.”
Sour Root smiled faintly. “Yes, Jhondey gave me a more than ample description of your encounter with Mardon and his thugs. Gave them quite a beating didn’t you? Though now you’ve paid dearly for it. You are now in Ironthorne itself. This is the medicine lodge.”
“Medicine lodge? Are you some kind of a doctor?”
Sour Root frowned and his wrinkled face became even more prune like. “You mean a physic? No, I am an alchemist by trade, but I also provide healing services for the villagers.”
Matias nodded. “Judging by how lousy I feel, you don’t do such a great job. You got anything to take away this pain? I’m in agony here!”
The Ancient Sasquatch shook his head. “The pain is a gift of the Lady,” he said. “Its source is Holy Magic, more powerful than anything I could counteract. The pain will subside once the Lady feels you have learnt your lesson.” Sour Root paused and gave him a searching look. “You should know all this though. The Tenets of the Alder are engraved in the memories of all druids who enter the Lady’s service.”
“Well, I got drafted against my will!” Matias snapped. “This is dumb man! How am I gonna survive in this world if I can’t kick butt?”
“An Alder Druid is permitted to defend themselves against enemies, and even kill if there is no other way, but once you brought down Mardon there was no need to keep on attacking him. He was defenceless and you meant to kill him in cold blood. Murder is the greatest of sins in the eyes of Lady Alder, and she seeks to protect those who serve her from committing such a heinous crime,” Sour Root rumbled in his throaty voice. “You should count yourself lucky to have her protection.”
“Lady Alder can kiss my nuts!” Matias snarled. “I don’t need protecting, especially if it means I end up feeling like I’ve been put into a trash compactor backwards. I want out of this game! You hear me Amy? Get me out of here! I’m not playing anymore!”
Sour Root shook his head in bemusement. “You are a strange man, druid. You talk as if you don’t belong here.”
“I don’t belong here!” Matias roared, and then fell back on the bed as the pain hit him with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer. “Gah!” he snarled, gritting his teeth. “This is a nightmare!”
“Life is a nightmare,” Sour Root said, philosophically. “Many of us don’t belong,” the Ancient Sasquatch said. “That is why we come to Ironthorne. This is a place for outsiders and wanderers trying to escape their past.”
“I’m an outsider all right,” snorted Matias. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Yes, the mark on your arm told me that,” Sour Root replied. “It is believed by some that there are places behind the Alchemy Worlds, domains of vast wonders, but it is heresy to speak such things aloud. You are a traveller from beyond, perhaps. An unwilling player in a game beyond your comprehension, but maybe there is a way to even the odds. You would like to escape the boundaries placed on you by Lady Alder, yes?”
Matias sat up again, now watching him curiously. “What if I do?”
Sour Root smiled, showing his long, yellowed teeth. A crafty light shone in his eyes. “You are no druid, yet you are forced to play the druid’s part by beings beyond the mind. I know how to break free of Lady Alder’s influence, if you are willing to do something for me first.”
Matias leaned forward, trying to size the creature up. “I’m listening,” he said.
Sour Root was about to speak again when an urgent knocking came on the door. The Sasquatch cursed under his breath and heaved himself up to his feet. The creature was large and imposing, clad in a grey woollen robe open to the chest. As he moved across the space though, Matias saw that he hobbled and needed the support of two wooden sticks. His progress was painfully slow, and whoever was outside the medicine lodge banged louder and more insistent.
“All right, all right!” Sour Root growled. “I’m coming aren’t I?”
Matias listened as Sour Root drew back the bolt on the door and pulled it open. A high pitched voice Matias knew only too well filled the lodge. “Is he awake yet? I need to see if he’s all right! He was in so much pain, have you fixed him up? Mardon wants to hang him, but I told everyone how he whupped Mardon like a whore boy and they all laughed and now Mardon’s in a sulk. Can I see him yet? He is dead? Have you pulled out his brains through his nose and wrapped him in bandages like they do in Eygtenta?”
“Hello Jhondey,” Sour Root said in a weary voice. “He’s awake. Come on in, I’m sure he can’t wait to see you.”
Matias groaned and sank back onto the bed. Something that closely resembled the sound of a herd of elephants thundered through the medicine hut, as Jhondey rushed to his bedside. “Matias, you’re still alive! Are you well? Did Sour Root take out your brains? Can you move? Are you blind? Did you pish yourself?”
The questions tumbled breathlessly from Jhondey’s mouth and Matias was forced to sit up again as the boy started shaking him vigorously. “Get off, will you? I’m okay,” Matias griped.
Jhondey leant back, grinning excitedly. If he had been a dog, his tail would have been wagging so fast it would have been a blur. “I’m so glad you’re alive. Pa’s so curious about you he forgot to give me a whipping. If you die, I’ll get a big one I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I’ll try and stay alive then,” Matias answered. “If that’s all Jhondey, I’d like to get some rest now.”
Jhondey shook his head. “No. I gotta take you straight to pa soon as you was awake.”
Matias sagged. “Really? I’m still feeling
like crud. Can’t it wait?”
Jhondey pulled at his arm. “We gotta go. Pa says.”
Sour Root mustered a sympathetic smile. “Best you go with the boy,” he said. “Jhondey’s pa, Jaggen Thorngrate, is not a man used to being kept waiting. Besides, the exercise will do you good. We can resume our . . . conversation later.”
“Come on,” wheedled Jhondey. “I wanna show you Ironthrone and my collection of droppings!”
Matias scowled, realising he was outnumbered. His body still pulsed with pain, but he managed to stand and allowed Jhondey to yank him along through the medicine hut to the open doorway. He was still wearing his muddied robe and walked barefoot.
The smoky interior of the medicine hut gave way to bright sunshine, and Matias blinked against the glare. When his eyes became accustomed to the light, he was able to look round and take in his surroundings.
From the front door of the medicine lodge, a wide sandy path joined with several others that meandered through the village of Ironthorne. Small wooden houses with thatched roofs were scattered across the grassy spaces between the paths, and men and women in plain tunics and long, homemade dresses went about their business.
Leaving behind the low, windowless lodge made of earth and wood, Jhondey and Matias walked along the path. The warm sunshine and pleasant breeze started to make Matias feel better, and a tingling energy reached up from the ground entering him through the soles of his feet. The pain inflicted by Lady Alder also began to dissipate and he started to wonder if she was no longer mad at him. The lessening of his discomfort was a huge relief, but he brooded on how long it would last. What else could he not do in this world if he was to avoid her wrath again? How could he even function properly if he was also second guessing himself? He was a creature of instinct, that was how he had managed to survive in the real world for so long. If he stopped and thought about his actions, he’d surely end up a dead man. Sour Root’s hint of being able to get round the Druid Code came to his mind again, and he made it a mission to find out what the decrepit old creature had been going on about. Nothing was going to have power over him, not this game or some freaky nature spirit he couldn’t even see. He could outsmart Calladyce and anything they had created.
As they walked, the pain faded away to nothing and its surcease chased away his dark thoughts. He began to enjoy his surroundings and took more of an interest in Ironthorne. A river ran alongside them to the east of the village which powered a large water mill. Alongside it was also a saw mill which had a wheel that was turned by the flow of the river water, and Matias heard the sounds of iron being worked inside a large smelter nearby.
“We supply corn, iron from the wetlands, and timber to the River Towns further west,” Jhondey said when Matias expressed curiosity at the various types of industry going on. “Folks don’t like living close to Feysecret Forest, so we ain’t got much competition. Pa says we could become a real town someday with a royal charter as we keep on growing and even become part of the Merchant Union. Imagine that! Pa would be a proper mayor with a chain of office and fancy robes. I’d be the son of a mayor and, one day, I’ll be in charge of everything! That dung head Mardon would have to watch his grubby arse then! Only I wouldn’t be mayor first. I’d have to wait for my older brother Grad to die after he’d been mayor for a bit. But he don’t want to be a mayor though. He just wants to drink wine all day and chase the pretty girls into the woods.”
They started to walk towards the centre of the village where a large half-timbered two story hall with a peaked roof of grey shingle stood. Jhondey scampered up to the front porch where Shunz squatted down, staring at the ground.
“Get out of the way Shunz,” Jhondey said. He waved Matias over. “This is where I live. Pa and the others are all waiting inside. Pa is a bit sore that you beat up his Watch captain, but if you’re lucky he won’t hang you for it.”
“Great,” Matias said, as he followed Jhondey through the double doors.
Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in a cavernous great hall with a stone floor with animal skins scattered across it and stout wooden walls. Light leaked in from narrow lattice windows. Oil lamps hanging from the thick pillars that braced the walls and a large hearth made of uncut stone sat cold and empty on the left side of the chamber. An arched beamed ceiling reared above his head emphasising the huge space, and a staircase led up to the walkway of the second level. There was a strong smell of tobacco smoke and baking bread in the air, and at the far end of the hall was a raised platform where three men were seated on wooden stools around a large round table, talking animatedly. They were oblivious to Matias and Jhondey as the pair walked towards the group.
“Another man disappeared at the eastern edge of the marsh,” the oldest of the men was saying in a thin, scratchy voice. He was long faced with ugly scars running down his sunken cheeks, and wore a black tunic and matching trousers. “The work teams are convinced one of the Hateling’s creatures took him. Now they won’t dare dig up bog iron in that area. This is the fourth disappearance in a month, people are getting real scared.”
“They’re just craven,” the younger man sat opposite him said. “Hang the ringleaders and carry out a few floggings. Also cutting down their rations to half will give them a little more courage I think. I’m sure that’ll get them working again.”
“Those tactics won’t work anymore Grad,” old scar face said. “More and more of the itinerating labourers are leaving, and a few of the farmers and established families are thinking of going as well. They’d rather risk the dangers of going it alone in the world outside than keep on trembling in the Hateling’s shadow.”
“Jhondey! Stop skulking down there and come forward!” the third man, seated between the other two bellowed. He was a heavy set man with dour, craggy features, and close cropped iron grey hair, dressed in a rust coloured jerkin. As Jhondey stepped forward, the man’s hard dark eyes never once left Matias’ face.
“I brought him pa,” Jhondey said, nervously. “Just like you asked. This is Matias, my friend. He’s real brave and strong. Not like Madron and those other two goblin lickers. He could be real useful ‘round the place. You’re not gonna flog and hang him, are you pa? I ain’t shown him my droppings yet.”
“Get in the kitchen and help Semmy with the stew,” the man Matias took to be Jaggen Thorngrate told his son. “It’ll soon be time for the midday meal.” When Jhondey lingered and looked at Matias, his father glowered at him. “Move it!” he barked, and Jhondey scurried away like a frightened rabbit.
Matias was left alone beneath the suspicious gaze of the three men. “Step forward, druid,” Jaggen said, “where I can see you better in the light.”
Matias padded forward, keeping eye-contact with Jaggen. The old man clearly ran the place with an iron rod, but Matias wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Matias,” he said staring defiantly at Jaggen. “The name’s Matias, not druid.”
The younger man, Grad, let out a snigger. He was lean and handsome with long blond hair flowing down to his shoulders and a small, neatly tended beard. Matias could see straight away that he and Jhondey were brothers. Though, whereas Jhondey was doe-eyed with a bright air of innocence, Grad exuded arrogance, and there was a cruel sharpness around the Cupid’s bow of his mouth. Unlike his father and the other man, his clothing did not look well-worn or homespun. Instead, he wore a pristine white doublet with a silk neck scarf a vivid blue colour round his throat, and under the doublet was a spotless white shirt with puffed sleeves and ruffled cuffs. He sipped from a silver goblet as he watched the proceedings.
“Insolent mutt,” scar face said. “You should show more respect. Whether you live or die depends on our good graces.”
“Thank you Krumer, I can handle this young buck,” Jaggen said. His face stayed in its hard expression, but a faint smile played at his lips. He got to his feet. “Thank you, gentlemen, this meeting is at an end. We will talk deeper on these matters later tonight. Go and prepare for t
he midday meal.”
Obediently, both men stood up and stepped down off the platform, filing past Matias. Krumer glared at him hatefully while Grad just ignored his presence altogether. As they headed down the hall, Jaggen started walking towards a stout iron riveted door near the left hand edge of the platform. As he opened it, he shot Matias an impatient glance.
“Come along then, druid,” he said, a hint of mockery in his voice. “It’s time for the talk.”
Chapter IX: A Clean Slate
Disliking Jaggen more and more, Matias grudgingly padded after him through the door. He now found himself in a smaller room with a thick fur rug on the floor and book lined shelves along the walls. Light came in through a tall casement window, and a heavy, claw footed desk squatted in the centre of the room littered with parchments, maps and several ledger books.
Matias guessed this was Jaggen’s office.
“Sit down,” the older man said, gesturing to a hard backed chair facing the desk. He went over to a side table where an elegant decanter sat. “Whiskey?” Jaggen asked, keeping his back to him.
The prospect of getting some alcohol after everything he’d been through made his mouth water. But he remembered what Sour Root had said about what Lady Alder did to the druid who drank too much and he decided against it.
“No thanks,” he said, sinking into the chair. “It’s bad for your health.”
Jaggen shrugged and poured himself a glass. He came over and settled into the padded wing back chair behind the desk. “In Ironthorne, everything is bad for your health.”
“Yeah, your welcoming committee showed me that,” Matias replied.
Jaggen let out a low chuckle. “Jhondey gave me a very vivid account of how you dealt with Mardon and those other two meatheads. Though Lady Alder did not approve, judging by the state you ended up in. It’s strange. You look like a smart man but seem to be a pretty stupid druid.”
The Alchemy Worlds: Enter T(he)rap(y): A LitRPG Adventure Page 6
