The Alchemy Worlds: Enter T(he)rap(y): A LitRPG Adventure

by Victor Justice

  Matias nodded as he took this in. Taking up with a company of adventurers sounded enticing, but he’d still prefer to strike out on his own and he’d rather make money out of the skills he learnt. “Okay, I get that is useful. So, show me what you got, old timer.”

  “By all means,” the Sasquatch replied with a wicked grin on his face.

  Five hours later, Matias’ arms and back were aching like crazy from grinding up ingredients for a load of healing potions. The potion consisted of the bright yellow and red spotted petals of a flower called a Firedrop, along with a dark brown moss called Bleak Stubble, mixed up with the crushed remains of a long purple beetle known as a Pretty Polly, for some bizarre reason. Sour Root kept the dead beetles preserved in a large jar that contained a foul smelling preserving agent. The agent made the insects extremely soft and they released an even worse odour when his pestle shattered their fragile bodies, releasing the watery innards inside to mix with the other ground up ingredients to create the potion. The acrid smell made his eyes water and his throat sting. And he sure didn’t relish drinking the vile gruel as he poured it into each of the little bottles that Sour Root had set out on the workbench.

  “This is only the half of it,” the Ancient Sasquatch had warned. “Wait until we start working on the really powerful potions. That’s when you will need a strong stomach.”

  Matias didn’t even want to dwell on that prospect. For his efforts, though, he received a few more updates:

  New Ability Learnt: Alchemy

  Congratulations! Herb Lore Level 1 (class specialty) increased by 20%

  Experience points gained: 30

  Experience points needed for next level: 155

  Keep going Matias. Focusing on the healing arts of the druid and specific skills of your class will generate a greater number of experience points and make you more effective in the Alchemy Worlds. Remember, you are here to help others, not yourself.

  “Nobody ever helped me,” he grumbled. “Why should I start helping them?”

  He received no answer. He was stuck here and had to make the best of it. As it happened though, over the coming days, he found grinding up ingredients strangely calming. He quickly began to memorise the various plants that grew in the forest and their different properties from the lessons Sour Root gave him, along with reading through the ancient encyclopaedia of herb lore the Sasquatch kept in the medicine lodge. He also took to the archery lessons as well, practicing everyday behind the lodge when his duties were done. An added bonus had come through the fact that he rarely saw Jhondey nowadays as well. The lad’s habit for wandering off and exploring the forest had landed him in hot water, and for this latest infraction of bringing Matias home with him, Jhondey was now condemned to kitchen duty for the foreseeable future, scrubbing cooking pots and being clipped round the ear by Aunt Semmy until his father felt he had learnt his lesson.

  This respite gave Matias a chance to rest his ears and find out about Ironthorne on his own—though there wasn’t that much to learn. It was a small, rough and ready settlement, where the bulk of the population eked out a hard living digging up bog iron in the nearby marshlands, worked small farmsteads and cut down trees for timber. The more skilled villagers were assigned to operate the saw mill and the smelter respectively. There was a general store where various supplies could be obtained, including clothes and weapons, but the store only accepted small wooden disks called chits as currency instead of the game world money. Chits were paid at the end of the week and the wage was pretty meagre. Most of the workers’ pay went on ale and extra food, and Matias quickly sussed out that by using the chit system Jaggen made it harder for people to save up any real money so they could go and make a new life for themselves somewhere else.

  All in all, Ironthorne was just like any other backwoods town to be found all over the real world, except for one big difference: the Gibbet Tower. Matias had been shown it on his third day in the village when it became apparent that he intended to remain for the foreseeable future. Sour Root had taken him along a narrow trail through a corpse of trees at the rear of the settlement, where a makeshift scaffold rose up about forty feet into the air. The scaffold was an ungainly thing with various beams sticking out at odd angles, where the bodies of those who broke the law of Ironthorne had been left hanging, rotting away until they were nothing but mouldy skeletons. Crows adorned the Gibbet Tower, pecking at eye sockets and cawing down mockingly at them as they took in the grisly sight.

  “Jaggen rules with an iron hand,” Sour Root said. “Along with his watch dog Krumer, he’s the law, judge, jury and executioner. He’s not as bad as some of the great lords I’ve been in service with, and he has a certain liking for you after you put Mardon in his place, but make no mistake, put a foot out of line and you’ll be up there with those other wretches as food for crows. No matter how smart and tough you think you are, Jaggen is ten times wilier and ruthless. He built this place through sheer willpower alone and he holds it together with the same force.”

  It was a sobering sight and one Matias was glad to get away from. He’d play by the rules, he’d be an idiot not to, but he would bide his time. He needed to learn if he was going to survive and get out of here.

  To that end, he kept his mouth shut and his ears open. It was pretty easy to do, as few people spoke to him. Jhondey was being kept too busy to come and irritate him, and other than getting extra portions and come-on looks from Aunt Semmy, he was very much left alone. He picked up a few pieces of gossip from listening to conversations in the hall at mealtime, but obtained nothing that was really useful. One topic dominated, though it was barely spoken of and even then in hushed and fearful tones. It hung like a shadow over the whole settlement, creating an atmosphere of tension and dread.

  One evening, after a long day of crafting potions, Matias and Sour Root were sitting on the porch of the medicine lodge, enjoying the cool air and the sound of the crickets, when Matias decided to question the Sasquatch outright about the source of this brooding fear.

  “What’s so special about this Hateling dude?” he asked, bluntly. “Why is everyone wetting themselves whenever he’s mentioned?”

  Sour Root eased back in his rocking chair and puffed on the long clay pipe jutting from his mouth. “It shows that you have half a brain to speak so lightly of him,” the Ancient Sasquatch replied.

  “So, I got half a brain,” Matias said, with an easy smile. He always felt relaxed when he breathed in the smoke that wafted from Sour Root’s pipe. The special tobacco he used was kept safely locked away where Matias couldn’t find it. “Why don’t you educate me? You like the sound of your own voice.”

  Sour Root let out a low growl. “You are as cocky and as half-witted as that imbecile Jhondey. Both of you will come to sorry ends, mark my words.”

  “Just tell me about the Hateling,” Matias insisted. “Is he really so bad?”

  “The Hateling was once a powerful Seelie prince who ruled a great fey kingdom in the very heart of Feysecret Forest. His court was a place of wonder and beauty, and he governed wisely for countless eons. But men began to spread across the lands, leaving the darkness of their caves and the warmth of their fire pits, to build towns and cities and to tame the wild land, cutting down trees to make way for pastures and farms. The ancient fey races retreated from their advance as men sought to claim Feysecret Forest as their own. The prince, outraged by the arrogance of this upstart race, sought to destroy these men who threatened his domain. Though ancient and powerful, he could not defeat them and, desperate for victory, he turned to darker magicks to help him. To that end, he made a pact with the twisted Count Rowan.”

  “I’ve heard of this guy, Count Rowan, before,” Matias said. “Jaggen mentioned him and not in a good way. What’s his deal?”

  “In the beginning, the Five Forest Powers were pledged to defend the natural balance of Sumarros. The Five are nature deities aligned to the Grey Aspect of Neutrality. The Aspect demands that all creatur
es be treated equally, rewarded for good deeds and punished for acts of cruelty and selfishness, and the balance to be kept in place. Count Rowan, once a devoted adherent of this principle, began to see things differently. He revels in the chaos and destruction of the Red Aspect and seeks to upset the natural order and bring ruin and devastation to Sumarros.”

  Matias smiled to himself. “Sounds like my kind of guy. Why couldn’t I have been made a Rowan Druid?”

  “You should be grateful that you are not,” Sour Root snorted. “A Rowan Druid is a tormented soul, consumed by madness and depravity. In exchange for power, the Seelie prince accepted this fate and entered his service. He allowed Rowan’s powers to twist and corrupt his body, until he was transformed into the Hateling. The prince was a shell of his former self, a spectre of malice. The Hateling is a savage entity that despises all those who follow the light and are pure hearted.”

  “Despises all those who follow the light and pure hearted, huh?” Matias said. “Well guys like us don’t have much to worry about then, do we? I’m surprised he ain’t dropping by for a beer and a smoke.”

  “Your ignorance will be your death!” Sour Root fumed in exasperation. “The Hateling despises humans with a vengeance as he does all other living things. He will not be content until he has destroyed everything that is not as foul and corrupted as him, and that includes humans, though most emulate such wickedness.”

  “So what happened next? I’m taking it the Hateling didn’t win the war?”

  “In his new abominable form, the Hateling sought to exterminate his own kind as much as he sought to wipe out men,” the Sasquatch explained. “This drove the fey into an alliance with humans and, together, they managed to defeat the Hateling. He was driven into the depths of Feysecret Forest and has remained there ever since.”

  “Why didn’t they just kill the Hateling?” Matias asked. “Sounds like the simplest solution to me.”

  Sour Root shook his shaggy head and smoked on his pipe. “It is no easy task killing a being of such magic, and the fey still remembered what a kind and noble ruler the prince had once been. It was hoped that the Hateling would be restored to his former self one day, so to that end, after he was forced to retreat into a deep burrow beneath the forest, fey spell casters and human wizards worked together to create a powerful magical barrier that was set around his lair, imprisoning him forever.”

  Matias frowned. “If he’s trapped, how come he’s causing so much trouble now?”

  The Sasquatch’s face darkened. “That is what we have failed to determine. For many years, the Hateling remained dormant, and was all but forgotten. But that has changed. At first, there were just rumours, but then dark creatures began harassing the fey communities and smaller human villages in the northern parts of the forest. There were raids, coordinated and organised, carried out by kobolds and ettins, creatures that traditionally hate each other too much to make common cause. We thought nothing of it at first, but we found a bedraggled stoutling on the banks of the river one day. The poor wretch was the last survivor after an attack on his settlement and had fled from the destruction as fast as he could. He was close to the end when we found him. His wounds were too grievous to treat and there was little I could do for him. But, before he died, he told us what he knew. A war party of kobolds had swooped down on the stoutlings’ foresthold, attacking without mercy. Their battle cry praised the Hateling and they had dark magic aiding them against the stoutlings’ defences. Since then, we have had other reports of the Hateling striking against the various peoples who live in the forest as he slowly extends his territory.”

  “So, this Hateling has gotten free of the barrier that was set up around him,” reasoned Matias, “and now he wants revenge.”

  “The barrier is too powerful for the Hateling to ever break out of,” Sour Root said with certainty, “but somehow, his own magical ability has increased allowing him to reach out with his mind beyond its limits, and bend monsters and evil creatures to his will. There are at least two tribes of kobolds who pledged allegiance to him as well as packs of ettins and moss mubbs. There is even talk that he has a Minotaur in his service. He remains behind his barrier, building up his forces and striking out to conquer the forest.”

  Matias sat silently as he took all this in. While Sour Root was talking, the evening had deepened into night. Torches flickered bravely in the darkness, but did little to chase away the ominous shadows pressing down on the village. A chill ran though him as he thought about what could be lurking out in the forest.

  “Okay, so this Hateling has started a turf war,” Matias said at length. “So why don’t you do what you did before? Team up and take him down.”

  “Wish that it were that simple. The divisions between human and fey have deepened even further and there are few folk in the forest to mount a real attack. Jaggen did organise an exploratory force to head to where the lair of the Hateling is thought to be, but they did not return. Since then, nobody will dare go further from Ironthorne than is absolutely necessary, and Jaggen does not want to bring his domain to the attention of the King’s Shining Marshals. Many people here have a price on their heads. No, Jaggen prefers to shore up his defences and hope for the best. Chances are, though, if the Hateling pushes out further into the forest, Ironthorne will fall and then it will be the River Towns’ problem.”

  “You don’t seem bothered,” Matias observed. “What will happen to you if this place does go down?”

  Sour Root shrugged. “I have survived many hardships. I will survive this, or die, if it is my time to go to the Arbour Beyond. Besides, what does it matter to you, druid? You care only for yourself. That much is true for all to see.”

  Matias leant closer. “I won’t argue with you, and I remember a while ago that you were all for helping me break free of the Lady’s control. You wanted me to do something for you first. Well, I’m more than willing if it gets me out of this dump before it gets wiped out. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” Matias paused and gave him a sideways look. “As long as it’s not sexual.”

  The Ancient Sasquatch let out a guttural chuckle. “Your maidenhead is safe with me, don’t worry. Besides, you are no use to me as you are: an unblooded pup. You have more to learn and more to lose before we can help each other. Have patience. Your time will come.”

  With that, the conversation was done. Sour Root finished his pipe and heaved himself out of the rocking chair, using his sticks to hobble back into the medicine lodge to bed down for the night. Matias followed him in and curled up inside the sleeping mat on the floor, his designated place while he remained in service to the alchemist. The floor was uncomfortable, but it was better than sleeping out in the forest. After all that talk of Hatelings and murderous creatures, Matias felt safer with a roof over his head and walls protecting him.

  As he drifted into exhausted sleep, his dreams were stalked by shadowy creatures and Ironthorne engulfed in flames.

  * * *

  No more was mentioned of the Hateling or Sour Root’s mysterious proposition, and Matias settled into a routine of making health potions and helping out around the medicine lodge for the next couple of weeks. Sour Root taught him how to tend simple injuries, and Matias continued to develop his knowledge of Herb Lore, getting his stats up to ninety-two percent for level 1.

  An extra bit of effort would get him to level 2, but it came as little comfort. He was becoming crushingly bored by the toil and daily grind of life in Ironthorne and yearned for excitement. He knew he could slip away from the village any time he wanted, but the thought of running into the Hateling’s servants and the restrictions on his behaviour by Lady Alder held him at bay. The Sasquatch was right: he needed to learn and gain experience before he tried to go out on his own. He just wished his enforced education was a little more exciting.

  The tedium was punctured one morning, however, when Matias started work on the day’s potion making but was abruptly stopped by Sour Root.

 
; “You won’t be crafting today,” the Sasquatch informed him. “I want you to head out into the forest east of here and collect up some Frozen Droplets. As many as you can find.”

  Matias gave him a blank look. “Frozen Droplets? What the hell are they?”

  “Idiot boy!” Sour Root snapped, clearly in a bad mood today. “Have you not been studying the encyclopaedia? Frozen Droplets are small white flowers with deep blue streaks on their petals. They’re used in making the potions that defend against magical attacks.”

  “Magical attacks? Is this to do with the Hateling?”

  Sour Root grimaced. “Jaggen wants to be prepared, just in case. We have no magic users here in Ironthorne, and the potions are the next best thing we have to defend against a supernatural threat.”

  “Do I have to go?” Matias griped. “Couldn’t Jhondey do it?”

  “Knowing him, he’d probably come back with a swamp troll,” snorted Sour Root. “Besides, it’s your job. Now get moving while you still have the sun!”

  Grabbing his rucksack and staff, Matias sloped out of the medicine lodge and walked toward the main gate. Leaving the village, he headed in the direction Sour Root had told him the flowers grew. It was a bright summer’s day and he realised this wasn’t such a bad job after all. It gave him the chance to get out of the murky medicine lodge and boring work for a few hours, and he decided to make the best of it.

  Moving off the road, he headed amongst the trees and came to a small dell nestled amongst the undergrowth. Dozens of white Droplets bloomed here.

  Matias threw down his staff and kicked off his sandals, enjoying the feel of the lush grass between his toes. Slipping his rucksack off his shoulder, he settled down in the crook of an ancient oak tree and took out the piece of dried bread and cheese he’d filched from the kitchen the evening before, tucking into them with relish.