Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The harvest season rain pattered down on the stone walkways of The Wending, wetting the dirt that had been kicked over the stone path from passerby. The smell of freshly turned earth and rotting trash had long ago faded from Aurynia’s nose, no longer able to smell it. 

A drunken yell sounded from down the path, and Aurynia could see the bright light coming from the residence down the street. The sound of women laughing, an elegant, sultry sound rang out from just around the corner. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and the women of the night had already begun to prowl the streets of Lower Rathir. They waited on corners and in alleys, smoking sativa from pipes that filled the air with a hazy smoke and an earthy smell.

Whether they were smoking to chase the pleasant effects, or to momentarily escape from their situation for just a few moments, Aurynia did not know. She eyed a female and male prostitute standing next to each other, engaging in conversation. They looked around as they talked, still keeping an eye for possible customers. They wore dark tones, nearly blending in with the wooden crates and walls behind them. 

Aurynia pulled her cloak tighter over her shoulders, and the straps of the wicker basket that she had fashioned to her back. With the way that the rain was pouring down, she didn’t want to stay outside any longer. She didn’t want to risk the herbs and medicinal plants she had recently purchased to go to waste by getting wet and soggy. 

She picked up the pace, her steps a little faster, her pace a little more urgent. 

Tomorrow would be the 7th day her unofficial ‘clinic’ had been open, marking a week. There was no time to celebrate, no time to pat herself on the back. The people of The Wending and the Tunnels needed someone to tend their wounds, and care for the sick. She needed an escape from her past, an escape from the prying eye of ‘glory’. 

As she walked, her mind began to go through the past year. Her ‘reawakening’ in the Allestar Tower. Magic she could barely control. Learning to be… a person ‘again’, not that she remembered what it was like the first time. The expectations. The back breaking, soul crushing, hope destroying expectations. Besting the odds. 

She prayed to the gods above that nothing like that would ever happen to her again. Though, with her luck, it would be a matter of time before she would be forced to put herself behind everyone else, and put her life on the line to fix the wrongs of players in a game much bigger than her. That was why she left  it all behind. For the moment.

 As far as anyone else knew, Aurynia the Hero of Mel Senshir was on a long-term mission in Dalentarth, and had been on said mission for 3 months already. Aurynia sighed to herself, her back slightly hunched as she continued to walk and think. 

Her new alias, Isolde, seemed to be working. No one had suspected anything. No one attempting to stare under her hood to get a better look. The people that she breezed by on the street didn’t stop to watch her, or get her attention. To them, the woman before them was nothing more than a Lower Rathiri girl. Just how Aurynia liked it.

Aurynia’s clothing was starting to get wet from the downpour. She looked down at her apron, which was stained with powders and liquids from her mortar and pestle. Thankfully, her long, red skirt had been spared, the layers beneath the outermost one mostly dry. Her top was simple, a common fashion amongst the lower and middle class Dokkalfar women. Leather straps wrapping around the neck and shoulders to support the back during daily work, and a simple cotton top beneath it. 

Aurynia opted for more covering options, as to hide her various battle scars. She had already realized that it would be quite difficult to explain how a healer would have suffered as many wounds as she had. To prevent an awkward conversation before it started, she didn’t show much skin.

Soon, the door of the house she rented came into view. She quickly unlocked the door, and stepped inside of her home and practice. 

The air smelled of herbs and sweet-smelling incense, to cover the scent of the sick that lingered. There currently wasn’t anyone here, but she knew that in the morning, a person or two might show up if they needed help. Aurynia, or Isolde offered her services for free. The people down under, as locals liked to say, didn’t have much. Getting sick and being unable to earn the day’s wages could mean starving. 

Seeking care was expensive, with the cost of simply setting a dislocated bone back into place being over 1000 gold. On the cheap side. Decent medical care was for the most part, only accessible  for middle and upper class Rathiri citizens. The people down under resorted to poorly trained barber-surgeons and inexperienced healers who may have gotten a few lessons from someone formerly trained. 

Healers who knew magic were non-existent, as performing a healing spell poorly could do more damage than good. The people down under couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that. She had seen the result first hand. A young man, Alun, had shattered his foot in an accident at the docks. An inexperienced, home-trained mage must have tried to reset it with magic to try and save the foot, resulting in a mangled-looking, lame foot. 

He could no longer work, no longer walk. He made his money by digging through trash and selling anything that might hold a bit of value. He walked around with a crutch fashioned from scrap wood, and spent most of his time drinking and holding his head in his hands.

 Aurynia felt a deep sorrow for him and his future. She had tried to approach him and ask if he would like her to take a look at it, but he had lashed out. He no longer trusted healers, let alone those who utilized magic.

Aurynia took off her wet apron, and tossed it into a wooden basin so she could wash it. She pulled another one from a rack near the door, and checked the linens on the cots in the main room. She made sure that everything was clear, sanitized, and ready should anyone need help throughout the night. 

After diligently checking the cots, Aurynia donned a fresh, dry apron. As she tied it around her waist, she descended the stairs, holding her wicker basket, filled with bundles of herbs and medicinal plants. 

The downstairs of her home was quiet, the only sound being the rhythmic drumming of rain against the outside of her house, and droplets of leaking water hitting the metal pail she had placed to catch the leaks. 

Aurynia sat down at a simple wooden table, with a mortar and pestle and a few empty potion bottles. She much preferred the simple layout of the table to the large alchemy tables that had become standard in the Faelands. 

Picking up the basket, Aurynia emptied the contents onto the table, marking the new herbs down into a book to keep inventory. Thankfully, none of the plants  had been ruined in the rain, still fresh and dry.

 She stood up, hanging the bundles from the ceiling to dry. By the end of the week, they would be much easier to grind up into powders for her potions and poultices. She had a decent amount left for her current batches, but still, the more the better. 

Aurynia then slipped into the mindless activities that she had become accustomed to over the past week. Grinding, crushing, and mixing. Over and over again. It was relaxing, almost therapeutic. 

It was better than swinging around daggers, or aiming a bow. 

She shook off the thoughts, continuing to add together black cohosh extract and embereye powder together to create a small potion to promote healing. The two reagents together worked wonders for the body, able to clear a common cold, a fever, and even cystitis within a day's time. 

After bottling a dozen small potions, Aurynia stood up, going about her nightly routine. She carried empty buckets to the closest well, which was thankfully in front of her home. She filled the buckets, carrying them inside and beginning to clean. First, the aprons, and some clothes. She hung them to dry near the fireplace, and warmed the water so she could wash herself. 

Aurynia scrubbed the day away from her skin, scenting the water with oil scented like warm vanilla. The soap washed away the splotches of liquids that had accidentally dripped on her during her work earlier in the day.

 As she washed, she looked down at the scars she had no shortage of. A few slash wounds on her legs and arms had long since scarred over into small keloids. A laceration that had been burned from a weapon enchanted with flame. The worst wound of all was a stab wound from a small dagger, or what she assumed had been a dagger. The wound had been cauterized with her own magic, but she didn’t quite remember how she acquired it. 

She knew that she didn’t have it before she had stormed the Court of Winter, and had come to believe that she had gotten stabbed by Gadflow during the battle. She shook the memories off, not wanting to remember. Now, she was Isolde, at least for the time being. Here, she wasn’t the Hero of Mel Senshir, or the Siegebreaker. She was just… Isolde. A healer who had studied at the Scholia Arcana. 

Wiping her face with a linen towel, Aurynia looked in the small mirror that was placed on her wooden vanity. She looked at her hair, which she had colored black only yesterday. The color was common, unassuming, usual . Much better for her role as Isolde.

Her natural hair was much lighter, a milky white color that seemingly rejected most dyes. Even the blackest of dye wouldn't take to her hair for more than a few days, before inevitably fading away. 

Opening a glass jar, Aurynia scooped ash dye onto her fingers, gently applying it to faded spots, securing it with a cotton wrap for it to set, and laid down on her bed, blowing the candle on her nightstand out. Folding her arms over her chest, she looked over to the window that filtered white moonlight into the room, which painted the quilt she lay under. The moonlight reminded her of the bard’s tales she had already heard about herself. 

The songs didn’t please her anymore. At first, they were charming, flattering even. Tales of her slaying monsters and beasts bigger than her. But soon… the novelty wore off. They became tiresome, annoying, even. 

Going into a tavern to get a hot meal and a bed for the night without hearing about herself was nearly impossible. People moved their seats closer to her, crowding her space. They offered her things. Somehow, her actions had saved them in some way or another. It seemed that every other person ‘owed’ their life to her. So when they offered her flowers, offered her protection charms and even homebaked goods, she took them. How could she say no to the people who loved her so much?

But they didn’t love her. They loved what she did for them, and she could not blame them for feeling so. 

It was her purpose to help those who could not help themselves.

It was the reason she even drew breath today. 

Shaking off the thoughts didn’t work this time. 

The memories came back full force. Riding on the backs of dirty wagons to a town she did not know because someone else told her to. Pointing her daggers at whoever someone told her to point them at. Reporting back, her head held low as she was handed a bag full of coin she felt she did not deserve. 

As the coin weighed down her pocket, she wondered if what she was doing was even right. But before independent thought could form, the hammer of duty would come down on her back, over and over until she picked her head back up, and smiled proudly. She was the face of a war she did not know the scope of. A shiny pawn that could level the board.

She couldn’t do it anymore. 

After killing Tirnoch, she made the most selfish decision she could have ever made. To save lives instead of ending them. That is what she loved, that is what she craved. To hold lives in her palms and hold them up into the sky, and allow them to flourish. 

Healing was her calling. Her fate, regardless of the unraveled tapestry.

Turning over in her bed, Aurynia ran her fingers over her arms, feeling the scars. With the feeling of the scars, she remembered the battles, then the victories. And finally, the songs. 

‘Silken strands of white hair, like spun moonlight, flowed in the wind. Eyes like blood not yet dried, stare to the cloudy Klurikon sky, the one who defies, victorious.’

She had heard that one in Mel Senshir, in the tavern. And she hated it when she first heard it. The adrenaline of battle had barely even left her body, her skin barely cleaned of blood. She had just seen General Tilera fall with her own eyes, the general who helped her to turn the tide of the battle. Yet… instead of writing her felled comrade a song… something was written for Aurynia. The one who lived.

It was then that she realized that the dead don’t get songs. They get mass graves of tales. No individual melody crafted for them, no notes arranged solely for their sacrifice. They received nothing. Nothing substantial.

Why did I get a song?   She thought to herself, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, the night chill setting in around her. That was the thought that ran through her mind every night, without fail. As she descended into fitful sleep, the words paced around her mind.

—-

Sleep took hold over Aurynia, a blanket that was usually comforting. Tonight, she dreamed of fields of flowers. The flowers, whose name she could not place, were a delicate, pristine white. A bright moon hung in the sky, casting a soft white glow, the light almost ricocheting off the surface of the flowers. It was beautiful. 

In her dream, she couldn’t remember why she was there. How she was there. She hated that she did not remember, she hated that she could not remember, but she disregarded her hatred of herself and her own mind to bask in the beauty. 

She sat down, doing her best to not crush the flowers beneath her. They were so beautiful, and when she looked down at them, they all had unique markings that couldn't be seen from so far above. She spent time looking at them, noting the little difference and how pretty all of the flowers were. 

Looking down at her hands, she saw that they were finely manicured, the nails cared for perfectly like that of the noble Rathiri women. Her clothing was elegant, expensive looking. She ran her fingers up her sleeves, feeling the rippling silks. Her hands continued to travel, running over her face, streaks of pearlescent makeup residue on the tips of her fingers.

To get a better look, she plucked one from the ground, bringing it up closer. As soon as the delicate stem snapped, blood red sap began to pour from the stem. The markings faded, burning themselves into Aurynia’s skin. 

In a fit of panic, she stood up, dropping the one flower she had plucked, only to see that the ground where she had sat was littered with the same crushed flowers, their markings gone, the petals wilted and stained with the blood red sap. 

She panicked, the dream world seeming to weigh her down, but she managed to get up. Looking around, the field seemed to be decaying, flowing with the same blood red sap from the flower she had plucked, their markings fading and bleeding away into the flowing sea of sap. 

Her feet ran as fast as they could carry her, stepping on flowers and buds, no matter how hard she tried not to. Before her was a lake, and she stopped before it, gazing at her reflection in the unnaturally still waters. 

But the person that gazed back in the water wasn’t her. It looked like her. The same pale grey skin, pointed Alfar ears. White hair, like delicate spun silk. Eyes like dark blood. But… that person couldn’t be her. Her eyes were dead, lifeless, even though they were wide open. Her lips curled into a smile, teeth bared for Aurynia to see. The smile wasn’t friendly or welcoming. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth or love. 

The smile was cruel. Like that of a predator finally finding its prey after days of searching. A smile of understanding that it was finally about to feed on your flesh and gnaw on your bones. The joy of nourishing oneself on another's suffering. It wasn’t enjoyable, the smile wasn’t meant to convey sadism or happiness in your pain, but a selfish celebration of triumph over hunger. 

Aurynia fell back from the water, but before her body could hit the ground, she woke up. The sound of banging and yelling came from downstairs. A voice, one that sounded quite young, was calling out for her. 

“Healer! Healer!” The young voice cried. Aurynia couldn’t tell if it was a young girl or a boy, but she didn’t care. Someone needed her, and she would answer their call. 

Still in her nightclothes, she leaped off of her bed, tossing the quilt aside. She skipped down the stairs, hurrying as fast as she could, before unlocking and opening the wooden door. Before her stood a young boy, no older than 10. He was short, skinny, and pale, his pointed ears too big for his head, although most Alfar children looked like that. His clothes looked to be much too large for him, and faded. He smelled damp, and his feet were bare, covered in dirt and small cuts.

“Speak young one. What’s wrong?” Aurynia asked, looking down at him, her demeanor shifting. Someone needed her services, and for now, she was Isolde.  Her brownish-red eyes softened looking at the young boy.

“My… My mother! She’s ill and I've tried everything! She- She’s not getting any better!” He said, his chest heaving with exhaustion from running. 

Aurynia nodded for him to come inside, and she hurried down the steps into her basement which held all of  her equipment. 

“It’s okay, lad. Just tell me what’s wrong with her. Is she throwing up, bleeding? What’s wrong with her? Before you continue, drink.” She spoke, handing the boy a glass filled with water from the well. He drank it down quickly, a few droplets spilling down his chin, creating streaks through the dust on his face.

After gulping it down, he placed the glass on the alchemical table, before continuing. 

“She… she has a fever, and it seems as if she’s in pain, around her belly. She also… soiled herself. There was blood, a lot of it.” He finished, his voice wavering. 

“I see. I think I know what may be wrong. Is there anything else that you think might be useful for me to know?” She said, grabbing the boy's shoulders gently, looking into his greyish eyes. She did not want to scare him, but she needed to properly convey the importance of telling her everything.

“That.. that’s all.” He murmured.

Aurynia rubbed her chin as she opened compartments in her apothecary table, grabbing certain herbs and powders. Black cohosh to try and help with the fever, Embereyes for pain… She wondered what it might be that the boy's mother had contracted that had made her so sick. Was there an illness passing around Lower Rathir? No… she would have known about it.

A fever… bloody stool… pain. 

It sounded like a stomach illness. Perhaps an infection of some sort. Opening more compartments, she grabbed a small bit of a mixture she had made, onion, garlic, honey, ginger, and Ysa’s Breath. The garlic onion and honey would help to cleanse her system, the ginger to help with her stomach pain, and Ysa’s Breath to help her body resist anything harmful to her health. 

A bottle of strong distilled alcohol to clean the boy’s mother was placed into her pack. She also packed bandages and pain relieving poultices for the boy’s feet. The boy seemed to be in pain, his feet obviously sore from running while wounded. Slinging her pack around her body, she stepped forward, looking down at the boy. 

“Come on.” She said, walking up the stairs. Only a few steps in, she looked at him, and his hesitance. 

“I don’t want my mother to die. Most healers won’t help because we don’t have the coin. The rest won’t help because we live down under. In The Tunnels. ” He said, his eyes welled with tears. Aurynia turned around, her eyes on the scrawny boy. 

“I am not most healers.” She said, holding out her hand to him. She slipped on a simple dress over her nightgown, and tied her apron around her waist.

“You’re tired. Let me carry you, boy.” She offered. He looked at her hesitantly, and she kneeled down for him to mount her back. He stepped forwards, before eventually climbing on. She stood up straight, and he held onto her neck and shoulders, his grip weak. She secured him by holding onto his legs. 

Walking up the steps, she felt his head rest against her hair. At that moment, she didn’t care that he was dirty. That he smelled of damp linen and she could feel his ribs poking into her back. He needed help, and she would gladly give it.

“What is your name?” She asked as she hurried to The Tunnels. A cave system beneath Rathir that the poorest of the poor resided in. To the people above, they were considered second class citizens at best, and pests that infested Rathir at worst. Even the people of The Wending were hesitant to help them, as they feared facing scrutiny from higher class Rathiri. They didn’t even realize that they were one missed pay away from being in the caves as well.

“Suren.” The name was unisex, but was typically used for more women than men. The name was the Alfar word that was used to describe the smell of early morning dew. A peaceful name for a boy that led a hectic, unfortunate life. 

She hurried as fast as she could through The Wending to the entrance of the cave at the base of the Spire. The cave entrance was lined with wooden steps that were meant to be a safe way down, but seemed to be poorly made. Aurynia didn’t care, and jumped down the stairs two at a time. 

The cavern was damp, and smelled of wet stone and overturned earth. There were tables and chairs arranged in between the natural rock formations, almost like separate rooms. People sat on their bedrolls, head held in their hands or lying down trying to get some sleep. Leaning against a wall, Aurynia spotted one of the prostitutes she had noticed earlier feeding a small child milk, before handing the toddler off to leave back up to the surface. 

Looking over in the far corner, she saw a counter and a woman standing behind it, bartering with someone for a set of sylvanite daggers. In the other corner, she saw a crowd of people standing around a bedroll, and the sounds of pained grunting. Suren leapt down from Aurynia’s back, and rushed over to the bedroll, pushing past the crowd. Aurynia followed behind, readjusting the knot of her apron. 

Simply for precaution, she wrapped a linen cloth around her mouth, disinfected her hands with the distilled alcohol, and pushed past the crowd. 

“Back, all of you! I need space!” She called out into the small crowd, urging them to move back. They began to relent, stepping back. Before her was a… sorry sight. A young woman was rolling about on her bedroll, clearly in excruciating pain. It seemed that someone had already cleaned her up, but she was still pale, and her cheeks gaunt. 

Aurynia kneeled down next to her, placing a hand gently on her forehead. She might as well have brought eggs, as she could probably fry one right atop her head. 

“Water! I need water!” She called out, looking around. An older man turned around, and scurried away to fetch some water. The crowd looked uneasy, holding their hands to their mouths and turning away. 

Aurynia looked her over, making sure she had no visible wounds. Becoming irritated with the crowd around her, she called out for privacy. The people began to disperse. There wasn’t really any privacy here, but the least they could do would be to not stand over her as she worked. 

“I’m going to look under your shirt for any wounds. Excuse the intrusion.” She said politely, gently pulling her loose top away from her body, looking down her back and her chest. She respectfully examined her legs, and determined that there was no external injury that could be causing this, even though she was quite sure that this was internal. 

Aurynia administered the mixture she had made to her, as it would help to fight off whatever her body could not handle. She wiped her face of the sweat that poured down her temples. She poured the disinfecting alcohol over the cloth, and began to run it over the extremities.. The cavern was cool, borderline cold, and she was still burning up.

The man that ran off to get water trudged back, the water sloshing around in the dented metal pail. 

“Thank you-” Aurynia’s face fell, looking at the water. It was brown, with unknown bits of… something floating in it. 

“I can’t use this. Where did you get this water from?” Aurynia asked, looking at the man. 

“The pool further into the cave, it’s the cleanest water we have.” He said, his hands held up, yielding. 

“Show me to this… pool.” Aurynia said, standing. 

“Someone, watch her. If she gets any worse, fetch me immediately.” She said, looking down at Suren’s mother. She seemed less in pain, with the black cohosh and embereyes helping to ease her pain. It wasn’t at its full effect, but it seemed that she would improve within the hour, and be back up on her feet by the end of the week. 

Aurynia followed the middle aged man deeper into the cave. It seemed that most did not come back here for anything other than water. The cave back here was even damper than the cave’s large cavern, and dark, save for the occasional weak torch. A few piles of discarded bottles and trash lay further in the cave, out of sight from most of the cave's inhabitants. 

Aurynia smelled the water before she saw it. She knelt down next to the stagnant pool, and noticed a few pieces of scrap wood and discarded bottles floating in the pool. The water was dark, and filthy.

“Do you… drink this water?” She asked, looking down at the stinking water.

“...Yes. The people above do not allow us to take anything from their wells.” He said. He looked dejected, almost as if he had failed at something. 

“How many people get sick down here drinking this water?” She asked, looking deep into the pool. She turned her head, looking back up at the older man.

“Most who drink it get sick. But the symptoms go away within the week. We do our best to clean it, and we filter it through cloth when we have cloth. We have not been able to procure any lately.” He mentioned. 

“You will not drink this water until it is properly cleaned. All of the wood and bottles need to be taken out and discarded of, away from the water. I will give you cloth to filter the water, but afterwards it must be boiled, then filtered again with a clean cloth. In the meantime, you are free to use the well in front of my home. ” Aurynia said, standing up to her full height.

“Thank you, " he said, clasping his hands together in thanks. 

As Aurynia began to turn away and walk back to check on Suren’s mother, the man stopped her, holding onto her shoulder gently.

“What is your name, young lady?” He asked, looking down at her. Aurynia looked up at him, smiling softly.

“Isolde.” She said, looking at him before turning away.

—

Within the next few hours, Aurynia watched the woman, who had now fallen into a much more peaceful sleep. Suren kneeled next to her, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. The young boy seemed to watch over her with a fierce dedication. He held her hand, and brought it to her face. 

His eyes were like the turbulent sea, greyish blue. They still held a youthful shine, a refusal to be dimmed with circumstance. He looked up at Aurynia, his eyes softening to that of a little boy.

“Boy, come here. I’ll patch up your feet and legs.” Aurynia said, waving for him to come over closer to her. He scooted closer, sitting in front of her. Warily, he held his legs out, and Aurynia assessed them. Nothing major, just cuts, scratches, and dirt. Still, she didn’t want an infection to set in. 

Dousing a clean cloth in alcohol, she held one of his legs in her hand. It felt almost like holding an arm, with how skinny the poor child was. 

“This will sting.” She mentioned, before rubbing his legs down. The boy didn’t wince, or flinch. He just stared at her through locks of wavy black hair.

“Where is your father, young one?” Aurynia finally asked, looking into the child’s eyes. He looked away, then back at her.

“Dead. That’s what Mother always told me. He died in an accident in Upper Rathir. He fell.” Her mind filled with images of the upper city, and how a fall from up there would definitely be fatal. There was no surviving a fall from that height, even falling into the water. You would die from being impaled on the sharp rocks below before you drowned. 

“It happened before I was born. Mother told me that he was a servant for the Kent family. When he died, there was no more money to keep us housed. We’ve been in The Tunnels for as long as I can remember.” He mentioned, resting his head on one of his knees. Aurynia sighed as she listened to his brief story, continuing to wrap his leg before moving to disinfecting and wrapping the other one.

“Tonight, you and your mother will be coming with me to the Clinic, my home. You will stay there until she gets better. You will be fed, and tomorrow we will go to the market to buy you some decent clothing and shoes.” She said, looking at Suren. The young boy looked at her with wide eyes, not saying anything. 

“Fetch someone strong enough to carry her to the Clinic.” Aurynia said, rubbing the top of the child's hair. He quickly stood up, looking down at his bandaged feet and legs. He quickly ran away, seeking someone out to carry his mother back to the Clinic.

He soon came back, a tall Ljosalfar man behind him. The man bent over, and gently slid his arms under the crook of her legs and supported her back. Aurynia packed up the medical supplies she had left over, and tossed her pack over her shoulder, before kneeling down for Suren to climb onto her back. 

Suren’s head turned, looking back at The Tunnels, watching the light of the torches below fade as Aurynia scaled the wobbly wooden steps to the surface of The Wending. It was dark, and there was no more laughter and drunken yelling in the streets. The only light was the occasional street lamp, which didn’t provide much light to begin with. The streets of The Wending weren’t very safe at night, and Aurynia preferred to get back to the Clinic sooner than later. She held Suren a little tighter, not wanting to let him go. 

She gazed over her shoulder at the man holding Suren’s mother. She still looked sick, but not as badly as before. Her face was pinched, as if she was having a bad dream she couldn’t quite wake up from, but her face eased a bit as they walked under another street light. After a short walk, Aurynia came across her home. The wood and cobble house stood proudly, as weathered as it was.

 Kicking open the door with her foot, she walked into her now cold home. The fire in the downstairs hearth had long since gone cold when she snuffed it out hours ago. Taking her apron off, Aurynia quickly tossed it into the dirty laundry basin, and ducked behind the counter, procuring a small bag of gold. It was 70, enough for warm meals throughout the week. 

“You can set her down on the cot closest to the hearth.” She started, walking briskly towards the large man. 

“This is for you. It isn’t much, but it should be enough for a few warm meals throughout the week. I might need some help carrying heavy things and patients. I’ll have someone send for you if I need your help with anything, if you wouldn’t mind helping, that is.” Aurynia said, handing the large man the bag of coin.

“O-of course, my lady. My name is Boris, should you need to call on me.” He stuttered, excitedly bowing his head as he felt the weight of the gold in his hands. He smiled ear to ear, tipping his tattered hat. He quietly bowed out of the house, and closed the door gently.

Suren stood in the corner as he watched Aurynia carefully tucked in his mother so as to not disturb her fitful rest. Sitting down in a wooden chair near the hearth, she began to build a fire to heat the clinic room. Yellow and red flames began to light the features of Aurynia’s face, and she hung the fire poker back up on the wall where it belonged.

“Is she going to live?” Suren asked from where he stood. Aurynia stood up, holding two empty metal water pails. She looked down at the young lad, her gaze softening. 

“She’ll be fine.” Aurynia muttered as she briskly stepped towards the door.  

Opening it, she stepped outside, beginning to draw some water for them to drink and wash with. Suren tried to pick up one of the pails, but Aurynia just patted his head. She knelt down, picking both up with ease. 

“It’s alright lad. I’ve got it. Just open the door for me.” She said, holding them both with an iron grip. He obliged, holding the heavy wooden door open so she could step inside. Filling the cauldron, she began to heat some water so they could both wash.

Retrieving a spare nightgown from her wardrobe, she handed it to the young boy. 

“It’s not ideal, but it’s something for you to wear whilst I wash your clothes. Wash, and I'll prepare you something to eat. Filling a pail with a bit of hot water, she handed the young boy a clean linen cloth to wash with and a small hunk of soap.

He nodded, taking them downstairs to wash in private. Letting out a pent up sigh, Aurynia fetched some bread, cheese, and dried auroch meat, with a large glass of water, setting it down so she could check to make sure the room was inhabitable for the night. She prepared a cot for the young boy, making sure that the pillows were clean, and the linens were fresh. She checked every time she came home, but it never hurt to check twice. 

Sitting down, She readied her kitchen knife, cutting the auroch meat in manageable chunks for the boy. The bread was warmed by the fire, and the cheese cut into small slices for ease of eating. As a treat, she cut up a small peach, placing the slices on his plate. With all the boy had been through, he deserved the sweetest of peaches. Aurynia thought to herself, smiling as she placed the plate down on the counter.

Sitting back down by the fire, she began to stoke the flames, before picking up a book that had been left leaning against the side of the chair. The pages smelled of mint, as she had accidentally spilled peppermint extract on one of the pages as she was working at her alchemical table. The pages wafted a strong but pleasant smell as she turned them. The book detailed the uses of cripplesore caps in astounding depth. 

What had surprised her the most was learning that in small enough quantities, the poisonous plant could be used as an emetic agent, encouraging the consumer to empty the contents of their stomach. It was most useful for poison victims, and especially small children, who tend to get into and eat or swallow items that could possibly kill them.

In even smaller quantities, it could be used to ‘sweat out’ illnesses. Aurynia devoured the knowledge from the book, learning as much as she could from the pages. The book itself had cost almost 600 gold, and she planned to absorb every bit of information she could get out of the tome.

She soon heard the sound of her basement steps creaking, and the small boy stood at the top of the steps, his head down. He looked at Aurynia through his hair, shiny and black from bathing. Now that the young one was clean and dry, she could properly discern his features. He had an almost girlish look to him, and long eyelashes that protected his greyish-blue eyes. A beautiful child that led a life that was much too hard for him. 

Closing the book, Aurynia nodded towards the table where the food sat. His eyes widened, and before she could so much as open her mouth, he had picked up the plate, and began eating where he stood. His fingers quickly picked at the food, disregarding the fork that had been left next to the plate for his use. His teeth tore into the bread and auroch meat, before biting into a piece of peach. 

Aurynia watched in slight awe as he ate the entire plate within seemingly seconds. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and set the plate back down, letting out a loud burp, before gulping down all of the water. 

“You must’ve been hungry.” Aurynia joked, standing up and walking over to where he stood. She could smell the soap that she had given to him, the gentle scent of sweet cream and honey.

“Aye, no shit, lady.” He responded. Tsking, Aurynia gently flicked the back of the boy's head with her finger. 

“I’ll be hearing none of that language in my home. You are a young lad, act like it.” She said, her tone firm but light enough to convey that she wasn’t angry. He looked back up at her with a sheepish smile, a crumb of bread still making its home on his lip.

“Aye, Lady… Isolde, right?” He asked, looking up at her. 

“Just Isolde will suffice. I do not care for titles. I am no noblewoman.” She replied. Motioning for the young lad to lay down and get some sleep. He listened, sliding underneath the warm blanket Aurynia had prepared for him. His eyes had already seemed to grow heavy, and he turned over on the cot to look at his mother. His eyes began to flutter closed, and by the time Aurynia had sat down in her chair by the fire, he was already fast asleep, drawing quiet, delicate breaths.

Reopening her book, Aurynia had begun to read once more, engrossed in her book. Barely an hour had passed before she heard someone begin to rouse, and it was none other than Suren’s mother. She opened her eyes, and Aurynia could see a set of emerald green eyes, like that of the Spire that cast its shadow on The Wending. 

“My… daughter. My daughter.” She murmured, her voice hoarse. Aurynia kneeled next to her as she began to wake up fully. She figured that the herbs she had given her might have disoriented her a bit, and she would most likely be back to normal before the morning. It was common for large amounts of embereyes to disorient someone, especially if they were sick. 

“Suren is fine. I made sure that your son-” Aurynia began, before being promptly cut off by the sickly woman.

“Son? I do not have a… oh.” She said, turning over to look at the sleeping… boy?

“Suren is no boy. She’s a wee girl.” The woman said. Aurynia had just assumed that the lad… er, lass, was just a feminine looking boy. It seemed that she was wrong. The woman reached out her hand, touching the young girl’s face.

“It’s… cute. What she does. She thinks that pretending to be a boy will make it easier. More people at the docks would want a young boy, she would say. It works, it does. The men down at the docks let her help carry and gut the fish, and sometimes let her take the ones they couldn’t sell home. “ She said quietly, her wavy strands of black hair slightly dull from lack of proper care. 

“What about you? What’s your name, what did you do before getting sick?” Aurynia questioned, her eyes watching the woman sit up. She could see that the woman was severely underweight, and her eyes seemed to have lost their light a while ago.

“Names Feirun. During the day I wash clothes for the people in The Wending that can’t be bothered to do it. I might bring home what, 5 gold a day? 10 if I got lucky. It could get us some bread to split, and maybe some milk. The taverns wouldn’t let us in to eat. They don’t serve people who live in The Tunnels. They think we don’t pay.” Fairun mentioned, looking down at her calloused hands. Even as sickly as she was, Aurynia could see that she held a type of unique beauty. She was tall and skinny, but in an elegant type of way. 

Aurynia listened in silence. She knew about the conditions of the people living in The Tunnels. Most couldn’t find any sort of employment, and if they did, it was mostly day work in secret. The people who lived down under were barely considered people by the citizens above. Aurynia despised that. She was snapped out of her thoughts by Fairun beginning to speak.

“I heard what Suren said to you about her father. I wasn’t asleep, but you have a certain look about you. Dependable. Strong. Secretive. You look like you can keep a secret.” She mumbled quietly, turning to look at her little girl sleep once more.

“I can. I don’t see the point in running one's mouth. It’ll destroy you before them.” Aurynia replied, mentioning the words she lived by. Telling others secrets was something never found herself doing. There were very few times she had ever told a secret that had been told to her in confidence. The only times she had ever done so was when someone was planning something that would result in the suffering of others, or when they planned to do something that would hurt themselves. 

“I made up the story about her father when she was about 4, and started to ask about her father. She wondered where he was, and why he was never around. So I had told her that he was dead. That he had fallen from a ledge in Upper Rathir. But he had never fallen. He never even died.” She explained, leaning back, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.

“He’s still alive. He’s the second born son of the Kent family, Lydon Kent.” She said. Aurynia’s eyes widened. The Kent family was a powerful family in Upper Rathir, one of the Great Families.  Not quite as powerful as the Anwons or the Wyvern-Gifres, but a very powerful house nonetheless.

“I thought I was in love. I was a servant girl for the house, serving wine and cleaning for miniscule pay. He told me that we would wed, and have as many children as House Kent could hold. He promised me that he would marry me as soon as he could, that he would convince his parents to allow us to wed. But that day never came.”

“I fell pregnant, and I was exiled from the house. No other family would hire me, not even the merchants in the Pryderi would allow me to clean their chamber pots. A scandal such as impregnating a servant girl would ruin their reputation. It would make them the laughing stock of Upper Rathir, costing them centuries of hard work securing their place in high society.” 

“Lydon’s mother gave me 5000 gold and threatened me to keep quiet, under threat of killing both me… and my ‘bastard offspring’.” Fairun mentioned, her eyes slightly cloudy and unfocused. 

“The money dried up quickly, within the year. Rumors had spread about me quickly, that I was a poor worker, and a terror in their household. The stories grew more outrageous by the day, spreading to all corners of the Great Families and even small businesses alike. By then, my life was effectively over. I get by washing clothes and begging.” She said, her shoulders sagging. 

Aurynia nodded as she absorbed what she had heard. She rubbed her chin, looking around, her eyes looking about the room.

“Then you’ll work here.” She said finally, after a few beats of silence. 

Fairun’s eyes opened wide, unable to believe what she was hearing. 

“I could use help in the clinic. Sanitizing, changing linens and readying ingredients. I can offer room and board, with 100 coin a week as pocket change. No more cleaning chamberpots and washing clothes. You’ll have real, respectable work. I have a room in the basement that you and your son… er, daughter can stay in.” Aurynia offered, looking at Fairun’s expression.

The woman was dumbfounded by the offer. 

“Y-yes. I would like that very much, thank you.” She said quietly, nodding her head deeply.

“Good. My first ‘order’ is to lay back down, and get some decent rest. You’ll need it to recover quickly.” Aurynia communicated, her brownish-red eyes looking between Fairun and Suren. 

Fairun nodded, leaning back and adjusting her head on the pillow. She closed her eyes, before opening them back up her face slightly puzzled as if she was deep in thought. She sat back up, leaning on her elbow to prop herself up. Her emerald gaze locked onto Aurynia, who was already burying her nose into her book.

“If I may ask… what was my diagnosis?” Fairun asked.

“Dysentery. Contracted from drinking the water of the pool in The Tunnels. It’s filthy, anyone would get sick drinking that, but I understand your circumstance that led to you drinking from it. I heard from Boris about how the people of The Wending did not allow anyone from The Tunnels to retrieve water from the wells. I gave them instructions on how to properly cleanse the water to make it drinkable, and offered my well to them for their use.” She replied, easing the woman’s curiosity.

“The only thing that puzzled me was how you had gotten so sick. There is nothing pleasant about dysentery, but it was surprising how dire your situation was. If I had not been called on tonight, you might not have made it. Dysentery is an infection of your innards. It comes from consuming contaminated food and water. It can usually resolve itself within about a week's time, but in severe cases, it can be fatal. It can cause an even worse infection, or even kill someone from a lack of fluid. When you’re shitting out more liquid than you can consume, it can become deadly.” Aurynia stated, feeding the valuable information to the sickly woman. 

“I had been drinking the water for… A while. I used to be able to get something to drink from an older woman a few houses away, but she fell sick. Died. Her children took over the house, and wouldn’t allow me or Suren to drink from there. We started to drink from the pool like everyone else in The Tunnels.” She mentioned, making herself more comfortable on the cot.

“I see. It sounds like you were already weak from drinking the water for so long. When your body is weak, it can make illnesses that are relatively easy to overcome deadly.” Aurynia recited, the book on cripplesore caps open in her lap.

The room became silent, the only noise being the sound of the crackling fire, and the occasional snap of the wood cracking with the heat if the flame. The fire warmed Aurynia’s feet, and she kicked off her cloth slippers, folding her legs underneath herself in the wooden chair. She accepted Fairun’s silence as her beginning to answer the calls of sleep. 

“Thank you, Isolde.” Fairun mumbled quietly, smoldering emerald eyes locking onto Aurynia’s. Her eyes began to flutter closed, and she turned over slowly, watching her daughter sleep, soon joining her in the realm of dreams. Aurynia watched over them for a little bit, watching their chests rise and fall as they slept peacefully. 

Time passed. Not a lot of it, but enough for her to need to stoke the fire once more. As she leaned forward out of her chair, the book that had been open on her lap fell to the floor with a dense thud. She sharply twisted to see if she had disturbed the sleeping mother and child next to her, only to view them still slumbering peacefully. 

Carefully, she bent down, picking up the book, hissing quietly as she noted the pages that had been folded by the fall. Gently smoothing them out with her hands, she looked at the page that the book had naturally fallen open to. It was a diagram of the cripplesore cap, with notes on all parts of the poisonous mushroom. Aurynia almost laughed at it for some strange reason, a soft giggle vibrating in her throat. The mushroom kind of reminded her of herself.

Originally, cripplesore caps were used only as poison. That was their sole purpose, and for hundreds of years, that was the only reason they were ever farmed and harvested. They were even illegal to grow commercially at certain points in history, as they were only ever used for nefarious purposes. They were even destroyed whenever found in nature, leading to them being nearly wiped out entirely.

But a few people held onto them, growing them in secret for use as poisons, sold illegally in black markets and supplied to fences. On its own in single dosages, it was practically useless. It would make the consumer weak, they would throw up, maybe soil themselves, but by the end of the week, they would be fine. Its strength was its inconspicuousness, as the extract mimicked plenty of other illnesses, such as food poisoning, or even dysentery. It was practically undetectable, slow, and unassuming. 

Cripplesore caps on their own have a mild taste that is hard to detect in food and drink. Over a period of time, such as a month, cripplesore cap poison could accumulate in the system, weakening the victim enough to sap nearly all of their strength from constant throwing up and defecation. At that point, a common cold could kill them before the poison did. It was a silent killer that every noble in the Faelands was terrified of.

That was until fairly recently, when an Almain peasant boy named Karlan Wythoun had used the poison to try and end the life of his sickly father whom he hated with a passion. Wythoun had poisoned his father with nightshade, and he was not pleased with how long it was taking for his father to perish. To expedite the process of his fathers death, he poured a few drops of cripplesore cap extract into his fathers food, figuring that a larger amount of the toxin would not be necessary.

However, he noticed that over the course of the night, his father’s condition had improved . The cripplesore cap extract has caused his father to throw up, cleansing his system of the previous poison, effectively saving his fathers life. The result had mostly angered him, but it had also fascinated him enough for him to poison his father with a different toxin and try the extract on him once more.

Wythoun had become intrigued by the plant, dedicating his life to studying the spore, and only the spore. His information had been compiled into the book Aurynia had held in her very hands, published after Wythoun’s death nearly 50 years ago. Regardless of his… less than ethical methods of obtaining information, the tome was a wealth of knowledge Aurynia had barely begun to tap into. 

Her eyes continued to trail across the page, and she began to feel a familiar weight on her eyelids. Sleep called for her, its soothing, sultry voice traveling about her, entering her body and making her limbs weak. She had nearly dropped the book she was holding several times, but refused to close it for the night. 

Her eyes fluttered to a close as she protested against slumber. 

‘Only… one more… page-’  She thought to herself, fighting the gentle hands of sleep that tried to cradle her. But she couldn’t fight it for long. Eventually, she felt herself drift off to sleep, and she began to dream.

Chapter Text

“One two three four…”

“One two three four…” The Shrill Voice called out, the tone harsh and rough, calling out to her. The steady beat of her folding fan tapping across the woman’s thigh. 

The Woman Whose Name Was Not Known danced, bare feet hitting tiled floor, the skin wrapped in thick bandages to keep the blisters hidden. Long hair flowing as she raised her arms, hands mimicking wind with a near exact precision, recreating the delicate moves that she had been shown by The Shrill Voice. Her feet moved silently, the heavy gold jewelry on her neck, ears, and wrists making the music she was deprived of.

“One two three four… One two three four… Now switch! Your neck is as stiff as a board” The Shrill Voice yelled, her voice raking against The Woman's ears. 

The Woman loosened her movement just enough to please The Shrill Voice, moving just enough to let her prized locks of silken hair flow just right, catching a breeze that drifted through the open windows to her right. It was beginning to get dark, but there was no stopping. The Woman would be dancing, perfecting her craft for the next few hours.

Long legs moved gracefully, kicking the flowing fabrics of her skirt into the air, like that of a curtain dancing in the spring breeze. Her arms moved with her, her fingers straining and cramping from being held in the same position. She followed the count in her head, preparing for the apex of her dance. Spinning, the silks and chiffon billowing around her, revealing the dark marks of the temporary tattoos on her legs, the design like that of wafting incense smoke. Beside the tattoos, were even darker blue and purple marks, from heavy items being thrown at her for messing up. 

Her legs were sore, and they ached deep enough for her to feel it in her very bones. The Woman was tired from dancing the same choreography for hours, feeling that any moment her extremities would finally give out, leaving her a crumpled mess on the floor. 

The Shrill Voice stopped her count, watching to see if The Woman would be able to keep count. She held the hand fan in her grip tightly, looking at The Woman with a harsh gaze. In her mind, The Woman was on her way to becoming one of the best dancers in all of Rathir, a rare beauty to behold, a prize, a bargaining chip that could be wielded. 

The Shrill Voice looked down at her own feet, feeling the pain from arthritis deep in her bones. She could no longer dance, her beauty having faded from time. She was no longer the powerful force of beauty she used to be, but The Woman that danced before her could be all that she was and more. She just needed to be molded, and molding was never pretty, or easy. All she needed to do was allow The Shrill Voice to make her perfect.

The Woman leapt in the air, her knee-length hair, like pure milk, flowing behind her. She closed her eyes, a gentle smile on her lips. Time seemed to slow as she moved throughout the air, her sleeves moving behind her. 

As her first foot touched the ground, she felt pain shoot throughout her leg. It hurt, badly. Her legs and feet had been sore from dancing without break for hours, and she was starting to feel it. Her face twisted, and she stumbled slightly, before catching herself, falling back into her routine. She elegantly leaned back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. The Woman already knew that her mistake had been seen, and would be punished. 

She quickly looked up at The Shrill Voice, only to see a snarl on her face. The Shrill Voice looked around, picking up a delicate mirror that was placed on the short end table behind her. She threw it at The Woman, and it shattered at her feet, only a few pieces left in the metal backing. A few shards of the glass embedded themselves in her leg and she cried out, falling down and holding her leg. Crimson ran down her legs, staining the blue chiffon purple. Looking down at the mirror, she could see her own red eyes well with tears, which dripped down and obscured her vision.

“Useless! You are seventeen years of age and cannot perform a simple traditional dance! I had it perfected by the age of nine!” The Shrill Voice yelled, spittle raining from her mouth as she screamed. Rushing over, she raised her folding fan above her head, bringing in down on The Woman’s back and neck. 

At that point, The Woman did not hear the cruel words yelled by The Shrill Voice, nor did she feel the fan bludgeoning her. She felt empty, useless… Cold. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Aurynia’s eyes fluttered open, staring at the wooden beams that supported the ceiling. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the daylight that streamed through the windows in the Clinic. The events of last night rushed back to her quickly, but she quickly pushed the thoughts away. She was more confused by the dream she had just woken up from. 

The dance… the fan. The Shrill Voice. It was like… a memory of someone else that they had forgotten. The dream was just another of many nonsensical, shattered memories. She had always assumed that they were pieces of her consciousness from before her death, but they didn’t mean anything to her. They didn’t unlock any other memories, and they seemed to be little more than, well… dreams. She felt the same fear, was just as scared as if it had happened to her right then and there. 

When she looked at her own leg, past all of the other battle scars, she could see a small scar that was faded and old. It was in the same shape as the injury was in her dream. Laying back in the chair, she couldn’t help but think over the dream, replaying it in her head over and over again. Her body became overwhelmed with a sense of dread that was hard to overcome. It seemed that the trauma of her previous life was still ingrained in her consciousness, and even her own body.

However, she decided to file the ‘dream’ away into the depths of her mind. She had already figured that the dreams were memories of her life before her death, but she wasn’t interested in remembering. The more she found out, the more she hated herself. She hated that the memories wouldn’t click into place in her mind. They floated about, making a mess of current events and the past that she was disconnected from. 

So she ran from it. When her dreams revealed another memory, she tried to forget about it. But it explained more and more of why her body reacted to certain things it did. Aurynia, the ‘Hero of Mel Senshir’ was terrified of loud noises. Her hands shook when a folding fan was opened, and hated the smell of tobacco smoke. Being touched intimately terrified her even more, and she kept her distance from most people. She had started to overcome her dislike of being touched, and could now partake in basic friendly interactions with others, and could accept handshakes and hugs with little to no issue. 

However, she still felt that her body betrayed her, still scarred by a life she didn't, and wouldn't ever remember.

 At this point, she didn’t want to remember. She had heard brief words about how she used to be. Whoever that was, she never wanted to be. She could hardly even believe that she could even… be that way. Her old self sounded… evil. Hostile, violent, and cold. That didn’t feel like her in the slightest. 

Sitting up straight, Aurynia closed the book that was still open in her lap from last night. By the angle of the light coming through the window, it seemed to be mid morning. Still enough to take Suren to the market, and acquaint herself with the young child as she did it. 

She looked over to see that Fairun was still asleep, her chest rising and falling, her face neutral. She didn’t even know what Aurynia would give to be able to sleep peacefully like her. Standing up, she quickly walked down the small isle between the cots, and began to wonder where the small girl, Suren, had gone. 

Her long Alfar ears twitched as she picked up a quiet sound coming from downstairs. Curious to see what the young child was doing. 

Using her previous knowledge as a skilled rogue, she silently stepped down the stairs, eyeing the black-haired girl mixing something in a bowl. Aurynia stood still at the bottom of the steps, her arms crossed. She could hear quiet mumbling, and words of frustration. Suren stood on top of an overturned wooden crate, using the apothecary table as a mixing station…. instead of the alchemical table she regularly used that was but a few feet away.

The alchemical table was covered in empty and filled potion bottles alike, as well as small bowls filled with their own designated herbs and medicinal plants, powders, and liquids. She had forgotten to clean the table off last night when she had gotten back from The Tunnels last night, and left it covered in the reagents she had taken with her.

She assumed that Suren didn’t use the table because she believed that Aurynia would notice that her things were not placed how she had left them. 

She would be right.

“Why isn’t this working!” Suren mumbled to herself, the nightgown she wore stained with various liquids and powders she had taken from the apothecary table. A few dried embereye leaves lay on the floor, and Aurynia could see powder puffing into the air as Suren stirred the bowl harshly.

“What are you doing?” Aurynia questioned, stepping up to the table where Suren was mixing. Surprised at getting caught, the young girl nearly fell from the box she stood on, tripping and losing her balance. Aurynia quickly caught her, her hands supporting her back to keep her upright.

“Isolde! I'm sorry I was just trying-” She started, her eyes wide with fear of upcoming punishment. Aurynia calmly held her hand up, shaking her head.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You were curious.” She said, righting the girl on the box. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Aurynia stood beside Suren, looking down at the mixture. It was light red in color, with lumps from poorly crushed black cohosh and embereyes sitting in water that was now dyed from the color of the reagents.

“Show me what you made, and tell me what you were trying to make.” Aurynia said, her arms crossed as she looked down at the mixture, and turned her head to look at the young girl. Suren drew a deep breath once she realized that she was not in trouble. She turned back to her work, and her eyes gleaned with a sort of confused intrigue. She began to detail her thoughts and what she was doing.

“I’m trying to make a potion of healing, but I just can’t! I don’t understand what I'm doing wrong!” She muttered, frustrated from the success that eluded her.

“Alright. It’s okay, you’ve made good progress already. Describe how you made this.” Aurynia responded, leaning against the apothecary table.

“I crushed up the buds of the black cohosh, and used the dried embereyes to make a powder and added them to the water. But it doesn’t look the same way as the other potions you've made!” She complained, pointing to the crate of potions on the floor by the alchemical table. They had a much deeper red color, and were thicker in viscosity. 

“I see. You did pretty well for your first try. When I made my first potion, I let the reagents soak in water for a few days.” Aurynia said, thinking back to her first days of potion making, trying her best to stifle a giggle. 

“So, when you’re making potions, you should follow a few general rules. First, you always use the same dedicated space. Using different spaces as alchemical tables isn’t just disorganized, but can be dangerous.” Aurynia said, picking up the bowl of the failed potion and moving it to the alchemical table. Suren followed suit, gathering the items she had used in her arms and setting them down in the free space on the table. Aurynia sat down, crossing her arms and locking her fingers together, one arm resting on the table, and the other on her stomach. 

“Secondly, if a potion calls for water, the water is supposed to be boiling to best absorb the properties of the reagents. That is what the cauldron is for, over there, by the floor. I use it to make  large batches of  potions when need be.” Aurynia explained, and she noted that Suren was paying close attention to the words that she spoke.

“Thirdly, you should keep a clean station.”

Suren looked at the table, which was now covered in different bowls and bottles. Suren began to open her mouth, but Aurynia pressed a finger to her lips.

“Shush, child. This is a controlled mess. For the sake of your learning and safety, you should always strive to keep a clean table. Don’t be like me.” Aurynia ordered.

“Now, rule four. Wear gloves when working with poisonous plants, or anything that could irritate your hands. If you don’t know what a reagent is or what it does, feel free to ask me. Next, always, and I mean always keep a full pail of cold, clean water in your workspace. That water shouldn’t be used to drink from, or for your potions. It’s there in case of a bad reaction of reagents, or even a fire. I once almost burnt my own house down with my own magic.” Aurynia recounted, a shiver running down her back as she remembered setting her own apron on fire accidentally.

“Now you know the basic rules of potion making. Based on what I've told you, what would you change about your potion?” Aurynia asked, looking at the young girl standing next to her, who tapped her chin.

“Well, this time, I would boil the water first, then add the crushed black cohosh and embereye!” Suren proclaimed excitedly.

“Good thinking, you’re almost there, but not quite. You’ve made an extremely healthy tea. Very close. To make the potion, water isn’t the main ingredient. It’s embereye extract, then black cohosh essence, a small amount of water to dilute it, and some other additional powders and extracts that are optional. I add Ysa’s Breath essence to my health potions.” Aurynia said, smiling as she explained the process. 

Aurynia picked up a small bottle filled with dark red liquid, almost black in color.

“This is black cohosh essence. It’s boiled and cooled twice, and honey was added for taste. A spoonful of this will have you right within an hour if you have a sniffle or cough. The petals are still inside, and those can be boiled with water to make tea for a sore throat.” She explained, placing the jar of essence back down on the table where it sat before.

“So… a healing potion is just embereye and black cohosh? Does drinking more increase the effect?” She asked, picking up a small bottle, watching the liquid move about within the glass.

“Not quite, but I understand as to why you’d think that. There are two more tiers of potion. The ones that I have the most of are minor healing potions. The greater healing potion is a bit stronger, and most soldiers carry one of them. A master potion, however, is extremely hard to make. They’re imbued with magic, so someone unskilled in the arts of healing magic could never make one, no matter how hard they tried. They also require a rare ingredient, the Essence of Fate. It’s hard to find, and even harder to correctly harvest.” She said. Suren looked over at Aurynia, now at equal height considering that Aurynia was sitting down.

Nearly an hour passed as she explained the purposes and properties of different medicinal plants. She brought out a heavy tome full of her notes. She opened it to a random page, and began to educate Suren on the contents. She ran her finger underneath the words, but it seemed that Suren’s eyes were not following.

“Isolde-” Suren started, looking down at the pages, her expression unreadable.

“Yes? What is it?” Aurynia responded, looking over at the young girl.

“I cannot read.” Suren said blankly, looking down at the book. Aurynia paused, somewhat taken aback. She hadn’t even considered that Suren would not be able to read. It made perfect sense, being as though Suren had been raised in The Tunnels, where reading was a luxury that most down under did not have. A few people who had come to The Tunnels already knowing how to read wasn’t uncommon, but a majority of the people were illiterate. Even in The Wending, roughly 25% of the citizens either could not read or read poorly. 

Aurynia nodded, her eyes narrowing in silent thought. Well, this wouldn’t do. 

“Then, I will have to teach you. How does that sound?” Aurynia offered, a soft smile on her full lips. Suren’s eyes opened wide, her mouth curling into an excited smile. It was apparent that she had a thirst for knowledge, and Aurynia was more than pleased to quench that thirst. 

“When we get back from the market, we’ll begin.” Aurynia said, standing up from her chair, cracking her back. Walking up the steps, Suren followed behind her, rushing up beside her. Aurynia looked over, seeing that Feirun was still sleeping soundly, a quiet snore escaping her throat. Aurynia walked up the other set of stairs into her bedroom, and Suren stopped before she could see inside. 

“Come on. You’re allowed in.” Aurynia said, stepping off of the final step, standing at the top. She gazed around her bedroom, making sure that everything was tidy. Her bed was still unmade from when she had rushed out of it yesterday, the quilt she slept under tossed to the side haphazardly, leaning off and dusting the floor. The quilt partially covered the large chest that sat at the end of her bed, locked with a key that was on her key ring attached to her belt. 

Her armoire door was slightly cracked, revealing a few articles of clothing that had been neatly folded inside, as well as her leather backpack. Aurynia hadn’t used it much since adopting the alias of Isolde, instead opting to carry around a wicker basket fashioned to her back with cloth straps. It was lighter, and better suited to carrying about reagents. 

Her room wasn’t decorated with much aside from a few quite valuable paintings she had been gifted in her travels. She had found them to be beautiful, and decided to keep them for her home. One sat above her fireplace, the blackened wood in the hearth a sign that she had not slept in her room. A small wooden table sat next to her fireplace, with food items neatly packed away and wrapped in wax paper to keep them fresh, as well as some dinnerware.

In the corner by the window, a simple wooden vanity sat, the chair slightly askew. Aurynia had forgotten to push it back in when she had dyed her hair last night. The jar of ash dye sat open, its dark contents exposed to the air. Next to the jar was an even smaller ornate glass container filled with a solid, deep red rouge that she used on her cheeks, lips, and nails on special occasions. Her comb and hairbrush lay in an awkward position, and the glass bottle containing her scented body and hair oil had tipped over last night in her rush. Thankfully, the cork had stayed on, and she quickly righted the bottle. The smell of warm vanilla and peaches wafted up to her nose as the bottle caught the wind that blew through the window ever-so gently, causing the curtain to billow. 

Her jewelry sat in an ornate box, the lid open. A few rings set with jewels sat on the velvet cushioning inside, as well as 3 valuable necklaces, none of which she regularly wore. Buried underneath them was a decorative hair comb made of carved obsidian. It was simple, beautiful, and stylish, but Aurynia had never come across a proper occasion to wear it. People like her did not attend balls or important events.

Recentering her mind on the task at hand, she began rummaging throughout her armoire, trying to pull out something that would be small enough to fit the child. She couldn’t wear her trousers… and her shirts were big enough to be dresses. Perfect.

Aurynia pulled out a long tunic, that was long enough to reach her thighs. On Suren, it would probably touch her knees. A cloth belt lay bunched up behind another clothing piece, and she picked it up, tossing it on her bed with the tunic. She procured a pair of cloth shoes that could be wrapped with leather straps to fit the young girl. It was an acceptable outfit to go out in. She would look like any other young girl. 

Aurynia allowed the girl to dress in private, but helped her to secure her shoes, and sat her down at her vanity. Picking up her brush, Suren pointed out the expensive carving work on the handle of both the brush and the comb. They were made of simple wood, but the handle of the brush depicted Aryllia, the Dokkalfar goddess of love and beauty. The comb, on the other hand, was carved with the Holy Amphora of Lyria. 

“These are beautiful! Wherever did you get them?” The child questioned, holding the comb gently in her hands. She turned it about, trailing her finger over the masterfully carvings. 

“The Pryderi. They were being sold together.” She responded, gently brushing Suren’s short, wavy black hair.  The brush glided through smoothly, and Aurynia could see Suren taking interest in the items on her vanity. She picked them up, turning them over in her hands, careful enough to not damage the delicate items. 

“Isolde, what is this?” Suren inquired, curiously holding up her small jar of face cream. It wasn’t scented or colored, but enough to keep her skin moist and to protect it from cracking. 

“Face cream. I made it to keep my skin from cracking. It’s getting colder and today will be quite dry…” Aurynia said, lost in thought. Placing the ornate brush down, she dipped her fingers into the soft white mixture, rubbing it on her hands. 

“Close your eyes, and don’t open your mouth.” Aurynia ordered, before running her hands over the young girl's face. From underneath her palms, she could hear sputtering of protest and general surprise, but ignored them. With a gentle pat on the girl's moistened cheeks, Aurynia crossed her arms and observed Suren in the mirror with a smile. 

Only yesterday, Suren had been covered in dust and dirt, running throughout The Tunnels, trying her best to survive. She didn’t seem to miss her male persona, and seemed to be quite fine with abandoning it. She observed herself in the mirror, turning her head about, her shiny black waves covering her eyes. 

Aurynia couldn’t help but notice the nearly sisterly interaction she had with the younger girl, who was still looking at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t help but feel good, happy with the fact that Suren seemed to be enjoying her pampering. An idea popped into her head, and she couldn’t help but act on it. 

“You look very nice, but you could use something else… I'm not quite sure what though.” Aurynia mused, tapping her chin and looking at the sky for dramatic effect. Her eyes ‘searched’ for the jewelry box, and she opened it, still tapping her chin. She lifted a necklace out of the box, holding it to Suren’s chest, gauging her reaction to see which one she liked best. 

Her stormy grey eyes seemed to light up like the mid-day sun catching them like lighting at sea. Her eyes glowed the brightest when she held up a simple silver chain, with a small peach colored moonstone pendant.

“Hm… maybe the next one…” Aurynia teased, pretending to put it back in the box.

“No! No, I like that one! Please, Isolde, let me wear that one!” Suren begged, turning her head to look at Aurynia, stormy eyes looking up at her. She couldn’t help but give in, bringing the delicate chain around her neck. 

Aurynia was somewhat glad that Suren had chosen the moonstone pendant. She had acquired it over a year ago, a gift from the Anwons for saving their only heir from near death. It was enchanted by the Scholia Arcana, imbued with protection magic. It had even been blessed at the temple of Lyria in Upper Rathir. Perfect for the young girl that sat in front of her.

“You’re ready to go. Wait downstairs while I dress.” Aurynia said, patting her shoulder twice to signify she could get up.

“Be careful not to disturb your mother, she is still sleeping.” Aurynia noted as the child ran down the steps. She stopped halfway, walking down much quieter.

Aurynia quickly dressed, opting for leather trousers, sturdy but worn leather knee boots, and a loose cotton top. The sleeves were long and puffy, unsuitable for her work constantly mixing and grinding. She had bought it from the local tailor, a small but strong Dokkalfar woman who sold clothing that was never claimed by the people who commissioned it for a considerable discount. The shirt was only 50 gold, a bargain considering that cotton was rarely grown in The Plains of Erathell, and the bulk of it had to be imported from elsewhere. 

To keep the flowing sleeves at bay, she wore wrapped leather arm bracers that she had found in her travels. To finish her outfit, she put on the tight leather strappings that supported her neck and upper back, as well as the belt that hung loosely around her waist. Her belt held her keyring and a small dagger for ‘protection’, even though it was more so for decoration. She was a mage who had extensive experience in using war magic. She didn’t need a knife to protect herself. 

Her gaze shifted towards her armoire, and the backpack that sat inside of it, empty and unused. She opened the door fully, pulling it out, looking it over. It was reliable and sturdy, made from quality auroch leather and held together with dried, preserved sinew string. Aurynia knew that she wouldn’t be using it anytime soon, and that it was time to pass it along to someone who would.

Aurynia picked up her wicker basket, securing the straps around her shoulders, also holding the backpack in her arms. Quietly moving down the steps, she observed Suren sitting on the cot next to her mothers, the latter of which was sitting upright. Feirun ran her hands through her daughter's freshly brushed hair, slightly in awe. Her fingers lifted up the necklace that rested on Suren’s clavicle. 

“Isolde is allowing you to wear it?” Feirun spoke quietly, looking to the young girl's averted gaze.

“Are you sure? As long as you’re sure. Be careful not to lose it, Suren.” She finished quietly, patting her back as she gazed up towards the steps.

“Good morning, Fairun. Tell me, how are you feeling?” Aurynia said, calmly walking down the stairs and kneeling next to the woman, the back of her hand to her forehead. Her temperature was good, and it seemed that she was improving quickly. Dipping a glass into her pail of drinking water, Aurynia handed it to her.

“Drink. You’ll need to hydrate at least once an hour to keep healthy until you’ve regained most of your strength. I’d like to ask permission to take Suren to the Pryderi with me. We won’t be gone long, but I'd like to buy a few things for the house and have her along to help me with a few things.” Aurynia proposed, looking down at the woman.

“Of course. It’s the least she could do.” She said, gently nudging the girl’s ribs to get her to pay attention. Suren was still looking down at the new necklace that rested on her chest, unable to look away from it. Her gaze snapped up, smiling widely, exposing her missing front tooth.

“Good. We’ll be back shortly. Is there anything you would like from the market?” Aurynia asked, her hand on the brass doorknob. She was already prepared to leave, and Suren bounced on the balls of her feet next to her, excited to explore the Pyrderi.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask you for anything more after your current generosities. Please, go ahead.” Fairun replied, taking a small sip of water. 

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble-” Aurynia started, before Feirun cut her off.

“I’m fine. I promise. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” She asserted, placing the glass down and folding her hands together in her lap. Aurynia nodded, her eyes softening, silently accepting her words.

“We’re setting off. We’ll be back in two hours time.” Aurynia handed the backpack to Suren, adjusting the straps to fit her smaller frame. Once properly securing the leather ties, Aurynia set off, Suren in tow.

______________________________________________________________________________

The Pryderi bustled with bodies, shouts ringing in the air. Calls of deals and sales hung in the air, merchants yelling of the superiority of their products. The Pryderi smelled of herbs, fresh meats and fish, as well as leather oil and metals. Women and men alike carried baskets, some balancing on the top of their heads like elaborate hairstyles.

Silks, chiffons and tulles hung from a rack near a merchants stall, the fabrics blowing about in the gentle wind. The breeze caused the hanging chains of jewelry to ring against themselves like windchimes. The vendor behind the stall sat in the shade of the awning, her sharp brown eyes watching from behind her face veil. Soft locks of light brown hair framed her dark skin, which was black like midnight. Her pointed ears seemed to twitch as Aurynia examined her wares, staying silent. She was confident that her products could speak for themselves. 

Aurynia examined the jewelry. Gold and silver bracelets and bangles, with a few silverite and azurite pieces littered among them. To not distract herself, she decided to do her grocery shopping first. Walking away from the stall, she held Suren’s hand, guiding her to the sound of cleavers chopping. 

An almost humorously small Ljosalfar woman held a cleaver in her hand, bringing it down on a large piece of mutton leg. Stepping up, Aurynia dodged a small piece of flayed meat that the woman had thrown down for the cat that waited patiently for its meal. Picking it up and running away into the crowd, Suren watched in awe. 

“Meira, what have you got for me today?” Aurynia asked the smalled woman, who lodged the cleavers blade into the wooden block she was cutting on.

“Ah, good afternoon Isolde. I haven’t got much now, most of it went in the early morning. The Anwons are having some sort of feast. Bought up nearly all me’ chicken and pork. I’ve still got some goat and auroch.” Meira said, patting a skinned goat and pieces of auroch that hung from hooks.

Suren looked up at the meat, her eyes searching around the inside of the stall. Her grip tightened on Aurynia’s belt, her eyes a bit wide. 

“Give me some goat shoulder and… a leg, cut larger than usual.” Aurynia asked, using her hands to motion to what she wanted. Meira went to work, flaying flesh from bone until she produced a decent cut of goat meat. Wrapping it in waxed paper. Looking over the counter, Meira smiled as she noticed Suren.

“Aye, whose this little one?” Meira asked, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“My new… apprentice.” Aurynia said, rubbing her chin as she thought of the title for the girl. She had never thought that she would take an apprentice on, but the girl seemed to have a thirst for knowledge and a passion for alchemical work and healing. Smiling, she looked down at Suren, who looked back up at her with wide eyes at her new title. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d take one on. Well, good luck little one.” Meira said, smiling wide. Handing over the meat wrapped in wax paper. 

“15 gold for the meat.” Meira continued, to which Aurynia opened her coinpurse, digging into it to procure 15 gold. Meira’s prices simply couldn’t be beat, considering that she sourced her meat from her family's farm in Galafor. 

Suren helped Aurynia to place the packaged meat into her pack, as as they began to walk away, she looked up at the masquerading woman. 

“Am I really your apprentice?” Suren asked, skipping next to Aurynia, her eyes wide with poorly contained glee. 

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be.” Aurynia responded, looking down at Suren’s beaming face. The young girl jumped in the air, her arms spread towards the sky with excitement she couldn’t hide. She jumped and bounced Aurynia in circles, breaking out into a joyful yell.

“I’m an apprentice! I’m an APPRENTICE!” Suren yelled, causing various other citizens in the market to stop and stare at her with a puzzled gaze. Even one of the City Watch guards broke her blank gaze to raise an eyebrow at Suren, nearly losing her grip on her spear as the excitable girl dashed by.

As her and Aurynia walked side by side, Suren pointed out various stalls, and helped Aurynia to pick out a few decent potatoes, onions, tomatoes and bulbs of garlic for dinner. She planned to make a hearty stew, as it would help to fight the malnutrition Feirun and Suren were experiencing. She even purchased some heavy and ripe peaches and apples, tucking them into the wicker basket, which was only about half full. 

Making her way throughout the Pryderi, Aurynia stood in front of a closed door, the wooden sign hanging from the side of the building carved with a needle and spool of thread. Stepping inside, Suren stood quietly behind her. The sound of thread being spun, as well as the clacking of wooden dowels as lace was being made. 

An older man sat at a table piled with fine cloth and thread, threading a small needle, peering through his small spectacles. Next to him was a middle-aged woman working leather into boots. They both looked up, and only the older gentleman stood up, placing the thread in a pin cushion clipped to his blue tunic. 

In one corner, a stand covered in different samples of fabrics stood, a rainbow of different fabrics and threads. Next to it, wooden mannequins were draped with examples of clothing. The latest fashion trends in Upper and Lower Rathir alike. It seemed that delicate, flowing silks in dark colors seemed to be ‘in’, as those were most common styles among the mannequins. 

“How can I help you, young lady?” He asked, looking at Aurynia. He looked between both Aurynia and Suren, seemingly analyzing hair and eye colors for colors that matched them.

“I’m here to have some clothes made for this one right here.” Aurynia said, gently pushing Suren forward. 

“I’d also like to know if you had anything already made that might fit her, as well as some decent shoes. She needs something to wear in the meantime.” Aurynia continued, looking around at the clothes.

“Well, one of the Varani sailors commissioned some clothes for his child while he was here, but had to leave before he could pick it up. He said he was going out of the Faelands, so I doubt he will be back anytime soon to claim them. I’ll bring them out for you to look at,” He responded, walking into one of the back rooms, carrying a crate of clothing with surprising strength for his frail frame. 

He placed it on the counter, and began rummaging through it, pulling out the pieces that would best fit Suren. There were a few simple dresses, warm, thick and slightly oversized to let a child grow into it. The clothing was mostly made of linen and lined with wool, perfect for the upcoming winters. The cold months of Rathir could be quite harsh, with temperatures that dropped low, and snowstorms that could halt the entirety of the city in its tracks. 

Aurynia noted the lighter options as well, breathable clothing made from cotton and hemp cloth seemed suitable for warmer days and seasons. It would also be cheaper to buy clothes for hotter weather now, then waiting for when it was most in demand. Shoveling over 250 gold, she bought 3 dresses, two lined with wool for the cold, and one made of the cooler materials. For an additional 100, she procured a few pairs of trousers, as well as some tunics, and a pair of cloth shoes. 

A few minutes were spent taking Suren’s precise measurements so that her own tailored clothes and shoes could be made. Aurynia allowed her to pick out her own clothes, which seemed to be reasonable daily wear. 

Quickly finishing up, Aurynia paid a down payment of 100 gold for the man to begin working on the clothes. Ducking out of the shop, Aurynia looked into her coin purse, counting about 500 gold left, more than enough to buy the young girl a trinket or a snack at the market. 

“I have about enough to purchase a small item. I don’t have much use for it, so how about you pick out something you like?” Aurynia asked, before Suren grabbed her hand and began to pull her along with a surprising amount of strength. Aurynia looked around the market as Suren pulled her arm, holding it behind her as she continued to walk forward. Sounds of yelling, laughter, and mundane chatter filled her ears once more as she allowed the stimuli of the Pryderi to come over her once more.

When Suren finally came to a stop, Aurynia stood in front of the same stall she had first noticed upon entering the Pryderi, the fabrics and jewelry chains still moving and flowing within the wind's gentle embrace. The mysterious woman who owned the stall still sat behind it, her legs crossed underneath her flowing skirts.

“Well, we meet again. I knew you would come back.” The woman said, lifting her veil to take a puff of her pipe, the smell of tobacco filling the air. 

“Yes, we did.” Aurynia said briefly, looking down at the pieces of jewelry.

“How much is everything here?” Aurynia asked, examining the bangles, necklaces and rings. It seemed that none of them were enchanted, considering she couldn’t feel any power radiating from them. They just seemed to be regular pieces of jewelry. 

“100 gold for the rings, 50 for a bracelet, and 250 for a necklace. You won’t find a better price in all of Rathir.” She mentioned, gently picking a random bangle up and flicking it with her metal nail guard, the gold creating a gentle light ringing to prove that the gold was real. Aurynia didn’t doubt that they were real, considering that all jewelry and luxury items were inspected before they could be sold at the Pryderi. The cheap price most likely meant that the goods were stolen or smuggled from Detyre where the ores were mined. It was fairly common for gold and ores to be smuggled into The Plains of Erathell, as the cost for transporting it legally was 10,000 gold per shipment or caravan. 

Suren looked over the pieces of jewelry, picking them up and examining them with a scrutinous eye, as if she was looking for something specific. Finally, she held 3 items in her hands, deciding which one she wanted the most. The first was a silverite ring, set with an obsidian shard that caught a ray of sunlight shining down. The next two were gold bangles. Simple, classic, and timeless. 

Wanting to get home sooner than later, Aurynia passed the vendor 200 gold, to which she silently nodded.

“A pleasure doing business with you, ma’am.” She said, placing the gold in an ornate box and shoving it under the table where Aurynia could not see. Turning away, Aurynia took Suren’s hand in hers, heading home so that she could fix dinner.

______________________________________________________________________________

Darkness had begun to fade from the Wending, the light of the morning sun shining gently through Aurynia’s bedroom windows. The early morning chill had already set into her room, her wooden floor like a sheet of ice on her feet. Aurynia wanted to stay in bed, but she already knew that her day had to begin soon. Stretching her hands to the sky, a groan escaped her full lips as her back cracked.

She switched from one foot to another as she stood in front of her wardrobe, looking through her clothing to decide what she would wear today. The white nightgown that she wore provided little to no warmth, the cotton fabric much too thin to do anything more than cover her body. 

Finally pulling out a bicolor kirtle and its matching sleeves, Aurynia yanked off her nightgown and threw on her underdress, before tying herself into the black and blue kirtle. It was nowhere near the more revealing fashions of some high society Dokkalfar women with their typical high collars and exposed stomachs with enough jewelry to sink a small boat. 

Aurynia loved that type of fashion. The long chiffons and silks, elaborate hairpins and headdresses, and delicate shoes were beautiful to her. But if she was going to play the character of ‘Isolde’, she needed to be ordinary and unassuming. That meant plain clothes, minimal jewelry, and practical fashion.

Sitting down at the vanity by her window, Aurynia looked in the mirror before rinsing her face off, patting it dry with a linen cloth, and rubbing her skin down with her homemade face cream. She looked at herself as she tied the sleeves to her kirtle, thinking about a book she had read on the fashions of Rathiri women.

Apparently, the kirtle was an Almain creation, most suitably worn in their temperate climates various seasons. It was thin enough to be worn comfortably in the summer, and with decent enough layering, could be worn in the dead of winter. Now, in the chilly Rathiri harvest season, it was perfect. 

The garment had been first brought to Rathir by Almain travellers, who taught Dokkalfar tailors how to make the piece of clothing. It eventually became a fairly common fashion piece for working-class women, due to its practical nature. In the typical fashions of Dokkalfar women, the garment was altered, with carefully sewn slits between the added panels of the dress.

 Dokkalfar women took great pride in their appearances, and due to cultural values and tradition, liked to show skin. A lot of it. Aurynia herself didn’t mind it. After all, she was just a regular Dokkalfar woman. However, she still shied away from such dress to not expose her plethora of scars, which would then lead to people asking questions and growing suspicious of her. After all, it was not common for a seemingly normal healer to have more battle scars than the soldiers at The Burn. 

No matter how much she may have liked fashion, she couldn’t risk exposing herself and having the citizens find out who she actually was. She shivered as she thought of crowds of people surrounding her door, all to just get a glimpse at the supposed ‘Hero of Mel Senshir’. 

Sighing, Aurynia began to tie her hair back, holding it in place with a fabric bun cover, a few loose strands of dyed black hair framing her face. Checking her temples for any white patches of hair, Aurynia stood up, finally ready to begin her day. 

The downstairs of her home and clinic was silent, even the hearth dead and cold. Heading to her basement, she began to do what she always did early in the morning. Check inventory, tidy up her alchemical table, and eat a small breakfast of bread, cheese, and apples.

Sitting down at her alchemical table, Aurynia rummages through her tools to look for items suitable for Suren to use in her experiments. Coming across a smaller mortar and pestle, as well as some wooden bowls, Aurynia set them to the side for the younger girl. Pleased with her morning routine finally being finished, Aurynia prepared for her first patients of the day, which usually began to filter in sporadically throughout the day. 

Her clinic had only recently opened, and the people of The Wending and The Tunnels were not quick to trust new people. Especially not healers. However, she seemed to be having an easier time, considering that Aurynia did not accept money in exchange for her services. She had seen about 15 patients already, all with minor illnesses or injuries. The most dire situation she had tended to had been Feirun’s dysentery after all. 

But she had a feeling that it would soon change. She had already heard talk of her clinic in the market and around The Wending. Working men and women showed curiosity, showed signs of vague hope that just maybe… they might have a reliable healer down under.

Healing services in The Wending were far and few between, and healers who were skilled in the healing arts of magic were non-existent. The healing services that were available were usually offered by crudely trained barber-surgeons and inexperienced healers who had little to no formal training. It was rare that a trained healer would visit The Wending to care for someone, and it had never occurred in The Tunnels. Healing was expensive, and the poor could not afford it. 

Healing in The Wending would usually cost about 100 gold for a visit, with an additional 50 gold for a small health potion if the illness was easily cured. More ‘expensive’ trips could cost up to 5000 gold for a simple amputation, a cost that most could not easily afford. Even the amputations themselves were crudely performed, with many dying of shock or blood loss. Down under, there was no mage to lull you to sleep with magic, or relieve pain.  Just a sharp blade, sawing through skin and bone. 

When studying at the Scholia Arcana, Aurynia had studied the healing arts, and the healing arts only. She had learned how to perform amputations, cauterize wounds, sterilize and properly care for wounds, and even knew the skills of midwifery. She was a well trained and well rounded healer, capable of catering to the needs of the less fortunate.

However, her skills and free services were not met with the same positive reaction from everyone. It had earned her a few unseen enemies among the few other healers in The Wending, or so she had heard. They didn’t approve of the new ‘competition’, as Aurynia’s clinic had already started to notice a trend of people passing over their own businesses in favor of hers. A few had begun to warm up to her and try to forge a decent relationship in the pursuit of better care, whilst some did not.

To her knowledge, there weren’t many other healers in The Wending, only having met a few. Calphin Ornam was the youngest she had come into contact with, at the age of only 20. He claimed to have had an education at the Ysa chapter of the Scholia Arcana, but Aurynia knew for a fact that he did not tell the truth. The Scholia Arcana did not teach the arts of healing in their Ysa chapter, and if he actually attended the school, he would have known that.

He was cocky, sarcastic, and somewhat rude, but seemed to be capable of performing the most basic of healing spells. Aurynia had spoken to him on occasion, and regretted doing so nearly every time. He was terrible at holding a conversation that did not eventually pivot to his own accomplishments. He had piss-poor bedside manner, and his potions were watery and overpriced.

For the most part, Aurynia avoided him whenever she saw him in the market or around The Wending. He seemed to think very poorly of her, yet seemed to always try to attach himself to her, watching her every move. 

Most of his regular patients had begun to change course, and visit Aurynia instead of the less skilled healer, much to his dismay. Aurynia hadn’t come to The Wending to step on any toes or ruin business for the other healers, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit better that people had started to shy away from visiting him.

Another healer she had met, Niewa Rend, had been born and raised in The Wending, unlike Calphin. She had learned a majority of her knowledge from her father, Parlon Rend, who had previously served The Wending as its primary healer. Parlon had passed away years before Aurynia had made her home in Rathir, but she had heard that he was a stern but loving and fair man. Niewa had learned well from him, and was a skilled botanist and midwife.

Ironically, she was quite inept at making potions, and had recently begun to refer those who she could not help to Aurynia’s clinic. 

Niewa herself was aloof but pleasantly polite, and was a woman of very few words. She had a few children whom she was teaching the arts of midwifery and botany to. Other than that, Aurynia knew relatively little about her, and Niewa preferred it that way.

Sitting down at her alchemical table, her hands began to work at crushing dried herbs and pouring them into small containers. Nimble fingers, wrapped gently around the handle of a grinding stone, moved back and forth rhythmically, the crisp leaves and petals crumbling into a manageable dust.

The day began to pick up pace, with Suren waking up first, and immediately beginning to experiment with her new mortar and pestle. Folding her legs together, she used an overturned crate as a seat, sitting next to Aurynia silently and beginning to watch and practice making her own concoctions. Every so often, Aurynia would place down her own work, moving her hands to correct her grinding or mixing posture. 

By the time that Aurynia had finished a fresh batch of pain-relief poultices, she had heard a knock at her door. Soon, the time to care for incoming patients came, and surprisingly, the room had begun to fill by noon. At least 15 people sat on cots or stood in corners, waiting patiently for Aurynia to finally get to them. Suren had already begun to help, bringing up crates and boxes for them to sit on after the cots and chairs had begun to fill up. When she finished, she stood on the bottom step of the staircase to Aurynia’s bedroom, watching as her mentor began to care for the people who had come in. 

The illnesses and injuries had been quite simple, but unique in their own ways, some even being humorous. 

Her first patient had been a teenage Ljosalfar boy who had cut himself on his leg after a nasty fall. The wound itself was fresh, and had only needed to be cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. The boy had squealed loud enough to stop the collective pained moaning and groaning from the other patients, who all looked at him with mixes of pain-touched humor, or incredulity at the high-pitched yells that escaped his mouth. After finally dressing his wounds, he limped away with wounded pride out of the clinic. 

The next was a Varani sailor, who was severely fatigued. The strong, large man was pale, and Aurynia could see that his gums had recently bled, and his breath smelt of dried blood. She had explained to him that he had contracted scurvy from poor eating habits whilst sailing, and directed him to bring along lime juice to prevent further illness in the future. She had sent him off with a few healing potions, and orders to keep his boat docked until he properly recovered. 

He was thoroughly surprised that he had even had scurvy, and explained that he hadn’t known that only eating hardtack and drinking kegged oat ale would lead to it. Even as she began to service other patients, she couldn’t help but wonder how a Varani, a race known for their unprecedented prowess at sailing, didn’t know to keep a moderately balanced diet whilst at sea.

The day passed quickly, with people coming and going throughout the doors of her clinic. The sun eventually began to filter through her window panes, casting gentle rays of late day light on the wooden floor boards. With the day coming to an end, less and less people remained, until only Aurynia and Suren stood in the clinic, cleaning up after their hectic day. They worked together silently to change and launder the cots linens, as well as the aprons that Aurynia had worn and changed throughout the day.

Aurynia thanked Suren for her help, dismissing her so that the young girl could eat supper with her mother downstairs in their room. Bending over to pick up a fallen roll of bandage cloth, Aurynia’s pointed ears perked up. The sound of a light knock at the door caught her attention. She wondered who it could possibly be at this hour, as the sun had already set past the horizon. The street lights had been lit, and The Wending was already beginning to wind down, save for the drunkards, gambling dens, and prostitutes. Night rain had begun to drizzle down, muddying the narrow dirt path in front of her home.

Aurynia cracked the door open, a wine-washed eye looking out to see who or what was attempting to get her attention. Before her was a cloaked figure, slender and tall. Their dark blue cloak was drawn tightly over their face and body, obscuring their face or any identifying features.

“Are… are you Isolde?” a soft voice croaked, the sound pitiful and quivering. It sounded like that of an adult woman’s, but quiet and unsure like a child’s. The voice was vaguely familiar, but Aurynia couldn’t place where she had once heard it before.

“I am. Who is asking?” Aurynia responded, her eyes narrowing slightly. She couldn’t help but be slightly suspicious, considering the visitor's secretive nature.

“I… I need help. Apothecary or… Clinic services.” The voice said, their head still angled towards the floor.

“I would be glad to help, however, it is past clinic hours. I closed up shop nearly an hour ago. I close at sunset. Unless your condition is particularly dire-” Aurynia started, motioning to close the door.

“Please, my lady. I… I desperately need the help.” The woman asked, her hand shooting out to stop the door with her hand. Her wrist peeked out from underneath the cloak, the dark skin splotched with a dark rash. 

Looking down at her were dark brown eyes, wide with pleading. 

“Please.” The woman begged, her voice quiet. 

Aurynia opened the door, quickly ushering the woman inside. The cold harvest season air blew in from the cracked door, but as she closed it, she began to warm up once more. The woman's hands lowered her hood, and her delicate face was covered with a fierce red rash. Aurynia looked up at the tall woman, her eyes full of softened pity.

“Speak quietly. There are others resting downstairs and I would rather not disturb them.” Aurynia warned, tying a clean apron around her waist, over her kirtle. The woman took off her cloak, and Aurynia could see the rash had spread to most of her body, if she could guess off of the large rashes covering nearly all of her arms.

“I… I don’t know what to do.” She said, light eyes welling with tears. Her lips quivered in a sort of helpless defeat, and she stared at her hands that rested idly in her lap as she sat down on one of the cots.

“I… I got it from my husband. Last week I started to notice the marks. I can barely leave my bed, a-and my hair is falling out in patches. I… I hope it isn’t what I think it may be.” She said, sniffling as she wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes watery and distant, the spark seemingly gone.

Taking her top off, Aurynia could see that red marks covered nearly all over her chest and back, as well as her shoulders, neck, and even her face. Dipping a clean cloth into the water, she gently wiped the woman down, trying desperately to remember where she had first seen her. The woman straightened her back at the feeling of the cool cloth on her back, and Aurynia could see a small baby bump that had originally been hidden by her clothes.

“What’s your name?” Aurynia inquired, peeking over the woman's shoulder at her quivering hands.

“Loroh. My name is Loroh.” She responded, the name slipping off of her tongue as if she hadn’t spoken it in a while.

“Well, Loroh. Tell me about yourself.” She asked, moving about the clinic room, gathering items and bottles. Loroh’s head began to rise, her dark brown hair having been recently cut short, covering her face.

“I’m a shopkeeper, not far from here. I make clay pots and jars, and my husband does the wood working. I… I haven’t been able to work in nearly a month. I'm always fatigued and… can barely get out of bed.” She said, her sniffling growing quieter and quieter. 

“I’m not from here… you know. I originally come from Detyre. My father was a miner, and my mother a day laborer in Adessa. They died when I was just a wee child… from syphilis.” She said, hugging herself tighter, her eyes glossing over once more.

“I… I wouldn't know what to do if I had it. I only recently found out I was pregnant. What if… what if my baby is born with it? What if… the disease takes hold, and I'm not there to watch my child grow? All because of him…” Loroh mumbled, her grip nearly bruising her own arms in a depression fueled rage.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Aurynia said, rubbing her back and chest with a light cream for itching and to promote steady healing.

“The bad news is… this is, in fact, syphilis. The good news, however, is that this is curable. It’s no longer a death sentence. You… and your baby, will be fine.” Aurynia said, kneeling next to the cot and offering Loroh a small wooden box of vials. 

Loroh’s breath hitched, her eyes like soft, freshly turned summer earth. She looked unsure, as if the beacon of hope that had recently been lit for her was a false flame. 

“The cure is simple. These vials are filled with a liquid composed of different herbs, plants, and imbued with magic. I casted it with my very own hands.” Aurynia replied, picking up one of the vials carefully, swirling the dark purple liquid. It seemed to have its own shimmer and ‘life’, as the potion gave off a weak light and soft purple glow.

“I studied in the Scholia Arcana for over 2 years, practicing only the healing arts-” Aurynia began. Sitting on the cot opposite to Loroh, placing the small crate on the floor. Aurynia removed her haircovering, letting her smooth locks of artificial black hair cascade over her shoulders. Red eyes looked down at her own fingers, which had been stained a light red from working with reagents for so long.

“During my time at the Scholia Arcana, we regularly studied various illnesses and diseases. Anything from a compromised childbirth, to the most obscure plagues, we had seen, studied, and done our most to heal them. Most were mild conditions, broken bones… dislocated joints, or even the rare arcane-assisted amputation. One of the most common things we treated were syphilis patients, in all stages.” Aurynia stated, her eyes looking deeply into Loroh’s. The other woman listened intently, her head slightly tilted to the side, long Alfar ears perked to hear as best as she could.

“A man with syphilis was one of the first patients I had ever been tasked to heal on my own, actually. He had looked similar to how you do now, with all the same symptoms, the same rash. Then, I was inexperienced, stumbling my way around him, trying desperately to figure out what it was, and what I needed to cure him. I had crafted the best potion that I could, and he was sent home.” Aurynia recited, her finger trailing over a stain on the hem of the cloth apron tied around her waist.

“W-what happened to him?” Loroh inquired, leaning forward slightly, her facial expression inquisitive.

“He was fine within the month. I last saw him a few weeks ago, at the market with his children. He seemed to be quite happy, and definitely healthy. He still draws breath, his life didn’t end then and there.” Standing back up, Aurynia turned her back, taking off her apron and throwing it in the hamper to be washed. She dipped her hands into a basin of fresh water to wash them, then poured it out and refilled it with another bucket of fresh water she had already brought in from the well earlier.

“Funnily enough, I had gotten poor marks on my assignment, but I had passed, nonetheless. I was told that my potion and the recipe that I had created was too weak. My enchantment was poorly casted, and I hadn’t used enough tindertwig. According to the Savant that I was being tutored by, full marks would have meant that he improved within the night. My potion took three days.”

“That was over two years ago, when I was a Neophyte. I now hold the rank of Adept, so it’s safe to say that I have improved.” Aurynia explained, a soft smile making its home on her full lips.

Aurynia had expected to see some kind of relief, perhaps happiness and elation. But there was no trace of any positive emotion on the woman’s face. The delicate features of her face seemed relaxed in an almost… dangerous way. Aurynia knew precisely what kind of emotion she was feeling at the moment, being as though she had felt it numerous times herself.

A sharp, burning, twisting, eroding hatred. Aurynia hated that feeling, but, nonetheless, she knew it. 

Loroh’s dark skin glinted in the dim light of the clinic room, the redness of the rash highlighted by the light of candles that were lit in various parts of the room, and the fireplace, which crackled weakly. Brown eyes stared into blank space, empty, but simultaneously filled with emotion. 

Aurynia attempted to keep herself busy, moving around the clinic room doing useless and meaningless tasks to not stare at Loroh. Beats of uncomfortable, pregnant silence hung in the air, and Aurynia was uncomfortable with the energy in her home. She could feel the hatred wading off of Loroh’s very skin, a sensitivity most gained when they were trained in magic.

Aurynia moved between arranging bottles of already organized potions, before turning on her heel to rummage through a bin of clean laundry that had yet to be folded as if she was looking for something. Aurynia began to walk past Loroh, but a warm hand placed itself on her shoulder to get her attention.

“You studied in the Scholia Arcana, right?” Loroh asked, looking straight through Aurynia. Aurynia had a feeling that she was not going to like any words that came after the initial question Loroh asked.

“Yes.” 

“If I asked you to… make me a potion, would you do it?” She asked, dark brown eyes like the point of a blade looking at Aurynia.

“I can provide healing potions. That is all.” That was a bold faced lie. Aurynia was more skilled in making poisons than she was in making healing potions. Her knowledge of poison was deeper than the caverns that ran beneath Rathir. There was little she didn’t know about poison, but she was in no rush to learn what little she did not know. She was done making poisons, having made a personal vow to not end any more lives needlessly.

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I want, and I know that you can make it for me.” She said, her hands in her lap, pinching at the skin of the other one.

“I don’t make poisons. That’s illegal, and I cannot aid in the murder of another. It would be…against what I stand for.” She said, turning around. 

“No is my answer. Please leave, and take the potions with you.” Aurynia ordered, her voice firm.

“Please. He endangered our unborn child! He endangered me! This is no life for us, living with a man who participated in adultery and infected his wife with the same disease that killed her parents!” Loroh fussed, her voice a harsh whisper. 

Aurynia’s nails dug into her palms, the temptation of justice clawing at her. She had promised herself that she would never create another poison, much less give it to someone else to kill another. Life was sacred to her, but she also understood that some lives needed to be cut short. But… she wasn’t sure that she should be the judge of it. She was no longer going to be the judge, jury and executioner. She was tired of being the settler of feuds, the deciding force behind the choices of others.

“I sympathize with you. But… I will not aid you in the killing of your husband. He is a bastard, and a terrible excuse for a man, but I will do no such thing. There are other ways to distance yourself from him. If he committed adultery, it is grounds to have your union annulled in the courts-”

“The courts will side with him! He has more money, more property… more everything! The courts don’t care that he’s a lying dog. At the end of the day… it’ll be me that’s left with nothing! He would never agree to separate in a million years!” She said, her eyes welled with tears.

Aurynia’s heart began to sink. She could hear the desperation and pleading in Loroh’s voice. She was so tired of killing, of having the weight of others on her consciousness. But… she had to do something. She couldn’t sit idly by and turn away a person who needed her help. 

“Wait here.” Aurynia said, running up the wooden stairs to her room, and opening the wooden chest at the end of her bed. She pushed past the valuables, pieces of her old armor, and other items she had gained during her travels, finally procuring a small bottle of purple liquid. She swirled the contents of the bottle about to make sure that the powerful magic was still active within the potion. 

As she expected, the bottle began to glow a sultry purple color, giving off a soft light. She opened it, careful not to spill any of the contents. The smell was intoxicating, somewhat musky, and… oddly sexy?

Liquid Seduction, one of her most dangerous potions. She had pickpocketed it off of a drunken Almain woman, who had bragged endlessly about how she had acquired ‘ancient fae magic’, even though the potion was nowhere near fae in origin.

Shoving the cork back into the bottle, Aurynia walked back down the steps, the potion gently cradled in her hands. The reactivated magic was at work within the bottle, warming her stained hands. She sat back down on the cot, smoothing out the fabric of her clothing, before presenting the potion to Loroh.

“This… is a powerful potion. I obtained it in my… travels, and should you drink it, you’ll be nearly irresistible. It is usually used for seductive purposes, but for you, it will work as an aid to your persuasive abilities. Draft up a contract, and put on it whatever you like. Bleed him dry. That will be your revenge, and at the end, your hands will be clean.” Aurynia lectured, swirling the liquid about in its bottle.

“The potion lasts for a little under an hour. Make it count. The effects reach their peak about 30 minutes after consumption. Have him sign it before a member of the City Watch as is customary. You must be quick, but it will work, trust me.” Aurynia warned, placing the warm bottle into the woman’s hands. 

“Now go. Take the potions I gave you. One twice a week, for 3 weeks. The rash should be gone within the week, but the rest are to make sure the illness is truly gone. Come back should anything else concern you. Now, go. I suggest writing while he sleeps to not arouse suspicion. Tell no one that I gave you such a potion.” Aurynia started, beginning to turn away, before Lorosh grabbed her hand.

“Thank you. You’ve helped me more than anyone else ever has.” Loroh replied, eyes still watery. The red rash blazing over her face disappeared under her blue cloak, and she slipped the special potion into a hidden pocket on the inside of her clothing. Picking up the small crate of potions for her syphilis, she opened the door, nodding to Aurynia before dipping out and leaving. 

Aurynia stayed turned around for quite a bit, staring at the same floorboard. Her mind raced, wondering if she had truly handled the situation to the best of her ability. She stared into the distance, wondering if she had truly helped at all, or just sent someone off with a false solution. She knew in her heart that what she had done was the best option for her, but maybe not for Loroh. 

Of course, the easiest option would be to simply give her a potion that would kill the bastard, but if Loroh didn’t have the mind to handle violence, she might point straight back to Aurynia, or her persona of ‘Isolde’. Isolde was a nobody, she would be locked up in the Rathir prison for the rest of her sad life for providing poison to another with the purpose of murder. 

Aurynia didn’t want to resort to violence. She couldn't, she wouldn’t. She was tired of swinging blades about, of casting spells powerful enough to shake the earth. She wouldn’t aid in taking another life without needing to. She was sick of it. She detested the smell of blood, the feeling of cleaning it off of her armor and weapons. The sear of flesh as it burned and sizzled from her magic. 

Back then, she wasn’t a person. She had no soul, no self-given purpose. She was a weapon, no more sentient than a sword, or a pair of daggers. She remembered the blank feeling of barely living, just surviving long enough to complete another task for someone else. To others, she had been of little more purpose than an object. 

Aurynia remembered, her body frozen in place in the middle of the clinic room. Her hands shook, red eyes glassy and wide. She remembered being in the corner of rooms, listening to others decide when and where she would put her life on the line. She remembered staring at the floor, her hair covering her face, her eyes blank. She had heard that the eyes were the window to the soul, but she wasn’t sure if anything could be seen when looking into them. 

She hated that she wasn’t allowed to choose what she wanted to do with her own life. When she wanted to make a decision, there was no place for it. When she didn’t want to make a decision, she was forced to. She hated making decisions. Or so she thought, until she got the opportunity to make her own when she wanted to. Her clinic was a decision she had made on her own, to help in her own way. 

Aurynia stood still, until she eventually felt a small hand on her arm. Snapping out of her brief flashbacks, she looked down to see none other than Suren, worriedly looking up at her. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been standing there for… a while. It was a bit freakish.” The young girl said, stormy grey eyes glinting with worry. Aurynia brushed herself off, and began to look around as if she had simply zoned out. 

“Mm… yes. I’m fine. It’s late, I think it’s about time we went to bed, yes?” Aurynia said, patting the girl on the shoulder with a pinched smile. She led her to the steps, and coaxed her downstairs back towards her room. 

Once she heard the wooden door click, signifying that Suren had retired to her room, Aurynia silently snuffed out the downstairs fire, before heading upstairs to get ready for bed. 

The wooden steps sang an old song of wear and tear, creaking as she ascended towards her room. It was cold, and the floorboards made her feet cold after she had kicked off her boots. She washed up quickly with a pail of now cold water she had drawn earlier in the day, washing out the faded hair dye that stained her hair. 

In the mirror, she could see her natural hair color. A stark white, like that of the gentle snowflakes drifting down during a winter snowshower. She ran her hands through the damp strands, watching as the silken tendrils filtered through her fingers. Before she could appreciate the natural beauty of her hair, she rubbed her hands with black dye, covering her hair and wrapping it up to dry. 

She slipped under her sheets, the sounds of raindrops drumming against her windowpanes soothing her tumultuous mind. She tossed and turned as she tried to catch up to the sleep that seemed to elude her so. Eventually she descended into a fitful sleep, her full lips turned into a frown.