Solo [The Catholicon] Medicinal, not Recreational

[Velindor Calendula]

6th Summer 518; 7th Bell Syna was shining brightly over the mountain city of Lhavit, though most of the residents had a hard time noticing with the wretched fog blanketing the city. Wrapped in its cold, damp embrace, several of the normally hardy Lhavitians, particularly children and the elderly, had begun developing mild sickness. While these instances were still rare, and hardly life-threatening, they did provide Alessia Amaryllis, head doctor of the Catholicon, ample opportunity to give her newfound “assistant” plenty of work to keep him busy. And to see if he actually knew his herbs half as well as he claimed. Seated behind her simple wooden desk, Alessia scratched out instructions for Velindor to follow, though she made a point of keeping them vague. Not to the point of obscuring the purpose, but with the intent of putting the man through his paces. Though relatively calm and peaceful now, during the busy season or, Silakrov forbid, an actual plague, the Catholicon could be positively flooded with patients. It was imperative that her assistants be able to work with both competence and efficiency. *** Velindor swept through the fog-covered streets like a spectre, his silken clothes since mended courtesy of his newfound patron. “It certainly will not do for one under my employ to be seen looking like a common vagabond,” had been her exact words. Velindor allowed himself a smirk as he crossed over the bridge towards Tenten peak. Despite her brusque manner and decidedly unorthodox opinions regarding Symenestran culture, Alessia was not an unpleasant mistress to work for. A few chimes more saw the Symenestra scale the steps up to the Catholicon, fog swirling in with him as he pushed through the double doors leading into the main chamber. No sooner had he entered than he found himself berated by a now-familiar voice. “You’re three chimes late, Velindor,” came Alessia’s sibilant voice, thick with disappointment. She stood, hands on her hips, foot tapping a fast rhythm upon the marble floor, the very image of impatience. “Apologies, Alessia. I had trouble finding my way, a simple matter of a wrong turn. It will not happen again,” Velindor made his placating reply, just barely covering the veneer of disdain at being taken to task first thing in the morning, and by a half-blooded woman at that! She sniffed in disapproval, her crimson eyes locked on his own violet irises, though she spoke no more of his tardiness. Instead, a scrap of parchment was pressed into his hands. “These are your tasks for the morning. Some of the concoctions will take a day or so to be useful, but I at least expect the initial preparation to be finished before the noon rest.” Her tone brooked no argument, making it clear that even thinking of protest would be met with reprimands. For his part, Velindor simply performed a respectful half-bow, bending at the waist as his silver locks spilled forward across his shoulders. “Right away, Doctor Alessia.” With that, the detestable woman swept back up the spiral staircase towards her office, leaving Velindor with his task. Which is...what, exactly? the spider wondered as he peered down at the parchment. It was a list, written in Alessia’s distinctive and precise hand. Grimacing at the vague instructions, Velindor made mental notes of what was required. A tincture of tolm first, that shouldn’t take long. I’ll need a mortar, pestle, and alcohol. He was fairly sure these things were all on hand at the Catholicon; it would hardly be a proper house of healing without them, certainly! Moving swiftly to one of the large rectangular work stations on the first floor, Velindor cleared his working space before retrieving the mortar and pestle from the opposite side of the chamber. Luckily for him, Alessia was also a stickler for ensuring everything in the Catholicon’s inventory was properly labelled, so he had little difficulty retrieving the required jar of herbs. Retrieving a handful of the long, hairy leaves as well as a few brittle red flowers leftover from the drying process, Velindor tucked them all into the stone bowl, working the pestle to grind the plant into a more workable form. The gentle scraping sound of grinding herbs with mortar and pestle was relaxing, in a way, and the herbs had been dried well enough that only a handful of chimes were required to get the tolm down into a fine particulate of leaf and flower matter. Now for the easy part…. Word Count749