Perplexing Petrification (Quill)

The woman chuckled slightly, glancing at Marcus as he delivered his interpretation of the man. How old was he? Five, ten years younger than she was? It was hard to tell after a certain point, but it was clear he hadn't had a lot of experience. Not that she blamed him; sounded like he'd had a busy life. With his analysis, though, she felt inclined to remark on it. He'd played the game just fine, for all she cared, but sometimes people didn't ever consider...

"Let me give you a piece of wisdom, mister Marcus," she said with some irony, knowing full well that she probably didn't have half the brights that he did, "you see a kid like that with his shirt off, I bet you nine times out of ten he has no self-confidence. Maybe he looks in the mirror and he likes what sees, but if he was confident in himself he wouldn't need to show that off, you know? Women do the same damn thing too." She knew, all right. She'd known dozens of men like that, eager to flex their muscles and try and get a lady going all in the effort to hide something else that was broken down deep.

Marcus nodded slowly. It was strange to hear that he was completely off the mark, but then, psychology wasn't his strong suit. "So," he said, watching the shirtless man swagger down the dirt road, "you're saying that he's trying to compensate for something. It's not out of over-confidence that he wears no shirt, it's because he's got so little confidence in himself that he's showing himself off to cover up his own feeling of inferiority. And, you said that applies to most people who brag or seem to glory in themselves?" He nodded, smiling. "I guess you learn something new every day, huh?

"Oh," he said, pointing up towards the still-bright sky, "look up there." A thin column of smoke could be seen rising out of the woods ahead of them. "We're getting close. That's probably her."

Quick to act as always, that kid was. Terrel agreed with her own opinion, obviously, but she was a bit surprised at how quickly he followed. She wasn't that persuasive, if she remembered right. Scratching the back of her head, she shrugged it off, wondering if Marcus treated every other piece of advice from strangers like it was verbal gold. Oh well--not her problem. Terrel wouldn't pretend to understand what went through the kid's head, but he was an odd one, that was for sure. Maybe they grew them differently down south. After all, if it was anything like what some of the storytellers had said, he'd probably suffered more loss than she had, growing up.

The woman's gaze shifted to the wooded area they were fast approaching, a comforting sight for someone like herself. Out here it seemed like most everything was either tightly packed buildings or fields of farms and grasses. While her relationship with the woods had grown bitter in later years, it still felt more like home than almost any other place. The smoke rising from the area didn't seem to be coming too deep in, so Terrel doubted this alchemist they were headed to was terribly secluded. That'd probably be a good thing in case one of them got turned into a toad or something. The practice of alchemy was way over her head, but she remembered some terrible things that had come from it, and it made her wary enough.

As the treeline came nearer and nearer, Terrel inhaled that purified scent with appreciation. There wasn't anything like it, and she welcomed it back with a smile.

Marcus stepped through the tree-line, checking the column of smoke's general location in the sky before it became obscured by the overhead canopy of leaves. The birds were singing their twilight song, and Marcus watched as they flitted from branch to branch, piping their cheery melodies. He kept walking towards where he had last seen the smoke rise above the treetops, and every once in a while he would get a glimpse of it through the leaves.

After about ten minutes of walking, they arrived at the potion-master's abode. It was a small cottage, quaint and rustic, with a stream flowing several dozen feet away. The trees formed a small clearing around the cottage, and various plants and flowers bloomed all around it. There were multiple paths winding through the plants every which way, and Marcus supposed that this was to help her harvest them without trampling on anything. There was a relatively straight path that led from the outer edge of the plants to the cottage door, and Marcus headed down it. He came to the door and knocked three times.

Terrel spent a good time once they were in the woods simply looking around. Every forest she had been in was different than the last, and this one was no exception. The trees were a lot wider apart than in previous places she had visited, allowing you to see through them to a certain degree. The downside of that, though, meant that bushes and the like were practically rampant in a place like this. You could see over or through a lot of them, but it felt surprisingly claustrophobic for the woods. It just wasn't home, and that was as simple as that. She did catch herself looking into branches expectantly, as if a man with a longbow were watching them every step they took.

The kid seemed to have a nose enough for direction, thankfully, and it was only a short period before they actually arrived at the place they were looking for. It certainly did the stereotype of "hut in a forest" quite a bit of justice, Terrel had to admit, and if not for the smoke rising out of it, she might've doubted anyone lived there at all. Marcus, official team leader now, seemed to have confidence enough in what he was doing, so she gladly stood aside to let the kid take the task of hammering on the door. Tucking her thumbs back into her waistband, she looked around at the scenery again, waiting for the alchemist to come out.

And she waited.

And waited.

She thought she could hear someone bumping around in there, but she couldn't be sure. After about a minute (though it felt much longer for the impatient girl) she spoke irritably, "Oh come on, you crazy old bat--" Right then the door opened, and Terrel shut her mouth, blushing slightly.

The door slammed shut. Marcus winced and knocked on the door again. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can we talk to you? We were hoping you could help us with something."

"Why should I?" A voice snapped from the other side of the door. "Crazy old bats don't help random strangers."

"We were told to come here," Marcus said, "by your old apprentice in Hyrule Castle Town. She runs the potion shop now, and she told me to come talk to you."

There was silence for a moment, then the door opened again. An old woman stood in the open doorway, backed by the light from a merrily burning fire. She wore a pale blue apron over a bright green house-dress, and the apron was covered with more smudges and stains than Marcus could count. Her brown eyes flashed from within the wrinkled skin tanned by many, many hours spent in the sun.

"Helena sent you, eh?" The woman said, brandishing a long wooden spoon at them. "Well, I'm not letting you in until you apologize. What foolishness!"

Terrel was still embarrassed by her slip of the tongue, but she was far too prideful to admit it was an accident, or worse, unwarranted. A moment later the woman opened the door again, and Terrel noted that "crazy old bat" still seemed pretty fitting, even now that she had met the woman. She was covered in grime and carried a ladle like a weapon. Better yet, now she was demanding an apology. Thankfully, Terrel's cheeks had cooled down already, so she simply crossed her arms and looked away from the alchemist austerely, as if suddenly very interested in some of the trees that surrounded the cottage.

An apology? She thought not. Wrinkling her nose at some rancid smell that seemed to be coming out of the hut, she admitted frankly to her partner, "Well, looks like another dead end. Back to the city, I suppose." There was no way Terrel was going to admit defeat to an old hag, just like that. She hadn't been wrong in being impatient, the woman had taken forever to get to the door! Besides, it smelled like death in there anyway.

Marcus swiftly stepped between the two of them. "The city was a dead end," he told Terrel, "she's our best hope." He looked at the potion-master, still trying to block Terrel from her view. "Ma'am, people have been petrified back in town. The mages can't do anything about it. Please, can you help us? You don't have to leave or do anything," he said quickly, "just, please, tell us how we can reverse the petrification."

Not wanting to look at the woman, Terrel gladly took a peremptory step backwards, keeping her arms crossed and her eyes averted. It was ridiculous to think that she'd be apologizing to this hag. She hadn't done anything wrong! Jutting her lower jaw out in defiance, she listened to the conversation that Marcus had with her as he tried to smooth out the damage. She sniffed with a wind of irritation as Marcus claimed the city had been a dead end, she herself finding it a more appealing prospect than entering the death-smelling cottage. Terrel bothered to shoot the woman a sidelong look when Marcus talked about the mages having trouble, wondering if that would get her to change her mind.

It wasn't like Terrel was opposed to looking at alchemy for a solution--anything was fine, really--but she couldn't bring herself to say those terrible words. It looked like the alchemist was considering Marcus' words at least, though, so Terrel perked an ear up and waited for a moment. Finally, the elderly woman responded with her own sniff, adjusting her voluminous thing of whispy hair she had tied up behind her head, "Of course magic is no good for petrifications. Those fools don't know the difference between a newt's leg and a rat's leg these days. Phaw! Fine, fine, come in." Terrel uncrossed her arms, still frowning, but moved to go in as well. The alchemist threw up a hand immediately, narrowing those bulbous eyes and staring Terrel down where she stood, "Only the polite ones, girl!"

Terrel stamped her foot in frustration, almost throwing her hands up the air on top of that. "What do you mean I can't come inside? How am I supposed to protect him from being turned into a toad, then?" she said with exasperation clear in her voice. It was the alchemist's turn to fold her arms and avert her head, though. She turned away, closed her eyes, and stuck that big, wart-covered nose up into the air, mimicking Terrel's annoyed sniff perfectly.

For a long moment both of them were motionless, but finally Terrel sighed slowly, causing the alchemist to open one eye and peer at her conspicuously with it. "Fine, I'm sorry," she mumbled, hardly audible at all. Almost instantly, the hag of a woman put a hand to her ear, leaning sideways triumphantly as if to say, 'What was that, now?' Terrel grunted, raising her voice to an almost shout, "I said I'm sorry, all right? Now can you just help us already?"

The elderly woman nodded her head once, giving a "hmph" of satisfaction as she turned her back on them, finally allowing the pair to enter her abode, "That will have to do. Come inside, and don't touch anything now."

Marcus exhaled, releasing a breath he had not been aware of holding. His fears that the alchemist would refuse them aid vanished like a nightmare under the dawn's early light. They might have started off on the wrong foot, but she would help them. They were inside her cottage, and that was the first step. Marcus had a feeling that it would be harder to refuse them once they were inside, although that have been merely wishful thinking.

The inside of her cottage was very much like its surroundings. Just as the outside area was filled with blooming plants, vegetables, and flowers, so too did vases of multicoloured plants rest on nearly every level surface in the room. A large mortar and pestle rested atop the room's central table, and it was here that the ancient alchemist sat. She set to work on grinding a gnarled, pale green plant into tiny bits, her hands working as smoothly and skillfully as a weaver's. To the left stood a door which probably led to the woman's bedroom. Opposite the cottage's entryway rested a fireplace with a merrily burning flame, and hanging above the fire was a large pot. Marcus couldn't tell what was inside because the lid was on, but he wondered. This woman was obviously an accomplished alchemist; any manner of potion could be brewing in that pot. A potion to cure all wounds, a potion to enable flight, a potion to turn nosey healers into slugs... Marcus looked away.

Marcus wasn't sure what to think about what Terrel had said. He was grateful that she wanted to protect him, annoyed that she thought he needed protecting, and confused at their meeting. He had brought her along specifically for protection, yes, but to hear it so blandly... he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He looked at the old alchemist, deciding to put the matter to the side for now. He wondered whether she would offer them a place to sit, but when she didn't he decided not to ask. There didn't seem to be any other chairs in the room, anyway.

"Don't just stand there gawping," the alchemist snapped, and Marcus' eyes flew back to her, "what is it you want?"

Marcus swallowed, wishing that he had gone over what he would say on the journey here. "A great many people have been turned to stone," he said, "and when I asked," he paused, "Ms. Helena, for advice, she pointed us to you."

The alchemist grunted. "Of course she did," she said. She continued working the mortar and pestle, and after a few more seconds Marcus wondered whether she had forgotten about them. Was it possible that she had gone senile? If so, their hopes that she would know a cure were in trouble. "What kind of stone was it?" She asked abruptly.

"What?" Marcus wasn't quite sure what she wanted.

"Was it normal, every-day stone," she asked impatiently, "or was it something special?"

Marcus thought. He hadn't ever heard anything about special stone. "Normal stone, I think," he said, glancing at Terrel for confirmation.

"Well," the alchemist sighed, standing up from the mortar and pestle, "at least I don't have to leave." She carried it over to the pot over the fire and took off the lid, scraping what was left of the gnarled plant into the pot's contents. She walked back to the table, grabbed her wooden spoon, and stirred the pot with it. She leaned forward and inhaled the steam wafting from the top. "Mm," she said, "I think it's ready."

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

"Soup," she said, pulling out a bowl and dipping it into the pot. "You're just in time for dinner."

Terrel's first reaction to being offered food by the woman was to stay away from it. Accepting food from hateful strangers wasn't exactly her strong suit, but her stomach disagreed on that one. That apple of hers felt like it had been a few years prior, and her gut felt emptier than ever. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have just a few bites, if she was offering. Besides, if she was out to get them, she couldn't have poisoned the brew before they arrived, right? Glancing around at the shelves and the walls, Terrel made the brief decision that the place might not be so bad after all, if food was involved. This alchemist might not be so bad after all.

Curious what food did to a person.

Marcus sipped his soup slowly, simultaneously savoring the rich taste and keeping his tongue from burning. The soup was, obviously, very hot. It had just come off of the fire, after all. He smiled gratefully, and complimented the alchemist on her cooking. He sat crosslegged on the floor, having decided that that was much preferable to standing while eating. The alchemist still sat on her chair, and she was taking her time with her soup as well.

"There's no meat in this," Marcus said. It wasn't an accusation, merely a statement.

"No, there isn't," the woman agreed, setting her bowl down and resting her hand on her lap.

"Ethics," Marcus asked, "or...."

"It would be stupid to eat the animals around here," the woman said flatly. "I can't travel very far, and many of the plants in my garden have," she paused, "undesirable effects on the human body. I would rather not eat a rabbit and wake up the next morning to find that my toes have turned purple."

Terrel prodded around in the bottom of the soup bowl, as if she was looking for purple toes. All this talk of poisonous plants in an alchemist's place made her feel a little bit uneasy about eating anything, but her stomach rumbled anyway. She spooned a bite out and blew the heat off a moment later, examining it for a moment before consuming the thing. She didn't really know what Marcus meant about "ethics" and meat, but she wished that the stew had some either way. Chewing on a bit, she felt something strange squish between her teeth, and it sent a slight shiver down her spine. She'd take mystery meat over mystery vegetables any day.

A thought occurred to her though, as if she was just figuring it out. Looking at the soup suspiciously she spoke slowly, trying to formulate the thought, "Wait, so if you're worried about animals eating the vegetables, wouldn't just eating the vegetables be even worse?!" Her tone was slightly alarmed, and she considered spitting out the bite she had in her mouth; it tasted pretty good, however, so she swallowed it anyway. Still, her face was quite perturbed, the thought of the woman having more vegetables than just the toxic ones clearly going over her head.

"Don't be stupid," the crone snapped, "not everything in my garden is poisonous." She turned to Marcus. "Now, you said you wanted to reverse the petrification."

"Yes," Marcus said, putting down his own spoon. "Do you know what-"

"Of course I do," she said irritably, "now listen. I don't have all the ingredients here, so you'll have to go looking for them." She pointed to a cabinet to the left of the fire. "In there is parchment and a quill. Bring them to me, and I'll make you a list." Marcus complied, deciding that it would be best to also grab the inkpot beside the quill. "Thank you," she said, "now let me see."

She tapped her face with the feathery end of the quill, muttering silently to herself. She nodded and began to scribble onto the parchment. A few seconds passed where the only sound was that of the quill scratching. The ancient alchemist leaned back, satisfied. "We have that," she said, swiping across its surface, "and that," she made another slash, "and that, too," she made a couple more slashes. "There. That's everything we need."

"You," she said, pointing her quill at Terrel, "will collect these for me. Look them over, now, to make sure you know what they are. I don't want you coming crying back to me when you don't know what sage looks like. As for you," she swung the quill to point at Marcus, the remnants of ink still held there flying through the air, "you will stay here and help me collect and brew what's in my garden." She held the list out for Terrel to take. "Got that, dearie?"

Terrel couldn't help but scratch her head as the old woman snapped at her, remaining silent for the rest of the conversation that she carried out with Marcus. 'Don't be stupid,' she had said. Pouting slightly, Terrel waited for the woman to give them the answer to their problem so they could leave. It wasn't long before she realized that it wasn't going to be that easy, however. When the woman began to go through a list of ingredients, writing each one onto the parchment, Terrel began to get worried. When she finally handed her the list, her heart sank. No chance to prove herself here.

Looking at the parchment warily, she flipped it over once or twice before she found which way the letters were supposed to go. Each name was more or less foreign to her, and she could hardly read them much less pronounce or recognize them. A couple of them she might be able to take clever stabs at, like the "four-leafed clover" one. At least she might consider it clever, but by and large she was sunk. Why couldn't it ever be simple? Go string up that boy across the woods, find out what he knows! Nope.

Awkwardly, Terrel looked at the list and then back at the woman with a shade of embarrassment touching her cheeks. She tried not to let it touch her voice too, attempting to keep it strong and level, but the words themselves sounded ridiculous to even her, coming out of her mouth, "Say, you know, ah... Reading's not really my strong suit, you know? You don't think you could draw me a picture, maybe?"

The alchemist made a deep humming sound in the back of her throat. "I'll need another few pages of parchment," she said to Marcus. He rose and crossed over to the cabinet again, pulling out three sheets and handing them to the old lady.

"I could go," he offered, but before he could explain his literary abilities the crone cut him off with a wide sweep of her quill.

"Absolutely not," she snapped, "a fruit fly could out-wrestle you." She began to sketch rapidly onto the first parchment, an intricate flower coming to life under her skilled fingers. Marcus looked to his feet. Were his arms really that small? He had never been bothered by his lack of well-defined musculature, but for the first time he found it worrying. Did the ancient alchemist really consider him unable to protect himself while gathering herbs?

After a couple minutes, she handed Terrel the pictures. "I have to do this with everyone," she said abruptly, "most people don't know what half of this stuff is anyway. Now," she said, pointing her quill at the door, "get going. Try and be back before night falls completely. Don't touch anything you don't have to."

Terrel couldn't help but heft a sigh of relief as she received her request and not a verbal beating. It was good to know she wasn't the only one who didn't have a clue what most of those plants were. Sure, she'd lived out in the woods for a while, but that didn't mean she knew their names. Taking the list again, she found that she recognized most of the ones on the list immediately, so she nodded in acquiescence. Standing up from her spot, she left her now empty bowl of soup on the table glancing out the window, "Before nightfall. Right, I'll get the stuff." Terrel left the little cottage a moment later, glancing at the sky.

Sunny as always, which was good. There was probably an hour or two left of solid daylight that could penetrate the foliage of the forest, so she had some time, even if she wasn't the best person at finding stuff. Holding up the parchment, she first tried picking a plant on the list and hunting for it.

For about fifteen solid minutes the woman tramped around the woods, looking for the damn thing, earning several nettle stings in the process because of careless footing. So far she'd only seen squirrels skittering around uselessly, and it itched her nerves slightly; the kid would be much better at this sort of thing. Finally after another ten minutes she found the first plant, and she smudged the name on the list. Well, that was one.

When she found another a few moments later, Terrel quickly became excited that the whole process might be gaining some traction. She found another and then another in the same little grotto area, and she smudged each name happily. With about a third down, she paused for a moment. Sitting down on a rock idly to take a break. Something caught her eye, however, and she followed it up, up, and up to the sky of all things. Was that a cloud? Not just any cloud, but a cloud blacker than the night. She knew that type, but how had it crept in so suddenly? A peal of thunder made her jolt out of her seat, looking around suspiciously, and a moment later the downpour began.

She did her best to protect the parchment, but the deluge had soaked her in a matter of seconds. Grumbling about the task that much more, she hurried to find the remaining plants.

"Good luck, Terrel," Marcus said as she exited. For a few seconds, he stood by the ancient alchemist. She didn't do anything, she just sat in her chair. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed deeply for a few seconds before opening them and standing up.

"Right," she said briskly, "in that cabinet there," she pointed to the right of the fire, "are some gloves." Marcus hurried over to it, pulling it open and grabbing a pair. He walked back to the old woman and handed her them. She took them, raising her eyebrows. "Unless you want your fingers to fall off, you should grab a pair for yourself."

"Right," Marcus said, wincing at his own stupidity. He grabbed a pair for himself and followed the alchemist out the door. The next ten minutes were spent gathering and collecting various herbs and flowers, which sounded much easier than it actually was. A couple of plants came out of the ground easily, offering little to no resistance. Some, though... some just did not want to leave their earthy homes. A thin, spindly plant had to be repeatedly yanked by Marcus before it popped out of the ground, sending Marcus falling onto his bum. Another was covered in bright purple thorns, and Marcus didn't need the alchemist's snappy warning to know that touching those would be bad. One plant even snapped at his hand when he reached for it, and he had to call the alchemist over to pluck it smoothly out of the ground. She called him a wuss, but he didn't care.

It started to rain, and they hurried back into the cottage. Bags were hanging from Marcus' arms, and he felt glad that the alchemist had grabbed them. He didn't want to have to carry these plants in his hands. They dumped the contents of the bags onto the table, and the alchemist surveyed them carefully. "Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's get to work. Where is that girl?"

Terrel thought about trying to find some sort of rock or overhang to wait the storm out, but by the looks of things it wasn't going to leave as suddenly as it had appeared. Biting off several different curses under her breath, Terrel tromped her way through the foliage, a few plants in her mind's eye that she intended on looking for specifically first. Maybe it wasn't the most efficient strategy, but it wasn't like she could hold the parchment out in front of her anymore. She made an obscene gesture toward the sky.

The rain poured like you might not believe, and the thunder was almost deafening, tied in with lightning that was apparently quite close. They'd gotten storms up to the north, where she came from, but nothing so sudden as this. Could it be just an area thing? Maybe she'd ask that old hag when she got back, but probably not. Finding another plant she was sure was on the last, the woman retreated to the driest spot she could find to check her list for a moment, happy to find she had dealt with one more of these troublesome things.

As she folded the list carefully and returned it to a pocket, something caught her ears. Holding her breath for a moment, she strained against the noise of the rain to try and pick up something specific in the din. Terrel thought for sure it must be coming from that direction over there, so after a moment's hesitation she broke off and made for the spot, thrashing her way through the brush, pausing once to bag another plant.

As she trundled her way through, not only did the music get louder, for now she was sure that's what it was, but the storm seemed to get more intense. Probably just her imagination, really. After a few minutes the noise was quite distinguishable as a tune, and the winds were strong enough even to tear through the tree cover and chill her to the bone. Breaking through one last bush, the woman found herself in a soaked clear with another individual. A quaint man sat on a rock, wetter than even she was, and he carried a strange cranking machine that seemed to be emitting the noise.

Balding and scrawny, the man looked absolutely fixated on his instrument, pounding out the same chorus over and over again on his machine, cranking with one hand and tapping a series of keys in quick succession. The storm was at its absolute thickest over here, and Terrel realized she must have stumbled across a man with a rare song.

"Hey!" she yelled across the clearing, anger touching her voice. Had this man ruined her outing? Well she would be sure to get something out of it. "Stop that, you're getting us all soaked!"

The man seemed completely oblivious to Terrel's call, however, so she walked right up to him, trying to stare him down. After a long moment the man, still pounding on his keys, tilted his head ever so slightly to look up at the woman, a considering look in his eyes. He said nothing, so Terrel tried again.

"Look, can you teach me that song? Or at least stop playing it? This job's hard enough without having to trudge through a foot thick of mud to do it," she said abrasively, almost growling at the man, though she doubted he would've noticed. To her infuriation, he merely shook his head once, reaching into his ratty vest and pulling out a single green rupee. So he wanted to be paid, then? Stamping her feet in frustration, the woman pulled out a few rupees and tried handing to them.

For the next minute or so, the game began. Terrel would pull out rupees and offer them to the man; he would refuse with the most irritating shake of his head, and Terrel would put more money into her hand, finally adding up to about thirty rupees, a small fortune in her book. A song that could make the storms come in though... that was a rare price. Hopefully it would shut him up too. The man grinned gleefully--gleefully!--and snatched at the money, placing it somewhere that Terrel wouldn't dare go after it in a million years. Slowly, the music came to a stop, and the man stood, facing the expectant woman.

"Like this," was all he said, and he began the notes slowly--slow enough for her to follow, and she matched her voice to his pitch easily. After about five minutes of singing, she could follow the notes with relative ease, and she thought she had the thing down. As if to prove that what she sang had an effect, the storm seemed doubly thick now, if that were even possible, and she was quite happy to stop singing. Now more soaked than she had ever been in her life, the woman made her way to leave the clearing.

"All right, we had a deal now. If I hear you singing that damn song again in this forest, I'm gunna come back and snap that bizarre thing of yours in half, you got it?" she said aggressively, the man's face paling a little bit at her tone. He nodded once and scampered off, leaving the woman alone in the woods again.

With a sigh, Terrel realized that the sun was really beginning it's descent now, and she had a little less than half the list left, if she remembered right. It may have been her imagination, but the storm didn't feel quite so bad now, so she took off through the woods again, intent on finding the remaining plants before darkness truly fell.

The rain was falling more heavily. The water fell in heavy sheets, pounding into the ground and smacking into the alchemist's room with a steady thapping sound. The old woman sighed and eased herself into her chair. "She's in the storm," the woman muttered, "it'll take twice as long to find the plants now."

Marcus shifted on the floor uncomfortably. "Isn't there something we can do?" He asked. "Do we need all the herbs at the beginning?"

The crone considered the question. "You can start grinding up those two," she lifted a boney finger to point at a shrivelled green stalk and a bright purple flower, "into dust. It'll save time for later." She closed her eyes again and began to breathe deeply. Marcus understood the hint- she didn't want to talk anymore. He took the mortar and pestle and tried to grind the plants like she had done earlier. He was pretty bad at it. His untrained fingers were clumsy around the pestle (he was pretty sure that the club-shaped crusher was the pestle), and he seemed to be moving the plants around more than actually crushing and grinding them.

For a few minutes the room was filled with the sounds of the pestle clinking against the mortar. "Oh, for heaven's sake," the alchemist said beside him, and Marcus jumped. He hadn't noticed that she had moved from her chair. "You're holding it wrong," she said critically. She took the pestle from him and said, "like this." She grabbed the mortar in her other hand and demonstrated.

Marcus nodded and took the pestle back. He spent the next five minutes grinding the plants into little bits under the alchemist's watchful eye. She corrected his grip, gave him suggestions, and he was thankful. It was nice to work like this- it reminded him of his old emergency first aid classes. As he scraped the bits into a bowl, he remembered his recent dissatisfaction with the magic of Life. He loved Healing, and he loved helping people, but ever since he had mastered the panacea that was Healing Magic... something was missing.

Alchemy was a whole different branch of magic than what he was used to. If he could learn it... his natural curiosity and lust for learning take over. He glanced at the Alchemist. Here was a master at the art, someone who knew every secret to the field. If there was anyone to ask, it would be this woman. "So," he asked, "how does one become an alchemist?"

The alchemist sat down in the chair, closed her eyes, and began to speak. Alchemy was the magic of nature, of life. The brain and the body both were complex balances of chemicals and organs, and it was ridiculous how a few drops of various substances could alter the body's inner workings. Nature provided chemicals in abundance, and it was Alchemists who understood them, who knew how to use them. The work of an Alchemist didn't stop there, however. Hyrule was a magical place- magic was its blood. Magic was a fundamental part of the land; it flew with the wind and coursed through the veins of the trees. Some parts of nature concentrated this magic into seeds. Gale Seeds, Guardian Acorns, Ember Seeds, and Chill Seeds were only some of the magical seeds known to grow in Hyrule. Their effects were many, and when combined with other substances their usage became virtually unlimited.

Marcus' blood pumped wildly through his body, and he could feel the excitement bubble up in his heart. There was so much to learn with alchemy, so much to be discovered. Every plant held a multitude of different chemicals, and every chemical had a different effect when combined with something else. This was something that he could focus on- he loved Healing, but it lacked the intellectual stimulation that it had once had. Ever since he had learned the magical arts, Healing had become far too simple. It was true that he still exercised his knowledge every now and again, and that the magic still required training, but it wasn't enough for him.

Marcus Heilari, Master Healer and Trainee Alchemist. It had a nice ring to it.

(((OOC: You know, in retrospect, I think it'd be best to change my rewards to "Alchemist: Level 1" :P)))