Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure (The Heartfire Healer Series Book 2)

by E. C. Godhand

  My friend Retta the chaplain back on Earth used to bring me a Golden Latte from the nearby coffee shop. I’d lament that it wasn’t a Red-Eye, and she’d scold me and point out I’d already had three.

  “You take care of everyone but yourself,” she’d say. “You have to take care of Lisette, too. She depends on you. Think of the girl you used to be, and how she looked to you to give her a good future. Would you say the same things about yourself if you were saying them to a child?”

  I’d laugh and thank her for the drink and dismiss her good advice, saying there was no greater burden than the expectations of others. She had a point though. I couldn’t always alternate between thinking I was cut from the cloth of God to thinking I was a total piece of crap.

  By the time I finished my work, I had twenty of each of the milks, several tisanes, cough syrup, and twenty each of Burn Poultice, Wound Poultice, Poison Poultice, and Bandages.

  My in-game clock told me it was almost 10 PM. I wiped my brow and worked on my next project: soaps and incense.

  The problem with this endeavor was that my cookbook said I needed “lye,” but not how to make or acquire it. I sent a message to Corvus asking if, by chance, they knew the recipe. Their reply asked no questions and simply said:

  <<<>>>

  Boil ashes.

  <<<>>>

  Attached was a hastily scribbled recipe for incense, which also used ashes.

  Sure. Who would’ve thought to do that?

  I headed out to the firepit in the common room, a large stone-lined hearth where travelers of every meaning gathered. Without a word to anyone, I scooped some of the ashes through a hole in the stone underneath a grating and into my cooking pot. Some people drinking at their tables looked at me as if I were crazy.

  “Want to make an easy silver each?” I asked them.

  I then had four new assistants who choked down their food and drink and joined me.

  They seemed a bit disappointed in the work I had for them versus what they might’ve thought. I set one to boiling the ashes and skimming the lye while another was to stir a pot of melting lard and pour the finished soap into molds. I chose the herbs to use and handed them off to the third, who pulverized them into different colored powders for dye. The fourth’s job was to wrap the solid bars with a flower, a leaf, and twine.

  Goldenseed gave me yellow, Rose gave me pink, Mint gave me green, Dewberry gave me purple, and Moonflower gave me blue. I mixed the rest of the honey into the base white as an extra emollient and for scent. The colors didn’t add any special effects, unlike the teas, but the rainbow of colors looked lovely.

  The repetitive tasks were soothing. The company was better, especially since they worked in silence. It was comforting to work with others for a mutual purpose. And for once, it felt good to see I had accomplished something worthwhile with my efforts, to hold it in my hands as proof. With healing, the work was constant. People were always getting hurt for some reason or another.

  We worked on the incense next. I dismissed two of the workers who wanted to go to bed and gave them a free Moonmilk as a tip for their efforts. The last two remained for an extra five coppers each.

  I put one on boiling the resin while the other ground coal and herbs for me. Grinding the Coal Ash and mixing it with the Tree Resin produced a sticky gum paste that I stretched over a slim stick with a rolling motion that took some practice. We finished it off by rolling it in powdered aromatic herbs and gathering the bundles into sticks of seven.

  I remembered the joss sticks my mother would burn around the Lunar New Year and on my father’s shrine.

  The last two workers bid me goodnight, and I paid them like the others, but added an additional Sunmilk for the morning.

  My Cooking leveled up to 12, my Healer skill was now at 8, and my Herblore was at 14.

  <<<>>>

  Skill: Cooking

  Cooking allows you to craft delicious meals that will always taste amazing... as long as you follow the recipe. Placing points into this tree will allow you to imbue your meals with buffs.

  Skill Type/Level: Active/Level 12

  Cost: Stamina varies

  Effect: Able to craft foods and drinks up to level 12.

  <<<>>>

  Skill: Healer

  A basic knowledge of first aid is indispensable in the field. The Healer skill enables one to perform basic skills, such as cleaning and bandaging wounds or setting bones. Particularly useful against diseases and bleed effects.

  Skill Type/Level: Active/Level 8

  Cost: 10 Stamina

  Effect 1: Remove up to three status effects equal to the level of the player. Does not remove Curses.

  Effect 2: If Herblore is equal or higher level, gain advanced knowledge of bandages, poultices, tinctures, tisanes, and other natural remedies.

  Effect 3: With sufficient equipment, may employ basic field-aid such as splints and sutures. However, unsterile equipment may cause diseases.

  <<<>>>

  Skill: Herblore

  Herblore allows you to identify, collect, and utilize herbs of various types and levels. It also provides you with information regarding their potential utilization and what kind of effects they will have.

  Skill Type/Level: Passive/Level 14

  Cost: None

  Effect: Able to identify plants and herbs of level 19; will display 4 possible uses per herb.

  <<<>>>

  I closed the notifications and lay back on the fur rug, utterly exhausted. It was past midnight now, for sure. Lying there, I realized I hadn’t done my second prayer for the day.

  I washed up with my new soap to get rid of my Unwashed debuff. If I planned to figure out how to sell my wares tomorrow, it wouldn’t do to smell like soot and soil. Unwashed reduced Merchant-Craft skills by two levels, which was all I had.

  I downed a Moonmilk myself, this one tasting sweet and cool, like a breeze on a spring night. My eyelids were heavy, like I was already being tucked into bed on a rainy night, but I had one final thing to do. I pulled out the statue of Gaia that Yvonne had gifted me the night before and set three incense sticks in the empty Moonmilk bottle before her, along with some of the flowers, herbs, and berries as an offering.

  And I prayed to Gaia to guide me through this.

  As I tucked myself into bed, I sent a message to Kismet, Yvonne, and Corvus telling them about the events of the day. The others must’ve been asleep, but Kismet, the diligent Inquisitor she was, was awake. She replied, saying the brigands we’d met sounded like Envoys working under the Commissar, just like I was, and it was right to not reveal them.

  I didn’t know how to feel about that. Governments did shady things to undermine their enemy all the time, but to be aware of it, a part of it, felt... unclean.

  I blew out the candle after setting my bindpoint and settled into bed.

  Recovery is a Process

  Much to my supreme annoyance, I woke up before the sun rose. I hadn’t had much sleep over the past few days, what with having to find shelter in a storm, sleeping off a night of drink, and being rudely torn out of my V.G.O. capsule. So much for the phrase “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” I wasn’t getting any sleep at all. I let myself enjoy how comfortable the inn’s bed was for a few more minutes. I only got up when I accepted the gates to Dreamland were closed for the day. I finished my morning orison from the Tree of Areste and took Bless, which gave me a 10% bonus to holy spell power.

  I cleaned up my room and thanked the innkeeper on my way out. I drank some Sunmilk to wake myself up as a nice treat to start the day before using the portal scroll back to Rowanheath. Justiciar Olivia had given it to me for my first major quest, but the Inquisition had come through with their own scrolls.

  Having the drink before I went through the portal was a mistake though. I’d never get used to the disorientation of being spun through a wash cycle and chucked out the other side.

  My knees slammed into the dirty gravel streets of the Burrow Downs, the slums of Rowanheath wh
ere people went to die or disappear when the city guards found their poverty too unpalatable for the common taste. With only a light breeze as a warning, a steady drizzle of rain picked up, washing refuse into the gutters and soaking the street to mud. The shanty-shacks were stacked high and at awkward positions no building code would allow, leaving the street in shadow despite dawn breaking somewhere on the horizon. I spotted shadows of occupants who couldn’t afford even a shack’s rent sleeping under eaves on piles of straw.

  Several of them coughed, a hoarse, wet sound. I’d say they were coughing badly, but by the sounds of them, they had been practicing all night. I told myself I’d deliver my cough medicine to them. It gave me no ill effect, and surely it’d help them find comfort for at least the day. Gaia obliged by framing it as a quest:

  <<<>>>

  Quest Alert: The Golden Lamp

  The people of the Burrow Downs are sick from hunger and want. Infection spreads easily in the close quarters of shared misery, and it’s hard to ask for work or bread when you can barely speak. Medicine would go a long way to helping them get back on their feet.

  Quest Class: Common

  Quest Difficulty: Easy

  Success: Deliver 20 Cough Medicine to the residents of the Burrow Downs

  Failure: N/A

  Reward: 500 XP, 5 Renown

  Accept: Yes/No?

  <<<>>>

  I accepted readily. Some people took whatever I had to offer as soon as they saw my holy vestments, while others glanced at my robes and demanded increasing amounts of coin. A few made lewd comments on how better I could “serve them.” Others asked if I “made it with liquor” and refused when I said no. I couldn’t blame them.

  A few Wodes and Dokkalfar in particular refused, saying they, and I quote, “don’t want any poisonous swill from the Imperium.” I had delivered 7/20 medicine when I spotted a young boy coughing next to a Wode woman, both in rags, huddled under an awning. She let him sleep while she begged passersby for a scrap of bread. She had been watching me closely as I worked my way down the street.

  I handed the woman two vials of the purple cough medicine. She accepted them without a word, inspected the item description, and immediately handed one to the child as she stifled a cough herself with her Shoddy Cloak. When I didn’t leave, she looked up at me as if I were blocking her light.

  I held up three coppers between my fingers, enough to buy three hots and a cot at the local Sophitian temple if she threw in a prayer.

  “I’m out of charity to offer,” I said. “Can I buy your story, sister?”

  “You’re not worried I’m going to spend it on alcohol or drugs?” she asked, laughing until she coughed.

  “It’s what I was going to spend it on. Might as well be your turn,” I said, tossing her a coin as a good faith payment.

  She looked relieved and made room for me on the folded tattered blanket beside her. I handed some fruit to the child, and the woman drank deeply of the cough medicine so she could speak.

  Her blonde hair was matted by mud and the only rouge she wore was the stinging cheeks of being exposed to the elements.

  “You’re not going to give me some crap about ‘life isn’t that bad’ or ‘hardships aren’t as hard as you think’ like that other priestess, are you?” she asked, eying me warily.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t mean it,” I said. “Sounds like bullshit to me. Things are as hard as they are at the time.”

  “Easy enough for you to say,” she said, scoffing. “You’re doing well enough for yourself.”

  “I supposed that’s true,” I agreed, handing her the second copper for her story.

  She took it and told me her name was Amanda. She was a Traveler, like me, which she figured from the fact I “didn’t act like the other priestesses.” She was a waitress at the WaffleHut, supporting her two sons, when she got lucky with Osmark’s lottery. She’d worked doubles and never really had time for video games, so none of this made sense to her. Her eldest son bought her the ticket.

  “Is this your youngest then?” I asked, handing the child, aged five or six, some more fruit to snack on.

  Amanda shook her head and stroked his hair as he shoved handfuls of berries in his mouth until it was stained red. “I found Bjorn when I got here. He had no one. Now he’s my little Teddy Bear,” she said, kissing the top of his head.

  I got the feeling I shouldn’t ask if her sons made it.

  “Is there anyone else with you? A native from this world. Someone to show you around.”

  Amanda pursed her thin lips and stared down the street.

  “Sten got sick,” she said simply.

  My long ears perked up. “Can you describe this illness?”

  Amanda chuckled and coughed, nervously glancing back to Bjorn. “His hands went black. The temple said there was nothing they could do. Then he got into Affka. Nasty stuff. Costs him a gold a day. We can’t feed Bjorn, so—”

  I tossed her the third copper. “Bring me to him.”

  We found Sten in an Affka den, an inconspicuous two-story place with a flat roof and a heavy iron door. The wooden sign out front was painted with a bent spoon. The doorman tried to stop me but was easily persuaded with a shiny silver coin slipped into his palm.

  I popped Acuity and marched over to the man named Sten. He was deathly pale, sweating, and staring up at the ceiling with pinpoint pupils. He didn’t bear the blight as I feared. His hands were discolored from poor circulation, and he had Blood Poisoning and Mortification. He was septic, and his hands were rotting off from the infection.

  Amanda covered Bjorn’s eyes by holding him tight to her skirts so he didn’t have to see the dirty mattresses. I had tried the drug once when the Inquisition had to sedate me after Rodion the Darkling sent himself to Morsheim. Rodion had tried literally all the drugs, but Affka especially would eat a man up from the inside and ruin his mind to the point he’d prefer a glitched death over meeting the Inquisition. I remembered how calm and numb it made me feel. Especially with that plague in your veins, any price would be worth it to make it better.

  Veracity could cleanse disease, but I kept that in my back pocket. Just in case. I wanted something I could teach these people to make for themselves as medicine. I pulled out several of my poultices to draw the fever and infection and placed them on his forehead and chest. I checked his pockets. He had three more Affka Syringes ready to go. I slipped those into my inventory without a word. I didn’t have a Pickpocket skill at all and must’ve failed whatever check, as Sten struck out and murmured in his drugged haze about me being a “thieving little—”

  I caught his arm and pressed him back to the mattress. It wasn’t my first time dealing with combative patients. I bandaged his hands after applying the healing poultices. He seemed to slip back into the dreamworld he lived in. I tilted his chin and poured the cough syrup, followed by a weak Health potion of tea, down his throat. It wasn’t how I’d treat it back on Earth, but we didn’t have IV fluids or strong antibiotics or vasopressors. It’d have to do.

  We waited five minutes.

  He sat with a start in a coughing fit, hacking out green gunk in his lap.

  <<<>>>

  Quest Update: The Golden Lamp

  You have successfully completed the quest The Golden Lamp.

  <<<>>>

  “What did you do?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “I took away your excuse to use,” I said, inspecting him again. “There isn’t anything I know how to do for your Affka addiction though. That’s on you now.”

  Sten shook his head as if clearing his mind. Amanda left Bjorn next to me and rushed to Sten’s side to clean him up.

  I’d have to teach Amanda my skills later. First things first—these people needed work or bread, and if the Burrow Downs didn’t offer either, they’d have to keep resorting to begging or stealing bread. I faced the family.

  “Pick up your cloak and follow me.”

  The End of the World

  Porter’s Road, th
e main road for coaches, carts, and caravans in Rowanheath, was the central hub for mid-end businesses. Chef Boyle at Aesops Tables, at the top of the hill, surely needed some extra hands. I’d buy these three some breakfast and speak to the chef about jobs for them, and myself. I had already proven myself as a cook, and I had proven I didn’t need to be a priest to heal people or tend to the community.

  The Temple of Areste could get bent.

  The little café was crowded, even for 8 AM. What’s more, the crowd was hushing each other, and grew silent. Something big was happening.

  An alarm suddenly blasted out of the heavens itself.

  Brrp, Brrp, Brrp, Brrp. Breaking News!

  I grabbed Amanda’s hand and Bjorn’s and dragged them behind me as I made my way through the crowd. People took one look at my robes and made a path. My team, Kismet, Corvus, and Yvonne, were all standing by a glittering crystalline slab hanging from a wall. Chef Boyle finished setting it up with a good few knocks on the frame. The oddly anachronistic feature reminded me of a big screen TV.

  “On,” commanded the chef with a faint wave of her hand. A muted flash filled the air as the Far-Seeing Crystal blinked to life.

  I looked over my shoulder to a scuffle behind us and saw Sten barred at the entrance. The crowd wasn’t comfortable “with the likes of him” here.

  I scoffed. “He’s with me!” I called out.

  The people at the entrance exchanged quizzical glances.

  Kismet stepped forward, relief on her weary face to see me.

  “HE’S WITH US,” she repeated.

  The crowd took one look at her Inquisition armor and immediately stepped aside to let Sten join his family. Kismet looked at me holding the hand of the woman and child, and at Sten’s threadbare rags, and gave me that knowing sideways glance that said she wasn’t going to ask.

  Chef Boyle flipped the channels until she settled on the BBC.

  The TV fizzled for a moment, before a pair of news anchors materialized on the crystalline screen. A middle-aged man with wavy blond hair and unnaturally white teeth who reminded me of Jericho sat next to a beautiful Asian woman with straight black hair wearing an immaculate silver blouse. Their clothes were smartly pressed and not a strand of hair was out of place, but they wore ragged expressions and an air of exhaustion that couldn’t be covered with makeup.