Interlude: Niamh
Niamh Celeste, house mother to apprentices and right hand to Guild President, Atlene Swiftsword.
Amabel frowned as she chewed a few nuts. “But I thought you wanted more than anything to be Jylal’s apprentice? He’s the best alchemist in Harient. Or anywhere really.”
Niamh nodded. “Absolutely that is what I wanted before I knew that he wasn’t going to teach me anything. I want to study with someone who will help me grow into a great alchemist myself. He just wants me to wander around finding plants for him.”
She turned to Amabel, now looking indignant. “Did you know that he never does anything when I’m there? He’s sworn to secrecy—all alchemists are—but he can’t see that a true Master shares his secrets with his successor. I swear he’s brewing his potions while I sleep at night just so I can’t see what he’s doing. It’s infuriating! Sometimes I think he’s afraid of me. All that secrecy is going to ruin him.” She started to take a bite of her stale rye bread, but then frowned and threw it on the ground for the ravens. She nibbled some cheese instead.
“But other than that, he’s nice, right?” Amabel said, trying to steer Niamh into more positive territory. Amabel hated conflict.
“No, Amabel, other than that, he’s truly terrible. He insults me, and today he hit me when I refused to go out for an herb we already have plenty of. And now he won’t pay me, because he suspects I’m planning to leave. Greedy bastard.”
Amabel looked at her friend with distress. “But you’re not, right? You’re not leaving, right? Where would you go?”
“I’m going to Windgrest. I love Harient, and I’d miss you terribly. But I can’t bear Jylal and his half-elf moodiness any longer.”
Amabel begged her to come out with their friends that night. They were meeting at The Green Dryad’s Rest. Niamh wanted to pack and leave, but Amabel pleaded with her so tearfully that she agreed to meet them there.
The Green Dryad’s Rest is tucked away in a hidden valley in the Hollow Hills just north of Harient. It’s one of Niamh’s favorite places, surrounded as it is by flower-filled meadows and a deep river so crystal clear she could see the fish feeding off the bottom. She arrived early and sat at a table outside, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the fading sunlight.
“You look just like a sunflower,” exclaimed the waitress, Bellari, one of Niamh’s friends.
“Oh, you have to work tonight,” Niamh sighed. “I’m sorry you can’t join us. We’re having a sort of going away party.”
“Oh? Who’s going away?”
“I am.” She repeated the same discussion she’d had with Amabel. And then again for each friend as they arrived. The ale flowed freely. Niamh was popular in Harient, and, once word got around, everyone in the tavern was buying her ale to wish her well.
By the time Niamh stumbled back to her room in the alchemist’s residence, word had gotten back to Jylal. She found him waiting for her outside, looking more angry than she had ever seen him. He had already packed her belongings. Without speaking, he pointed at the road.
“But… it’s midnight. It’s not safe for a girl to be out alone.”
He continued to point. “Leave,” he said with more venom than she’d ever heard in his voice before. She approached and bent to pick up her bag, and he kicked her. She stood slowly.
“You broke your contract with me by refusing to teach me. This situation is of your own making, Jylal. I’ve made sure everyone knows what you are. No one but a fool will apprentice with you now.”
He raised his hand, but she spat at his feet, turned and left.
The moon was full and Niamh was used to walking. The alcohol cleared her system quickly, and she began to hum a tune as she thought about what kind of job she might find in Windgrest. “I’m never working for another half-elf, that’s for sure,” she told the stars. “I need a new challenge. Something where I can create myself as a new person. Let’s see, what else? I want to help others. I want a boss who will trust me to work on my own. And I want to be challenged! I want a job where my skills actually matter. Maybe working for a reputable scrivener or a merchant house—somewhere I can handle the paperwork or work directly with customers, not just do the fire-tending. If I could learn something new every day, I would be the happiest girl in the world.”
After a few miles, however, her enthusiasm was starting to wane. The charm of a night-time walk was wearing off, and she remembered that there could be goblins or bandits or worse out here. There was nothing else to do, though, so she kept walking. She thought she might be sleepwalking, because suddenly she seemed to be dreaming about the sound of mules in the distance. She turned and saw a large wagon with something shiny mounted on the back pulled by a large team of mules. As it pulled up alongside her, she saw a woman with bright reddish hair staring down at her.
“Well, I’ll be. I thought I must be seeing things. Girls shouldn’t be out on the road at night. It’s dangerous. Climb up, climb up!” Niamh did, and the wagon rolled on.
The woman was talkative, and if she could be believed, she was brewing ale in the shiny tank at the back of the wagon as they traveled. Her name was Branna Copperkeg, and she was a traveling ale merchant who delivered her own brew all over eastern Sylvanara.
“I have my own recipes, too. No one else has ale like I make. Where did you come from, girl?”
“My name is Niamh, and I came from Harient. I was at The Green Dryad tonight. Do you deliver there?”
“I dropped off some Dragon Draught last week at the Dryad.”
“I think I got drunk on that tonight,” Niamh said, laughing. “Have you considered trying something more seasonal, with an herbal flavor?”
Branna turned and stared. “Are you a brewer now, Niamh?”
“Oh no, ma’am. Not at all. But I worked gathering herbs for an alchemist, and sometimes I brewed them into tea. I think they’d be good in ale.”
“I might try that. Tell me more.”
“Heather blooms are quite lovely in tea. And they’re strong enough to hold up to the bitterness of ale, too. They should start blooming in the next few weeks.”
“Heather bloom ale… sounds exotic. I have some places that might try that. My own stuff, the Dragon Draught, is all bitter hops and malt, the modern way. Nobody uses gruit anymore, they say the old herb mixtures are unreliable. But for an artisan brew... I might try that.”
“They’d sell it at The Green Dryad for sure. Talk to my friend, Bellari. She’s the daughter of the owner.”
Branna nodded, and turned to contemplating a possible recipe while she drove.
The women traveled several days together, stopping occasionally to gather flowers for Branna to try in new ale recipes. They became fast friends, so it was a disappointment when Branna dropped her off at The Wayfarer’s Rest Inn. Branna was headed toward Crasmere next, turning away from Windgrest. Before she left, though, she had talked the innkeeper into giving her a job, at least until Niamh decided what she wanted to do.
It was a quiet place with little traffic. The two women had plenty of time to talk, and Sera Vess, the innkeeper, was a motherly sort. Niamh found herself pouring out her pain to Sera who listened patiently to her for several days without offering any advice. Finally, when Niamh’s well of bitterness seemed to be dry, Sera told her to grow up. She said the world was a hard place, and no one was going to cut her any slack. Niamh was too tired to react in anger. She knew Sera was right, although it stung.
She sleepwalked through the next few days until a group of eight rowdy adventurers stopped in for a pint or three and ended up staying indefinitely. They kept her busy for several days. She even helped a couple of them with their wounds.
“Are you a healer?” asked one of the clerics.
“Well,” she said, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable. “My parents were witches, so I am, too, but I wanted to become an alchemist as well,” and then the terrible story and the tears poured out of her.
The beautiful warrior they called Atlene put her arms around Niamh. “That’s the past. Tell me what you want to do now.”
Niamh, tears still glistening on her cheeks, smiled. “I want to find something big, exciting, and most of all challenging to do. I don’t care what it is, as long as I’m working with good people who will respect me and help me grow.”
When the adventurers left for Windgrest, they invited her along saying that they were going to reopen the adventurer’s guild. “We could use someone with your skills,” Atlene said, smiling.
Sera urged her to go, but she dithered until they were finally leaving without her. As they trudged down the road toward Windgrest, Sera pulled Niamh’s bag out from behind the bar, handed it to her, and pushed her towards the door. “Get along, girl. An adventure is waiting for you in Windgrest. I won’t be having you moping around here because you missed it. Off with you, now.”
[disclaimer: The Silver Spire Guild is a homebrew solo TTRPG that exists only in my head… and now in yours.]
