This story was written as a part of the
Tales of Leinyere Story Event
on Literotica, a collaborative fantasy worldbuilding event from many talented Literotica authors. Look for the event on Literotica's story page to find links to a map of Leinyere, the official timeline of all our stories, and links to all the stories in the event from all the fantastic authors who have participated. Thanks for stepping into this world with us, and happy reading!
Content Warning: This story contains dubious consent. If you are not interested in reading about that, please don't read this story. Thank you.
It had been a long day at the Smithy. Even as an apprentice, the work was physically demanding and the forge was hot, and that day's workload had been more intense than usual. Apparently the city guard had taken out a troll that had terrorized some farmers or something, I didn't know. Anyway, I had spent nearly ten hours honing, sharpening, and even reforging their bent blades. I was exhausted, and I wanted an ale.
I pushed open the wooden door of Greywood Crossing's only tavern, the Loach and Lumber. The sounds from inside told me I was one of the more worn out patrons. It was a party inside. There was a table of the guards whose swords I'd just repaired stomping their boots at a long table against the wall. A pair of anocot traveling from the southwest stood at the bar ordering an ale and complaining that the tavern didn't stock the catnip-spiced mead they were used to. Forst, the dwarven bartender, was singing in his rich baritone while he tapped a fresh barrel. Rosie, the bubbly, gregarious server, was dancing on the only empty table in the center of the main room. I just wanted to drink my ale in peace, and the only patron who seemed in a similar mood was a hooded figure in the back.
I sat at a small table against the wall opposite the guards, and scanned the room for Sarah, the young serving girl that worked at the Loach and Lumber. She was very kind and a little bit shy; short, with hair the color of peaches and freckles dotting her round face. She may not have had the outgoing personality of her cousin Rosie, but she was a joy to speak with and her smile could light up the tavern. I, uh, may have been sweet on her, a little bit.
I was still looking for her when she leaned over my table. "Daven!" I whipped my head around to see her smiling face, which was apparently contrasted by mine. I could tell by how quickly her smile disappeared. "What's wrong?"
I didn't have to force the weary smile on my face. It was hard
not
to smile around Sarah. "Nothing, really. Those guards just sent all their trollhide-blunted swords to the shop." I jerked my head toward the loudest table in the rowdy tavern. "I'm beat."
Sarah was sympathetic. "I hear ya, Dav. My feet are
killing
me."
I hoped that meant she could afford a break. "Sit and have an ale with me?"
No luck. "Not when it's this busy. I'll go get you one, though. Front of the line for my favorite customer." She patted my arm, and I could've sworn I saw a bit of pink in her cheeks as she pulled it away. Behind her, the cloaked figure I'd noticed earlier walked toward the bar, face still covered.
"You're too good to me Sar."
"You just, uh, don't forget that, kay?"
She seemed like there was something else she wanted to say, but she didn't volunteer it, and I didn't press her. I nodded, and Sarah left to get my drink.
I leaned back against the plaster wall, happy to be off my feet. It took Sarah a few minutes to walk back with my ale, a faraway look in her eyes. She put it on the table without a word, and then she seemed to blink, shaking herself out of a daze.
"Ya alright?" I asked.
She almost seemed to notice I was there for the first time. "Huh? Uh, yeah." A soft chuckle, windchimes on the porch. "Sorry, I guess I've had a long day, too."
I put a few coppers on the table, enough to pay for my ale and a small tip for Sarah. Then, I nodded my head toward the empty chair next to the table. "Chair's still open..."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Don't I wish? If you're still here in a few hours maybe I'll have a minute."
I flashed her a warm smile, my first real one of the night. "If I can keep my eyes open, I will be."
That turned out to be much easier than I thought for the next several hours, and then much harder. I must have been more worn out than I knew, because that one ale went straight to my head. I spent more of my coin on a bowl of stew, thinking that would soak up the alcohol, but it didn't. Or, at least, it didn't soak up the other three ales. At least those three tasted better. The first one had an almost savory funk to it. Anyway, I was a giggling, dizzy mess for several hours, and then the energy fell out from under me.
There were a couple of Sarahs, maybe three, by the bar as I left. She laughed with me at my predicament, but she knew I'd make it home alright. Greywood Crossing was a safe town, especially now that the troll was gone, and even drunk I had broad shoulders and thick arms from my work at the forge. I made it home fine and slept like the dead.
I woke like the dead, too. Despite only having had four ales (I thought it was only four. Pretty sure.), it was easily the worst hangover of my young life. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like I'd choked on an entire sheep. Even my muscles hurt. Well, that might have been from the smithing work the day before, but either way I felt like shit. Even Marek, the blacksmith I apprenticed for, was sympathetic, and he was [i]never[/i] sympathetic.
"Ya gotta go see somebody, kid. We got a lot to do today, and you look like warmed-over shit."
I groaned at his booming voice. "See who?"
"The alchemist? Probly? That's where I went for me...uh, cough...one time."
The alchemist charged me a silver and a half for a potion that didn't do a damn thing, and when I complained all she did was refer me to the town witch. Now, I knew in my head that Greywood Crossing
had
a witch, but I'd never seen her or even imagined any reason I would ever go see a witch. She lived in the only two-story building in town, a cylinder of dark gray stone blocks. I would've been nervous to knock on the door if my head hadn't been pounding so hard.
The door opened to reveal a fancier sitting room than I would've guessed anyone would have in Greywood Crossing. There were chairs of elegantly carved wood, upholstered with leather. More than one of them, even! A table sat between them with multiple books sitting on top. Multiple books! Presumably for leisure reading! Another marvel I never thought I'd see in this town.
Neither of these things were as surprising as the woman who stood in front of me, though. She was at least a decade older than me, but probably not two. Her skin was too smooth and perfect. She was several inches taller, too, with dark hair that fell down to the middle of her back with only the slightest waves to it. Her green eyes seemed to look into the next building over, but when she saw me her face lit up like a sunrise over the forest. That was surprising, because I was pretty sure we'd never met.
"Ah, welcome. What can I do for you?" Her voice licked my ears and I was scratching them before I realized it.
I suddenly felt self-conscious, and I wasn't sure why. She was pretty, but she didn't hold a candle to Sarah. "Uh, I'm here for a...well, a hangover cure. Or something. Like that."
She hummed liquid honey. "Certainly, Mister..."
"Daven."
Her smile got wide in a way I didn't feel good about. "Perfect." She turned, waving her arm toward the chairs. "Have a seat, Daven. I'll just be right out."
As soon as I walked in, the whole room smelled like a meadow, lilac and rose, honeysuckle and long grass. I sat down and picked up one of the books. It was about the history of Giltan's Port, a large, independent city to the north, deep into the continent on the shore of Kelthala's Wound. I learned some things while I waited, despite my debilitating headache.
The witch walked back into the sitting room, slits in her dress revealing her legs with each step. She held out a small glass vial filled with a translucent white liquid. I patted my pockets, trying to remember how much coin I had on me.
"Oh, thank you...uh, we didn't talk about a price...?"
Her smile nearly melted me. "Oh, don't worry about it. I haven't seen you in here before, so the first visit is free." She winked, like we were both in on some joke, but as far as I knew I wasn't.
I blushed. "Oh! Thank you." I started to put the vial in my pocket, but she held out a hand to gesture for me to stop.
"You might as well drink that now. It loses potency over time."
Her voice sounded sweet, but her eyes were intense now, insisting that I heed her advice. Hoping for quick relief, I did. The liquid coated my mouth and I recognized the flavor. My ale the night before had had this certain undertone of salty, and something...it was difficult to describe, but I knew I was tasting it again, and much more concentrated. It wasn't unpleasant, but the memory it conjured made me feel the need to ask.
"What
is
this? It tastes familiar."
The witch just looked at me with a placid look and a strange gleam in her eye. "Now now, I can't go giving out my secrets, not even to a handsome young man like yourself" she said, and I couldn't tell if it was a joke or not. I did feel better, though, almost as soon as she finished speaking. My head was clearer, my muscles were lighter, and a sigh of relief slipped out of my mouth.
"Thank you. That feels a lot better."
As she walked me out, her smile seemed to take on a predatory gleam, sending chills down my spine. I couldn't put my finger on
why
, though. The witch had been perfectly nice, even generous. Maybe I was being prejudiced. I knew, somehow, that some people didn't like witches, even though I couldn't remember hearing a word against them, or against our witch in particular. Curious.
Soon it didn't matter, though, because I was out in the warm light of the morning, walking down the street toward the Smithy. As I walked, I kept feeling even better. By the time I got to work, I had a spring in my step that Marek noticed, and the work for the rest of that day went by like it was nothing. I should've been sore and exhausted after two straight days of back-breaking work, but I felt
great
.
I could feel the potion wear off in the evening, so I learned from the lesson of the night before and skipped the tavern, turning in early. I wasn't completely immune from the spent feeling of a hard day's work, after all, because I slept deeply and peacefully.
Until, that is, I woke up in my straw-mattress bed feeling like shit once again. It was hard to tell if it was worse than the day before, or if I was just more upset to feel this awful without the guilt of having over-indulged, or even indulged at all. As soon as I crawled out of bed, I knew I was going to have to go see the witch again. I wasn't even going to try to get anything done or go anywhere this time without her potion. The decision made me feel anxious in a way I didn't understand. I had no reason
