Timestamp: 14 Autumn, 513 AV
Altaira made sure she was more than on time, even a half a dozen chimes or two early. When she slipped into the store she gave a small smile to herself, the familiar scents and smells of the days before gladly welcoming her.
She couldn't help but walk in as though it was her home, with the store far more welcoming than her cheap lodgings even with how little she knew of the place. "Hello?" she sung, hearing movement within the back room, and moving immediately to investigate. When she peaked her head into the working space, she saw Mistress Blackleaf off in her own little world, manuscript out, with a line of ingredients awaiting use.
Altaira frowned, and knocked on the door twice, unsure of how to proceed further. Was it rude to enter announced? Or was she being rather ridiculous, as she was often told?
"Come," she said, beckoning her in with a warm look, though her arms remained tightly folded. "I know you have some skill in herbalism, but I need to know where you are at so I know at what level to assign work to you. You may make what is written, or use it as some form of prompt." Altaira had a sharp intake of breath, and nerves hit her for a moment. They died down soon enough, and she moved to the position Mistress Blackleaf had directed her, though it was not without a trembling hand or clammy skin.
"Sounds fair," she conceded, coaxing her voice to stability. She gave a short glance at what it was she was being asked to make, a thankful sigh escaping her as she saw it was something simple enough for someone as lacking in skill as herself.She spend a further moment studying the hand in which it was written, wondering for a brief moment if it was the work of the mistress herself. She glanced up at the Mistress, who stood tall and curious on the opposing side of the bench. It was nothing imposing or judgmental, but more of a mentor who knew not how to help.
Altaira turned around, her back pressing into the bench, and she gave a hard look to the shelves. She'd watched with a keen eye where Aoren had sourced his equipment, and quickly sought out measuring cups and spoons, along with several containers to hold her mixes, before rereading what it was she was create, beyond the mere general items needed.
Although it wasn't something she'd made before, the process was as simple and sound as those she was familiar to. Nothing too complicated, but the trick to task laid more so in the fact that there was nothing more than short footnotes as to what the plants looked like - and that was in the cases where the manuscript seemed to deem the herbs above common knowledge. Rather than actually testing her ability to create, especially as all she was doing was putting together proper blends of herbal and floral teas, but she was being tested on what she knew, and what she could assume.
Altaira took a hard look at what was before her, there were a dozen ceramic bowels of herbs, some blossoms, some leaves, and a root or two. No philtering required, just the simple recognition and usage, she reminded herself ina bid to quell her nerves.
She sighed lightly and let her eyes rake over the list of possible teas, realising that her lack of focus was causing her to stare blindly and unseeing when she wished to discern the plants before her. She took two deep breaths, forcing herself not to worry about whether or not she'd be able to know what she was looking at. She grew up with those of house Whitevine, for Gods' Sake. She new the common herbs as well as any other. And it wasn't as though she was being asked to ferment, extract, or brew. When she coaxed herself out of her minor panic at being judged, she let out another heavy breath and focused her gaze on a single container at a time.
She almost immediately recognised botonal, though it helped greatly that it had its own short, footnote reminding her of its round leaves and distinct scent, a tidbit of information she hadn't realised her memory retained. She took a glance to the mistress, unsure if she was suppose to announce her recollection or merely continue on with her work.
Of course, it only took a moment for her to realise how childish she was being, and promptly close her mouth and fall her line of sight. She let her gaze wander to one of the roots, a small number of thick, stunted things, and brought the bowel closer as she took in the scent. She almost regretted bringing it in so close and quick, the sweet smell hitting her all at once - ginger.
The flowers next closer to her drew her attention, their familiarity almost mocking. She let her eyes pore over the page as she sought a foot note, hoping that it was considered uncommon or useful enough to warrant mention; a pleased smile taking form on her lips as she caught mention of a yellow bloom with a red center. She let out a cheerful huff in victory; connal.
For a moment Altaira paused and shot a glance towards the greenhouse, wondering just how many of the plants before her were grown in store, before the sound of Mistress Blackleaf adjusting her stance and shifting her weight had Altaira recall what she was doing. Her head snapped down and towards another bowel, the contents of which were leafy and fresh.
She pulled the bowel closer and further examined the salad-like plant, before taking a chance and trying a small amount, coming to a conclusion as a the taste hit her mouth. Fauxsil. How did she fail to recall it immediately? In Avanthal it was often that a certain Vantha woman would snap of a crisp piece of the herb and offer some to who ever it was that was shadowing her. But even beyond that, it was common to be used as much as a snack as a herb.
She then rearranged the bowls in order of what she had identified and what she was working on. She didn't need to bother with the second bowl of roots nor one of fresh leaves, noting that they were Tolm and mint upon drawing it closer. If she'd doubted her own reasoning as to what the Mistress was up to, they were gone then.
In another few chimes, she'd identified aletrid, lavender, rosemary, flametoe, rose hips, sage, chamomile, and catnip. She had almost kicked herself when she realised the far off trio of blossoms were the easiest to pick, having seen lavender and chamomile grow in the greenhouse the day before, and fond of the use of rose hips in her own teas.
It had taken an extra moment for her to recall flametoe, aletrid, and catnip - having used them all in Avanthal, but not in the last year and half. Soon she worried amout the rot that was time, and how it affected her memory, making the period of time it took for her to recall the names of rosemary and sage all the more frustrating and ironic. In another short moment, she prayed to the Goddess who governed time not to let her precious memories fail her, all the while deciding that she would begin writing in a journal all memories she held close to her.
Mistress Blackleaf must have noted the spell that she'd fell under, clearing her throat and gearing Altaira's mind back into order. But by that point, however it seemed as though there was little more for her discover, the remaining few striking no familiarity. After pulling what she knew close to her, and glaring at what she didn't for a little while, she raised her eyebrow to the Mistress and spoke. "I've no idea what these few are."
There was an inkling of shame to her words, but she sighed and awaited the mistress' words none the less. "I wasn't expecting you to," she said, nodding approvingly, and Altaira flinched as shock rippled through her. "I was notified of your level and other skills when I was told you'd be working here, I felt the need to make sure that I could trust you to work alone, and come to me for aid when you were out of depth. The only two you've yet to identify are exotic, and not to be used in infusions. If you had been able to recognise them, I'd be impressed- but it would have rendered this little exercise useless."
Altaira wasn't sure how to react. It was a test? Was she still required to make the tea? What would have happened if she had pretended to know what she was doing? She swallowed hard and stood bolt upright, frowning as she let her hands fall to the counter top. "So," she said, gesturing to the manuscript, "Am I still blending these herbs?"Once she'd spoken the words, she realised the stupidity of the question, and quickly took them back. "No, ever mind. Foolish question."
She then ran her index finger down the page, picking out the concoctions detailing the herbs she had handy, and which of the simple blends were available. Ginger was a herb that work as a tea very tell on its own, though sweetners such as honey were common of use with it.
It was at that point that she realised just how little she was being asked of. Most of the the teas could be infused on their own, with other additions more for flavours or coolants. She let her gaze once again find the manuscript, and she didn't bother hiding her frown. Ginger tea looked the simplest, and she sought a knife and cutting board, hacking off a portion of a root.
She was skilled with knives, and took joy in the fine cutting and chopping of the relatively small portion, thoughts in the back of her mind having her wonder about whether or not what she was going through was very well enough for the Mistress to judge her skills. In her absence of mind, she almost slipped and cut herself, saving her flesh in the nip of time. At this point it should be clarified that she was good at causing harm with knives. Watching her own skin as she tore apart a piece of root? Not so much.
She threw a haphazard smile the way of Mistress Blackleaf, realising how little focus she had. With a couple more chops, the root was breaking down perhaps a little too much for the liking of any, and Altaira took care to stop and place the chopped contents into a bowel of its own. She then gave out a sigh and wiped her brow, moving to a basin to rinse and wipe down the knife and cutting board.
The ginger would work well both on its own and as an addition, but she'd have to use it at her own liberty, with only a single other mention of it - save for it alone and honey.
She took hold of one of the measuring spoons, not caring which, and let her eyes find another simple recipe, setting on a blend that was supposed to aid in sleeping. This one was simple enough, though the issue came in trying to figure out whether the herbs and flowers were washed or not. She gave a bit a of sigh, and put her eyes to good use, not only discerning that they were indeed clean, but also taking the care to select on the healthiest of the bunch. With that, she took the chamomile flowers, leaves of mint, and catnip of in equal measures into their own little jar.
She felt more like some tea lady than a herbalist, but there was little to complain about with how badly she was out of practise. Had she not have spent the day before checking out the greenhouse, and going through the collection of base herbs already harvested in store, she doubted that she'd have managed to identify what she had.
She then sighed, finding no real interest in continuing on with the bland and boring recipes of the book, and concluding that she might as well try and play with what she had. If she could attain permission, that was. "Would I be able to deviant?" She asked, bracing herself slightly. "I mean - make sage tea with variations of mint or rose hips, and then for the ginger tea, vary the time left for infusion? I mean, the book gives its own instructions," she began, internally screaming as she saw a look of what seemed to be subtle condescension rise on the Mistress' features, gesturing to the manuscript as though there was no inner turmoil within her.
Altaira was quickly pleased to see, however, that the look that the Mistress bore had more to do with the unpleasantness of tasting tea that had been under and over brewed, as well as the wastefulness that came with such an experiment. "Another time," the Mistress decided, the sound of the door opening meaning that there was either a customer to attend to or Aoren had arrived. "But for now, finish off which ever blends you wish to experiment with -- take care not to make so much that they cause an unnecessary waste. You may take the manuscript, as well as this one," She said, pulling down another of such books from a rather high shelf, free hands tidying up as she did so, "and work on identifying plants."
Altaira noted the sternness and severity of the Mistress' expression, and quickly finished her tasted, heeding her words perhaps a little too harshly. She divided up the ginger she'd chopped, scrambling around the workroom for a lid that would allow the root to dry, before making up several mint and rose hip/sage variations. The later was indeed unneeded, and held little to her art save for the calming of the stomach and heartburn, and was collected for a single reason - the smell and taste always reminded her of home.
She sighed heavily and collected the second book, shaking her head in a bid to banish her thoughts of the frozen city. She was a Syliran, for the time being at least, and if there was a single thing she'd learned in the last year or so, it was that it did not serve well to cling to the past.
She couldn't help but walk in as though it was her home, with the store far more welcoming than her cheap lodgings even with how little she knew of the place. "Hello?" she sung, hearing movement within the back room, and moving immediately to investigate. When she peaked her head into the working space, she saw Mistress Blackleaf off in her own little world, manuscript out, with a line of ingredients awaiting use.
Altaira frowned, and knocked on the door twice, unsure of how to proceed further. Was it rude to enter announced? Or was she being rather ridiculous, as she was often told?
"Come," she said, beckoning her in with a warm look, though her arms remained tightly folded. "I know you have some skill in herbalism, but I need to know where you are at so I know at what level to assign work to you. You may make what is written, or use it as some form of prompt." Altaira had a sharp intake of breath, and nerves hit her for a moment. They died down soon enough, and she moved to the position Mistress Blackleaf had directed her, though it was not without a trembling hand or clammy skin.
"Sounds fair," she conceded, coaxing her voice to stability. She gave a short glance at what it was she was being asked to make, a thankful sigh escaping her as she saw it was something simple enough for someone as lacking in skill as herself.She spend a further moment studying the hand in which it was written, wondering for a brief moment if it was the work of the mistress herself. She glanced up at the Mistress, who stood tall and curious on the opposing side of the bench. It was nothing imposing or judgmental, but more of a mentor who knew not how to help.
Altaira turned around, her back pressing into the bench, and she gave a hard look to the shelves. She'd watched with a keen eye where Aoren had sourced his equipment, and quickly sought out measuring cups and spoons, along with several containers to hold her mixes, before rereading what it was she was create, beyond the mere general items needed.
Although it wasn't something she'd made before, the process was as simple and sound as those she was familiar to. Nothing too complicated, but the trick to task laid more so in the fact that there was nothing more than short footnotes as to what the plants looked like - and that was in the cases where the manuscript seemed to deem the herbs above common knowledge. Rather than actually testing her ability to create, especially as all she was doing was putting together proper blends of herbal and floral teas, but she was being tested on what she knew, and what she could assume.
Altaira took a hard look at what was before her, there were a dozen ceramic bowels of herbs, some blossoms, some leaves, and a root or two. No philtering required, just the simple recognition and usage, she reminded herself ina bid to quell her nerves.
She sighed lightly and let her eyes rake over the list of possible teas, realising that her lack of focus was causing her to stare blindly and unseeing when she wished to discern the plants before her. She took two deep breaths, forcing herself not to worry about whether or not she'd be able to know what she was looking at. She grew up with those of house Whitevine, for Gods' Sake. She new the common herbs as well as any other. And it wasn't as though she was being asked to ferment, extract, or brew. When she coaxed herself out of her minor panic at being judged, she let out another heavy breath and focused her gaze on a single container at a time.
She almost immediately recognised botonal, though it helped greatly that it had its own short, footnote reminding her of its round leaves and distinct scent, a tidbit of information she hadn't realised her memory retained. She took a glance to the mistress, unsure if she was suppose to announce her recollection or merely continue on with her work.
Of course, it only took a moment for her to realise how childish she was being, and promptly close her mouth and fall her line of sight. She let her gaze wander to one of the roots, a small number of thick, stunted things, and brought the bowel closer as she took in the scent. She almost regretted bringing it in so close and quick, the sweet smell hitting her all at once - ginger.
The flowers next closer to her drew her attention, their familiarity almost mocking. She let her eyes pore over the page as she sought a foot note, hoping that it was considered uncommon or useful enough to warrant mention; a pleased smile taking form on her lips as she caught mention of a yellow bloom with a red center. She let out a cheerful huff in victory; connal.
For a moment Altaira paused and shot a glance towards the greenhouse, wondering just how many of the plants before her were grown in store, before the sound of Mistress Blackleaf adjusting her stance and shifting her weight had Altaira recall what she was doing. Her head snapped down and towards another bowel, the contents of which were leafy and fresh.
She pulled the bowel closer and further examined the salad-like plant, before taking a chance and trying a small amount, coming to a conclusion as a the taste hit her mouth. Fauxsil. How did she fail to recall it immediately? In Avanthal it was often that a certain Vantha woman would snap of a crisp piece of the herb and offer some to who ever it was that was shadowing her. But even beyond that, it was common to be used as much as a snack as a herb.
She then rearranged the bowls in order of what she had identified and what she was working on. She didn't need to bother with the second bowl of roots nor one of fresh leaves, noting that they were Tolm and mint upon drawing it closer. If she'd doubted her own reasoning as to what the Mistress was up to, they were gone then.
In another few chimes, she'd identified aletrid, lavender, rosemary, flametoe, rose hips, sage, chamomile, and catnip. She had almost kicked herself when she realised the far off trio of blossoms were the easiest to pick, having seen lavender and chamomile grow in the greenhouse the day before, and fond of the use of rose hips in her own teas.
It had taken an extra moment for her to recall flametoe, aletrid, and catnip - having used them all in Avanthal, but not in the last year and half. Soon she worried amout the rot that was time, and how it affected her memory, making the period of time it took for her to recall the names of rosemary and sage all the more frustrating and ironic. In another short moment, she prayed to the Goddess who governed time not to let her precious memories fail her, all the while deciding that she would begin writing in a journal all memories she held close to her.
Mistress Blackleaf must have noted the spell that she'd fell under, clearing her throat and gearing Altaira's mind back into order. But by that point, however it seemed as though there was little more for her discover, the remaining few striking no familiarity. After pulling what she knew close to her, and glaring at what she didn't for a little while, she raised her eyebrow to the Mistress and spoke. "I've no idea what these few are."
There was an inkling of shame to her words, but she sighed and awaited the mistress' words none the less. "I wasn't expecting you to," she said, nodding approvingly, and Altaira flinched as shock rippled through her. "I was notified of your level and other skills when I was told you'd be working here, I felt the need to make sure that I could trust you to work alone, and come to me for aid when you were out of depth. The only two you've yet to identify are exotic, and not to be used in infusions. If you had been able to recognise them, I'd be impressed- but it would have rendered this little exercise useless."
Altaira wasn't sure how to react. It was a test? Was she still required to make the tea? What would have happened if she had pretended to know what she was doing? She swallowed hard and stood bolt upright, frowning as she let her hands fall to the counter top. "So," she said, gesturing to the manuscript, "Am I still blending these herbs?"Once she'd spoken the words, she realised the stupidity of the question, and quickly took them back. "No, ever mind. Foolish question."
She then ran her index finger down the page, picking out the concoctions detailing the herbs she had handy, and which of the simple blends were available. Ginger was a herb that work as a tea very tell on its own, though sweetners such as honey were common of use with it.
It was at that point that she realised just how little she was being asked of. Most of the the teas could be infused on their own, with other additions more for flavours or coolants. She let her gaze once again find the manuscript, and she didn't bother hiding her frown. Ginger tea looked the simplest, and she sought a knife and cutting board, hacking off a portion of a root.
She was skilled with knives, and took joy in the fine cutting and chopping of the relatively small portion, thoughts in the back of her mind having her wonder about whether or not what she was going through was very well enough for the Mistress to judge her skills. In her absence of mind, she almost slipped and cut herself, saving her flesh in the nip of time. At this point it should be clarified that she was good at causing harm with knives. Watching her own skin as she tore apart a piece of root? Not so much.
She threw a haphazard smile the way of Mistress Blackleaf, realising how little focus she had. With a couple more chops, the root was breaking down perhaps a little too much for the liking of any, and Altaira took care to stop and place the chopped contents into a bowel of its own. She then gave out a sigh and wiped her brow, moving to a basin to rinse and wipe down the knife and cutting board.
The ginger would work well both on its own and as an addition, but she'd have to use it at her own liberty, with only a single other mention of it - save for it alone and honey.
She took hold of one of the measuring spoons, not caring which, and let her eyes find another simple recipe, setting on a blend that was supposed to aid in sleeping. This one was simple enough, though the issue came in trying to figure out whether the herbs and flowers were washed or not. She gave a bit a of sigh, and put her eyes to good use, not only discerning that they were indeed clean, but also taking the care to select on the healthiest of the bunch. With that, she took the chamomile flowers, leaves of mint, and catnip of in equal measures into their own little jar.
She felt more like some tea lady than a herbalist, but there was little to complain about with how badly she was out of practise. Had she not have spent the day before checking out the greenhouse, and going through the collection of base herbs already harvested in store, she doubted that she'd have managed to identify what she had.
She then sighed, finding no real interest in continuing on with the bland and boring recipes of the book, and concluding that she might as well try and play with what she had. If she could attain permission, that was. "Would I be able to deviant?" She asked, bracing herself slightly. "I mean - make sage tea with variations of mint or rose hips, and then for the ginger tea, vary the time left for infusion? I mean, the book gives its own instructions," she began, internally screaming as she saw a look of what seemed to be subtle condescension rise on the Mistress' features, gesturing to the manuscript as though there was no inner turmoil within her.
Altaira was quickly pleased to see, however, that the look that the Mistress bore had more to do with the unpleasantness of tasting tea that had been under and over brewed, as well as the wastefulness that came with such an experiment. "Another time," the Mistress decided, the sound of the door opening meaning that there was either a customer to attend to or Aoren had arrived. "But for now, finish off which ever blends you wish to experiment with -- take care not to make so much that they cause an unnecessary waste. You may take the manuscript, as well as this one," She said, pulling down another of such books from a rather high shelf, free hands tidying up as she did so, "and work on identifying plants."
Altaira noted the sternness and severity of the Mistress' expression, and quickly finished her tasted, heeding her words perhaps a little too harshly. She divided up the ginger she'd chopped, scrambling around the workroom for a lid that would allow the root to dry, before making up several mint and rose hip/sage variations. The later was indeed unneeded, and held little to her art save for the calming of the stomach and heartburn, and was collected for a single reason - the smell and taste always reminded her of home.
She sighed heavily and collected the second book, shaking her head in a bid to banish her thoughts of the frozen city. She was a Syliran, for the time being at least, and if there was a single thing she'd learned in the last year or so, it was that it did not serve well to cling to the past.
I have some opinions about this, I shall share them below.
