elra
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February Bonus Chapter
🕑 Added 2024-02-29 22:27:07 +0000 UTCThere once was a man named Adelard. Adelard was a simple man. He avoided violence and vices and tried to walk the path of virtue like the Church’s Zealots preached. He believed that the Church’s teachings should extend to his work, which was naturally based on his class. He wanted to be a virtuous Farmer. By growing virtuous crops, he figured the System would reward him.
Of course, nobody is perfect. Adelard always thought that the potato was a crop of sloth. Lazy farmers just threw it in the ground and, without any effort, months later you would have a crop of potatoes. If anyone could grow it, why would anyone need any Farmers? Potatoes were a stupid crop for simpletons that lacked the blessing of the Green Hands.
The System made people Farmers for a reason, and it wasn’t to waste growing a crop any Soldier or Mender could grow in their spare time. So Adelard, prideful as he was, never grew any potatoes.
Adelard’s obsession with virtuous crops continued even after he abandoned the Gairon Dukedom and went to help his uncle on his farm out in the sticks. The locals told Adelard that Farcrest was far too cold for these crops, but he would not let his poor old uncle be known as a Farmer too feeble to plant anything but potatoes. So Adelard planted eggplants, cauliflower, and even artichokes. Virtuous plants that took lots of attention and effort. Not some troublesome tubers.
Adelard persisted and had a successful first harvest. He made sure his uncle didn’t have to work the land more than the bare minimum, instead taking most of the work into his own hands. As the year passed, the System rewarded Adelard with several levels and a plentiful crop.
The eggplant he sold at the market was swollen, and a hearty purple, the cauliflower free of pests and lush, and even the artichokes drew a crowd. It took little time to sell his vegetables to the people of Farcrest, for his harvest has been so mighty and bountiful. Adelard smiled with pride, knowing he was helping to feed the first line of defence of the kingdom against monsters.
Adelard was still not a great admirer of Farcrest’s old rundown streets or the cold winter air, but his crops would remind the people there of a warmer climate. Maybe if he doubled his efforts, the rustic peoples of Farcrest would get to appreciate true noble vegetables.
One day, Adelard was selling his wares at the market when he saw a group of poor orphans wandering by. He knew better than to judge, for that was the place of the System and its Zealots, but nobody was perfect. Adelard never had a great relationship with orphans back home. They were little more than vagrants who liked to steal the fruit of his labor, and the System never gave them any good classes. If there was a Beggar class, it came from the kind of cursed child that grew up in a backwater orphanage.
As they got closer, Adelard could hear them talking.
“Mister Clarke sent us out to get herbs for the soup tonight, not sweets Firana,” a slender boy, who probably never grabbed a shovel in his life, said.
“Do you think we’ll meet a prince?” A little harpy girl said. Adelard wondered if that’s what a young Roc Harpy looked like. It didn’t help his mental image of orphans as horrible little monsters.
“Maybe we’ll meet the Potato Prince.” One of the snakefolk kids said, hissing her words just a tiny bit. A snakefolk. Despite having lived in a much warmer climate, Adelard had never seen one before.
“Let’s get some potatoes for the soup!” The second snakefolk child replied.
The human child scowled just a little, “The soup already has potatoes.”
Adelard greeted the squad of orphans, hiding his grimace while keeping an eye on their hands. It wasn’t hard for a seasoned Farmer like Adelard to recognize a group of little thieves. He couldn’t call the city guard without solid proof; otherwise, it would reflect badly on his business.
“Do you sell any potatoes?” The snakefolk children asked in unison.
Adelard reflexively scowled before catching himself. As expected, the favorite vegetable of a group of rowdy orphans could be no other than the lesser potato. “I’m sorry, but I only grow virtuous vegetables. Like these eggplants. Or these artichokes.”
“Potatoes are the most virtuous vegetable there is!” the snake boy protested.
“They are not; even if they were, I don’t have nor grow any,” Adelard said, trying not to be rude to the troublesome tattertots. “Have a good day,” he added, turning around and ending the conversation.
Adelard heard six pairs of shoes walking down the street. However, he still felt an eerie presence behind him.
“If you don’t have any, you can grow this potato,” the girl offered, pulling an old potato from the pocket of her dirty apron.
“I will not be known as a Farmer so horrible that I can only grow potatoes,” Adelard said with horror before knocking the potato out of the child’s hand.
The snakefolk girl gasped in horror before immediately scrambling after the shoved spud.
“Rotten potato…” she muttered. “You rotten potato!”
“You will grow into potato!” the snakefolk boy added.
For a fleeting instant, Adelard saw the flames of purgatory raging in the kid’s eyes. He blinked quickly, and the mirage disappeared. In front of him, there was an angry little girl, and yet, he couldn’t shake the sensation that something wicked hid beneath their innocent faces.
“Potate! Potate! Potate!” they chanted and hissed as the older orphan retraced his steps and dragged the snakefolk twins away.
“That was unhinged,” Adelard muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I must be overworked.”
Trying not to think of the horrible orphans, Adelard continued to sell his harvest at the market, only riding back to his farm in the late afternoon. As he put his makeshift stall into the barn, he found a potato among his wares. In disgust, he threw it outside with a huff before heading for bed. Despite his anger, he still managed to get an early start to bed, for that was the virtuous thing to do for a Farmer.
Adelard closed his eyes and dreamed of figs and prunes.
Waking up at the crack of dawn, Adelard smelled something nice. His uncle wasn’t in the habit of cooking since his wife, who had died in the last major Monster Surge, had been a high-level Chef. Ever since Adelard’s aunt had died, the light had gone out of his uncle’s life.
It was possible things were looking up for Adelard’s uncle after all. Eggplants and artichokes were enough to light any man’s day. Heading out to the kitchen, Adelard watched his uncle stir some slices of fried vegetables.
“What are you making?” Adelard asked with a yawn.
“Fried potatoes.” Adelard’s uncle grunted, revealing a cauldron of rotten potatoes. “We should grow these.”
Adelard woke up with a huff. It was still a little before dawn, but he could hear the birds chirping at the first light. Adelard was covered in sweat, but it only took him a second to regain his composure. It was just a nightmare, and there was a lot of farmwork to do.
“Fried potatoes?” he thought, dismissive.
Adelard made his bed like any other virtuous farmer; however, when he lifted his pillow that day, he found a lone potato. Had the orphans followed him home to play him a prank? In a rage, he threw it in the trash, then searched his bed to make sure there weren’t any other traitorous tubers around.
As he stormed out of his room, his uncle grunted at him, “You hungry?”
“No, I lost my appetite,” Adelard replied. Thinking of potatoes so early in the morning had disrupted his usual good spirit.
“Not good, you look green,” his uncle said.
“I’ll get better when I get to work,” Adelard replied dismissively.
Adelard went outside to care for his land. Because he had grown primarily summer crops, it was mostly to prepare for next year. If only there were a good crop he could grow over the winter. Dismissing the thought, Adelard started working the soil. With the help of his skills, his shovel and hoe opened a whole new farm plot before noon.
While Adelard normally did not mind dirt, it was not one of his great loves. He was a Farmer to grow things, not to be covered in mud. But today, the dirt felt good on his skin. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of the soil. He was tempted to even roll around in it like a pig.
Adelard resisted the strange sensation. He was trying to be virtuous, and virtuous folk did not give in to their impulses like animals. Yet, the allure of the fresh, damp soil was almost impossible to control.
“Adi, boy? Are you there?” His uncle called out from the doorway.
Adelard blinked, confused. How was he seeing his uncle if he hadn’t turned around to look at the house? It was as if he had sprouted some extra eyes in his back.
His uncle shuffled toward him.
“Where could it have gone? Today is not market day,” his uncle said as he looked around.
Adelard was right there. How could he not see him?
“I’m right here, uncle,” Adelard called out, worried that his uncle’s eyesight was finally going too.
Not a sound came out from Adelard’s lips. He felt so very thirsty. His skin even felt like it was wrinkled. ‘That’s why I can’t talk, my throat is dry. I just fell to the ground, and my uncle doesn’t see me because I’m covered in dirt,’ he thought. Adelard stumbled to his side; instead of helping him, his uncle jumped up and ran back to the house in panic.
“Mimic!” his uncle cried out, “Adi! There’s a Mimic on the farm!”
Adelard couldn’t see a Mimic, not in front of him, nor behind him, nor on either of his sides or above him. And Adelard was pretty sure he was checking everywhere all at once.
There was one place Adelard had not looked however. He didn’t want to.
Instead, he stumbled over to the water trough. It was hard. His legs felt stiff, as did his clothes as if someone had starched them heavily, then starched them some more for good measure. Adelard meant to reach into the trough and drink, even if it wasn’t the cleanest water in the world. When Adelard leaned forward to drink, he fell over into the water.
The water was brown, muddy, and smelled slightly of Skeeth manure, and it was the most refreshing drink Adelard had ever taken. He slurped and gulped as much as he could through his eyes until he had his fill.
He felt like his skin was smooth and lumpy, as it should be.
Now he just had to tell his uncle that everything was okay. He started shuffling over to the house, but his clothes still felt stiff. Maybe it was weighed down by the water, or maybe it was stiff with mud. Whatever the strange sensation, he needed to let his uncle know everything was okay before he called out the city guard.
“Uncle?” Adelard tried to spudder out.
Something was wrong. Adelard was having trouble getting the words out even now that he was feeling properly hydrated. Adelard pulled up his System Sheet and looked at it.
Name: Adelard, Potato.
Class: Farmer Lv. 32
Titles: Bumper Crop, System Sycophant, Adept Botanist, Stubborn, Green Thumb (2), Workaholic.
Passive: Lv.1 Riding, Lv.3 Tilling.
Skills: Seed Spray, Compost, Green Hands.
Adelard couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Maybe he needed to see some kind of healer. It could be an illness or something, but nothing on his character sheet looked out of place. Getting a healer meant going to town, but Adelard was a Farmer. This field was his home. The dirt was his home.
The obvious solution was to pack some dirt in a bag to take with him. He also rubbed some on his skin for good measure. Because he had worked it so well, the spoil was rich and full of nutrients, ready for another good crop. If it was good enough for his plants, it was surely good enough for him.
The soil felt good on his skin. It should, given how much work Adelard had put into making sure his crops would be able to survive the cold in Farcrest.
He hobbled forward a few steps before realizing it was getting dark.
Whatever was wrong with his voice, it could wait until tomorrow. Maybe he could even sleep it off. The house, however, felt so far away, and Adelard didn’t want to scare his uncle. It was going to be a bit cold tonight too.
Adelard looked at his fields and figured he could make somewhere to nap. He started digging and digging. Soon, he had a good shelter and jumped into the hole. The dirt felt so very warm, and Adelard knew he would sleep for a very long time.
* * *
“And that’s how the Potato Curse defeated the evil Farmer Adelard,” Virdian said, proud of his story.
I wasn’t so sure Adelard was the villain.
“Maybe we should ration the amount of potatoes we are consuming,” I said, worried about the snakefolk twins' mental health. Maybe they were getting too obsessed with them.
A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the glance of the snakefolk kid.
“Are you sure about that, Mister Clarke?”
____
AN: This story was a collaboration between my editor, Yert, and me. (Somehow, he seemed to channel Junji Ito's spirit during the writing process; it was really scary). I hope you liked it!
Comments
I Dare Korval
I'm surprised Mr Clark has not shown them the wonder of potato chips. They are easy enough to make.
David Ellis
The dreamlike quality of this story is top notch!
