YoTS: Lord January ~ 3!

CHAPTER 3

Grant had been quickly walking along the path for the last ten minutes, but started to slow down as three bulbous silhouettes loomed ahead, blocking the path ahead. This was the only route back to the farm that he could take the cart on, a choke point he couldn’t just go around. The only viable alternative path would take him on a two-hour detour through streams and woods, forcing him to abandon his caretaker’s equipment.

“Leapster, we thought you weren’t going to show up!” The tallest of the three boys laughed playfully. “If we had to wait any longer, we woulda needed to leave and catch you another day. Larry here is mighty hungry, aren’t you, Larry?”

“Mmm, yup. Momma has a feast waiting for us. Greasy pheasant, venison sausages, and cakes… oh, the cakes. Sponge cakes, cream filled eclairs, and my favorite, the chocolate fountain. I like to put my face under it, momma says it’s a great way to build up my body.” His squat frame quivered in anticipation as he licked his lips hungrily, imagining what waited for him.

“I’m surprised your head can fit!” Curly playfully elbowed Larry. “I wish my parents were merchants for House Thursday!”

Grant pushed the cart slowly forward. “You’d better get back then. I’d hate to spoil your appetite?”

Larry nodded in agreement and turned to leave, only to be cuffed on the back on the head by Mo, the leader of the band. “Now, Leap, I know that you are only five years old, but trying to play tricks on poor Larry? It seems we need to educate you once again.”

All three chuckled as they edged in on him. Mo gave the order, “Grab him, boys!”

Grant sighed and went limp, resigned to his fate. As a zero-level Leap, this was a near-daily ritual he went through. The faster they tired themselves out by beating him, the quicker he could get back to the farm. The more he fought, the greater delight they had in tormenting him. Pudgy digits locked around his arms. Larry and Curly were level one cultivators. Mo Tuesday, on the other hand, was level three.

“Get those rags off his chest!” Mo ordered as he pulled out a small bottle, the words making Grant’s eyes go wide. Curly and Larry dutifully agreed, yanking at Grant’s britches and shirt. “I want to see what this does to his skin.”

“Come on guys! This is too far!”

“You dare talk back to me, Leap?” Mo spat in disgust, stepping forward and lifting his head threateningly. “You ungrateful stick. You should be thanking us for even paying attention to you. No one wants you around, and you’re only alive because the law demands that we can’t kill you without cause. You’re just a little fun distraction before dinner, something to help build our appetite.”

“What is that?” Grant begged for information as Mo uncorked the bottle that was clearly marked as ‘dangerous’. He didn’t know what was coming but it wasn’t likely to be good. Grant strained unsuccessfully against the hands holding him. “Come on!”

“We were going to give you this gift on your birthday, but now is as good a day as any. Praise be to Lord January.” Mo spoke first, then Curly and Larry parroted the phrase most commonly spoken in the district, and particularly on the first of January. Grant could smell Mo’s breath, the garlic of his last meal lingered in the air as he closed in. Mo upended the small bottle and started splashing it across Grant’s bare flesh. “Do you know how hard this was to find? It took a week to gather the ingredients, and getting someone to put it together cost me an entire eight Hours! Hope it’s a good investment and gives us a good show. Oh, just so you know… this is Itchious Dermificus.”

“Look Mo, it’s already working!” Curly pointed at red welts that were appearing where the liquid connected with bare skin.

Grant writhed in agony, unable to scratch at the unendurable itch. He found power in his pain and rage, managing to yank his right arm away from his distracted bullies. he grabbed the closest thing to him, the milk jug - an improvised weapon that dealt blunt damage against unarmored enemies - he swung it with all his might. It smashed against Mo’s face, and his health bar flashed even as Grant attacked again.

Damage Dealt: 5 (1 blunt * 1.5 critical * 1.5 sneak attack * 2 attacks).

Multiple chins rippled in confusion and a tooth flew out of Mo’s shocked face. The young man staggered and collapsed against a wall. Bewildered and panicking at the sight of blood, the other two boys let go… giving Grant the opportunity to make a run for it. He left the cart and snatched up his shirt, ignoring the itch while he sprinted up the path.

Grant was almost out of sight of the confused pack of young cultivators when the full itchiness of the potion kicked in and started driving him insane. Scratching furiously as he ran, he tripped on a rock and tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust. He lay there dazed and in terrible pain. No matter how vigorously he scratched at the growing lines of welts, the itch just wouldn’t relent.

“Drag him down here,” Mo’s voice was dark and filled with a quiet fury that terrified Grant. Blood flecked his shirt as he spoke, and the others quickly ran to obey; pulling Grant by the feet along the gravel and dirt path. The gravel bit into his flesh, actually giving a little respite to his inflamed skin, scratching the itches that he couldn’t reach. “You will be sorry you were ever born, Leap. Looks like I finally have cause.”

Blood dribbled from the newly-gap-toothed smile. Mo launched his hand forward and punched Grant’s stomach over and over, relentlessly pummelling his battered body. He struggled to catch a breath between meaty jabs. “Join in, boys. Don’t mess up his face. We want people to know that this pathetic stick was Grant Leap.”

Each hit did between one and four points of blunt damage. The only positive was that all three quickly tired, unused to this level of activity. Usually, the most exercise they got was lifting pies and cakes up to their faces.Grant closed his eyes, hoping that his impending death would at least make the itching vanish… but then a savior appeared.

“Hey! What are you doing? Leave him alone!” A voice in the distance shouted. The owner of the voice ran over to the sweaty bullies. Seeing the state of the nearly bloody, welt-covered figure on the ground, she gasped, “Lord January preserve us!”

“Stay out of this, Becky.” Mo demanded threateningly. He pointed up at the toothy gap, his bottom lip quivering. “Look what he did to me!”

“I’m sure it was well deserved! Let him go before I call for the magistrate.” Becky stood her ground even as the chunky lads tried to loom over her. Seeing the steel in her gaze, the boys eventually looked away.

“Fine. We've had our fun… for today. Don’t worry, Leap. We will be waiting for you tomorrow!” They laughed before sauntering off towards their waiting feasts. As they walked away, Grant’s status flashed in front of his eyes.

Quest failed (Survive the Bully). Objective: Placate your bullies by letting them beat you up. Reward: Live to fight another day.

Hidden Quest Complete (Beat the Bully). Objective: Give the bullies a taste of their own medicine. Inflict 5 damage against a single target that is attacking you. Reward: Live to fight another day, 5 hours cultivation, 20% boost to cultivation for 24 hours. Error: no cultivation method detected. Retracting rewards.

“Grant, is it? Are you okay?” Becky came close to him, stopping just out of arm’s reach and hesitatingly putting out a hand that he flinched away from.

“I’ve had better days.” He tried to laugh, resulting in a coughing fit that added more blood to the burst welts on his chest.

Becky looked at his skin critically, and her voice shifted to a professional tone. “From the look of those boils, they used a simple itchiness potion. Depending on how potent it was, I’d say it will itch for anywhere from four to six hours.”

Grant groaned at the thought of it lasting that long. She fumbled through her satchel, pulling out a large leaf. “Here, take this. It’ll take some of the itch and pain away.”

“Thanks, Lady Becky.” Grant squinted up at her name, confirming what he had heard and adding an honorific. He smiled up at her while rubbing vigorously with the leaf, losing the grin when he saw the slight disgust on her face as they locked eyes. “Ahh…!”

Name: Grant Leap

(Poisoned: Approximately 3 hours remaining)

Class: None

Cultivation Achievement Level: 0

Cultivation Time: 0:00 Hours (Time to Next Level 1,000:00 Hours)

Cultivation Stage: None

Inherent Abilities: None

Health: 15/50

Mana: 0/0

Characteristics

Physical: 0

Mental: 0

Armor Proficiency: 0

Weapon Proficiency: 0

As he rubbed with the leaf, the health stat which was flashing red in warning slowly started to shift. A green plus symbol pulsed next to his name as the length of his poisoning reduced. Becky smiled down at him as he gasped in slight relief, “It’s nothing. One of the perks of being a herbalist. This leaf will slowly get you back up to half health but you will need a rest if you want to heal fully. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No. If you can just… help me up? I need to get back to my caretaker.”

“Sure.” Becky professionally held out a hand, then put the empty milk urn back in the cart, wincing as she found Mo’s lost tooth. “After losing this, maybe they will be less likely to bother you again. Or… they might be more reckless. Be careful. See you around, Grant.”

“Maybe. Thanks again.” He waved and trotted up the road as quickly as he could. The cart acted like a crutch, supporting his weight. It bounced along until the gravel ended and he was on to the rough dirt path. Rather than go straight on to the farm, he took a left towards his caretaker’s estate.

His destination was at the edge of the estate. Grant kept spare Time hidden in his small shelter - his lean-to - a few planks of wood and some furniture he had salvaged. Most of the time he preferred to sleep in the barn, near the animals, rather than trailing across to the farm and risk running into anyone. It was easier that way. There was the added benefit that he could do his chores and practice his sword forms in peace before most people had even awoken.

It dawned on him only as he got to the edge of the property that Becky called him Grant, not Leap! He was universally despised and looked down on. At the absolute best, he was tolerated. Even then, only because he did a lot of odd jobs that no one else could be bothered doing, so this was something truly worth noting. “One nice thing really did happen today. A new year’s miracle?”

Trundling the cart through the entrance to the estate, Grant was relieved to finally reach his destination… all the way until he looked up and was greeted by his caretaker, Randall, standing at the entrance to the lean-to with ham-sized fists planted firmly on his hips. “I’ve been looking all over for you, boy. I almost missed mid-afternoon tea and crumpets! After all I have done for you? Ungrateful wretch.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I was waylaid at the market.” He lifted his shirt, highlighting the welts and bruises there were starting to blossom in shades of pink and purple.

“Hmm. Well, that’s no excuse. I’m sure that you deserved every last one.” Randall grinned at the thought. “It was payment day, where’s my Time?”

A fat hand shot out, heavy gold rings dripping with colored jewels encrusted each meaty digit. Grant snatched the coin purse hidden in the cart and darted over, spilling the contents into the waiting palm. “Here. Sir.”

Slowly and carefully Randall counted out each and every coin. Oh, Regent December, Grant thought. He didn’t have a chance to replace the missing Minutes from being overcharged for the bread. He had received one Hour and forty Minutes, including the ten as a gift from Madame Mercredi. After paying for the bread, he was twenty Minutes short.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Randall roared, spittle flying in all directions. His eyes started to turn yellow, a side effect of his cultivation method. When he got mad enough, he went into a berserker state. Grant could feel energy coming from the caretaker, and the fine hairs on his arms stood to attention. He didn’t know what was making Randall so angry, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a berserker beatdown. “You’ve been stealing my money!”

“No, sir! I only bought a loaf of bread and was on my way to my shelter to replace the missing coins.”

“You mean these coins?” Randall took a familiar pouch out of his pocket, and Grant’s heart sank in his chest. “As I said earlier, I went looking for you in the room I allow you to live in, and this was what I found. Twenty-three Hours, forty-two Minutes! How do you explain that? Thieving, no doubt!”

The energy built in intensity and the man got closer. Orange threads pulsed along Randall’s veins, and Grant was turning desperate, “Sir. Please! This is all the money I have in the world. I have been doing odd jobs for years. Sometimes at the market I get little tip for fast service! I’m trying my best to better myself.”

“Hah!” Randall paused and let out a laugh. Then another. When he finally finished, the yellow had dimmed from his eyes and veins no longer pulsed visibly. “Leap, you will never be anything. You were born nothing, and you will die nothing. As your caretaker, I will requisition this Time towards your upkeep. By law, you are under my care until you reach sixteen! As a Leap year child… I’m sure you understand that will take quite a while.”

Grant stood there, dumbfounded, as the Time went back in Randall’s pocket. It had taken years to save up that meagre stash. Once he finally levelled up, he was going to use it to make a new life for himself.

“Then there is the other matter!” Randall reached into the lean-to for a moment, pulling out a copper cup. He waggled the cup accusingly, rings clinking against the surface.

Grant shook his head furiously. “I can explain-”

“I found this in the barn. I thought to myself, ‘how did that get there’? Then I smelled the cup, and it reminded me very much of the vintage of cider we enjoyed last night. Were you invited to the party, Leap?”

“No-”

“Indeed you were not! Come with me.” Randall jabbed a finger towards the main door of the estate; then walked inside, expecting Grant to follow. Grant sighed and trailed along, unsure of what to expect. He glanced around the spacious kitchen. Half-finished plates of rich food lay strewn across tables and countertops. A small, familiar-looking onyx figurine on the mantle above the hearth caught his attention.

“This way.” Randall’s muffled voice called. Grant tore his gaze away and looked down a flight of stone steps, tentatively made his way down. Globes of light, apparently powered by magic, lined the stairs. At the bottom he was greeted by a cellar. Row upon row of oak casks lined the underground vault. Numerous varieties of red and white wine… and cider. “Sit.”

“Please, sir. I just wanted to have a little fun. Celebrate the New Year. It was only the leftovers, I never took from-”

“Do. Not. Force me to repeat myself.” Grant quickly ran to obey, plonking himself down on a stool. Randall jabbed a meaty finger repeatedly against Grant’s forehead. “You may have picked the apples, Leap, but the cider does not belong to you. I own you, and I own everything else. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes.” Grant nodded vigorously, attempting to defuse the situation. “Can I go, sir? I have to get up early tomorrow to…”

“You will leave when I say you will! Now, as you apparently like cider… help yourself to as much as you can drink.”

“I’m not thirsty. Thank y…”

“I. Said. Drink!” Randall slammed the copper cup on the table. It was filled to the brim with frothy cider, fresh from the barrel. Grant took the cup in a hesitant hand and started drinking, pausing only to scratch at his welts. He normally enjoyed the flavor, but couldn’t under these circumstances. “Come on, Leap. You will do better than that.”

Randall grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced the cup to his face, pouring the frothy liquid straight down his throat and all over his face. Cider blocked Grant’s nose, choking him. “Don’t spill any, now. I don’t want to get any on my new shoes.”

Grant spluttered in agreement before trying to come up for breath. He had a  moment’s respite, then another brimming cup was waiting for him. Then another, and another. He lost count of the number of cups he’d drank. Grant struggled to focus, feeling dizzy and light headed. Randall smacked him, “Had enough? Are you sure you don’t want to drink any more of my cider, Leap?”

“N…. no. Never again.” It took all of his effort to hold the alcohol infused apple juice down. “Sir.”

“Good. I have one more task for you today. Then, you can enjoy the rest of this fine holiday, in honor of Lord January.” Grant nodded numbly at Randall’s oddly kind words, in his delirium just glad to get away. “Take the large wheelbarrow and fill it to the brim with cow pats. To. The. Brim.”

Each word was accentuated by a jab to the forehead. Randall smiled warmly and patted him forcefully on the head. “Once you have completed this task, we can forget this little indiscretion. You are lucky that I am such a generous caretaker, boy.”

As Grant was barely able to stand, Randall grabbed him under the arms and forcefully showed him the way up the stairs. Outside, the cart was waiting. Grant stumbled against it, displacing the tarp. Randall strode forward and snatched up the loaf of bread, then ripped off and devoured several large chunks  “So, that’s what my Minutes bought, huh? This will tide me over until afternoon tea. Go. Start collecting.”

With a laugh, he slammed the door, leaving Grant alone outside. Despite everything; his welts, itchy and beaten body, even his drunken stupor, Grant took great pleasure knowing that Randall was scoffing down the snot-soaked bread. He laughed and scratched as he walked an unsteady path towards the wheelbarrow.