18 Cylus, 724
.
One of his dreams was so vivid he almost thought it was real.
The man was frolicking through meadows of flowers whilst it was raining- lightly pitter-pattering on his skin. He stuck out his tongue to enjoy the feeling of the water droplets before suddenly falling to the ground.
He spread his arms out wide as if he were flying and did the same with his legs. He moved his arms so that they went to and fro against his sides; his legs followed. These movements of his repeated over and over and over again, all the while bringing a smile to the young man's handsome face.
It was a matter of moments before he began humming a song of his own creation, based mainly off bass strums and drum beats. He was singing with his heart, carefree and without any worry, his voice carrying across his backyard. But then a loud crack of thunder resounded into the ground and up and down Kotton's spine.
The rain swiftly started to pour down harder and quicker, stinging the young man’s flesh. His dark hair matted itself against his forehead. He struggled to stand, slipping and sliding on the mud that had already began to form- escaping the wrath of the weather was proving more difficult than he thought.
There was a strike of lightning overhead and it caused his heart to skip a beat. He didn't know if he was going to survive or become prey to the ominous clouds billowing in the dark sky. The lightning was so close, he could practically see the fire starting from its point of touchdown.
He sprinted until he couldn't breathe.
----
Small puffs of white snow were falling gently outside of his cottage. He had been fast asleep, dreams accompanying the warmth from the winter comforters he had cocooned himself in.
The sun was trying to shine amidst the thick clouds. He had forgotten to close his blinds for the third time in a row it seemed. His ravishing locks of hair coloured like the same as day old bloodshed from the battlefield fell across his cheek as he rolled over in his bed. He could practically feel his desire for the sweltering rays of sunlight kissing his cheeks to the wet blades of grass striking against his bare calves that came with late Ashan, but no. It was still dreary skies and chilly air.
His dream had been frightening, but logical. There were no unlawful twists or turns and there was nothing out of the ordinary forcing him to fight for direction apart from the need to flee a storm. He had finally had a good night’s sleep, one he had been wanting for days now.
However, Kotton was revisited with the untimely despair of a cough (or many).
Cough, cough. And his nose ran faster than he could run, making paper all the more significant to staunch the onslaught of mucus that dripped from out his nostrils.
He threw off the blankets that shrouded him, noticing an onslaught of beading sweat coating his flesh. He was hot, but cold at the same time. And boy, did his head ache. Kotton drew the back of his hand against his forehead and immediately felt heat. He had a fever, gods be damned.
It was a good thing he was a scribe at a medical office or else he might not have the ability to figure out what he was ailing from. With this in mind, his knowledge did only span the basics, so anything beyond that would require the eyes of a more experienced practitioner. But of the basics he knew, he had used 'wallflower techniques' to learn a thing or two about holistic remedies some practitioners used in the office. And those holistic remedies? They fell under the term herbalism.
Herbalism required using the wide variety of plants, flowers and herbs found throughout Idalos to produce medicinal aid for multiple illnesses. Kotton remembered jotting down some details about a certain plant that helped with fever. But where was it?
He had never actually taken part in the creation of such medicine, but he had seen a thing or two in his time and had read a thing or two as well.
After much searching for a piece of paper with only so many words scribbled over it, Kotton saw what he was looking for fall out his knapsack. It landed slick with moisture against the wooden flooring of his abode. He scooped it up and clenched it in his hand.
The young man struggled to get his shoes on, his shivering taking a toll on his efficiency. But once he had then on, and his coat tied, he was ready to venture out into the world. He hesitantly opened his front door and stepped out into frigid air.
A gust of wind struck his face as if he was being attacked by a whip. The small particles of snow continued to flutter although their direction was still to be determined. Bits of ice stuck to his coat like armour, coating the grey fabric with a sheen of clear that may as well take days to melt.
Taking a glance at the sheet of paper containing his notes, Kotton ran his eyes down the list of different herbs and the purposes they had. One specific name seem to stick out amongst the others.
Catnip.
The name rang like a million bells in the young man’s head. He could picture the exact moment when he had written down the description of the herb. He could also envision the rudimentary drawing he had scrawled when he had been shown what it looked like. He read to himself,
‘Catnip increases perspiration without raising body temperature to help reduce fevers and rid the body of sickness and disease. It has also been proven to be effective in helping ease restlessness, motion sickness and anxiety in children when prepared as a tea.'
Kotton smirked. With the image of what the Catnip looked like held in his mind, albeit faint and non-detailed, he wondered if he would be able to find the plant littering the earthy ground. It was apparently not particular about its conditions, including soil and sunlight, so it was possible he would find it yonder past his backyard and into the outskirts.
Most of the snow had melted due to a sudden heat wave. Even the snow cascading onto his winter coat wasn’t sticking like it should during the dead of winter. He spent only a secular moment recognising the shapes and patterns of the flakes that fell against the fabric of his coat, but smiled at each one.
He pulled away a few shrubs from the undergrowth of an arbitrary patch only to reveal many common weeds. Stubbornness and the need to feel successful kept him from taking the easy way out and asking a professional. After what felt like an hour, he was close to giving up. That was until something went almost unrecognised of the corner of his eye.
Kotton twisted around so fast that if his head wasn’t attached to the rest of his body, it would have flown right off. He ran over to the soft greenery and crouched. The young man prodded at the herb with his finger before brandishing his notes from out of his pocket. His eyes went from his notes to reality and back again. The two objects were so identical that he couldn’t be anything other than certain.
Still he read,
‘Catnip resembles a square stem with brown-green foliage. It has coarse-toothed leaves that are very obviously triangular in shape. The small flowers can be white and or have pale purple spots.”
Kotton nodded his head, his brunette locks (in definite need of trimming) bobbing with the motion. He believed he had the correct herb. However, his stubbornness had faded. He really didn't want to accidentally kill himself if this herb was indeed poisonous and not the Catnip he thought it was. So he wouldn’t go without first taking it to someone of intelligence. Thus, he traipsed toward the nearest herbalist.
Thankfully, his findings were indeed ones of Catnip origin. During his trek home, he deliberated. He knew he could have just started with the herbalist but stood confidently beside his previous decision- what would be the fun in that? Besides, he saved some coins with finding his own herb rather than purchasing one at what could only have been an outrageous price.
Via the herbalist, he had been instructed to boil the Catnip. So he did. Kotton was thankful he already had a fire billowing in the cluster of a hearth against the far wall of his bedroom. So he took the plant there. In a bowl, he set the plant, knowing full well that patience was the only obstacle he had to overcome. But patience wasn’t his strong suit. He pulled the bowl from the fire early, nearly burning his hands in the process, and began to pour the makeshift tea into a cup ready for his consumption.
He continued to cough, cough, cough until he sipped from the medicinal beverage.
It tasted horrible. What was this? Apparently a medicinal aid for the common cold, or so his notes had described. But, boy did it taste foul. Perhaps he would add sugar next time just to make the journey down his gullet more pleasant.
He wasn’t completely certain, but he was adamant that he had done his duty as a scribe based on the detail he had included in his notes. There was no doubt his exposure in the medical world had helped him as it did today.
Kotton wondered, aside from the addition of sugar, if other herbs would help the flavour of the drink without off-balancing the treatment that came from the Catnip. He was no cook, no brewer, and still very much an amateur when it came to medicinal experimentation, but the thought was not lost on him. He made sure to write down his ideas, to be used in the future if and when he caught another cold.
But damned he couldn’t even remember where he would have caught such a thing in the first place. Aside from work… where there were sick people everywhere… he tried to redact his last internal comment with a face palm and decided to finish his tea.
Until that was, his mind lingered on other herbal remedies for his sickly condition…
The man was frolicking through meadows of flowers whilst it was raining- lightly pitter-pattering on his skin. He stuck out his tongue to enjoy the feeling of the water droplets before suddenly falling to the ground.
He spread his arms out wide as if he were flying and did the same with his legs. He moved his arms so that they went to and fro against his sides; his legs followed. These movements of his repeated over and over and over again, all the while bringing a smile to the young man's handsome face.
It was a matter of moments before he began humming a song of his own creation, based mainly off bass strums and drum beats. He was singing with his heart, carefree and without any worry, his voice carrying across his backyard. But then a loud crack of thunder resounded into the ground and up and down Kotton's spine.
The rain swiftly started to pour down harder and quicker, stinging the young man’s flesh. His dark hair matted itself against his forehead. He struggled to stand, slipping and sliding on the mud that had already began to form- escaping the wrath of the weather was proving more difficult than he thought.
There was a strike of lightning overhead and it caused his heart to skip a beat. He didn't know if he was going to survive or become prey to the ominous clouds billowing in the dark sky. The lightning was so close, he could practically see the fire starting from its point of touchdown.
He sprinted until he couldn't breathe.
----
Small puffs of white snow were falling gently outside of his cottage. He had been fast asleep, dreams accompanying the warmth from the winter comforters he had cocooned himself in.
The sun was trying to shine amidst the thick clouds. He had forgotten to close his blinds for the third time in a row it seemed. His ravishing locks of hair coloured like the same as day old bloodshed from the battlefield fell across his cheek as he rolled over in his bed. He could practically feel his desire for the sweltering rays of sunlight kissing his cheeks to the wet blades of grass striking against his bare calves that came with late Ashan, but no. It was still dreary skies and chilly air.
His dream had been frightening, but logical. There were no unlawful twists or turns and there was nothing out of the ordinary forcing him to fight for direction apart from the need to flee a storm. He had finally had a good night’s sleep, one he had been wanting for days now.
However, Kotton was revisited with the untimely despair of a cough (or many).
Cough, cough. And his nose ran faster than he could run, making paper all the more significant to staunch the onslaught of mucus that dripped from out his nostrils.
He threw off the blankets that shrouded him, noticing an onslaught of beading sweat coating his flesh. He was hot, but cold at the same time. And boy, did his head ache. Kotton drew the back of his hand against his forehead and immediately felt heat. He had a fever, gods be damned.
It was a good thing he was a scribe at a medical office or else he might not have the ability to figure out what he was ailing from. With this in mind, his knowledge did only span the basics, so anything beyond that would require the eyes of a more experienced practitioner. But of the basics he knew, he had used 'wallflower techniques' to learn a thing or two about holistic remedies some practitioners used in the office. And those holistic remedies? They fell under the term herbalism.
Herbalism required using the wide variety of plants, flowers and herbs found throughout Idalos to produce medicinal aid for multiple illnesses. Kotton remembered jotting down some details about a certain plant that helped with fever. But where was it?
He had never actually taken part in the creation of such medicine, but he had seen a thing or two in his time and had read a thing or two as well.
After much searching for a piece of paper with only so many words scribbled over it, Kotton saw what he was looking for fall out his knapsack. It landed slick with moisture against the wooden flooring of his abode. He scooped it up and clenched it in his hand.
The young man struggled to get his shoes on, his shivering taking a toll on his efficiency. But once he had then on, and his coat tied, he was ready to venture out into the world. He hesitantly opened his front door and stepped out into frigid air.
A gust of wind struck his face as if he was being attacked by a whip. The small particles of snow continued to flutter although their direction was still to be determined. Bits of ice stuck to his coat like armour, coating the grey fabric with a sheen of clear that may as well take days to melt.
Taking a glance at the sheet of paper containing his notes, Kotton ran his eyes down the list of different herbs and the purposes they had. One specific name seem to stick out amongst the others.
Catnip.
The name rang like a million bells in the young man’s head. He could picture the exact moment when he had written down the description of the herb. He could also envision the rudimentary drawing he had scrawled when he had been shown what it looked like. He read to himself,
‘Catnip increases perspiration without raising body temperature to help reduce fevers and rid the body of sickness and disease. It has also been proven to be effective in helping ease restlessness, motion sickness and anxiety in children when prepared as a tea.'
Kotton smirked. With the image of what the Catnip looked like held in his mind, albeit faint and non-detailed, he wondered if he would be able to find the plant littering the earthy ground. It was apparently not particular about its conditions, including soil and sunlight, so it was possible he would find it yonder past his backyard and into the outskirts.
Most of the snow had melted due to a sudden heat wave. Even the snow cascading onto his winter coat wasn’t sticking like it should during the dead of winter. He spent only a secular moment recognising the shapes and patterns of the flakes that fell against the fabric of his coat, but smiled at each one.
He pulled away a few shrubs from the undergrowth of an arbitrary patch only to reveal many common weeds. Stubbornness and the need to feel successful kept him from taking the easy way out and asking a professional. After what felt like an hour, he was close to giving up. That was until something went almost unrecognised of the corner of his eye.
Kotton twisted around so fast that if his head wasn’t attached to the rest of his body, it would have flown right off. He ran over to the soft greenery and crouched. The young man prodded at the herb with his finger before brandishing his notes from out of his pocket. His eyes went from his notes to reality and back again. The two objects were so identical that he couldn’t be anything other than certain.
Still he read,
‘Catnip resembles a square stem with brown-green foliage. It has coarse-toothed leaves that are very obviously triangular in shape. The small flowers can be white and or have pale purple spots.”
Kotton nodded his head, his brunette locks (in definite need of trimming) bobbing with the motion. He believed he had the correct herb. However, his stubbornness had faded. He really didn't want to accidentally kill himself if this herb was indeed poisonous and not the Catnip he thought it was. So he wouldn’t go without first taking it to someone of intelligence. Thus, he traipsed toward the nearest herbalist.
Thankfully, his findings were indeed ones of Catnip origin. During his trek home, he deliberated. He knew he could have just started with the herbalist but stood confidently beside his previous decision- what would be the fun in that? Besides, he saved some coins with finding his own herb rather than purchasing one at what could only have been an outrageous price.
Via the herbalist, he had been instructed to boil the Catnip. So he did. Kotton was thankful he already had a fire billowing in the cluster of a hearth against the far wall of his bedroom. So he took the plant there. In a bowl, he set the plant, knowing full well that patience was the only obstacle he had to overcome. But patience wasn’t his strong suit. He pulled the bowl from the fire early, nearly burning his hands in the process, and began to pour the makeshift tea into a cup ready for his consumption.
He continued to cough, cough, cough until he sipped from the medicinal beverage.
It tasted horrible. What was this? Apparently a medicinal aid for the common cold, or so his notes had described. But, boy did it taste foul. Perhaps he would add sugar next time just to make the journey down his gullet more pleasant.
He wasn’t completely certain, but he was adamant that he had done his duty as a scribe based on the detail he had included in his notes. There was no doubt his exposure in the medical world had helped him as it did today.
Kotton wondered, aside from the addition of sugar, if other herbs would help the flavour of the drink without off-balancing the treatment that came from the Catnip. He was no cook, no brewer, and still very much an amateur when it came to medicinal experimentation, but the thought was not lost on him. He made sure to write down his ideas, to be used in the future if and when he caught another cold.
But damned he couldn’t even remember where he would have caught such a thing in the first place. Aside from work… where there were sick people everywhere… he tried to redact his last internal comment with a face palm and decided to finish his tea.
Until that was, his mind lingered on other herbal remedies for his sickly condition…
