Hello and welcome to The Hermit's Pen, where I’ll be writing fantasy fiction using the mechanics of solo roleplaying games. The first story will be based on the fantastic journaling game Apothecaria by Blackwell games:
In Apothecaria, you take on the role of a village witch, helping the disaster-prone villagers of High Rannoc with their strange and magical ailments. It’s a cozy game inspired by games like Theme Hospital and Stardew Valley, with the warmth and wonder of a Studio Ghibli film. With unique ailments like Fairy Fever, Candlesick, and Yeti Chest, Apothecaria offers plenty of inspiration for a cozy fantasy tale.
While the The Witch’s Apprentice is based on a playthrough of the game, I’ve chosen to leave out the mechanics and focus on the narrative. However, if you’re familiar with the game, I’m sure you will recognize plenty of elements from its rich random tables.
Apothecaria leaves a lot open about the character’s background, so for my playthrough, I’ve decided to use a classic portal fantasy trope. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of waking up in a strange world full of adventure. Beyond that, I have no concrete plans for the story, so let’s see where the random tables take us.
Once again, welcome to The Hermit's Pen. I'm thrilled you're here and giving this a chance.
Chapter 1: The Witch’s Cottage
Sarah woke up slowly, her senses stirring as she blinked at the dim light. Something wasn’t right. The soft rustling under her wasn’t the familiar feel of her sheets. She reached out, expecting the cool surface of her phone, but her fingers hit something rough. Straw.
Her heart gave a small leap as she sat up. The bed creaked under her. This wasn’t her apartment. She’d fallen asleep in her cramped studio after another exhausting double shift, but this… was not her bedroom. There was no sound of traffic, no hum of city life. Just silence.
The room around her was small and cozy with wooden walls and thick beams overhead. It reminded her of one of those romantic cottages in the Hallmark movies, she’d watched as a kid. Sunlight peeked through lace curtains, throwing warm spots of light on the floor. It was beautiful in a way, but also completely wrong.
She pushed the quilt aside; its fabric was soft with age, a little worn. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet found the cool, wooden floor. Standing, she listened, half expecting something, anything, to make sense. But the quiet chirping of birds outside only added to the weirdness. It was too perfect.
There was a narrow staircase at the far side of the room. As she walked down, her hand slid along the smooth railing, worn from years of use. Each step groaned softly under her, like they’d been walked on by countless feet before hers.
At the bottom she found a kitchen, small but filled with light, warm and inviting. Open windows let in the breeze, carrying the scent of herbs—lavender, rosemary, and something sweet she couldn’t name. A simple wooden table sat in the middle, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of dried flowers and bottles. It smelled like a garden, fresh and earthy.
On the table, lay an open journal, the ink dark and neatly written, like someone had left it there just for her.
“If you’re reading this, I’m probably missing…or dead. Let’s hope just missing.
I wish I could be there to explain all this in person, but life takes unexpected paths. Hopefully this journal will be enough to guide you.
So first up, welcome to High Rannoc! It’s a nice place, even if the people can be a little disaster-prone. You’ll be taking my place as village witch and you’ll be responsible for curing them of whatever injuries or diseases they’ve managed to pick up.
Thankfully, curing folk ain’t that hard. Mostly just a matter of finding out what’s wrong with them and check what reagents work for that. I don’t know how much you’ve been taught afore so don’t be insulted if these instructions seem simple.”
Sarah leafed through the journal full of pages of neatly written instructions and hand drawn illustrations, ailments of all kinds and the ingredients and procedures needed to cure them.
What is going on here? She thought to herself. Where am I. Is it really some kind of witch’s hut.
Before she had time to recover, there was a knock on the door.
She was not sure what to do. What if they thought she’d broken into the witch’s hut to steal her things?
The knock came again more insistent. Outside she could hear a mans voice. ”Please if you are in there, please open.”
Still not sure what to do, Sarah tiptoed over to the window and nudged aside the heavy curtain just enough to peek through.
Outside stood a man a bit older than herself. He looked all wrong, dressed in old fashioned clothes like someone from the middleages with a strange red hat.
”Please, if you’re in there.” The man said and knocked again.
Sarah still wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe it would be better to hide. Maybe if she went to sleep again she would wake up in her own bed. But somehow, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Finally, she eased the door open, and the smell hit her before she could even see his face—stale, foul, like rotting onions left in the sun. She instinctively raised her hand to cover her mouth and nose, struggling to keep her stomach steady.
“Who are you?” the man asked, his breath following the words like a toxic cloud. Sarah fought the urge to step back but couldn’t stop herself from thinking of festival porta-potties on a hot day.
“I—uh…” Her mind raced, searching for and answer that would make sense, but before she could say anything, he cut her off.
“Where’s the witch?” His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer.
“Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her,” Sarah said, keeping her voice steady, even though her insides were churning.
The man’s gaze lingered on her, suspicious. “Then what are you doing in her cabin? You her apprentice or something?”
Sarah swallowed. How could she possibly explain that she’d gone to sleep in her own bed and had woken up at some renaissance fair? He would think she was mad. In fact, she wasn’t too sure herself. She glanced back at the journal still sitting on the table. Maybe playing along would buy her some time.
"Um, yes. I'm the new apprentice, but the witch wasn't here when I got here."
The man’s face softened a little, though he still seemed wary. “Well, if you’re the apprentice, maybe you can help me.” He leaned in, and the smell hit her again, worse this time, as if he’d just belched out a curse.
Sarah swallowed behind her hand but forced herself to nod politely. “I’ll do my best. What’s the problem?”
“This damned breath!” he groaned. “It’s so bad the kids can’t stand to be in the schoolhouse with me. I’m their teacher. How can I teach if they’re running out gagging before the lesson starts?”
Sarah blinked at him, struggling to hold her composure. “You’re their teacher?”
“Well, yes! Henry is my name. Henry Wainwright, teacher at High Rannoc,” he said, offering a hand, which Sarah hesitantly shook, still keeping her other hand clamped over her mouth. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Sarah,” she mumbled through her hand. “Sarah Williams. It’s, uh, a pleasure to meet you.”
Her mind scrambled for a solution as she let go of his hand, her gaze darting back to the journal. Maybe there was something in there to help him—and everyone else who had to be near him.
”I would like to help you if I can, but I’ll need some time. Maybe you can come back tomorrow?”
His face twisted in disappointment. “Can’t you do something sooner?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said, trying to sound as professional as she could while suppressing a gag.
“In order to make a tincture I first need to gather the ingredients and then I have to prepare the mixture itself.” She had no idea if she was saying the right words, but it sounded witchy enough.
He sighed but nodded, clearly relieved that someone was willing to help.
“All right. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll owe you for this, Miss Williams.”
With one last wave, he turned and shuffled off down the path. Sarah quickly shut the door, letting out a long breath as the fresh air of the cottage replaced the lingering stink.
She stared at the door for a moment, then back at the journal on the table. “What have I gotten myself into?” She needed some fresh air after talking to Henry. She couldn't remember ever smelling anything so bad. So she grabbed the journal and headed to the garden.
The witch's house lay on a hill overlooking a forest and further away, on the horizon, a mountain range stretched toward the sky. It was spring and flowers and herbs had slowly started to sprout in the cozy little garden.
She found a bench in the sun and sat down, leafing through the journal. "Let me see," she muttered to herself. "A breath that can slay a dead man. Let’s see if we can find something useful in here."
She flipped through the book for a bit and then she found what she was looking for. "Gludgie Mouth, a curse and an infection," she read aloud."
Apparently, it was caused by a curse from a bog goblin, whatever that was. And how did the local teacher get cursed by a goblin. Well, that wasn’t her problem. She just needed to find a cure and hopefully find a way to get back home to New York. Although, she had to admit that the little cabin and the garden was quite cozy compared to her apartment.
She’d read something about curses when she leafed through the journal earlier. But what was it? While reading, she realized that she hadn’t had anything to eat and she was starting to feel hungry. She walked back to the kitchen and prepared bread with cheese and a cup of tea and continued her research. An hour later she had laid a plan.
To cure the halitosis she would need Fairy Dust from Glimmerwood Grove and Slime Shells from Meltwater Loch. But she had to hurry to have everything ready for Henry the next morning.
Thank you so much for reading along.
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The audio version is great! You were really clear and it's wonderful being able to listen to it. Hope you continue to do this throughout the series.