The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

For a long moment, I thought Abby would refuse to answer. I had done all I could to throw her off balance and manipulate her emotions to ask my blunt question and hope for an answer. Requesting access to her Skills barely caused her eyes to widen. Still, the question over her anger made her visibly withdraw. During our discussion, she had been open and expressive. My new apprentice had more than once smiled and shown real joy at the idea of earning [Singing]. The sudden change was sharp, and I was afraid that my blunt approach would cause her to revert further into her previous sullen and angry demeanor.

Fiddling with the price book, she made a face as she struggled with herself. Her reluctance to discuss her anger was evident, but my continued watchful silence seemed to be the final push. She snapped the price book onto the table harder than she likely intended, her eyes wincing for a moment at the sound. Finally, she met my stare before huffing, crossing her arms, and leaning back. The look was pure petulance and made her seem even younger than she was, while the malnourished waif look underlined it even further.

“My grandmother was of house Valstanderson, do you know it?” she asked while looking away from me.

I could have done without the attitude, but since she answered my questions, I decided to ignore it for now. I was well acquainted with anger and frustration, and this wouldn’t be the first time I had to ignore similar outbursts.

“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t heard of it,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage.

Shrugging at my response, she continued, “Well, they fell out of favor with the court and fled to the kingdom’s edge. Mom said that grandpa divorced grandma and left her with nothing but her bloodline. We naturally develop [Poison Resistance] and [Cleanse Blood] when exposed to poisons; even alcohol is enough. But, if we are exposed to a poison often at a young age, the first Skill we get is [Poison Fount]. Our line was famous for it. We’re supposed to have something with eyesight as well, but mother never talked about it; I don’t think she was trained,” Abby said before she looked down.

I could see she wanted to stop at that, and if I had said anything, she likely would have remained silent. I simply waited, hoping that this was something she felt she needed to say and that she would if given a chance. Silence was a useful tool of social manipulation, and one I was wielding like a blunt hammer.

“Grandma died and didn’t leave enough for mom and me. So mom took the money she had to hire an alchemist to make a supply of Succubus Tears,” Abigail said then glared at me as if waiting for my comment.

At her look, I simply nodded. Her mother’s plan seemed reasonable to me and likely to work. Succubus Tears, despite the name, was not a love potion like most believed. Instead, it was a mild hypnotic and stimulant. It was often used to induce attraction and even feelings of adoration and addiction - some would mistake it for love. It was illegal for most because it also usually produced feelings of deep possessiveness and jealousy.

Shrugging, she continued, “Mom wanted to go back to being pampered and cared for. She wanted her life back. Dad divorced her the moment that Grandma and Grandpa were banished. There was some kind of scandal and,” here she shrugged again as if to shoo away the discussion.

“So mom tried to buy Succubus Tears, but the alchemist worked for Lord Bracker.”

Ah, the criminal mastermind that demanded to be called a Lord. The mention of the man’s name tore from her in a snarl, the careful control gone, and a look of revulsion and anger was left in it’s place. Rubbing the forming tears from her eyes, she sniffled before taking a deep breath.

“When he figured out that my mom planned to dose me with Succubus Tears until I developed [Poison Fount]. He decided he had a better use for me than as a noble’s concubine. The bastard killed my mom and locked me up and had his pet alchemist make Noble’s Bane. I was a long-term investment. He was spending half of his criminal empire on me!” she said the last with a nasal voice, a blatant attempt to imitate the man.

“Three years in a small box of a room. I told myself every day, I would kill him the first chance I got. Then that ghost just walked through and killed everyone! He slaughtered them like they were children. He took all the papers in the mansion, asked me why I was locked in my prison of a room, and then told me to get in his little wagon. I just did it. I just sat down and let him take me. For a week, I sat silently in that wagon as he talked to me, and not once did I try and run! I just let him deliver me to his Baron like a load of turnips.”

Abby was crying, the tears running down her face as I sat and watched awkwardly, unsure how to help or even if I should. Eventually, her tears slowed. She wiped her eyes, the anger trying to return but failing to hide the shame and sadness she was feeling. I was at a loss, really. I had expected a tale of violence and pain, which it was, but I also expected a vow of vengeance or a target for her anger. Instead, she was left with no one to rage at but herself. Her tormentors were dead. Her rescuer had no interest in her as anything but as a bauble to deliver to his Baron. Leaving her feeling hurt and alone. Her anger was as much about hiding her pain as it was a way to keep herself moving forward.

I waited until Abby had regained her control before I said anything. I doubted that there was anything I could say that could help.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said, the words sounding as hollow in my ears as I’m sure they did to her own.

“I’m …well… I’m not good at comforting people. I’m certain I will say something eventually to upset you further,” I said. Her expression told me that she had gathered as much already.

Shrugging at her look, I turned away, glancing around the room before facing her again directly.

“Anyway,” I said while scratching at my chin and trying, and obviously failing, to project confidence, “despite the similarities, this situation is different. The Baron wants to control your Skill, but he isn’t a criminal, and he has a lighter touch with his manipulation than Bracker.”

“So because he is appointed by the king and isn’t as much of an asshole, I should be happy about him deciding my life for me?” Her anger blazing to life once again with the Baron and me as a target for her ire.

My derisive snort had her gaping at me in surprise. Standing, I reached over to grab the price guide and flipped through it, before she could recover from my lack of sympathy and begin berating me, I answered her.

“The Baron has offered you a chance at power and control here. Yes, under his thumb, but if you can’t manage a way to get out from under him, I’ll be disappointed.”

Climbing from her seat, she began to pace. My continued flippant browsing of the price book while ignoring her reignited her anger.

“So it’s alright then? Huh? It’s alright what he’s doing?” she yelled, but when Sir Wincome glanced in at her, she sullenly returned to her seat.

“No. It’s not right. But if the Baron didn’t control you, someone else would,” I said as I threw the book down again between us.

“He could just leave you powerless. He could lock you in a small room and simply milk you for Noble’s Bane. But instead, he has offered you a chance at power and control. He is hoping that if you gain power, then you will continue to cooperate with him. I’m doing the same.”

I locked eyes with her and held them, trying to get her to see past her anger and pain. A rage that had nowhere to go and, in my opinion, was misdirected at the Baron.

“The brutal truth is that if you were entirely powerless, no one would care to control you,” nodding my head at the door, I continued, “There are plenty of people out there that no one cares if they die.”

“Instead, we can train you and teach you Skills to escape if you are kidnapped. Skills to defend yourself. Skills to kill kidnappers.”

She honestly looked confused at that.

“Why?”

“Because you’re with us now. Hurting you hurts the Baron. You’re my apprentice, and it would look bad if someone took you.”

Her confusion made me realize that my apprentice acted far younger than even the way she looked. I had to keep in mind that she had spent three years locked in a small room with no one to interact with but criminals. Her view of the world was narrow and simplified. She was seeing things through the lens of ‘me or them’ and couldn’t see the nuances and details involved. I might not be skilled at handling nobles and their games, but I could at least see the plots with some effort and time to review. I wasn’t sure my apprentice was able to do even that. This gave me yet another concern to deal with. Initially, my worry was that she would act violent or aggressively because of her anger, lashing out at me and those around her mindlessly. Now I had the added concern that she would do so through ignorance. It might be a good idea to hand her training over to my mother to polish her political acumen.

Rising from my chair, I gestured the silently fretting girl to follow.

Ignoring her curious look, I made my way into the kitchen and opened the trap door into the basement. Climbing down, I moved over to my brewing set and checked the seals while she finished her slow climb down. Grabbing the alchemist mark stick from the wall, I noted on the hanging paper that the rubber had failed and that a different solution would be needed. Glancing over at my confused apprentice, I made a mental note that I could have her do the cleanup I was loath to handle. For example, the slime that had no doubt grown at the bottom of the fermenting barrel.

“Brewing, Alchemy, Woodworking, Fletching, Cooper, Cordage, I’ll soon set up a small furnace for smithing. I might try my hand at baking, painting, and so on,” I said as I pointed at each of the different areas, watching her face scrunch in disgust at the smells and the few marks of interest as they formed.

“And!” I said with a smile and a drawn-out sound to build suspense as I gestured around the room, “these are just the things I’ve been interested in recently. Traps, stealth, bows, daggers, poisons of all kinds, and on and on!”

I enjoyed the look of wonder that she was obviously trying to hide. She seemed afraid that these new toys would be taken from her. Watching her as she gripped the edges of her dress hard, It was clear that the potential on offer only now seemed to really occur to her.

“Even if you fail to earn a Skill, that doesn’t mean you can’t learn a trade. It wouldn’t be the same as an apprenticeship with one of the Guilds, but we can certainly train you to manage almost anywhere.”

It wasn’t the wonder I had as a child, but I could see that my point was made.

“Now, you should head to bed. In the morning, you can try your hand at being a Skill Trainer.”