Elsa the Young

Handsome Greta gets to know many unusual people in his line of work. It was during the second frog plague of Hygard that Greta crossed paths with Elsa; almost physically bumping into each other in pursuit of their divergent but now overlapping careers...

"I am Elsa the Young. You might have seen my name on parchments around a few districts? Perhaps not. Anyway, I'm a woman, in my mid-thirties, who, after a wonderful conversation and a pleasant enough time, you might easily forget. No no - don't worry. I know this is the case; it's simply who I am.

I like to think that I'm well presented; unfailingly polite to my charges; someone who you'd be happy to be friends with, but would never consider anything more... well-cut, but not in vogue; not austere, not sexy, not your sister and not your mother. It's a balance, I suppose. Carefully crafted; but don't tell anyone I said that.

I run a small but successful apothecary in one of the more desirable regions of level six (such as they are). A place where those who can scrape together the coin can seek aid in all manner of life's issues, physical or otherwise. I offer arcane aids to spiritual problems; long discussion sessions, trauma recovery and, my speciality, therapies for addiction and compulsion (rife in the lower levels, as I'm sure you're aware).

It's not an easy job, I'll admit. My services are whispered of in the manner of a forbidden practice; by those unsure of whether they should trust such spiritual matters to one foreign to the churches and temples. But as any of my patrons can tell you, my methods are wildly effective and popular amongst the needy and addicted.

I first met Handsome Greta during the awful days of the second frog plague. I'd spent the last three months working with a rather well-off man from higher up the pecking order than I'd care to mention. We'd made good progress; he'd started to gain a measure of control over his crippling addiction to Dreamist (a foul substance that appeared as if from nowhere about 10 months back), but had yet to break the harmful cycle in which he was trapped. We were nearing a breakthrough, I could feel it. One night he didn't show for his session... I waited and waited and, eventually, he rolled in to my shop four bells late. He was in a state - high enough to trip with the Radiant from all the Mist he'd been huffing. Three months of work gone in a day.

I suppose it's just the way it goes sometimes.

It was a little after sundown when I reached the top of an old tenement building in the Barrow Marsh district of level 7. I was packing a heavily customised crossbow; heavy gauge wire, alchemically treated wooden stock, thaumaturgic compounds worked into the metal components, mechanisms smooth enough to make the quarrel seem like nothing but a kinetic afterthought. I'd considered something heavier and more robust, but the climb would have been made all the more difficult.

The mental health of my clients is my highest priority. My job is to maximise their emotional welfare, help to break compulsiveness and harmful dynamics, and to eradicate vectors of trauma. Most of the time, all my patrons need is a compassionate dialogist; an ear willing to listen and a mind free of judgement. Sometimes, however, the trauma-vectors are powerful enough that a more robust intervention is called for.

I checked my ammunition. The Dreamist-pusher was in the ruined courtyard four storeys below me. Clearly waiting for the first of his/her fatally dependant flock to arrive; to suckle at his/her poison teat. I took aim at the hunched figure. Finger hovering on the trigger. Breath held to steady my aim. I had three months of progress to claw back.

A loud noise spoiled my aim at the last minute; a bizarre battle-cry torn from the oppressive depths of the Undercity;

'oi oi!'

An improbable man wearing lip stain and peacock feathers had stormed into the courtyard and swung an equally improbable weapon at (what I would soon discover to be) the witch come-drug pusher.

After that, Greta and I have been fast friends. Murderer-therapist and witch hunter; occasionally providing information and aid to each other in our mutual pursuit of those who'd seek to take advantage of the down and out. It's rather wonderful, don't you think?"