"We fought the li'l beasties," the gruff old Dwarf growled, "so where the blazes is their treasure!"
Glacier grinned, "Just give me a second, I know how to find it."
Pretty smoke rings? Naw, I can do a lot more than that.
'Cmon and drink up. This potion will really help us understand each other, if you know what I mean.
One of the strangest weapons deployed by Z'pl'rt the Mad
This ever-full, ever-surprising, ever-ridiculous flask contains a magical liquid that may be the best or worst thing you've ever drank. Handling with caution won't do you any good.
One drop for a cluster of flowers, three drops for a tree, no more, no less.
"See that one, with the burn scars and dark veins? Don't stick too close; he shoots fireblood before engagements. Keeps friends and foes alike at bay, it does."
The old soldier looked up with all three of his eyes. "I lost one of my eyes to a sword point, and they used a little too much Growjuice to heal it. Still, I'd rather have three eyes then only one."
A potion to cheat death... almost.
Mean ingredients bring mean effects...
“Nobody will laugh long who deals much with opium: its pleasures even are of a grave and solemn complexion.” -Thomas De Quincey
Completely silent; jumping from Shadow to Shadow, he stalked his prey through the streets. Dawn would be coming soon, and he did not want to be caught within the enemy’s grasp.
An attempt to improve the venerable elixir of haste, there remain a few… kinks to be worked out.
A list of harmless (if sometimes annoying) potions.
The alchemists of the Hegemon did well, developing an almost undetectable Love Potion.
It was meant to be a great help in a city’s battle with booze, but all too often it has merely become another tool in the criminal armoury…
“I would have sworn it was butter! I can’t believe it!”
“Everything is poison, there is poison in everything. Only the dose makes a thing not a poison”.
Hachnar’s Blade Venoms come in two varieties, Staying and Mouldering. One is useful for monster-hunters, the other for assassins..
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.