"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..
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.