"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..
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.