Hub A Potion for Every Occasion

[Maevyth]

The Serpent's Still
South Trade District
Crown's Hold
Kingdom of Altalusia

(An on-going thread for any and all who venture into Maevyth's shop in search of potions, elixirs, ingredients, and if one knows how to ask— even poisons.)
​

---

Early morning light filtered through the narrow lancet windows of the Serpent's Still, cool sunbeams filtering through the rows of dried herb bundles that hung from her rafters. The air inside the apothecary was thick with the scent of them, along with fragrant oils, and faint traces of the potions brewing on the far side of the shop. Maeve moved with cheerful efficiency; her movements purposeful as she prepared the shop for opening.

At one of the long counters, she hovered over a well-worn mortar and pestle, grinding nightbloom petals and silverthorn leaves into a fine powder. The rhythmic scraping of stone on stone filled the room, mingling with the faint waking sounds of birds greeting the sunrise. Her hands stained faintly green from the morning's chores of trimming her plants and blended ingredients for an upcoming order. A nobleman, no doubt preparing for a late-night council meeting, had requested a batch of her renowned Elixir of Clarity. A clever concoction she had thought up for scholars and aristocrats whose hearts couldn't handle stimulants like coffee and still desired heightened focus and mental acuity for important meetings, court proceedings, or long hours spent poring over research.

Her clients came from all walks of life—nobles seeking rare brews, travelers in need of healing tonics, and, of course, those with more... discreet needs. And Maeve truly enjoyed learning each of their stories that they chose to share with her.

Quiet snores from upstairs pulled a grin from her, for they belonged to her friend and hired Devahni guard, Xenovia, who she had let sleep in while she prepared. In lieu of her company, Maeve worked contently away under the watchful eye of her tabby, Hex.

She worked until finally; a single crystal chime rang from her shroudstone clock. Taking her cue, Maeve unlocked the front door and turned the wooden sign to "Open." A proud smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she swept her gaze across the chaotically organized shelves, vials, and jars, knowing the day ahead held endless possibilities.

The Serpent’s Still was ready for another day of business.​

 

[Celine Wulfhart]

The first time she had gone to Crown's Hold, it had bombarded all her senses. It still was, though having arrived before dawn, with four of the eight moons still visible, it was less daunting to navigate. Only the sounds of crickets and the rustle of rats told Celine she was not the only one walking amongst the lonely streets. It didn't last long; the night's gloom faded to welcome the sun as it stretched its warm rays over Altalusia; people came out of their homes and went about the day's errands. Soon, others were also on the street, and birds tittered overhead; Celine was shocked to see that nearly every roof had a songbird's nest to protect it from winter rain.

She couldn't let the sights and sounds distract her this time. There was something that she needed, a discreet item that she couldn't whisper aloud. Or, she could, but women would hush her, and men would look at her with disgust if she uttered the words. Some things were meant to be kept private, and so an apothecary was the place she searched for. Though being so early had its disadvantages; sure, she would likely be the first person there, but... after one locked door to the next, and without much ability to read store hours and not having the foresight to collect a map of Crown's Hold, Celine found herself to be hopelessly lost as she wandered into the South Trade District.

Maybe it was luck, or perhaps just enough time had passed for her to catch the flip of a wooden sign in the corner of her hazel gaze. She turned, facing the building, looking it up and down. It didn't quite look like some of the apothecaries she had passed, which seemed close to falling apart if one shut the door too hard behind them. There was no excess of spider webs or moths sticking to the eaves, and while there was something uncannily homely about the outside of it, she hoped that by stepping inside, she wouldn't be entirely out of her element.

Celine decided stepping inside couldn't hurt, even if she wasn't quite sure she could get what she needed here. There was nothing to prevent her from leaving, right? Well, the notion of entering a store to buy something and then perusing the items and bothering the shopkeeper with questions to not buy anything after all? A vision she couldn't quite shake as rude, or worse, plain dumb that would hang over on her conscience for days to come. That could undoubtedly prevent her from leaving.

Regardless, Celine went to the shop's front, opening the door slowly as she peeked her head inside.

"Hello?" She said as she took the first step inside. She looked around, already feeling over her head. "You wouldn't... happen to have some sort of... pain-reducing leaf juice for sale, would you?"

 

[Maevyth]

The alchemist was half-way through measuring out a red powder on her scales when the shroudbells chimed at the opening of the front door, Hex trilled a greeting and hopped down from her counter to trot up to their first customer and wrap himself betwixt their legs.

"Leaf... juice?" Her bemused expression recovered into one of a quirked black brow and a quick grin as she went back to her measuring. "Well, I do have an assortment of... leaves. And even more kinds of juice. But it will depend on what kind of pain you were needing availed for me to figure out the exact combination you need of both. After all, it’s all just a bunch of hocus pocus!"

@Celine Wulfhart

 

[Celine Wulfhart]

Celine blinked. Hocus pocus? Eyes flittered from the shopkeeper's face to the shells full of jars and the verdant vines dangling down from potted plants hanging from the ceiling. The last thing Celine wanted was the help of magic; it always made her feel worse, no matter how skilled the healer was. She pursed her ruddy lips in contemplation, looking at the shopkeeper with apprehension.

"Well, it's a... rather discreet manner, you see." She laughed for no reason and promptly shut her mouth because why would she laugh? What she had said wasn't funny, and what if the shopkeeper took offense to it? Celine cleared her throat, proffering a smile instead. She held her hands near her waist like her mother when the debt collector came to talk to her father. She stroked her thumb over her index finger and tried again.

"I am experiencing what some may call the red curse, or rather, I am about to. It's evaded me for the last few months, and now I fear it will be more painful than it would have been. I've had a lot of red meat as of late. Not beef, but dried lamb and pork. And just last week, I ate a chicken heart and liver soup, not thinking it would awaken the red curse. But the cramping has already begun...." She trailed off, her chest, cheeks, and ears redder than her hair. "It's a little warm in here." A nervous titter escaped her lips as she took a hand to fan her face.

@Maevyth

 

[Maevyth]

Sudden understanding had Maeve grimacing in sympathy, her hands already reaching for the apothecary cabinets behind her.

"Right, well. I should have just the thing..." She trailed off as she began scanning the rows of efficiently labeled drawers with a practiced eye, searching until they caught on the ingredients she needed. Mugwort, chamomile, willow bark, and dried ginger.

"Alright, here we go. Let's hope you enjoy drinking tea." Turning back to her work bench she began stripping the leaves and loading them into her mortar, glancing up as she worked and smirking at the friendly antics of her shop cat. "You know it's not often that he takes to new people so quickly. Often he's sitting right here on this bench while I work, silently judging all who enter."


@Celine Wulfhart

 

[Euphemia Martell]

Crown's Hold could almost be overwhelming in the amount of shroud that her eyes could see. So many people that it was hard to tell them apart at times, hard to distinguish the glowing fuzzy edges that was the shroud sight. There had been a small group of Knights that had traveled to the city in order to get some supplies that were harder to restock back near the mountains as they were. Crown's Hold was one of the larger nearby cities, so it was easier to get some of the more rare supplies here. Navigating the busy streets was difficult at times, but between the familiarity from past visits and a kindly hand she made it to the potions shop.

A firm push on the door, followed by the tinkling sound of the bell, "Good afternoon." She called out into the mostly quiet shop. There were some gentle sounds as the wind that followed her through the door brushed lightly through the bundles of herbs hung from the ceilings. The soft patter of paws on the floor had the knight turning her gaze to the floor where a tabby had come to greet her. "Hex." She greeted while scratching behind the cat's ears before standing to head toward the counter her staff clicking around the floor.

On reaching the counter, Effie reached into her pocket to pull out a list of more rare ingredients that weren't common to Northern Ilica. "I know some of this is harder to find, but I'll take whatever you can fill off the list." She said with a smile as her milky eyes looked toward the glow that was Maevyth as she held out the list.​

 

[Vorston]

The shop door invited, and easy did it open and seal, as if it were a polite pull and tug of a convincing wind on hinge instead of customer welcoming themselves in. From one peering from behind counter, from balanced scale with myriad furniture and products to litter the eye, and half the door frame height beyond the customer's bald head, one not might notice them immediate. T'was the habitude of gnomes to make as much fun as possible from being beneath quick eyeful, a classic. Runefolk might take offense at the phrase, "Oh, I didn't see you there," but for many from Plumhollow, the delay in the noticing was more often than not a mirthful comfort. A classic punchline the tall folk did tell without asking.

A wealth of scents that brought back the comfort of the trade, quickly his palms were lined with sticks of ocre incense. His robe had been gathered to the elbow, his motions to gather components akin to a thrilled cook within a rich larder. His roundish nose brought to petals and bitter root, more in appreciation of the freshness than in testing of the quality. More hand movements, more handful, needful not greedy, bundles amassing within bundles, a pleasant humming now that many white of hair did issue as they enjoyed their fancies.

"Ah!" Vorston said, now almost encumbered by the thicket of arguing scents, his quick warm eyes now smiling at the prospect of a woven basket. Perhaps not meant for customer to place their wants to the counter, but taken liberty here for such purpose. Vorston did lean, with a slight delay half way to give respect to the fact his reflection this morning was wizened, and his knees had to given proper courtesies to behave. Part of the routine of becoming as advanced in years, at least for Vorston, was to remark that the Runefolk that did etch and carve lines upon his face were always busiest at night. A splash of water, and chuckling, and admiration of beard given to him by fortunate years to grow long.

A small vial placed within the basket, now resembling something more akin to shipment and stock being brought in than to be carried out. The vial odd one out. Sandlewood, perfumed, a conditioner and moisturising tonic. This item Vorston did check it would not dye, before nodding. He dare not repeat that blunder, streaks of black within his white was most unbecoming.

The rest within the basket was a promising collection of potent things, that someone well versed in their conjunction could surmise that these were things concerns with applications of smoothing and soothing the mind than of body. And one vial of oil for beard hair.

Vorston did tunnel about the shop. Absorbed in his own journey of discovering, basket now made arranged by adjustment as a florist might plan an arrangement. Sorted not by colour, but by fragrance. So that the aromas did they dull themselves, or perhaps create properties by their proximities so soon before the use and indeed, sale.

One round trip. Basket thick with promises. Bundles gathered, no real mind to deals, and prices given quick notice. Some muttering of numbers, of pleased sounds, and patting tender the ingrediants vital to his trade. A hum of satisfaction, the bundle did arrive with Vorston to the counter and proprietor.

Basket taken from crook of arm where a cane might often nestle. Taken into both hands, not from lack of strength or negotiation of weight, more in respect, as if presenting offering to an altar. Or perhaps handing a cradled baby back to mother.

He seemed pleased about everything, looking around, eyes looking this way and that. And finally arriving on the owner with his eyes. A further smile, hellos within corner of his eyes, comfort within his bones to be amongst the place of potions.

His words now uttered were spoken as if he were inquiring of fellow diners at restaurant if dessert was out of the question.

"Might there be another basket?"

@Maevyth

 

[Carradine]

The Serpent's Still

A damned appropriate name, considering how far into the snake's nest Carradine had come.

With each step he took further into Crown's Hold, he could feel the intangible coils wrap around his ankles, the familiar sounds of shackles ringing in his ears with every move he made. When he'd last left this city, he'd been in irons. Now, the tall dark figure had to keep his face concealed by a hood and and mask just to travel in the light of day. That same talent for blending into a crowd that had brought him his fame now used to flee from death at the end of a jilted lover's sword.

It'd be poetic, if it wasn't so pathetic.

It was good, then, that Carradine wasn't the type to waste time beating himself up. He'd have a lifetime to regret when he could be certain that it was only he who'd be punished for his actions. As it stood now, he still had a bloody mess to clean up before consigning himself to the grip of karma around his throat. For that, he'd need supplies. Having not brought any of his personal belongings across the border to the North, he was starting from scratch.

Weapons, armor and traps were easy enough to come by in a city like the Hold, but potions? He'd need to be discreet if he was going to try to purchase anything that could be used for less than beneficial concoctions. Luckily, the bumbling old gnome waddling around the shop he'd settled on like a three-foot bull in a glassware repository was doing a fine job of drawing attention to himself.

The more common ingredients he needed were easy to find, set out on clearly labelled shelves with accompanying prices. Deftly he swept several bottles into the small sack hanging from his hip, checking things off of the mental list he'd written.

It wasn't until he'd surveyed the entire store and consulted that list once more that he let out a terse swear under his breath.

It figures they wouldn't leave that shit out in the open, but asking for it is going to raise an eyebrow...

No choice. The whole plan was worthless without it. If the shopkeeper tried to start trouble, he'd just have to make himself scarce and try another place. Of course, that also meant waiting for the half-pint professor to finish speaking with them first. He almost wasn't sure it was worth it...

@Maevyth @Vorston

 

[Maevyth]

Watching the whirlwind of an old man blitz around her shop with the eager spryness of a fellow half his age brought an unabashed grin to the Devahni shopkeeper's face. There seemed no need for Maeve to step in with her usual herbal guidance— the gnome seemed possessed of a very thorough and well-read shopping list, and his discerning eye did her heart prideful good that he seemed so pleased with the quality of her wares.

Maevyth waved at the newcomer in a dark jacket, her attention back on the gnome at her counter. Gifting him a plush smile, before depositing another basket between them. "For you, good sir. I will have many. Here you are, and I can hold onto your full one until you are ready to check out."

The Devahni's tabby leapt onto the counter beside the tall, brooding man. Staring at him in the ineffable way that only judging cats could. It was rather unsettling.

@Vorston @Carradine

 

[Vorston]

Vorston handed over the basket with a series of wittering gratitudes, many words of lovely, and splendid, and such. His movement more slow now as he shuffled over the next basket, taking it as if considering promises to keep, as if considering festive gifts for others instead of a pantry to stock for their feast.

Less the raw components to batch cooks, more precise applications of alchemical goods. Things within bottles to soothe and allay the nerves, incense to make life more pleasant after foulness of moods. Things with labels not of his own writing. No better way to make your own medicine prescribed go down than to have it follow something designer. Some pedigree as entrée and aperitif between the daily doses he did brew and dole out. Anything to avoid neurotic cries of poisoner.

Vorston did have conversation to his beard as he considered an ivy green bottle or a ochre vial, both suitable to the end, but which would be more pleasing to the eye and persuasive to try. This he did pantomime and practice persuasion with his lips.

As the nurse of the neurotic did practice positives to himself, the door did swing ever so slow and sure open. The bell barely tripped as runefolk hands seemed to open it as if it were trapped, as if their wide boots standing aloof wanted his shadow to step through first. Callous sausages stuck to the door, a palm designed for slapping his lessers, a face that was gloomy and suspicious. A hair of grey from countless frights, eyes that met those startles as risk of his henchman occupation. Yet his eyes didn't move from Vorston, almost as if he thought to peer at the potions would invite their curses to him. He knew that reading script from shelves unknown could invite calumny, could make one a case study.

"Vorst," a voice akin to wide bellied frohiggin did bleat out simple. Sausage fingers did bounce themselves on wood. Nose screwed up tightly at all the scents of niceties, all being fresh oddities. He said it as if lingering here too long was trouble for them both, that they'd be running late for work or school perhaps.

Vorston did continue unhurried and unfettered, lost to a speech he had to make in future, when one might be required at present. His hands settling on the ivy green, a series of old gentlemanly satisfactions being made in his tones, eyes turning and little frame twisting to the shopkeep who had kindly given basket. Another question, as if he were in a tailor's store, inquiring for something that did suit.

"Might this potion come in a blue bottle at all? The fellow who it's for simply can't stand neither brown nor green," Vorston inquired, rising to tip toes for a moment to attract a little attention to the little fellow that was himself. After planting feet to ground completely, he craned his neck completely back, dome of his robes pooled just perfectly about his ankle as to not to drag, looking to the runefolk who stood glumly. Another phrase from Vorston, cheerful and light. "Isn't that right Malcolm?"

A sound of lips slow to smack, a begrudging comment made to reinforce the facts that Vorston did espouse. The words croaked out and bassy as if the runefolk was truly one that came from ponds and lilies instead of stone and smithies.

"The boss don't like brown. He don't like green. That's right."

@Maevyth

 

[Maevyth]

"Well we can definitely get him something in a blue vial if that's what you wish, sir?" Maevyth looked beyond the stout men at her counter and watched the ambling figure of that singular dark man. "Let me go help this man real quick, and I will be right back with that rash tonic." She tapped the counter twice and walked off and around it, stepping down onto the main floor and up to the new customer that her cat Hex was watching avidly.

"Excuse me, hello?" Came her lilted greeting, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait, is there anything that you're looking for that I can start preparing for you? At least," Her voice dropped the high friendly octave and curled something more sweetly venomous into her words, "anything that you haven't grabbed already."

@Carradine @Vortson

 

[Carradine]

He'd been hoping the short one would be in and out quickly enough, but his shopping spree was seemingly endless. Carradine had to wonder how the half-pint planned to haul his wares out of the door, shy of strapping them to his bald head. Alas, fate was not on his side, and of that, he should have been ready.

The Devahni running the store momentarily escaped from her most eager customer, sliding towards the back of the shop where the hooded figure held several vials already. If she was worth her salt, she'd recognize the components he was gathering. He had hoped to ghost through the transaction. No conversation, no face remembered, no questions asked.

So much for that.

His eyes, pale and sharp behind the shadow of his hood, flicked from Maeve to the silently judging tabby, and back again. The cat continued to stare. “Friendly thing you’ve got there,” he muttered, voice low and dry as cured leather. He turned fully to face her now, gloved fingers tugging down the edge of his hood just enough to show the set of his jaw.

“I need soulstem,” he said bluntly, voice pitched low to keep it between them. “A full measure, dried or sealed, doesn’t matter. And if you do have it, I’m going to need something a little stronger than chamomile to go with it.”

Soulstem wasn’t the sort of thing you bought for tea. You used it when you needed someone quiet. Permanently, or just for long enough to do something else regrettable. He didn't make a habit out of bluntly asking pretty faces for potent poisons in public, but his idea of having a private conversation was stuck somewhere in the old man's beard, he figured.

Carradine's eyes stayed locked on hers, waiting. Gauging. This was the part he hated: relying on someone else to make the decision. He could lie, sure. Charm, bluff, coerce. But something told him that wouldn’t work here. The look in her eyes was too calm. She was a woman who dealt far too often with people who didn’t want to admit they needed, whose desires lay in far darker halls than they dare travel alone.

So instead of pressing, he let the silence stretch for just a breath, then followed it with a dry, nearly invisible smirk.

“I’ll pay,” he said. “Not in teeth, either.”

The joke was weak, but the offer was real.

@Maevyth @Vorston

 

[Vorston]

Closed eyes and many slow nods in pleased tilts from Vorston, hands placed to the back, a little spring in his heels as he performed a swaying bob or two.

A look of cautious optimism, some glimmer of hope building in the posture of the runefolk. He made slow amble to Vorston, boots clomping as if they were far too big or somehow unwieldy. A gait which seemed a smidge too wide, as if the fellow had been riding a steed of some kind and was sore from the effort. Clomping to Vorston, he looked this way and that, as if the goods themselves might spring upon him should he speak too loud. As if his next request would perhaps send bottles to shattering, that those shards would beset his hushed yet bold question.

"Ur, Vorst. By chance, um, did the boss mention...?" The runefolk said, and looked down at his beard as he spoke, as if the hair upon him was hyptonising, as if he looked to distract himself from his own audacity to ask for a hint of aid for himself.

Vorston opened his eyes, hands still to his back. A look of sympathy, and the feeling of diligence running through him again. The manner of his reply was that of the soothing elder, assuring all would work out in the end.

"I haven't forgotten my good chap, perish the thought I'd lapse to fix things. I've bustled the components to turn you back to your old self along with all of these lovely soothing ingredients. And I'll be making sure he knows the new way of things. First we sooth, then we remedy the deeds done in a fit of megalomania. You'll be back to hopping in no time, don't you fret, ol' Vorston's will be about it once the client, your boss, is in better mind to not do something so terrible to a hired hand again," Vorston said, and sincerely placed a hand on the runefolk's shoulder. A gesture which the runefolk almost winced at, merely by habit. Instead, his eyes went to his iron shod boots, looking at them sorrowfully.

"I do miss being webbed."

Vorston took his hand away, and offered more soothing words.

"But I must say, there's never been a frohiggin who's worn a beard better."

A smile did creep in, small, small as hope.

"You think?"

Vorston was much of nodding. As he did, beard regally swaying as he did reaffirm his compliment. As he did, his eyes indulged a look up and down of the one who had asked for Soulstern. Vorston's eyes stealing but a quick drink of that somber fellow's appearance, eyes turning back to his present company. Avoiding one source of wicked wrath for a day trip to get supplies was hard enough won, and avoiding a further entanglement in bitter realities was much recommended as industry standard. Whatever comment he had about Soulstern was not his to make. But he knew well enough that the stuff was used when heuristic mages could make no progress, and a client was too driven to cause strife and miseries, and more importantly to his guild, refuse to respect fellow weavers ways.

Vorston made a small, 'ahem' sound to dismiss such thoughts of Soulstern from himself, and did continue light hearted.

"Could always dye it before we turn you! Might as well have some fun with it before we get you changed back! Or perhaps, oh, I know, you could be the first Runefolk to shave!"

A tenative laughter from the runefolk did bubble from him, Vorston encouraging much with his own chuckling, growing animated at the thought, looking again at filling another basket as he said, "I'll get buy us a badger brush and some lovely lathering-"

"Wait, wait, let's not count our chickens yet Vorst. And uh, um, besides-" the runefolk said, and looked at Vorst's face full of white hair, a pause as he posed a question timid, "Vorst, have you even ever shaved in your life?"

Vorston placed hand to beard, stroked it a few times, humming in memory.

"You know, now that you mention it," he said and stroked his trail of white hair about his lower face. "I don't think I have!" and beamed self depreciatingly, which did complete the consoling process with heart felt mirth from both.

@Maevyth @Carradine