username:
Ethulai
kalon name:
Drew a.k.a "Madame Drucilla"
potion:
Ethulai
kalon name:
Drew a.k.a "Madame Drucilla"
potion:
- The young kalon stands nervously outside of the shopfront and inspects the exterior. The facade is gothic soot-colored brick, and a wooden sign, carved into a cauldron and broom motif, fastened on an iron bracket swings softly in the evening breeze.
'Brews n' Broomsticks' it reads; 'Spells, potions, curses and hexes at reasonable prices!' The heavy wooden door under the sign doesn't appear to have a latch or doorknob, but as the kalon steps closer to the entrance, it swings open with a loud and eerie creaking.
"Come in, young one," a gravelly voice beckons to the kalon, and cackles softly. He cautiously steps through the doorway, and enters into a large room filled floor to ceiling with bookcases, shelves and cupboards with a myriad of different sized drawers. There are hundreds of books and tomes scattered about, as well as various nondescript items, some of which caution further inspection. There are wands, and knives and bunches of drying herbs hanging from hooks in the wall. Candles of different shapes and colors are scattered all over the floor, shelves and any flat surface. Curiously, there is also a skeleton of a raven seemingly sitting on a tall wooden perch.
There is also circular stone firepit in the middle of the floor, where a large cauldron is suspended over a crackling fire, a warm, orange liquid bubbling softly within. The kalon takes a cautious sniff, and startles in surprise - it smells like the most delicious pumpkin chai latte in existence. As he walks over softly to the cauldron, transfixed by the delicious aroma, a curtain in the back left corner softly rustles, and a hooded figure steps through. The figure hobbles over to the cauldron with the assistance of a twisted oak staff and then shakily removes the hood and lets it fall around her shoulders. The young kalon stares dumbly at the witch, unsure of what to say or how to voice his request. Though the witch belies a figure of great age, her hair is a brilliant orange, twisted into a bun fastened by a wooden wand, and thick bangs obscure her eyes.
"I might be a witch but I'm not a mind reader," she snaps at the youth. "Tell me your request and then we'll discuss the price."
"I...I need a potion..." he stutters, and his shoulders droop, "for...courage".
The witch laughs loudly and bangs her staff on the stone floor. "Courage? Young man, courage is earned not gifted. What in Hecate's name do you require courage for?"
He stares miserably at his feet and mumbles; "there's this boy, you see, I...think I love him..."
The witch sighs loudly and hobbles over to a shelf, where she picks up five apothecary jars labeled as "zeylanicum", "elettaria", "syzygium", "myristica" and "dioica".
"You're lucky I was already brewing some nice chai", she tells the kalon, "a few extra ingredients and I'll have the potion you desire. Why I have a soft spot for romance I'll never know".
The witch carefully measures a spoonful of each ingredient and adds them to the cauldron, and then starts stirring the mixture with a metal ladle. As the young kalon watches, the witch starts reciting an incantation, her voice taking on a deep and hypnotic quality;
"fortuna producat illum
ferte fortiter
producat illum pax
amor producat illum"
She then pours the liquid into a large mug, using the ladle and hands it to the young kalon.
"Drink up" she says, "you'll be lion-hearted in no time".
The kalon eagerly sips the brew, and the warmth of a delicious pumpkin chai latte fills his belly. Soon he has finished the potion and hands the empty mug back to the witch.
"Thank you..errr.."
"You may call me Madame Drucilla"
"Thank you Madame Drucilla! What do I owe you?"
The witch looms over the young kalon and declares; "Your firstborn son!"
The kalon stares in horror at Madame Drucilla for a few seconds before jerking in puzzlement as she laughs uproariously.
"Don't tell me you thought I was serious?" she chuckles, "Ten dollars will cover it" she informs him.
The young kalon hands over the money, thanks the witch again and steps out of the shop, a determined spring in his step.
The witch rips off the hooded robe, sits down in a comfortable, victorian inspired throne chair and stretches luxuriously.
The bone raven flutters down to land on his shoulder and starts preening his hair.
"What is the point of hiding in plain sight, Drew" a disembodied voice asks; "if you're just going to send customers off after drinking fake though no doubt delicious 'potions'?"
The witch, Drew, now transformed into an attractive young kalon having discarded his 'witch persona' smiles bemusedly and taps his temple three times. "Kalonology," he responds to the raven. "Most clients don't actually wish true harm or transformation, and no doubt most feel relief when they enter and experience my theatrics happy in the belief that witches are indeed, a hoax."
The raven sits quietly for a few moments before answering; "You aren't a hoax Drew, though becoming a witch and not a warlock or wizard is somewhat unconventional."
The witch sighs and pours himself some of the pumpkin chai latte.
"You can't blame me for preferring this form of craft Renfield," he tells the raven. "Most of the work is simple kalonology, as I said. It's true power, that, not like the showmanship and tomfoolery of wizardry".
"What if someone discovers your true self?" asks Renfield "what if one day your client figures out you've just handed him a well-brewed tea made from cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, nutmeg and allspice?"
"I'm fairly certain the High Priestess is aware and she hasn't mentioned anything," Drew responds and then grins; "and if someone else figures it out? That's the day I fall in love!"
"I can't help but think you went into witchcraft to tinker with your love of cooking" the bone raven muttered at Drew.
"So what if that was a part of it? You know cooking allows you to really showcase who you are. Take this delicious chai, Renfield - it's warm, intriguing, sweet, unique and satisfying - much like myself" said Drew with a twinkle in his eye.
"You know it doesn't escape me that you've named me after a somewhat disturbing fictional character" said the bone raven out of the blue.
"You're a very learn-ed raven," Drew quipped.
"Former raven," the bird retorted.
The two friends argued late into the night, a familiar ritual, a topic that circled round now and again to be debated over...and the young kalon? Drew had discreetly plucked a hair from the youth's head during his 'performance' and had taken out a scrying mirror to see how the young male was faring. He saw him sitting at a bar, across from another young kalon. They were mirroring each other's movements unconsciously, finding any excuse for fleeting, accidental touches.
"I knew you could do it," Drew whispered into the mirror. "Still, it's a good thing my pumpkin chai latte is a convenient illusion for my Good Fortune potion. Everyone needs a little luck in their day now and again. Blessed Be." he smiled to himself and put the mirror away.
" she croaked. The runes she said sounded grim, as if something horrible were to come upon whoever drank it. Or, was it for drinking? It didn't matter. Harriet grabbed a frogs eye, found in the old bog near her home. Just staring at it you could tell whatever happened to the frog wasn't something to be spoken of. Her eyes danced with amusement as the eye touched the hair. Quickly, Harriet clutched a large pale bottle with some liquid of some kind. When she poured it, you could tell it was the mist from a cemetery. Shrieks were heard from the horrible concauction. And, as you watched Harriet didn't say a word. She just watched the potion lighting up, and dancing. Listening to the screams as if they were music. You've had enough, she went to far. However, you bit your lip holding back anything you wanted to say to her. As Harriet continued, you noticed she grabbed one last thing. It was a wolf's howl. Bewildered by the odd ingredient she was adding, you stared. Dropping the whole bag in, you could make out a mist forming in the cauldron that made a ghastly figure. It was of a wolf, changing form. The mist danced around, showing this wolf running around happily, until it started howling. Before you could stop anything, Harriet took a large bottle from her potion stand and shoved the concoction into it. Harriet slowly turned towards you, she had a grin that was taunting. "Come, outside with me. We must please the creature inside this bottle. If not, you become what you fear." Her words were ominous, to terrifying to think about. Without a single thought, you followed Harriet. Opening the rusty door, you could feel tiny little splinters of wood digging in your skin. Beconing for you do stop. However, you continued. Searching, Harriet raced off into the woods. Maybe this was your chance to escape? You thought. Pushing the thought away, Harriet returned. She held something in her hand, though. It was glowing, as she clutched it tighter and tighter you realized it was a gemstone. Harriet proceeded to put it onto her neck, and drank the potion. Bewildered, she changed form. Bones cracking, and creaking. Screams were heard coming from her, but they were not her own. Fur becoming more and more tangled and knotted. There, Harriet stood. This was what happens to anyone who did not follow the potions instructions correctly. Harriet tried speaking, but only cries were heard. Wimpers for help that she could never recieve. There were no cures, either. Then you remembered. The gemstone she was holding. "Harriet, the gemstone, hold the gemstone!" You cried, trying to get her to hear. Suprised by your sudden worry, Harriet grabbed the gemstone with her paws, the claws were extremely sharp. Mean't to hunt, and tear meat apart. But you could tell Harriet wasn't a monster, she just wanted to try out a potion she so badly wanted to create. The gemstone's light returned, but glowing black. It could sense dark energy, as it floated out of her paws. A bright white light came upon Harriet and the gemstone, as you could hear something changing. As the light was dimming, Harriet stumbled out, limping. The gemstone had gone purple again, but was no longer glowing. Tears of worry, and sorrow were streaming town her face like an endless river. You could tell she regretted making such a potion, as she ran to her house. Following, she grabbed her potion book. The pages were torn, and rotting. Each page individually had a different ink written down on it, as for the one she just created was made in a thick black ink. It was crystallizing from age, as she tore it out. Something was off about the ink she used, let alone the page it was on. She had around 20 pages full of potions and spells, yet this one page had no other spells, or potion recipes on it. Only this one, as if it were special. Harriet grasped the paper lightly, and waved it around like a flag. After a while, she handed it back to you. You could tell she was upset, hurt by what the potion made her. Looking at the page you could make out the recipe.