#14 - The Potionmaster of Garuun

Let me tell you the tale of the Potionmaker from the swamps of Garuun.

I was told of him in only a whisper that floated upon the lips of a vagrant whom I had had the pleasure of sharing drink with a week prior. I remember the long, treacherous journey through uneven terrain, water-soaked hills and thorny underbrush. Then, his house emerged from the semi darkness, crouched beneath two mossy trees that spanned forever upward. The walls of the dwelling burdened heavy chips and wear, dawning much of the vine-like plant life that coated the wilderness like a glistening badge.

Shriveled weeds and bushes crunched beneath my feet as I approached with cautiousness held within each step. A single window was made visible upon the side as I grew closer; detection of activity impossible due to years of neglect weighing upon the glass in thick dust and grime. My clenched fist rapped upon the door, sending deafening echoes into the space beyond.

“Come in.”

The voice sounded harsh, forced and tired. I entered immediately, the door groaning in protest loudly upon rusted hinges. The room before me was rank with several odors; an overpowering perfume that seemed to hang in the air in a fine mist, the arid stench of dust combined with mildew that clung to the side walls.

“It's a potion you want, is it not?”

He came into view before me, my eyes instantly becoming accustomed within the dim light of the area. The old, gaunt man that stood before me was unlike any creature I had seen before. He stared up at me through heavily faded, gray and watery eyes, his nose a long and bent crook hanging from his face. Tiny wisps of white were all that remained of his hair, some of them falling about his face in unwashed tendrils. Bushy eyebrows rested upon his head like wingless moths, giving him a catlike appearance.

“Yes sir,” I managed to say, “A love potion, if you could.”

I saw his eyes roll heavily, the large hunch in his back give a reluctant shudder.

“Fifty years, I have been doing this,” his voice screeched in protest, “And you ask me for something as trivial as some girl's affections?”

I nodded feebly, my plight seeming quite pathetic. He turned from me, limping to a crudely carved table that squatted in the center of the room. He reached into the long, brownish drape of cloth that curled about him and procured two long, dusty flasks. He began to build a small fire upon the center of the surface, it blackened with many flames past. As he worked and the sounds of clanking glass filled the room, my eyes couldn't help but focus upon him. His hands were shaking, but dexterous; spindly, spider-like fingers worked effectively by filling each vile with a sort of substance and placing them directly upon the blaze. His wrinkled, spotted skin shimmered weakly in the firelight. An unknown smell began piercing my nostrils as the liquids bubbled.

“I can mix a draught to cure almost any illness,” the Potionmaster called out through the soupy shadows, “A salve to instill primal fear. I can even reanimate the dead.”

He turned swiftly to me. I jumped a bit at his agility.

“But here I am, making something for mind control in the simplest manner,” he finished his sentence with a grunt while handing me the two bubbling glasses, “Combine the blue with the green before use, not the other way around.”

I took the vials, fully expected them to burn my fingers. They felt unprecedentedly cool.

“It will only be viable for twenty minutes after combination,” he went on with a scowl, “I am not cheap, you know.”

He held out his hand expectantly. I jammed a sack of coin into his greedy palm.

“That is all,” he then said while limping his way to the front door, “Get out.”

I watched his twisted, wrinkle-etched face for a few more moments before stepping to the door.

“Also,” he called out as I exited the hovel, “If you ever come such a long way to speak to me again, please make it worth both our times, hmm?”

He slammed the door loudly behind me, causing me to jump with surprise.

#13 - The Prize Fighter (Part 2)

“You can do it, daddy!”
Chris wasn't sure how the words were able to reach his ears in his present state over the maddened whoops of the frenzied crowd.  The tiny voice of encouragement filled his body with a fresh shot of energy and confidence.  He shot to his feet while giving one smiling look to his son.
“And...fight!”
The referee retreated back to allow the round to commence.  Chris immediately opened with several eager punches to Roy's middle, which brought his arms downward to block the unprecedented blows.  At taking notice of the opening, Chris landed a solid shot to his opponent's nose.  The hit connected hard, bringing the crowd to a surprised roar and sending The Green Monster reeling backward.  Chris quickly attempted to approach, but the noise of a bell sounded within his head.
“Back to your corners, boxers!”
He sat quickly while receiving a quick water break and shoulder massage from his good friend and trainer, Bryan.  He knew he was also breathing words of encouragement into his ears, but they went unnoticed as he watched his son over the the jeering crowd and illuminated ropes that both snaked about him.
Ding-ding!
He was ready.  He jumped to his feet, fists raised.  The look in Roy's eyes spurred on his courage all the more; fear was trickling into his opponent's back eyes.  No time was wasted as Chris threw punch after punch, clearly the aggressor.  Roy merely kept his arms up, the crowd beginning to sneer at his heavily guarded strategy.  Suddenly, however, Chris was caught in the stomach by a well-placed punch from Roy.  He tried to shake off the feeling of wind leaving his lungs while remaining defensive.  His opponent was clearly angered by Chris' sudden burst of confidence, which caused a flurry of punches to his outstretched fists.  The crowd suddenly groaned as Chris was struck across the jaw, followed by a hit to the chest.  He began seeing the familiar stars dancing before his eyes as the imposing figure of Roy was quickly descending upon the open opportunity.
“You can do it, daddy!”
Those words were burned into his brain, keeping him on his feet.  Despite another strike to his cheek, he kept his mind focused upon the smiling face of his boy.  He had to win this fight.  He imagined his son with a hot plate of food before him, he imagined his wife coming home with a grin while holding a pair of freshly-bought shoes.
He grunted as another punch found it's way to his left eye.  He felt no pain.  He would give his family everything they deserved.  He was going to win.
With a muffled shout, he shook away all the feelings of dizziness and discomfort from his body.  His eyes narrowed, fresh adrenaline granting him an unparalleled focus upon Roy's sweat-slicked face.  He began punching.  At first, he merely hit the toughened muscle of his arms, so he punched harder...harder.  The audience was in uproar; effectively mirroring the screaming emotion that lurked just beneath his skin.  He felt his fists connect with Roy again and again, not a care given as to where they were going.  He was blind with rage, blind with the feelings of seeing his boy and wife happy.  He felt one stray hit to his shoulder, and kept punching through it.  There was no pain anymore, no fatigue or tiredness.  The only feeling was to punch, and the only effect Chris thirsted for was to utterly destroy the man before him.
“That's it!  That's it!  The trainer has thrown the towel!” came a wavy voice from somewhere, “The winner is Batta!”
His ears began functioning again in one, glorious moment as the crowd was on their feet in applause and shouts.  Chris threw his arms to the sky, now seeing the ring and Roy's heaving body hunched before him for the first time in minutes.  His disfigured face was hauled away by his golden-clad trainer.  With a beaming face and toothy grin, Chris looked to where he knew his family was seated.  He saw the wide-eyed look of his son, as well as the relieved eyes of his wife.
“I did it, son,” he breathed to himself amidst the generous back pats from his friend, “It's all because of you.”

#12 - The Prize Fighter (Part 1)

“In this corner,” the announcer began with a booming gusto, “Weighing in at one-hundred seventy-five pounds, it's the underdog of the night!  He's got his eyes on the prize, so give him a warm welcome tonight folks!  Put your hands together for Christopher Batta!”
The crowd around Chris erupted into mad cheers and whoops.  His eye cast toward a young woman and child seated in the front row.  His wife smiled back feebly at him, although he could tell that nervousness clung to her face like glue.  He ground his teeth together at taking notice of her usual attire of tattered clothing and semi-matted hair.  Their child, Matt, was staring wide eyed at him through the bright lights and various noises that filled the ring. 
“And in this corner,” the announcer droned on through a slowly rising approval from the audience, “Weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-three pounds!  He sends his regards to whomever he fights, since they always end up in the hospital; it's the ruthless, fearless, Roy-Big-Green-Zimmerman!”
Chris' opponent roared at the crowd with a bestial vigor.  Every nerve spiked within him as he stared at the much larger and more imposing man that would soon become his opponent.  Just as he was reaching such a fear as to consider quitting, however, his eyes settled back upon his family.  He would not give up when they needed him most.

“All right, men,” the referee said moments later, “I want a clean fight.  No below the belt, no headbutts.”
Chris nodded wordlessly to him, his mouth occupied with a bite guard.  He slammed his bright red gloves together a few times to show readiness.  The man before him - easily three inches taller – smiled through his own guard and punched at the air with golden-hued gloves that matched the gaudy gold of his trousers.  His face was stoic; offering Chris little comfort as to his opponent's current emotion.
“And...fight!”
Chris lightly slapped at his outstretched glove to start the match.  The crowd began murmuring excitedly as he placed his fists up to his eyes in a defensive stance.  Roy wasted little time in taking an offensive approach.  He began pelting at Chris' body at random. Chris dodged most of the clumsy attacks; he was aware that they were mostly test shots to find a weakness.  He took his gloves from his face, feet bouncing on their toes.  He threw a few punches of his own, hitting nothing but his hardened muscle.  A sudden blow to his chest caused him to falter for a moment, but offered a retaliatory shot to the side of Roy's face.  The audience erupted once again in a flurry of excited noise as punches were thrown and traded between the two sides.  Despite himself, Chris smiled; did he actually have a chance against the Green Monster?

Suddenly, a renewed vigor sourced from Roy, causing a flurry of blows that Chris could barely defend against.  An impossibly large force connected with his chin, pulling him up a bit before releasing him in a dancing array of stars that played out in front of him.  He grunted as another fist caught him in his side.  He hastily put his arms up once again, to attempt to deflect the massive attacks made against him.  Roy succeed in another jarring punch to his stomach.  He staggered back from the blow, his back feeling the cool plastic of the side ropes.  The crowd was in a frenzy at this point, now caught up with the rhythmic shouting of 'Eat him alive, Green Monster!'
Chris picked himself up just in time to be slammed against the ropes once again with another heavy punch to his face.  He couldn't help it; he fell to one knee.  More stars swam in front of his eyes, the referee stepping over to him to count. 
1....2...
This was not going well, he thought to himself.  He wouldn't be able to get this prize money that he desperately needed.  Chris couldn't bare to look at his family; he knew they were likely watching him with fear and concern.  He couldn't do this anymore.
7...8...

#11 - Addiction

The roar of my vehicle's engine comforted me somewhat.  I began down that lonely, dimly lit path while attempting to silence the raging desire that gnashed just beneath my skin.  My hands gripped at the steering wheel with enough force to push blood from my knuckles, creating whitened nubs at the ends of my shaking hands.  I rounded the first corner, my foot pleading with me to push the gas ever further.  A deep, shaky sigh escaped my dry lips.  I licked at them severely while allowing my mind to wander to my sweet reward awaiting me. 
It would not be long now...
I repeated the phrase to myself over and over; sometimes mouthing the words as if to convince myself further of my statement's validity.  My eyes darted all about the road for any other vehicles.  Still, not a single other person was driving.  Loneliness was my greatest asset sometimes.  I was very grateful for it's comfort now.

My sweating, clammy fingers enclosed upon the door handle of my destination.  The metal felt excessively cool to the touch, causing a slight shudder to wrack my body.  Anticipation tingled at my toes at sucking in the ever-familiar, calming smell of the area.  The area was clear.  I made my way quickly to the center of the room, another familiar sight greeting my eyes.  The toothy grin of Tony flashed my way, followed by a small beckon.  I wiped an unprecedented amount of cold sweat beading upon my forehead before making my way over to him.
“The usual,” I managed the sputter out, my left arm suddenly becoming extremely itchy.
I scratched at it vigorously while looking about the room with wide eyes.  Tony merely nodded, words not necessary for our ritualistic exchange that was about to take place.  He went to work, enticing me with the process of the product I so desperately required.  I began tapping my foot in uneven rhythm as I waited for him to finish, then resorted to drumming my fingers upon a table to my right.  I knew it was close; I could see the final touches being added and packaged.  The smell sent tingling shivers arcing up and down my spine.  The shaking that had once been held within my hands had spread to the rest of my body.  I attempted to hide it while standing before him. 
“The usual,” Tony muttered while handing me the container, “That'll be-”
No extra information was required.  I slapped a wad of sweat-slick, crumpled cash upon the counter top. Tony jumped a bit at my sudden, brash movement.
“Keep the change,” I managed to say with an even tone while quickly making my way toward the exit.

Within seconds I was in my car.  I practically collided with the front door of the building while quickly wrenching it open and making my way to my vehicle in a half run..  I slammed the door shut, grinning widely at my prize.
Finally I thought to myself with pure glee I need this so bad right now.
I allowed the package to touch my lips while simultaneously sucking inward.  The result was instant; warm, calming waves of relief swept through me as I quickly swallowed and sucked in again.  I felt my arms droop a bit as bliss flooded my body.  My eyes gazed around me in the empty space my car was currently occupying.  I took another hit, and another...my throat burning a bit at feeling the sensation over and over again.   

At last, the last vestiges of my prize were consumed, allowing myself to fully bask in the sweet waves of satisfaction that gently coursed through my body.  A permanent smile was etched upon my lips, any past itching or sweating vacant from me.  I cast my vision across the rising sun that now peeked above distant mountains, the sight excessively beautiful at this current moment.  My gaze fell to my relaxed body for a few moments, then to the now empty container still cradled within my hands.  I smirked while turning it in my fingers, the front meeting my vision.
“God I love that mermaid,” I said to myself before tossing the thing away from me toward the passenger seat and starting up my engine.