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.
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