Illarion.org

((No.71, Replacements_1))

*Upon longer consideration and some talks, Borgate may attest anytime that Margret did the cleaning sometimes,
until some years ago, and that they still exchange wares, bottles and drinks as needed.

Upon even longer consideration and some more talking, Borgate can inform anyone insistent enough,
that indeed in the area of the fireplace a very delicate, yet neither stamped nor labeled bottle
was removed, deemed a low risk to the public.
Borgate laughs after these exclamations and might tell anyone that Margret is already known for replacing
many things to many people, should the need arise, and the number of witnesses suffice.
It is said when she was young, she even took the towels of people bathing.
Nowadays she even pays leases for sewer pipes she placed herself!*

„Ye`kow! Huffin`an`puffin`all day an`ite, an` messin`er books, until it is ri`te.“

A towering, eyepatched man lumbered into the Hemp Necktie Inn and sat down at the bar, the wooden stool quietly creaking under the heavy weight of the brawny, armour-clad patron. As he waited for the dwarven tavernkeep Borgate to pour him his ordered beer, he overheard the gossip about a mysterious, veiled woman inquiring about a lost bottle.

After having emptied his mug, the man slid a fistful of coins along with a slightly beer-stained parchment over the counter to Borgate.

"Fo' the veiled lady, should she return."

The dwarf answered with a wordless nod and took his pay together with the letter, hiding it somewhere under his bushy beard, while the man went upstairs and disappeared in one of the guest rooms.

I may have what you're looking for. Find me at the Hemp Necktie Inn. Look for the big, handsome stud with the eyepatch; I'm hard to miss.

Signed,
~Captain Malchus~

The way the woman moved was almost a miracle to Borgate. He muttered something under his breath and beckoned her over.
Veiled as she was, all that could be seen were those striking eyes.
He handed her a note, she took it, placing a gold coin on the bar in return.

Without a word, her eyes scanned the text; she looked around, but this supposedly handsome bloke with an eye patch wasn’t there.
With graceful movements, she folded the note and left the inn; to Borgate, it looked more as if she was floating beneath the billowing veils.

“Ye know she's sumthing” he thought, before turning his attention back to the tap on the beer barrel.

She pressed the bottle to her heart.

At last

If the man had known what he was holding – that mercenary would never have given the bottle back.

This bottle contained no liquid; it was her home, her refuge and also her prison. The only thing that could harm her.
Or that could control her. Whoever possessed the bottle – if used correctly – could cause a great deal of harm.

But what did she care – she and the old man vanished… a tale – a legend – soon forgotten.

Who could've foreseen that such an inconspicuous bottle would cause such trouble? An ordinary vial of clear glass, like those commonly used by alchemists for bottling their brews, lacking a label as much as any other identifying features, and filled with an amethyst-coloured liquid.

A potion, no doubt lost by an unwary traveller, or maybe a potion smuggler's poorly-hidden stash, Malchus thought as he found it lying in the dirt behind the Hemp Necktie Inn's patio, nestled between the old Thornbog's gnarly roots. Finders, keepers; one man's loss is another man's gain, and that day that other man was Malchus.

Of course, although it looked like an ordinary health potion, Malchus could not risk drinking it before knowing for certain what it actually contained. The difference between life-saving elixir or deadly poison could not be told by eye alone, not by an uneducated mercenary, anyway. Just his luck that a renowned druidess resided right at the Hemp Necktie Inn, one who surely wouldn't refuse Malchus such a small favour as examining an unknown potion.

🙥 🙦 One day later, at the Hemp Necktie Inn... 🙤 🙧

"Strange... I cannot define it," judged Yridia after giving the bottle a close, scrutinising look through a cut and polished amethyst. "The gemstone reveals absolutely nothing."

"You mean there's just purple water in it?" Malchus asked doubtfully, regarding the mysterious vial with wary curiosity while the druidess compared it through the amethyst with one of her own brews.

"The amethyst works," she concluded, "but no reaction with this flask."

"So it's harmless?" Malchus inquired further, reaching for the vial's cork as if to put the potion to the ultimate test.

"I would not say that, Malchus. I cannot read it, which means I cannot discern which substances it may contain. Maybe it should just be disposed of."

Malchus's fingers withdrew from the cork, leaving it tightly shut as it was. Instead, he pulled a frayed quill and a scrap of parchment from his satchel, inked a fat, black question mark, and attached his makeshift label onto the bottle before hiding it all again in his bag.

"Or show it to Deanna," Yridia added, seeing his intentions to keep it. "She is one of the best alchemists I know."

That was indeed his intention, or rather a faint hope. Malchus trusted Yridia's knowledge of herbs and potions, but if this bottle left her stumped, it must have contained something truly extraordinary. If only Deanna hadn't retired from public life.

🙥 🙦 A couple more days passed... 🙤 🙧

The potion had an owner, as it turned out: Word of a mysterious, veiled woman inquiring about her lost bottle was making rounds at the Hemp Necktie Inn. If she went through the effort of searching for this potion rather than buying a replacement from an alchemist, Malchus inferred, it must've been indeed something special and important to her, and thus valuable.

A potion of unknown properties and provenance was no good to Malchus, anyway. Maybe it was some exotic medicine which the veiled lady's life depended on, brewed of ingredients not native to Illarion and thus beyond its druids' ken, he pondered. Or, for all Malchus knew, it could just as well be an esoteric poison dropped by the world's clumsiest assassin, intended to be mixed into one of the realms' rulers' drinks. It didn't matter; Malchus was a mercenary, not a scholar, so if he could gain at least a handsome finder's fee for the wanted bottle, it would be good enough for him. Whatever happened thereafter with it was no longer his business.

A meeting was arranged, and sure enough Malchus found the bottle-seeking lady at the Hemp Necktie Inn, or rather she found him as she slid quietly, gracefully in through the backdoor. Her appearance was concealed by a filigree, lacy veil, and right behind her followed an older man clad in a chestplate which bore the unmistakable blue sheen of merinium, as did the battle axe which he carried in his belt. Malchus's hand slid instinctively to the mace tucked in his own belt as he sized up the armoured stranger. There was no word of him before, only of the veiled woman.

Curt introductions were exchanged: Apparently Malchus was dealing with one "Lady Mystery" and what appeared to be her servant and interpreter, Zalkani; assumed names, Malchus suspected. It didn't matter. Malchus knew that the bottle was important to her, possibly irreplaceable, and that there was more at stake for her than him. In this deal he held all the cards, Malchus believed, and thus he was confident that it would earn him a good profit. But much to his surprise, the lady and her companion were having none of it. They proved to be stubborn negotiators and simply insisted on the bottle's return. As their negotations went nowhere and both sides were increasingly losing their patience, another gaggle of patrons and mercenaries arrived at the inn, among them the young sorceress and fellow mercenary Shevelle, and the Galmairian blacksmith and adventurer Richard Ironheart. Malchus had informed them before his departure that he had some business at the Hemp Necktie Inn to see to, and they must've come to see what took him so long.

"No dice," Malchus thought and was getting ready to walk away from the deal and join the others, when suddenly the otherwise taciturn Lady Mystery raised her voice, uttering some words in a strange tongue and pointing with her hand at Richard, who leisurely sat behind Malchus with his feet on the table, idly playing with a dagger whilst watching the scene for his amusement.

Malchus raised his eyebrow at her incomprehensible words. "Eh, what she says? Try sumthin' funny, 'n' you can kiss yer purple drink goodbye!"

Richard just grinned rakishly. "Well, I didn't understand a word, but it doesn't sound nice."

"Are you throwing curses around, Mystery? What are you playing at?" Shevelle scowled with narrowed eyes at the veiled woman and protectively jumped between her and the men, pulling her wand from her belt.

The veiled lady was not impressed. She just lifted her brow at Shevelle ere holding out her hand again, her eyes burning with anger as she repeated her foreign utterances.

Then, sudden barking. "Dicky!" Shevelle cried out in shock. Malchus looked behind him: Where before the man Richard sat was now a red fox, licking Shevelle's face who helplessly kneeled by his side with her wand in hand, as if considering what spell to use to undo this. The other mercenaries seized their weapons.

Malchus swiftly turned again to Lady Mystery, pointing at the man turned fox. "What the- what sorcery is this?!"

Within moments Shevelle was reduced to a small fox as well, growling haplessly.

"The fox needed a vixen?" The old man calling himself Zalkani jeered.

Malchus gulped. This changed everything. Malchus could not have known that he was dealing with someone who possessed such powers. He and his companions were formidable warriors and easily outnumbered the lady with her elderly henchman, but Malchus knew that their steel would avail them very little against someone who could turn them all into foxes at a mere wave of her hand. Of course, she could not turn Malchus into a fox: He was still the possessor of her precious bottle, and a fox couldn't fetch it. But even if he excused himself under the pretence of fetching the bottle and made a run for it, what would it gain him? He'd lose his trusted comrades-in-arms, turned into foxes and probably kept as hostages, all in exchange for an inscrutable potion which most likely was useless to him anyway. Of course, he could try to fool her with the fake bottle which he had prepared in advance for this deal, a common health potion of which he had ripped the label off, but Malchus figured that such a powerful mage would easily see through the cheap decoy, and angering her even further seemed imprudent. There was no winning move, and Malchus knew when to fold.

"Crap... aight, aight, I yield," Malchus hissed through gritted teeth and slowly raised his hands in defeat.

"M'lady kindly requests her bottle, Sir," Zalkani calmly repeated their demand.

Malchus looked down at the foxes scampering about the tavern and playfully nuzzling and licking one another. "And what 'bout them?"

"I am assured they will be well."

"Well as humans, or in some kind of sick fox life?" Jroy, one of Malchus's mercenaries, threw in, clutching his spear as he angrily stared Zalkani down.

"As humans," affirmed the old man, adding with a thin, amused smirk: "Although whether there are cubs by then..."

"If there are cubs, I will take your lady's head," responded another mercenary bluntly; the company's sergeant Lyrica, a blue-haired elfess brandishing an equally blue, enchanted sword.

"I am sure there is no need for further escalation," said Zalkani with a calm, yet stern voice as his lady motioned with her hand for the bottle to be returned.

"I'll fetch yer bottle, but first..." Malchus gestured to the whimpering foxes.

"She will need the bottle, I think, to enable the transformation to be reversed. Forgive me, I am not well versed in these matters. I only serve," assured the old man in his usual, calm demeanour.

"Insolence," scoffed Malchus with a frown. "You can turn these two into foxes, but not lift the spell without the bottle?"

The veiled lady just answered with a gentle, wordless nod.

"Captain, I will take your head after hers if Sprite stays in this state," retorted Sergeant Lyrica while gently petting the fox Shevelle and scratching her ears.

"Aight. I fear we're no match fo' yer vile witchcraft," sighed Malchus and walked over to the tavern's gilded depot chest, retrieving from it a small, bottle-sized pouch.

"What is in that bottle, anyway? If you don't wanna gimme any coin fo' it, you can at least gimme an explanation, huh?"

"As I said, I know little of these ways. As I understand though, there is a dangerous secret in the bottle."

"You say this 'ere is dangerous?" Malchus held up pouch and harrumphed. "Hrm. Givin' two mysterious strangers a very dangerous mixture seems like a very bad idea."

"It is safest with the one it belongs to I'm sure," assured him Zalkani.

Malchus scoffed as he pulled the small, purple vial from the pouch and set it on the table next to him.

"All yours. You win. Take yer damn brew 'n' turn these two again into their proper form!"

The woman walked gracefully and unhurriedly over to the table and picked up the bottle, gently pressing it to her bosom and breathing deeply. At last she gestured to Shevelle and Richard, uttering her magic words. In an instant the two grew back to their human proportions, still standing on all fours, and toppling over Jroy who just was petting them.

"Tsk, blackmailed by a darn witch." Malchus glowered, visibly displeased by this turn of events. "Damn, dirty witch with her damn, dirty ol' geezer servant!"

A sudden, ominous thunder shook the inn as the "witch" and her servant took their leave, now reunited with their mysterious bottle.

"I got a bad feeling 'bout this. Like this won't be the last we heard of them..."

The conversation had been, to put it mildly, interesting.

Malchus and his insatiable thirst for gold, Richard, who always looked amused, and Jroy, who simply always listened intently.
Borgate later confirmed what had been said as well.

It was a mystery, something humanoid calling itself “Mystery.” They called her/it a witch.

She had also gone outside looking for clues? Perhaps. Thunder is caused by lightning, yet there was nothing burnt in sight.
She absentmindedly rubbed her cheek. That unlabeled violet bottle, had there really been liquid inside it? She wasn’t sure.
With another sigh, she grabbed a parchment and ink to send the letter to her old friends, the librarians Ny’kes and Arsan.
She smiled gently at the thought of the two of them.

Then she sealed it and asked Faen, her little snowowl, to take the letter to Inara in Cadomyr, with the request that she forward the message urgently.

Now all she could do was wait. She prayed to Ushara that this would not mean further hardship for Illarion.