Cassy watched as Henry began brewing the potion, his expression one of intense concentration. Every so often, he glanced down at a tattered parchment, furrowing his brow deeper.
Do I really want to know...?
Jester Potion, Step 9
Ingredients:
Goblin Shaman's Heart
Farseer Anglerfish's Eyes and Brain
50 ml of Witch's Hazel
2 Four-Leafed Clovers
So those were eyeballs! Cassy felt his stomach lurch, a wave of nausea rolling over him.
Henry grabbed a strange purple blob of flesh and flung it into the cauldron with a grunt, not bothering to measure. He pounded it with a hammer, the squelching sound reverberating in the cramped room. Purple, sticky blood splattered, and he barely flinched, his focus unwavering as if he'd done this a thousand times before.
Taking a vial of silver witch's hazel, he poured it in, causing the cauldron to bubble ominously. The air thickened with a sickly-sweet odor reminiscent of something burning—and not in a good way.
"Bah! This is what we call 'culinary delight!'" Henry grumbled, wrinkling his nose as he worked.
Cassy's stomach twisted. "Looks... delicious," he forced out, sarcasm lacing his tone and barely masking his unease.
The old man chuckled. "Aye, that's the spirit! Just remember, if you start feeling the urge to gnaw my furniture or chase a cat, you're probably too far gone."
Henry sliced a milky white brain with surprising delicacy, taking a thin slice and popping it into his mouth. Chewing in delight, he shot Cassy a dirty look, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"What? Never seen a man eat raw fish? It's a delicacy, innit? Perks of the job, I say."
Cassy grimaced at the sight. This old man... isn't trying to kill me, right?
Henry stirred the pot, the liquid bubbling violently as it morphed into a toxic-looking sludge. "Listen, Cassy," he said, suddenly serious, his gruff voice cutting through the tension. "Before you dive into this mess, remember—either you succeed, or you become a rampager. If that happens, I'll be the one to end it."
Cassy swallowed hard, anxiety creeping in. "Anything I need to do to prepare?"
Henry barked a laugh, the sound gruff and unrefined. "Well, you could visit a brothel. Have a steamy night and a full Menthil breakfast come morning. Wash it down with some Stellarian bourbon. You know, just things you'd want to do before you die—assuming you want to go out with a bang!"
Cassy couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity, even as dread knotted in his stomach. Henry's gruffness had a way of lightening the mood, even wrapped in sarcasm.
"It needs to boil for a spell more... watch it so it doesn't burn, lad. You can handle that, aye?" The old man hobbled over to his desk, popped open a wooden cigar case, and took out a hand-rolled cigar before sniffing it and lighting it.
Cassy watched the poisonous sludge boil like a sulfur pit, gradually turning a deeper purple. Just like the old coot says... no two ways about it. If I fail, I won't remember it anyway. Right, Maple? ...no response as usual, lazy bastard.
The sludge began to sputter and pop, and Cassy reached out a hand to turn off the flame.
"Well? I haven't all day to babysit you, brat. Get on with it." Henry pulled out a handgun from his desk, loaded it with silver bullets, and aimed it directly at Cassy.
Staring down the barrel of a gun really puts things in perspective, huh? He reached out with the ladle, his hand shaking slightly as he scooped the foul liquid into a beaker, feeling the heat radiate from it.
Curiously, not a single drop remained in the cauldron when he was done, as if the liquid wouldn't allow itself to be divided.
Even removed from the flame, the sludge still belched and bulged angrily within the beaker. Cassy took it into his hand, exhaling deeply and glancing over at Henry. He nodded.
Then he tossed his head back. The liquid fought him fiercely, refusing to go quietly into the night. It expanded in his throat as if attempting to escape, eventually settling in his belly.
He quickly began to sweat from the potion's heat. Covering his mouth, he felt like he would surrender the contents of his belly soon otherwise.
Looking around, he stumbled into a rickety rocking chair, closing his eyes as he braced for impact, clenching the beaker tightly.
Cold, scratching whispers tickled his ears, just out of reach. He couldn't quite make out their meaning; they seemed to invite him somewhere he was sure he wouldn't want to go.
Raising his hands, he blocked his ears, as if it would stop the ceaseless murmurings. His vision distorted, as if he were seeing double; the outlines around him seemed vague and uncertain. His skin prickled, as if catching wind of a dreadful predator.
His instincts blared warnings, desperately trying to tell him he was in mortal danger. His heart raced like a thoroughbred, and inexplicable tears streamed down his face—purple, like the very potion he had drunk.
His heart clenched and contracted, recalibrating as if something inside him had shifted.
Then, like a doused candle, everything stopped. All the miserable sensations faded away, leaving only a panic-induced state. He looked around in confusion at the abruptness of it all.
"Come... save... us..." a whisper filtered into his ear as if spoken from across a crowded room.
Cassy's head snapped back and forth, trying to locate the source of the voices.
"Help... help... please... help..." Again, the whispers came, echoing through time.
"Henry, I'm hearing voices! What do I do?!"
Henry smiled at him before lowering his gun. "Quit your whinging. Bah, kids are tough as mash nowadays. Did you really think this path was filled with roses? We may take this path to fight the shadows, but know that yours grows ever deeper with each step."
He paused, puffing his cigar, seemingly unconcerned. "It's normal, lad. It will fade in time—probably. There's nothing for it."