In honor of Buffy who has inspired so many things, including potions: a very short scene from Chorrol.
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Darnand stepped out the back door of the Mages Guild hall. The long, low kitchen stretched off to his right. Rings of flat stones defined the herb and alchemy gardens. This time of year only green shoots poked up through the soil. Within a month the heavy perfume of primrose and nightshade flowers would hang in the air. Today the dominant scents were wood smoke and burned garlic.
Jerric sat on the paving stones where the garden paths came together, hunched over his calcinator. Ulfe sprawled nearby in the mugwort patch, basking in the sun. Her tail thumped the dirt in greeting as Darnand approached them.
“I figured it out,” Jerric announced without looking up. “Thanks for the loan.”
Darnand took in the scene. A basket of potatoes rested on the ground beside a glass jar of sacred lotus seeds. Steel-blue entoloma caps soaked in a pottery bowl. A bucket contained the burned remains of something. Jerric’s alchemy apparatus occupied the ground between his splayed and outstretched legs. Empty potion vials stood in a neat row, the only evidence of care amidst chaos. As Darnand watched, Jerric took a swig from a pewter pitcher. He appeared to be chewing the beverage. Jerric’s Juice, Darnand realized. He must have made a quick batch from the mushrooms.
Jerric put down his pitcher of magicka potion and stuck a palm under the calcinator. Flames leapt up, threatening to immolate its contents.
The Nord’s earlier words registered. “For the loan of..?” Darnand started. Then horror froze his tongue.
Now he saw that rolls of parchment lay scattered between the various implements. Some rested on beds of rumpled papers. Books lay open and abandoned. Three protruded out from under the hound. All seemed to depict charts and tables. His alchemy charts and tables. Darnand pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping at least to mitigate the inevitable headache.
“I’ll put them all back,” Jerric assured him cheerfully, “before it rains.”
Darnand sighed. “What are you making?”
His friend shot him one of those looks. Darnand refused to take the bait.
“Frost shield combined with resist frost,” Jerric told him. “Plus there’s a minor burden effect, but it’s less than her boots weigh and shouldn’t last even half a minute. With her toe ring, these should make even the Sea of Ghosts feel like bath water. The shield is to protect all her parts from the rocks.”
Darnand stared at him, mystified. “Whose parts? Are these not for sale?”
Jerric grinned like a bear with a mouthful of bees. “Which sounds better, ‘Naked Nature Nymph’ or ‘Bosmer in the Buff’ Potion?”
Of course, thought Darnand. They are for the Bowgirl. “I should think that ‘Hopeful Nord’ would be a more accurate description.”
Jerric laughed. “Every time we find a waterfall. I’m going to ship this batch to her, but I’ll keep a vial just in case. Do you realize that if Lildereth comes to Bravil with us, we might see the trifecta of wood elves?”
Darnand considered. “A mage, a thief, and a fighter?”
“Blonde, brunette, and redhead,” said Jerric. He turned his attention back to the calcinator.
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From the Nord's inventory:
Bosmer in the Buff Potion