I walked into the tavern, noticing the usual crowd, including the two goblins in the corner. Who in the name of all that is "not wise" gave them intoxicants? Drunk goblins are one thing, stoned goblins another . . . but both? Pissed off and irrational orges are easier to handle.
No one knew that it was called the Spice Road. It was just a lonely backwater spaceway between colony planets whose people no longer remembered they had come from the stars. The only ships still traveling that dark stretch were automated transports whose passengers had long since turned to dust.
Deep in the goblin tavern, Grix and Snark concocted their legendary brew. Steam curled from the jug as Snark cackled, "Just a pinch more, Grix!" The potion glowed golden, tempting yet dangerous. Travelers sought their ale for courage, though few returned to tell if bravery or folly won the night.
Mr. Black’s Miracle Brew
---------------------------
“Yessir, Mr. Black’s Miracle Brew cures all! Rheumatism, mumps, measles, acne - any ailment!”
Coins clinked into the tophat.
The crowd dispersed.
The wagon door opened, revealing goblins busy filling bottles with a dark brew.
“Sold Fourteen bottles, boys,” Black grinned maliciously.
The goblins cackled.
Soul harvest was good that night.
The scent was intoxicating.
I wafted into the shop. A door slammed behind me.
“How can I help you, lovey?”
“A potion. Something to cure lovesickness.”
The proprietor nodded. A vial of purple liquid appeared. “Drink up.”
He paid and imbibed.
I fought, but the bottle won.
My essence remains.
Nebo and Garg’s dingy saloon was murky with smoke. Cassina nearly gagged on the noxious fumes.
“Sit, sweetcakes,” said Garg, leering at her abundant human breasts. Nebo giggled gleefully.
The thief asked, “How much for a drink? The King’s guards are after me, but they won’t look for a goblin.”
I walked into the tavern, noticing the usual crowd, including the two goblins in the corner. Who in the name of all that is "not wise" gave them intoxicants? Drunk goblins are one thing, stoned goblins another . . . but both? Pissed off and irrational orges are easier to handle.
Heather is a legal drug dealer. She passes out coffee with every concoction known to man in it. She does her best to addict the con goers.
She leaves them addicted to the hard stuff. Mardi gras king cake coffee with cream on top will make the hardest man cry uncle.
“What did you say to that old hag, Griff?”
“What do you mean, what did I say? You’re the one that just had to point and make rude comments about the wart on her nose.”
“Whatever. Do you think the spell will wear off soon? I have a date tonight.”
The proprietor handed Murray a straw and pointed to the large beaker of golden ale.
Murray was gobsmacked. And giddy. “I’m getting paid to slurp brew?”
“No such luck. But it’s even easier money than that. Blow man blow. This stuff is flat as a pancake, we need some bubbles.”
Never mix your elixir with Twilight, they end up icy, stinging with regret.
Never stir Sunrise into your syrups, the sweetness will sour stomachs.
Don't mix the Doldrums into drinks, it saps the fire from the sun.
Always mix blood aflame with True Love into your tonics for maximum impact
He died, crushed under my scaly claws.
The body hadn't cooled.
Neither had the ashes from killing him before that.
Yet there he was, brandishing his sword once more.
Each victory was harder than the last, until I died.
Then I woke up, and he was ready for battle, again.
"I'm telling ya, Chuck. Adventurers today are weird."
"What did those last ones ask for? Artisinal whatsit?"
"Brewing." Graggle grimaced. "What the hells does that mean?"
"What're you gonna do?"
"Move with the times, I s'pose. Hand me those hops. I'll figure out a healing IPA if it kills me."
No one knew that it was called the Spice Road. It was just a lonely backwater spaceway between colony planets whose people no longer remembered they had come from the stars. The only ships still traveling that dark stretch were automated transports whose passengers had long since turned to dust.
Deep in the goblin tavern, Grix and Snark concocted their legendary brew. Steam curled from the jug as Snark cackled, "Just a pinch more, Grix!" The potion glowed golden, tempting yet dangerous. Travelers sought their ale for courage, though few returned to tell if bravery or folly won the night.
The Sultan fell to the floor, holding Lily’s empty goblet. Poisoned. Lily threw her knife at rustling bedroom curtains. The head concubine fell. Dead.
Lily laughed. “From slave to Sultana thanks to your hate. No more stories without end. Now, my son is Sultan. Still, your friends plot against me?”
Lagrat smiled at his companion.
“I spiked the ale of yon lass. When she grows sleepy. . . ”
Both laughed.
“In a matter of moments--” he paused to yawn.
Snarlaw gazed through drooping eyelids. “You dolt!” He infused the word with a little fire as he passed out.
"Hey....hey Snoggy,... wake up. That's Prince Rupert over there in the corner." hissed Mikin, nudging his friend.
Snoggy replied grumpily replied, "Yeah....so?"
"He's rich."
"And so.....?" Snoggy, added, "He's a prince. He's got guards.
"He's ALONE."
Snoggy straightened and opened his eyes, "Alone you say? Interesting. Let's go."
Loved reading all of these so more creative than me