Somrstad 9th, 924 F.L.

(Present)

 

Two days following their unexpected confrontation and the bizarre incident with the cultists, Garrick and Ember found themselves on the final stretch back to Respite.

 

The journey home, however, had not been without its own peculiar challenges, the most memorable of which involved an aggressive herd of deer. Garrick, at that moment trudging down the familiar path to his cabin, looked every bit the part of an adventurer who had seen better days. His once-whole shirt now sported a fashionably asymmetrical design, courtesy of the deer's insatiable curiosity—or, more accurately, their appetite for the salt that had unfortunately spilled from his grinder inside his pack.

 

As he approached, the sight of home brought a weary smile to his face, Ember trotting alongside him, her own coat dusted with the adventures of the past few days.

 

“Ah, here it is, Ember! Respite at last!” It didn’t matter how long he’d lived here; each time he returned, it was like viewing it for the first time. Most importantly, though, was that they’d succeeded in gathering a bounty of Rapturous Bells. He’d need to work on them as soon as possible. Not that the process of making that specific potion took particularly long—but if he put it off, he knew he’d eventually forget and be trying to put stoppers in bottles as he ran out the door to join the project in a few weeks.

 

However, the first order of business was forthcoming: a long, soothing bath.

 

Like most things worth enjoying, the bath preparation unfolded with an almost ceremonial deliberation. The large wooden basin that served as his bathtub sat in the spacious addition he'd built a few years back—a significant upgrade from the days of bathing in the cold stream—and even more so than when he'd just had the expensive claw foot in the secondary room. And so, Garrick filled the basin with steaming water from the pair of pumpkin-sized kettles heated over the fireplace.

 

He methodically gathered herbs from jars with handwritten labels on a neatly arranged shelf—telmroot for relaxation, roseweed for its invigorating scent, and a small handful of beacon’s blossom to soothe the muscles that ached from days in the forest. Each was chosen carefully, their fragrances mingling in the steamy air to create a calming oasis.

 

As the basin filled, Garrick carefully sprinkled the herbs into the water, watching their colors bleed into swirls of green and purple. The steam rose in gentle curls, carrying the combined scents throughout the room and easing the tension from his shoulders before he even stepped into the water.

 

Garrick finally disrobed, his torn and salt-stained shirt tossed aside without a second thought. He tested the water with a toe before easing himself into the basin with a sigh of relief. The hot water enveloped him, the herbs worked their magic on his weary muscles, and all was right in the world for a long moment.

 

“Ah! Nothing like a bit of self-care after a few days in the bush,” he said to himself, sliding down until the water was at chin-level.

 

The peace of the bath and the quiet of the cabin were a simple kind of happiness, but for Garrick, it was everything. As he soaked, the trials of the past days faded to mere memories, and he found himself smiling at the thought of aggressive deer and absurd cultists. Life, he mused, was never dull.

 

—

 

As dusk settled over Respite, Garrick approached his woodshed with purpose. His recent meal had been satisfactory, but the real work—making the Potion of Rejuvenation—was yet to begin. Clutched in his hand were the Rapturous Bells, their vibrant colors mocking him slightly for the trouble they’d caused.

 

Of course, I could have just bought them at the Alchemy Hovel in Maretown—but Walter’s prices are borderline robbery.

 

While Garrick didn’t need to worry much about money, he still enjoyed getting a good deal.

 

Inside the woodshed, among the tools, jars, vials, and ingredients, Garrick set to work. He began by carefully crushing the petals of the Rapturous Bell in a mortar, their delicate fragrance filling the air, a sweet and invigorating scent. As he worked the pestle in a steady rhythm, Garrick's thoughts drifted to his friend and former party-member, Claudette, who had first introduced him to the wonders of potion-making. He chuckled remembering how angry she would get at the slightest error—not just his, either. She’d always said it was because if things were done imprecisely, they could be fatal, but Garrick always suspected it was simply because she was a perfectionist.

 

However, there was some truth to it now. It was meditative but slightly frustrating at times—for instance, he’d already made a mistake and added the water to the mortar first and had to start the whole process over.

 

Claudette always made this look so easy, he thought. Then again, she wasn’t battling with her own forgetfulness.

 

Once the petals were reduced to a fine powder, Garrick added them to a small cauldron, the vessel's iron cool to the touch. Into this, he poured a measured amount of spring water, the liquid clear and pure. As he did so (in the correct order this time,) his mind wandered to that raucous night in Maretown—the evening he celebrated his birthday with seemingly endless ales. It had also left him in sore need of the potion’s restorative properties.

 

A decade ago, and my liver’s still holding a grudge, he reflected wryly.

 

Gently, he stirred the mixture, watching the powder dissolve, turning the water into a deep, mesmerizing blue.

 

Looks like something out of a fancy cocktail menu, he thought. I’ll call it the ‘Alchemy Breeze,’ served with a salt rim and a kiwi wedge.

 

The fire beneath the cauldron was kindled then, the flames licking the bottom of the vessel with a controlled hunger. As the potion began to simmer, Garrick added a few drops of teahoney, its golden sweetness meant to temper the strength of the Rapturous Bell, and a pinch of ground moonstone. The addition of the moonstone was a touch Claudette had insisted on, claiming it added clarity of mind.

 

Wish I’d had one of these during that Sunrise Festival in Vorscha, he mused. I might not’ve woken upside-down from the rafters with a newfound respect for carpet cleaners.

 

As the potion reached its completion, the color deepened to a rich indigo, and a light mist began to rise from the surface. Garrick watched in silent awe, the sight never failing to stir something profound within him. With a final stir, he removed the cauldron from the fire, and set it on a row of bricks just outside the door, allowing the potion to cool under the watchful eyes of the moon and stars.

 

The Potion of Rejuvenation, now complete, was a thing of beauty and power. Decanting it into a vial, he sealed it with wax, a task that always felt more like trying to stop a leak with chewing gum.

 

One of these days, I’ll actually remember to buy proper seals, he promised himself, knowing full well he’d forget by morning.

 

In the quiet aftermath, as he cleaned his tools and returned the woodshed to order, Garrick felt…well, he felt good. One was complete, and he’d try to create another each night until he ran out of ingredients. He had enough for at least ten of the things, so he may as well get his pound of flesh—gods knew the deer already had.

 

As he settled in bed for the evening, reflecting on the past few days, Garrick realized something was amiss. No, nothing nefarious—no omens or portents of doom. It was that he’d been neglecting a fundamental lesson from his old mentor and was, in fact, Beatrix’s first lesson: to be prepared.

 

“I’ve just remembered,” he said to Ember, curled in a ball in his blankets. She propped her head at his words, gazing at him as if awaiting a command. He smiled. “Sorry to startle you, Ember. It’s just that I now realize I’m painfully low on certain necessary supplies for the journey.”

 

Ember, seeming to realize this was more about him and not about her, settled down, sighing quietly.

 

Garrick stretched, yawning as he did so. He glanced over at the lantern on his bedside table and quickly put it out before he forgot. Then he lay back, a smile on his face.

 

“Tomorrow,” he whispered in the quiet darkness, “I’m going shopping.”