The two young adventurers came to Seasone The Industrious, as they always did, in search of a healing remedy.

As they enter her hut without so much as a knock, Seasone turns her head in their direction without spilling a drop of swiftly pouring liquid. "Be with you in a moment!", she says, turning back to her bowl and vial. Finishing the pour with the slightest flourish, she quickly jams the vial into her bulging pack and adds "Just let me wipe this down, then I'll be right with you.". Seasone opens a small cupboard, scraping the dregs of the concoction into a cauldron within. She sets her smaller bowl down atop the cupboard, but before she can close it, the girl, impatient, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of one of her blood-stained shortsword, barks out a gruff "Health.".

Seasone straightens her cap, puts on a cheery face, and points to her sign. Negotiations begin.

The boy, never one for negotiations, sniffs once. Lavender? Then twice. No, vanilla. Then the smell of the sea, then of rich soil. Gold changes hands and Seasone, pleasant in the face of even the rudest customers, reaches into her pack to withdraw one of her countless flasks. The boy pays no mind to the transaction, following the ever-changing scent to the cauldron in the cupboard.

A loud thunk and the two women turn towards the boy as one, the girl's brow furrowed, Seasone's arched quizzically. The blackjack at the boy's belt thuds into the cupboard door a second time as his wide eyes swivel to meet their stare. He stands frozen over the cauldron with his finger on his tongue, a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

After a moment, his face screws up tight, he cocks his head, and he says "...beef stew...it tastes like beef stew! No...it tastes like...lightning. No wait, citrus!".

Suddenly, the boy shoots into the ceiling like a balloon. "OW!" he shouts, loud enough that the wolves of Northreach growl, then he disappears with a loud pop.

Some time later, the girl eventually found the boy merrily bopping away, sprinting about with unnatural speed, heedless of his injuries as he lay into an imp with a ferocity she had never seen before.

Back at her hut, Seasone the Industrious blew on the fresh paint of a new line at the end of her sign. Listed beside the highest price by far: "Other".

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: Seasone discovered that a sip from the cauldron filled with the dregs of her concoctions gave rise to curious effects and decided to bottle and sell the liquid to adventurers.

Penned by My hand on the 17th of Ero, in the year 781 AF.