1st 5 Pages Feb Workshop - Wagerman Rev 1

Name: S.A. Wagerman

Genre: MG Fantasy

Title: The Potioneer

Drawing from Zephyra’s field notebook:

Ruta Gigas or Great Rue Flower (Parts labeled)

USES: Bane potion.  Just add a piece of whatever you want to keep away!

NOTES: smells like old shoes.  Do not get on skin!  Raises blisters.

Normally, I liked the rain.  But today I reckoned it might be the death of me. 

                                   

It wasn’t that I was bothered by the wet or the cold.  My military uniform, complete with tight gloves and tall black boots, was water-resistant.  And the hood of my sage-green Potioneer’s cloak was pulled up over my dark curls.  It was that we had spent the entire morning ringing the town of Esk in Bugsbane, and now the rain had washed it all away.  So it was the giant Armored King Crickets that would probably do the actual killing.

“The pump sprayer!” Amestra called over the patter of rain and the creepy chittering sound the bugs made.  “See if there’s anything left in it!”  My mentor didn’t dare take her eyes off the two horse-sized insects she was fending off with her sword.  Which itself was a sign that the battle wasn’t going our way.  Potioneers fight with potions.

I didn’t waste time responding.  We had no idea what had driven the pair of crickets from their burrow in the Flowering Desert and into town.  There’d been concern when chickens and sheep had started disappearing, but then one of the bugs had tried to carry away the farrier’s daughter, and we had to get involved.  We were stationed in Esk on other business, but part of a military Potioneer’s job is to protect the people of Iostria.  We couldn’t just sit there and let giant crickets snack on townspeople.   

The pump sprayer bumped awkwardly on its front wheel through the endless rain-slick grasslands where we’d rushed to head off the bugs before they got too close to town.  But it was awful light -- I knew we’d used most of the potion up.  I splashed to a stop only feet away from where Amestra still battled the two giant insects, patting down her uniform with her free hand.  She was probably trying to take stock of what she’d slipped into her pockets earlier this morning, but there isn’t a lot in the Potioneer’s inventory that works well during a rainstorm.

I pointed the nozzle and pumped the handle for all I was worth, releasing a spray of Bugsbane up at the two insects.  I wasn’t sure how much good it would do with sheets of rain cutting through it, but I kept right at it until I heard Amestra shouting at me.

“Not them,” the Grandmaster snapped, stepping aside and slashing down with her saber, clipping off one of the creature’s long antennae.  It skittered back, shaking its head.  “Me!” 

“But…”  Bugsbane was meant for bugs, not people.  I’d gotten some on myself by accident and I can tell you it itches like crazy.

“I’ll take the rash, thank you,” Amestra said, grey eyes flashing.

I pumped the lever again, aiming the nozzle right at her. But nothing came out except for a gurgling rush of air and a weak stream that was immediately carried away in the downpour.

Stinkweed and nettles!  Now we were in trouble. My mentor was very organized, but she wasn’t one for improvisation. On the other hand, improvisation was why -- two years ago at only 10 -- I had been the youngest person ever accepted into the Military Academy of Phytotheurgy.  I’d have to come up with something. 

“Canter?” I yelled, palming the violet potion that gave its user the ability to sprint like the wind.  Our uniforms were lined with pockets, and my hooded cloak held even more. 

“No good!” Grandmaster Amestra said, backpedaling away from the bristling legs and mandibles of the nearer cricket.  “They’re enraged.  They’ll just follow us back to town!”

“Fireflow?” My hand hesitated over the vial in the bandolier across my chest.  It was a dangerous potion to miss with, and Amestra was no stranger to my atrocious aim.  

“Only as a last resort,” she said, waving her sword warily.  I followed, keeping my distance.  One of the crickets tried to climb atop Amestra with its spiky legs, pushing her down to grasp her head in its mandibles.  But that proved a fatal mistake: they were armored on the top and sides, but not underneath.  Amestra drove her saberpoint in beneath the jaws of the monstrous insect and yanked it free again.  Green-black bug-blood joined the rain beading up on Amestra’s uniform, and the Cricket fell atop her, legs still kicking.  I cried out.

“I’m fine,” Amestra said, struggling out from under the twitching insect.  But even as she did, the second Cricket made a terrible hissing sound and snapped its jaws closed over Amestra’s forearm.  Hard.  She went pale and gave a sharp gasp.  Thank the Flowering Fields she’d insisted we slather ourselves with Strongskin before putting on our uniforms.  Otherwise that would’ve been her arm clean off!  Still, the potion did nothing to stop the muscle and bone underneath from being crushed.

“Zephyra!” was all Amestra could manage through gritted teeth.

I snatched my sling from its loop at my belt but couldn’t bring myself to draw the vial of Fireflow.  If I hit my mentor instead of the King Cricket -- or if I hit them both -- she’d wind up nothing but a pile of bone splinters and ash. 

Mind racing, I plunged hands into pockets and pouches, searching by feel.  The Armored King Cricket shook its head like a dog worrying a bone, and the Grandmaster moaned, her saber dropping from her hand to the ground with a rattle.  “Zephy!  Hurry!”

What wouldn’t get washed away by the rain?  A potion I take instead of one I throw?  Vigor would give me a burst of strength… maybe I could pry the mandibles off of her arm?  But then what?  Stupid bugs!  I wish I could just step on you!  But if there was a potion that made you bigger than a King Cricket, I’d never heard of it.  

Calcify might work, I realized, eyes landing on the sky-blue liquid.   It crystallized on impact, but would it work in the rain?  If only there were a way to thicken it, increase its volume?  I pulled additive compounds out of my cloak, scattering them on the ground like birdseed.  Saponin powder… saponin powder… there!

Amestra gave another cry, and my heart almost stopped in my chest.  The Cricket had released its grip on her forearm just long enough to make a lunging snap at her neck.  Thrusting her arms up, hands clasped, the bug locked its serrated mandibles around both of her wrists instead.  My mentor’s face was tight with pain and determination. 

Frantic now, I filled the jar half full of Calcify potion, added some saponin -- a foaming agent -- and stoppered it.  Hands shaking, I settled the jar into the leather cup of my sling, hoping that my spinning figure-eight would be enough to mix it.  The mud at my feet began to bubble and foam where I’d spilled white powder in my rush.

The dark clouds lit from underneath with a crackling branch of lightning, and the entire scene was illuminated bizarrely in blue-white light and long shadows.  A rumble of thunder followed.

With a cry, I stepped into the swing and released my makeshift potion.