Silver in a Bottle

Saratoga gained culinary inspiration as she watched the rind's belly blaze with a tiny blast of flame. It only stood to reason such a creature would fuel his body by consuming the very same element that gave him life.

With a clump of pine tree sap and a cattail on the brink of bursting, she combined the two things into a fuzzy paste on a stem. All that was left was to strike the mixture with fire.

By the side of a river they settled down to build a temporary camp, gathering twigs and dried branches to light a campfire. But in all her attempts to cause ignition, no such fire would brighten.

“Allow me…” Moliugas stared at the miniscule collection of lumber, confidently aware that he could take up the witches' burden and spit his way to dancing plasma.

As desired, so it was. Embers grew brighter from his smoldering spittle.

“Feel free to praise me if you'd like.”

Saratoga did no such thing, opting instead to light the sticky mixture and hand the flaming rod to him.

“Eat this.”

His human side shone through as he quizzically questioned why she would request he eat a burning stick. But her insistence pressured him enough to taste it.

Before he knew it, the sweet flaming concoction touched his tongue and passed into his belly, leaving nothing left on the cattail stem. The fire within seemed to glow a little brighter.

“I demand more!” he announced as a pleasurable satisfaction filled him.

Saratoga didn’t feel like appeasing his greed, even if she wanted to experiment with burning different things and seeing what would match his taste. Instead, she peeled away at the remaining cattail stem and lightly toasted it over the fire for her own satisfaction.

“Did you not hear me?” He leaned forward with less aggressive eyes then he assumed he had. “I want more.”

“Ask nicely and I'll think about it.”

“How dare you?”

Seeing as he'd watched her create a delicacy from simply forging, she figured if he was desperate enough he would figure it out himself. But in a childish fit of protest, he sat on a log and pouted.

“Fine. I'll just starve and it'll be all your fault.”

“All good with me,” she replied.

He was stunned that his attempt to guilt trip her failed. The servants back home would plead for his forgiveness at that sort of display.

“B-b-but…” he twisted back toward her, grinning as he pulled a new trump card from his deck. “What about making fire? You seem rather poor at that.” He confidently gestured his arms forward with a smug expression. “You'll need me, unless you want to get eaten by one of those lux constructs.”

“Guess I'll die then.”

Seeing that he’d failed to capture her with charisma, there was only one thing left for him to provoke servitude out of her…

“How about money?” he grinned. “If you continue to give me food, I'll be willing to pay you for your efforts when I'm returned to my body.”

He may have proven that he thinks of himself as royalty, but Saratoga was still not fully convinced, asking him what the true reason he was cursed was.

“My brother, in a selfish ploy for the throne, accused me of stealing from a powerful wizard.” His prior desperation faded as he invested in the topic. “The wizard believed him and cast his curse upon me.”

Moliugas had the stolen artifact in question. He unzipped his torso and reached in, pulling out a small chard vial.

Saratoga accused him of being a fool for storing it away in such a dangerous place, but the glass vial it was encased in resisted the heat by way of enchantment, indicated by a glowing symbol on its cork. She dusted off a mild amount of chard dust and saw a rather precious liquid substance within. It was reflective and silver in colour, like a fluid metal.

“Quicksilver…” she discovered. “This is a key ingredient in the philosopher's stone.”

Now she understood why the wizard wasn't happy to have lost this. To any average person, there was a myth that this was a form of silver that killed the greedy of heart who collected it. But to anyone with a foot in alchemical practices, it was coveted to create the magnum opus of mixtures.

“I've been trying to return this.” He pointed to a mountain just beyond a collection of trees. “He lives there… Or so I've been told.”

“Then he must be trying to create the philosopher's stone,” Saratoga concluded.

“Are you sure?” Moliugas asked.

“I am. It's the same thing I'm trying to make.” She pulled from her bag a small notebook and flipped the pages. “Mixing the Teardrops of Life with quicksilver is one step to creating it. It is part of how I plan to cure my mother. Those mountains are the only place they can be found.”

Moliugas had largely questioned why a wizard would be so passionate about such a small vile of liquid silver, but now it became all too obvious.