By: causticblast
In the forest stands a large wood-and-stone structure. On the front, a hand-painted wooden sign reads: “UNUSUAL/SPECIALTY POTIONS FOR SALE.” Faint humming can be heard within.
Inside, a woman gently sways her hips side to side to the rhythm of her humming as she stands over a fire. She is stirring something bubbling inside a cooking pot. A bright green glow from the pot illuminates her face, which bears an eager expression.
POTION SELLER: (to herself) “This batch may be my finest yet…I’ll have to make sure to charge extra…”
Meanwhile, outside, a man approaches the store with broad, purposeful strides in his steps. He grips the door handle and turns it. No need to knock. He enters and announces his presence.
CLIENT: “I have need of your services, potion seller.”
The POTION SELLER turns from her work at the cooking fire to greet the CLIENT that has just barged into her shop.
POTION SELLER: (a bit annoyed, but still maintaining a customer-service posture) “Ah, a customer. Have you come to purchase one of my famed potions? They are unorthodox, but for the better. These go down smoother and you will be able to quaff them much quicker! Interested?”
The POTION SELLER gestures with one free hand to the numerous aisles of wooden shelves around her. Glass bottles and vials of a variety of shapes sit on every shelf, each stoppered with a cork. None are filled with liquid; within each one is instead a swirling gaseous cloud of some mesmerizing color. Below each bottle is simply a price tag with hardly an explanation for what the “potion” does.
CLIENT: “Indeed. But I require more than these meager potions you have already prepared.”
POTION SELLER: (moderately offended) “Watch your tongue! My potions are no meager things. They are not amateur crafts – each potion is prepared uniquely and endowed with powerful qualities.”
CLIENT: “Your reputation precedes you, potion seller. Of that, I am aware. But I assure you, I require something more powerful than what you have here.”
POTION SELLER: “With respect, I retain my doubts. What is it you require?”
CLIENT: “I require your strongest potion, the most potent you have.”
POTION SELLER: “Surely, you jest!”
CLIENT: “What ho, I assure you not! I say I require your strongest potion, and I am prepared to pay a great price for it!”
POTION SELLER: “Then, I now know you to be a fool, for you surely cannot handle my strongest potion.”
CLIENT: “Absurd! What do you mean by that?”
POTION SELLER: “That I will not sell you my strongest potion, for I know it to be a waste.”
CLIENT: “I have coin, potion seller! What more do you ask?”
POTION SELLER: “Coin is not my concern. I am telling you a simple truth: you cannot handle my strongest potion.”
CLIENT: “You exasperate me, potion seller. I am telling you that I require your strongest potion, regardless of what you may think of me or my strength!”
POTION SELLER: “Are you perhaps unaware of the means by which I prepare my special potions?”
CLIENT: “What difference does it make?”
The POTION SELLER chuckles softly to herself, like she has just heard an inside joke. She shakes her head gently.
CLIENT: “What is it, potion seller?”
The POTION SELLER looks up, seemingly thinking to herself for a moment. Then she turns back to the CLIENT, as if having made up her mind. There is a twinkle in her eye.
POTION SELLER: (arms folding) “Hmmph. Fine. But I shall require payment up front, and I shall provide no recompense, for I will not take responsibility if you cannot handle it. You were forewarned.”
CLIENT: “An acceptable deal, potion seller. And worry not: I assure you, I can handle your strongest potion.”
POTION SELLER: “You will have to give me some time. Several hours, at least. I must brew it fresh.”
CLIENT: “Very well. I can wait.”
POTION SELLER: “I am also prepared to give you a discount if you are able to procure a large cauldron for me. I require a cauldron about this big to accommodate the brewing process.”
The POTION SELLER gestures with both her hands to describe the size of the cauldron she needs: something roughly the size of a whole barrel, if not larger. The CLIENT merely nods and exits. He returns a few minutes later with the requested cauldron, which the POTION SELLER looks at approvingly. With some strain from the weight, she manages to put it on the fire and begins adding an assortment of ingredients to it. Before long, the cauldron bubbles and froths with some eldritch mixture.
The POTION SELLER looks down at the small cooking pot where she was previously preparing a concoction. It looks menacing in its own right. She taps a finger on her chin before throwing the entire contents of that small pot into the large cauldron.
POTION SELLER: (shrugging) “So be it. It will add to its potency, anyhow.”
She continues to stir, grabbing a few more various items from the cabinets around her. More than a few of these ingredients look to be some kind of bean or other legume. The others range from a pinch of dark powder to a handful of chopped vegetables of some kind. A potent aroma begins to rise from the cauldron, only growing stronger every minute. Each time another ingredient is plopped into the mixture, its color and smell both take on a new form. It is rich, earthy, fishy, sweet, acidic, floral, stinging, fruity — all at once.
The CLIENT looks on from the opposite end of the room, leaning against the wall. The POTION SELLER turns to address him, throwing in the last of the ingredients into the pot.
POTION SELLER: (looking over her shoulder) “You know, you needn’t stay here. In fact, you may very well wish to leave my shop, and return in a few hours when I call for you. Being too
close to the ‘brewing process’ is something many find…regrettable.”
CLIENT: “I think not, potion seller. I have already paid a good sum and believe I am entitled to viewing the whole process, to ensure that no meddling happens.”
POTION SELLER: “Hmmph. I will do my best to take no offense at your distrust. But please, don’t say I did not warn you.”
CLIENT: (slightly irked) “Warn me of what, exactly? And what is this nonsense with the cauldron – do you not specialize in potions of the aeriform variety, for faster quaffing and more efficacious potency, as you said? Why, then, is the cauldron now full of liquid?”
The POTION SELLER chuckles heartily to herself.
POTION SELLER: “Patience, my dear. If you so insist upon staying here, then all will be revealed in due time.”
Another half-hour passes as the POTION SELLER continues swirling her concoction, simmering it until she appears satisfied. With a dextrous hand, she reaches in with a ladle and takes a sip.
POTION SELLER: (nodding eagerly) Mmm-mmmm. Fantastic. (takes another sip; scrunches face while smiling) Hoooh. This is going to be downright overpowering. I would have liked to add some stronger spices…but this is still going to be remarkably potent.”
She turns to the CLIENT, who continues to watch her with equal parts curiosity and impatience.
POTION SELLER: “This is your final chance to vacate these premises. Once I begin the ‘brewing process,’ there is no turning back.”
CLIENT: “I stand by my words, potion seller. Proceed as you will.”
The POTION SELLER merely smirks at the CLIENT, the corner of her mouth crinkling up into an impish curl.
POTION SELLER: “Bottoms up…”
The POTION SELLER grabs a large bowl and begins tilting the cauldron to one side, carefully pouring its contents into her bowl. As the mixture spills and sloshes, it looks even more menacing, with miasmic bubbles rising up from the froth.
Foregoing a spoon entirely, the POTION SELLER tips the bowl into her mouth and gulps it down with remarkable speed. The CLIENT watched in disbelief as, within seconds, the contents of the bowl disappears down her throat. Without hesitation, the POTION SELLER refills her bowl and begins drinking it down again. After finishing the second, a loud belch erupts from her mouth, lasting several seconds. She flirtatiously puts a hand to her mouth, winking.
POTION SELLER: “Ooh, excuse me. But I must make room for all this somehow…”
She begins slurping down a third bowlful. Midway through, the CLIENT has finally gathered enough sense to inquire.
CLIENT: (stammering, confused) I don’t…Wh-what…Potion seller, explain!”
POTION SELLER: (wiping her mouth with the back of her hand) “Simple gastric alchemy. I think you’ll find that the digestive system is a remarkable tool for processing raw materials into refined elixirs. Mine in particular is very well-trained in handling these extremely powerful brews…”
Suddenly, she winces. At the same time, a monstrous gurgle emanates from her gut, which has by now grown visibly larger, sticking out a little bit. She opens her mouth, as if to burp, but nothing comes out. Instead, she grips her stomach tightly, seemingly in discomfort.
POTION SELLER: (wincing) “Ooooh, seems I spoke too soon…Nonetheless, I must thank you for giving me the opportunity to test myself thus. I do enjoy a challenge.”
The CLIENT has no words. He backs away slightly, glancing at the shelves full of gaseous potions, beginning to piece things together.
POTION SELLER: (chuckling between grimaces) “Nngh…No backing out now, dearest customer. Front row seats…hnngh…to my own little private ‘distiller,’ hard at work.”
With some trouble, the POTION SELLER resumes gulping down the remainder of her cauldron’s violently bubbling brew. The way she giggles to herself insinuates that she is enjoying herself — and for much more than just the exotic flavor of the warm liquid running down her throat. She rubs her heaving stomach gently, almost caressing it, feeling its now-constant gurgling.
POTION SELLER: (eyes half-lidded, some liquid dribbling down the sides of her mouth) “Hhhoohhhh…My little ‘distiller’ has never felt like this before…”
Defying reason, the POTION SELLER’S stomach has swelled to enormous proportions. Heavy sloshing and gurgling can be heard from her belly, now filled to the brim with an extra-potent alchemical mixture. She grunts softly as she steps away from the now-empty cauldron and puts out the fire.
POTION SELLER: “Just a few more minutes, now. Trust me, we do not want an open flame here…”
Looking through her cabinets, the POTION SELLER plucks out a large glass bottle, more spacious than most of the ones she has displayed on her shelves. She uncorks it.
POTION SELLER: (moving the bottle behind her, pressing it firmly up to her ass) “Mmmhhh, one of my strongest potions, coming right up!”
From the POTION SELLER’S plump, round butt emerges a deafening sound, powerful enough to shake the walls. Powerful enough, in fact, to shatter the glass bottle almost instantaneously. Less than a second after she begins her explosive release, she can hear glass shards peppering the far wall behind her and clinking to the ground.
POTION SELLER: (grunting as she cuts off her gas mid-fart) “Hmmgh…Well, that hasn’t happened in awhile.”
She returns to the cabinets, this time with considerable effort in trying to hold back the imminent torrent of farts about to rocket out of her ass with reckless abandon. She opens the cabinet doors with one hand while another is planted firmly on the middle of her shapely rear.
She finds another bottle, seemingly made of a thicker, more reinforced material, more opaque than glass. However, it is also significantly smaller than the first container. It seems to be the only one of its design in her inventory.
POTION SELLER: (already uncorking and preparing to unload into the bottle) “For both our sakes, I do hope this one is strong enough to withstand this storm…Hhnnnagh!”
The POTION SELLER resumes her impossibly powerful bombardment of flatulence, collecting it into the bottle as best as she can. The sheer pressure is enough to hiss out the sides of the lip of the bottle, sending plumes of venomous stench into the room. The CLIENT immediately covers his nose, cursing and thoroughly regretting his decisions up to this point that led him here.
The POTION SELLER’S farts rage on and on, one right after another. There is so much gas packed into the bottle that it no longer looks like swirling mist within — it just looks like a single solid mass, as if the bottle had been painted reddish-brown on the inside.
After several minutes of the POTION SELLER depositing her unrelenting foul windstorm into the reinforced bottle, she heaves a huge sigh. Her gut still looks very, very full, but at least she looks a bit more at ease.
POTION SELLER: (corking the bottle) “Honestly, I think I’ve attained its maximum potency. Any more gas will have to go into another bottle…assuming I can find more reinforced ones in my supplies.”
She hands the “potion” to the CLIENT, who handles it as if it is a dangerous snake. He eyes it with fear, swirling it around to see how the contents behave. The gas inside is so thick, so dense, that it might as well be filled with clay.
POTION SELLER: (attempts to cross her arms, but is unable due to the size of her distended abdomen; instead puts one hand on a cocked hip) “…Well. You insisted you could handle my strongest potion.”
CLIENT: “…Yes.”
POTION SELLER: “And you agreed to my terms, that there shall be no reimbursement if you cannot.”
CLIENT: “……Yes.”
POTION SELLER: “Are you a man of your word?”
The CLIENT, with great reluctance, brings the bottle up to his mouth and prepares to uncork it. Perhaps it won’t be as bad if I gulp it down quickly, passing it through the mouth as fast as possible, he thinks to himself. It is not a very reassuring thought.
CLIENT: (with one last look at the POTION SELLER) “…Alright.”
Eyes clenched shut, the CLIENT uncorks the bottle and tries to tip it back into his lips. Precisely one agonizing second later, he sputters and coughs, trying to re-cork the bottle. Brown jets of gas erupt from his nostrils and his mouth as he tries, unsuccessfully, to calm his breathing.
He looks down at the bottle in his hand, now stoppered again. His vision is blurry, but he is fairly certain that the bottle’s appearance remains unchanged. The contents have been diluted a negligible amount. He stumbles in disbelief, as a truly overwhelming amount of eye-watering, nose-melting stench refuses to leave his lungs and his stomach.
Sense of balance gone, he tries to take a step forward and set the bottle down on a nearby shelf. He misjudges the distance, and clashes into it headfirst.
POTION SELLER: “Nooo—!”
She is helpless to stop what happens next. The shelf careens to one side and topples over, crashing into the next shelf, beginning a devastating domino effect. As it does so, every single glass vial displayed on each shelf falls and shatters, each releasing its own vile miasmic cloud into the air. Though they individually pale in comparison to the “strongest potion,” the sheer number of them crashing to the floor creates an olfactory nightmare within seconds.
When the dust settles, the very air itself looks like a multicolored aurora. The room is filled with a vile stench that is utterly impossible to describe or identify. The POTION SELLER stands in the midst of it all, flabbergasted.
The CLIENT lies on the ground, face up, surrounded by splintered wood and shards of glass. The reinforced bottle of “strongest potion” next to him is the only one that has survived.
POTION SELLER: (distraught) “No…All my stock…All of it…What have you…”
She suddenly wheels on the CLIENT, eyes burning with tearful anger.
POTION SELLER: “What have you done!?”
The CLIENT is in no shape to respond. The POTION SELLER, in a fit of vengeful rage, grabs
him by the shoulders and shakes him into some semblance of lucidity.
POTION SELLER: “MONTHS, no, YEARS of work, gone! You…you barge into my shop,
discredit my wares, dismiss my warnings, and you…You feckless, ill-mannered, worthless—“
She does not even bother to finish the sentence. Seeing the reinforced bottle she had just worked so hard to prepare gives her a sadistic idea. She slaps the CLIENT awake one more time before uncorking the bottle, turning it upside down, and jamming it between the CLIENT’S lips.
He immediately begins thrashing and convulsing from the pressurized gas — half a cauldron’s worth — floods his airways. The POTION SELLER climbs atop him, holding him down with her body weight. One hand stays firm on the bottle rammed into his mouth.
The CLIENT’S violent movements agitate the POTION SELLER’S still very-bloated stomach. This gives her a second idea.
POTION SELLER: “I warned you. I warned you numerous times, you meatheaded oaf. I told you you could not handle it. Now, I will make you handle it.”
She turns herself around so that her butt — that extremely poisonous, dangerous, volatile thing — is right over his face. The CLIENT spits the bottle out of his mouth, just in time to see her massive ass drop.
CLIENT: “MMMMPPHHH! MMMMMMMPPPHHRRRHHH!”
POTION SELLER: “As I said, I have no more of those reinforced bottles or vials. Yet I still prepared a full batch of this ‘potion,’ and it has to go somewhere. Pray your gullet is not as fragile as that first bottle, you cretin.”
The CLIENT, for his senseless arrogance, begins receiving a hellish punishment that will last hours upon hours. The POTION SELLER shows zero shame or mercy in deflating the contents of her oversized gut like so, and in fact, begins cackling to the sounds of his muffled screams of agony.