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>Pan’s Philter wins with 5 votes
The ritual instruction from Tropanus is not a friendly one, despite your careful words of respect – Tropanus seems to care little for your conversational pleasantries, replying with odd grunts and vocalizations, in between sharing the verses of his ritual chant and the correct method of philter preparation - it is speaking half in the tongue of beasts, you think. You notice that as it chants, it continues to work in a step here and there towards you, moving through the inky shadows of the glen, when it thinks you aren’t paying attention. On your part, you shift on your sandaled feet, repositioning backwards as it advances. It either can’t help itself from doing so, or half-believes that your attention may falter for the split-second necessary for a surprise assault.
You don’t give it the chance – the moment that you have the necessary chant to Pan and philter preparations memorized in full, you firmly instruct Tropanus to lay supply one of its oak acorns on the ground, under bright-tressed Selene’s light, and motion him away with your bow, arrow nocked. You manage to do this with a smile. It stands there, breathing heavily, yellowed eyes staring at you, drawing in your scent, and then silently disappears into the brush. It unnerves you in the extreme that you immediately lose his position – your eyes dart wildly and you don’t dare to move for fear that you’d miss the muffled sound of a cloven hoof striking the soft earth.
The night is silent – your heart beating in your ears, your tired fingers tensed around the bowstring, your gold-flecked eyes hunting for any sign of the δαίμων. Finally, after an hour or more, you dare to step quietly towards the acorn and stash it in your leather bag.
>Potion gained: Pan’s Philter!
>Reagent obtained: Oak acorn!
You streak back to the palace of Hippomedon over the hills and valleys of your lands, your golden hair flying loose from your braid, and you weep with relief when you step into the courtyard. You desperately wish that Νίκων was here.
It has been 13 days since you have seen his face.
You spend most of the next day in Hypnos’ embrace, tossing and turning in your cot, sweating through your robes. In the late afternoon of the following day, you nearly leap out of your chair when you hear hoofbeats, your nerves still shaken. It takes another two days before the shadows under your eyes fade, and your humor returns – before your easy wisecracks alight on your tongue and take flight to the amusement of your οἶκος staff. You had pretended not to notice when you overheard them murmuring in alarm as you stalked the halls of the palace, and likewise, you pretend that there had been no interruption in your good mood once it returned.
>more coming
