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<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">Fortitude Save 24 vs DC 20. No negative side effects.</span></span>
"Very well, very well, I'll drink your strange tea, Damien," you say. With a wave of your hand, you banish that pleading - almost puppy-dog - look in his eyes before taking the closest teacup in hand. From the violent orange coloration of the warm khemical, one might expect it to smell vaguely of citrus, and one would be entirely wrong. It has a powerful strawberry fragrance to it, to the point where it almost overwhelms the senses. "Though if anything strange happens, I expect you to take full responsibility."
Fiona snorts, her gaze drifting towards Damien. Unlike him, she's taken off her blindfold, behind which she hid a pair of golden eyes slitted like a cat's. "Good luck at that, Louise. Damien's never taken responsibility for anything in his life."
Damien chooses to ignore that, though from the look on his face, it was a difficult decision. He does <span class="mu-i">not</span> ignore what you said, however, holding up a hand to stop you before you bring the teacup to your lips. With more concern than he should have had, he asks you to, "Define strange."
"No," you tell him with black painted lips that have curled into a smirk.
Then, before he and Fiona can properly process what you just said, you knock back the full cup of tea like it's a glass of Hilde's strongest "potato brandy". Unlike her most powerful alcohols, it does not burn your throat on the way down. In fact, it tastes quite pleasant, exactly how it smells. It's as if someone had distilled the essence of a field of freshly ripened strawberries in summer into an infusion for an herbal tea. It's enough to make the smirk on your face relax into a smile.
No, it's more than that. It relaxes your entire body, from your head all the way down to your toes. Every muscle goes slack, every tension in you body is lifted away by the sensation of lying still atop a bed of strawberry roses. All the troubles, all the heresy you've dealt with feels so very far away now, so distant that it cannot really matter - can it?
The cup falls away from your hand. You are vaguely aware of the fact that Fiona catches it, of the fact that she and Damien are exchanging concerned looks. The soft cushions on the cot greet you as you fall back into them, but they are just as distant as all of your troubles.
Your pupils - both natural and unnatural - dilate.
You see a light shine on Damien's finger, an old doctor's cantrip shining brightly, and then...
>You are a child again. No, you just graduated from childhood, and it is your maiden's debut.
>The king awaits your presence. He is eager to meet the rumored "Maid of Charlemont". The Grand Duke's butler frets over your appearance...
>The war is over, the men of Alans driven back. It is your second introduction to society, now to the hungry wolves named "the nobility".
>A stein of good beer gets knocked over by a foolish young man who does not understand how peace is bought.
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