Of potions and proportions
Witcher Trick or Treat 2022 October 26 Prompt: Potion
Everything is ready and looking deliciously delectable. Well, not only looking, but tasting, too. Of course he has to meticulously monitor the progress of the process. Which means rightful and repeated testing of the taste. Under his watchful eye and with his expertise it is going to be the perfect punch for the famous fall masquerade. Loads of purplish black grape halves are already floating happily in the dark red liquid that is, almost up to the brim, filling the huge copper cauldron standing in the centre of the wine cellar of Beauclair Castle. After having shooed the servants out, he once again refills the small crystal glass with punch to check the colour and consistency. Yes, now it has precisely the desired degree of bubbliness and, in contrast to inside the cauldron, its colour in the glass is of an oddly opalescent, purplish pink. Exactly as it should be. And the taste, Melitele's tits! He takes another sip, closes his eyes and smacks his lips. Gods, how gorgeously grapey and exceedingly exciting. Thrillingly tingly on the tongue, too. Decidedly delightful and worthy of a poem. But not quite yet. One last and very special ingredient is still missing. The special ingredient that will make the fall masquerade so much more memorable and loads more fun.
Jaskier grabs the bulbous earthenware jug containing Fringilla's powerful party potion. When he offered to oversee the making of the punch, the sorceress warned him to stick exactly to the recipe. Which he is totally determined to do. Only, it is not so easy to put his good intentions into practise. In the flickering light of the torches and, not to forget, after the lavish and devoted degustation, Fringilla's handwriting is somewhat difficult to decipher. Is this a three or a five? Hm. Probably a five, he decides. And these three letters? Tsp? Fuck, what kind of word is that? Ah, of course, must be an abbreviation for ...? Jaskier racks his brain. Right! Tablespoon. 5 tablespoons of potion per 10 gallons of punch. Darn, now he needs to know how much punch is in the cauldron. With the servants gone, there is nobody he can possibly ask. Bollocks. Perhaps there are markings on the cauldron? He has a closer look. Eureka, there are indeed measuring marks! And a number right below the rim. 100. Jaskier sighs with relief. Easy maths and easy-peasy to proportion, even for somebody whose greatest strength does not lie in arithmetics, not even close to it. 50 tsp full. Hm, that is a hell of a lot of tablespoons. Is there even enough of the potion in the jug? There must be, Fringilla is a professional, isn't she? Briefly, Jaskier even considers adding a few tablespoons of the potion to each of the almost a dozen brass cauldrons with the punch for the festivities of the Beauclair common folk and visiting peasants that have been lined up along one wall, for why should only the nobility have all the fun? However, he does not want to mess up the recipe. As he would not dare to enrage neither Fringilla nor his little Weasel. So he decides to first see if there is enough. The leftovers, if there are any, he will distribute among the other cauldrons.
Always the optimist, Jaskier starts measuring and counting his spoons. ... 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 47 and a half. That is it, the jug is empty. Should be close enough. Better a little less than the recipe asks for than too much, right? Nothing left for the commoners, though, too bad. Democracy will have to wait until next fall ... With an enormous wooden ladle he stirs the punch three times counter-clockwise and once clockwise, just as the recipe demands. Soon his diligence is rewarded. A tantalisingly alluring aroma of bitter almond, nutmeg and clove suddenly fills the air. Jaskier closes his eyes and inhales deeply. And sighs again, this time with rapture. Too bad that now the punch has to infuse for at least 24 hours before serving. 24 long hours. Long, long hours. He can hardly wait ...