The Elixir of Strength

One more addition and my brew were finished. The simple, topped spoon of ivory-colored dust should do the trick. I bought it earlier this winter a few streets from here, and so far, I think it works. I was unsure at first, but it has done exactly what it was supposed to.

I cupped the bottle and shook it with force until the powder was mixed with the fluids that were already there. With ease, I had mixed an elixir of spirited awareness. It was the potion of future champions, heroes, or other such grandiose titles.

I licked my palm and got a taste of the brew. It was citrusy and sweet, with a bitter edge to it. A lot better than last time, when I missed several components.

It was time to put in the work. I chugged a mouthful and then another before rising from the wooden bench, and out into the bright corridor. The torches were magical orbs inside glass casings. How they could shine so brightly without fire, I didn’t know, but most dwellings used ones similar to these.

The mages sure knew their stuff.

I finally approached the gate I sought and entered. The atmosphere threw itself onto me as I stepped through the doorway. Damp and hazy with a heavy scent of musk and triumph. It was here that champions were made, and I would one day become a hero.

I gulped down more of the potion and looked to my scroll for directions. I had already forgotten where I needed to start and had a scribe take notes for me. He had once been a warrior himself, however, now he takes more pleasure in showing others the path that he once took.

I’d say he didn’t look like much of a scribe and that it was a warrior in him still, but I guess he knows better than I do. I’m no more than an apprentice at this point and shouldn’t presume anything of those who’re obviously superior to me.

My elixir was half-empty when I finally arrived at my station. Today, I would focus on my strength. I had to be strong if I were to wield the mightiest weapons. That also meant I had to drink a potion of recovery later tonight. If not, the exercises might be in vain.

I peered around the room when the movement became a natural part of my being. One man was clearly already a great warrior. I wondered what potions he used to drink to become so strong. Some would suggest he’d used enchantments as well, to get stronger quickly. I didn’t have the eyes for such things, nor did I bother to take an interest.

A fair-skinned woman kept exercising her agility and had done so for a while. I recognized her as one of the regular fighters who trained here. The tall and slender blonde reminded me of the Norse Valkyries, who’d been great warrior women from Scandinavia. She caught me staring and shot me a foul look before turning away again. Some claimed it was rude to stare, but I didn’t understand why.

We were all training toward the same goals here. I wanted to admire those who were above my level and inspire those below. We needed more heroes, I kept stating in my mind as I pushed myself further than the last time I was here.

Then I walked over to the ropes and emptied the elixir. The last exercise had me feeling winded and my vision started to blur, but the last drop of my potion jolted energy back into my aching body. I felt renewed and unstoppable as I lifted the ropes and started to pull, over and over again. The rope was tied to a bundle of heavy rocks and I could decide how many I wanted to lift.

I couldn’t determine if the drumming came from inside my ears, or the magical sound boxes in the corners of the hall. Either way, I kept pulling the ropes until sweat had soaked my tunic and I lost my grip.

My ears kept drumming as I sat panting on the leathered bench. It got louder the longer I sat still and the slower I breathed. My vision had darkened again, more so than earlier. I kept staring forward and decided not to stand for as long as it took for my eyes to work again. It could’ve been a side effect of the elixir.

I had trained hard, sure, but never had I felt so empty afterward. My hands started shaking and the sweaty tunic felt cold against my back. I still had next to no vision and my ears kept drumming, painfully now as it spread to the back of my head.

A dark shape entered my field of view and waved what looked like a hand in front of me. I didn’t respond, didn’t want to. It kept waving, before turning to another shape further back. It disappeared, leaving only me and the closest one alone.

It kept calling, I figured. Calling my name. I wondered why. Did it know me? I didn’t recall knowing a dark shape. Could it be a demon? If it was, it probably wanted to strike a deal with me. One that I couldn’t resist. The throbbing seized somewhat and eased into a constant high-pitched note. It wasn’t pleasant, but it made the demon’s words less audible.

The other shape came back at an inhuman pace. I figured it had to be another demon. It gave me something. A bottle or vial perhaps. Then it struck me. It was another potion. The fiend offered me a potion. It would probably give me immense power. But at what cost?

My hands were still trembling as I raised the bottle toward my lips. I hesitated at first but figured that whatever bad would come of it, I would be more powerful than anyone afterward. And so, I drank. I drank it all. I gobbled every last drop of it with an immense hunger. Then my strength returned, slowly at first. My vision too. The shape of the demon looked more and more human until my eyes could adjust to its features.

It didn’t take long before I realized it was no demon, but my scribe who stood before me. He gawked at me with wide and attentive eyes as I recovered. When I felt renewed, I lifted the bottle and looked at it. It was a restorative potion, labeled brown and white with letters that said, fat-free recovery drink, and, 40 grams of protein. I thanked him and left the studio, claiming I’d had enough exercise for today.