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Julia Barlowe · 02-03-2026, 10:51 AM

Thursday, February 9, 1922
12:00 PM
vibes

There was no explanation as to where they were going. Only a portkey fashioned from a rabbit’s vertebra, smooth with age and polished by unnamed hands.

When the students took hold of it, the world folded violently inward. Air vanished from their lungs as they were yanked forward by the navel, space warping and twisting until solid ground slammed back into existence beneath their feet.

Cold bit first.

They stood in a shallow valley cradled by forest, a narrow river cutting through its center like a silver seam. Smoke drifted low against the winter air, carrying with it the scent of peat, damp earth, and something iron-rich and old.

To their right lay a village.

Functional. Lived-in. Unadorned by romance or spectacle. Roundhouses of mud, worn timber, and stone huddled close together, their thatched roofs sagging beneath years of smoke and weather. Fires burned steadily within, gray and white plumes rising to stain the sky.

Julia stood silently, waiting for the last of the students to arrive as she pulled her robes tighter around her slowly-growing belly. Wordlessly, she beckoned them all forward with a simple gesture of her finger and led them into the ancient village.

In the distance, drums of war sounded as villagers - dressed in primitive, ancient clothing - moved quickly about, taking little notice of the strangers that approached. There was intention in everything they did. Spears actively being stacked by doorways. Shields were being mended with leather and pitch. Food was portioned and wrapped. Horses were groomed and armored, their breath steaming in the cold.

Only the village children paused. Through soot-covered faces and tight braids they stared curiously, but made no move towards the students. Along the villagers' skin were painted symbols, dark blue in color and covered their faces, arms and chests.

The woman led the group silently into the main roundhouse, where she indicated for them to gather around the main central hearth - a primitive firepit, surrounded by blackened clay pots hanging from iron hooks. Dried herbs and flora bundled overhead along with animal bones, beads and small clay charms etched with symbols older than written language.

Opposite the students sat one of the elders of the village - a seer or medicine man of sorts. Like his kin, he was covered in blue paint symbols and wore jewelry made of bones and rough unpolished stone. He stared at each student, seemingly studying them, but said nothing as Julia took her place beside him.

"It is the year 60 AD, the time of Boudica's uprising. The Romans have occupied Britain. They seize land, starve villages, torture those who resist. The Celtic tribes are no longer negotiating survival. They are fighting for it."

She looked to the man who remained unmoving next to her. "We are in the region that we know in our time as Norfolk and Suffolk, but here they are the lands of the Iceni tribe. They were an agricultural clan, deeply rooted in belief systems that heralded seers, healers and ritualists like this man here."

The man nodded to them stoically, but it was all he offered. "Their lands are actively being seized from them, their practices and beliefs being named for heresay, and their women kidnapped." She nodded towards the doorway they'd come through. "Warriors will be leaving at dawn, but they are sorely lacking in the sorts of potions and medicines they'll need out on the battlefield. Likewise, the villagers that stay behind - women and the elderly - will need a surplus of hearth brews in preparation for the injured and sick that return."

"Today your magic will blend herbalism and ritual in preparation for the aftermath this village will suffer; not for glory. Pain must be dulled without dulling reflexes. Infection must be prevented. Shock must be managed." She placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and for the first time, emotion swam behind his eyes. Courage, terror, pride, grief. His aged hand rose to rest on Julia's. "This village must survive, even if the majority of their warriors won't."

The fire cracked.

The drums outside continued.

*OOC: Not gonna lie, I'm so stoked for this class. Come on in! For now, take in your surroundings, listen to Julia's lecture and feel the tension in the air. Your student is now in the thick of an ancient Celtic village actively preparing its youth to go to battle where the majority of them will be slaughtered. Many of these warriors are the same age as your students - fourteen, fifteen and older - all trained from a young age to fight for their people and home.

Have your student imagine what it would be like to stand amongst their peers, hear the drums and know that the future of their village and home depends on them. Fairly overwhelming.

Anywho! See you in the next update on 2/8. ;)

Matilda Nordstrom · 02-04-2026, 02:03 PM

Matilda really hated portkeys. Side-along apparition wasn’t much better. Floo powder was a dirty ride, but not nearly as jarring. Unfortunately there was no option today, so Portkey it was.

As Tilly’s boots touched ground, her stomach rolling with the magic, finally settling when a few deep breaths were achieved. The cold hit her first, biting into her skin. She took her scarf and tied it tighter around her neck. Her hair whipped around her head, left long and unruly, now hitting below her waist. It had a mind of it’s own in most situations, but today she had a feeling it would need to be contained.

Grabbing an elastic she always kept on her wrist, She went about braiding it in two plaits down each side of her head. She could do it blindfolded at this point. While her fingers did fast work on her thick red hair, she noticed the drums, filling the area with an ominous feeling. These weren't happy, upbeat tunes.

As the group of students followed Julia in to the building, they gathered around a hearth that at least brought a wee bit of warmth. The story that followed had her transfixed. Why, this of all lessons, had her attention was a mystery, but for once Tilly wasn’t searching for snacks or flicking Benji’s ear. Her eyes stayed on Julia and listened to every word.

Maybe it was because Herbalism was her specialty. It brought her joy and made her want to devour books to learn more.

"Today your magic will blend herbalism and ritual in preparation for the aftermath this village will suffer; not for glory. Pain must be dulled without dulling reflexes. Infection must be prevented. Shock must be managed. This village must survive, even if the majority of their warriors won't."

Her mind was going a mile a minute. Salves that helped fight infection. Potions that would help relieve pain. Tinctures and oil blends that would help with a variety of needs. Rolling up her sleeves, Tilly was ready to get to work.

Maevie Golding · 02-07-2026, 08:16 PM

She thought she had gotten quite okay with these portkey landings but this one proved her wrong all over again.

The ground came rushing up against her feet with a force Maevie hadn't been prepared for, smacking her to her knees, hands shooting out to prevent her from sprawling over the frozen ground completely. "Ouch," she mumbled to herself and the packed earth, wiping her hands and knees as she pushed herself upright, the cold of winter already creeping through her clothes.

Her surroundings quickly took her mind of the low throb in her bones, eyes drawn to the village to their right. Professor Laurence hadn't told them where the portkey would take them and still wasn't letting anything on as she silently beckoned the class to follow.

Maevie couldn't decide where to look first. Houses that didn't look like any she'd ever seen before bordered the path, horses -- saddled and packed -- blew hot clouds of steamy breath into the frigid air, men in leather armour buckled swords that gleamed in the gloomy light. Drums sounded from somewhere she couldn't see, a steady rhythm that the villagers seemed to follow like a call, every hand moving in flow with the next.

She was too fascinated by it all to question where they were, eyes shining and bright as her head swilled left and right, trying to soak it all in at once.

They were led into one of the houses, the warmth of the fire a welcome exchange for the cold outside as Maevie found her spot among her peers. Across sat an old man, covered in the blue symbols she had already seen on the other people here. Maevie was staring, openly awestruck and fascinated, gaze lifting, heart freezing for a beat as she found him staring at her in return. Feeling caught, she quickly smiled her most toothiest smile, waving briefly but enthusiastically.

But it fell the moment Professor Laurence began to speak, making room for blank stupefaction.

Had they time travelled? Was that possible?! Eyes darting between the woman and the old man, Maevie's excitement bloomed like the first flowers of spring. The story told wasn't one to be envious of, it sounded rather terrible actually. Many of the people they had passed, preparing for this oncoming battle, hadn't been much older than herself. She couldn't fathom a life like that.

...was this even real...or had Professor Laurence hired a bunch of actors?

Maevie's eyes narrowed at the old man in curious suspicion.

Ruth Elliot · 02-08-2026, 08:14 PM

Rae was ready...for nap.

It should've been criminal to have a class as dull as potions after serving her such a hearty meal, and Rae was ready with droopy eyes and a mouth full of excuses when she turned up to the potions classroom. The girl wasn't above feigning illness and thought, her belly feeling the way that it was, that it wouldn't be too difficult to pull off.

What greeted her wasn't bubbling cauldrons and instructions to prep her station but a portkey and a promise of adventure, even if mild. She supposed she could be awake for that.

Rae joined the others and soon found herself in what was obviously a very old village. A real village? The jury was still out on that one. She couldn't imagine there was anyone in 1922 that still lived like this, and while it may have been an ignorant thought, it was her framework for such uncertainty.

"It is the year 60 AD, the time of Boudica's uprising. The Romans have occupied Britain."

Ah, so...not real then. Rae had taken a look around while they walked, following closely enough to not be separated but allowing herself the leisure of taking in the details of village life. From the glimpses she had gotten, it was obvious they were preparing for something, but none of it made sense until Julia provided the rest of the context. A war with the Romans, and they planned to march out. Well, good for them. When your land's been taken, the only real solution is to fight or be consumed by the empire of another.

Her father had said something similar to her once when he took her walking through the vault beneath the family's main estate in Florida. It had been a trip for her to be introduced to her grandparents, and she'd watched her father lie through his teeth to avoid a repeat of her rejection in New York. He'd explained a covenant that allowed for female heirs, borne from a desire to not have their family swallowed up by another. It was their own 'fight', she supposed.

Rae raised her hand.

"Fascinating as this all sounds, professor," she began, her gaze finding the woman's, "I think we can both agree I'd be of more use out on the battlefield with the warriors. I reckon you want the people to live after they've used our brews, and well..." The odds wouldn't be in their favour with something she'd brewed.

Besides, why would she want to sit down mixing muddy juice when she could be slinging spells and watching the world burn?

It wasn't like any of this was real anyway.

Benji Laurence · 02-08-2026, 09:13 PM

His feet hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Benji had never minded portkeys, unlike most of his peers who always whined and complained about how the sudden jolts and yanks upset their delicate sensibilities. He liked field trips and preferred them to sitting and rotting in a classroom lecture.

The cold nipped at his cheeks, the scent of burning wood filling his senses as he took in his surroundings. The village to their right looked old - much older than anything he'd ever seen. There were no roads, only a dirt trail that they trudged behind his mum on.

As they came upon the villagers, Benji's eyebrows furrowed, watching as the people - covered in what looked like blue war paint - rushed around the place, busying themselves with shields and leather-working. In the distance, he could hear drums sounding and for a brief moment, he caught eyes with a boy about his age, idly spilling a spear.

What the hell was this place, and what did it have to do with potions? Benji knew his mum was a little more eccentric when it came to her teaching methods, and she liked to plant herself firmly in the history of everything she did.

It didn't mean it wasn't weird sometimes.

Inside the main house, Benji was quiet, but his attention was solely focused on those outside, readying themselves for battle, Julia said. Against the Romans. Well, if Benji had any guess in the matter, it wasn't going to go well, considering what he remembered from his history classes, and how the country they lived in was decidedly not tribal.

"I think we can both agree I'd be of more use out on the battlefield with the warriors. I reckon you want the people to live after they've used our brews, and well..."

"Same!" Benji piped up, turning back to his mum and the elderly villager who stared them all down. "Send some of us with them. Maybe we can turn the tides with our wands, yeah? I can cast a mean incendio."

He would be much more useful out in battle than stuck here brewing with the village women.

Julia Barlowe · 02-08-2026, 10:16 PM

Most of her students were quiet and contemplative. A place like this, a time like this, required a modicum of respect and reverence for what was at play, and the -

"I think we can both agree I'd be of more use out on the battlefield with the warriors. I reckon you want the people to live after they've used our brews, and well..."

"Send some of us with them. Maybe we can turn the tides with our wands, yeah? I can cast a mean incendio."

Julia eyed the two that never failed to try and do classes their own way. "As valiant as your offers are," the woman said, "they have their own magic wielders who are much more prepared for Roman soldiers than you are. You're needed here."

And with that, she dove into the practical part of the lesson and why she had brought them all here.

"Potions are only as useful as their effectiveness. We can brew all day, but if we never put our efforts into practice, then its all for naught. You'll be separated into three stations as this village doesn't have the luxury of redundancy." She indicated to the group, pointing to Rae first. "You'll be outside, working on Poison of the Sleeping Death. It induces a deathlike sleep, but as the Iceni are not assassins, this will give them the opportunity to take several Romans as prisoners."

She pointed to Matilda and Maevie next. "You'll be in here over the main fire, working on Essence of Dittany. Simply, it is meant for wound closure and infection control."

And then to Benji. There was hope he would manage to keep himself in check. There was a reason she wasn't assigning him to the Sleeping Death. "You'll work over there," she pointed towards the far end of the room to a second hearth, "On Wiggenweld. It's meant for shock, trauma and exhaustion."

There was no time to lose. Brews took time, and dawn would be approaching faster than they knew it. "Listen to the villagers who will be watching and offering their thoughts. Follow your recipes, follow your instincts, and don't allow the distractions of the camp to muddle your methods."

Poison of the Sleeping Death

Essence of Dittany

Wiggenweld Potion

*OOC: Hello! These are canonical potions in early, imperfect forms. Julia's intention here is to take you back to your roots of hearth brews and ensure you can work under pressure.

In your options, you will see that all of them can either affect strength, weakness, onset times, or create complications. Your focus here is on judgment, intent and adaptation to circumstances.

In this update, you'll brew according to the recipe given but make your own call on the various options. Once you have a brew, you'll offer it to your test subject. Do not assume the subject's reaction. I'll have that for you.

Feel free to RP the chaos of the village as you wish. Your NPCs are also free for you to use and converse with. They however, don't speak modern English and will communicate via their hands and gestures.

Have so much fun! If you're late and still want to join, feel free to step into Benji's or Rae's station.

Next update 2/13.

Matilda Nordstrom · 02-09-2026, 09:32 PM

Julia pointed to Matilda and then Maevie instructing them to work on Essence of Dittany. An immediate calm fell over Matilda, she had done this before. "You'll be in here over the main fire, working on Essence of Dittany. Simply, it is meant for wound closure and infection control."

With a firm nod, Tilly looked at Maevie. She wasn’t sure what the young girls' experience was, but together they would get the job done.

“In your time, you’ll learn it as a clean, controlled potion. A few drops to close a wound, little fuss, little mess. Here, it is neither clean nor controlled.” She wasn’t wrong. This was primitive and dirty. Not your preferred conditions, but this was what they had to work with.

"Most of this village will not survive," Tilly’s intake of air shook. Her hand, resting on her stomach when the realization hit, causing her stomach to bottom out with anxiety. "But this will ensure they can save the ones who have a fighting chance. This potion closes what must not stay open. Idris here," Julia nodded at the man, Tilly let her eyes roam over the elder, watching him cut his hand with a dagger. She shook with the action, watching the blood drip to the dirt. "Will be your first patient."

Tilly looked at the man and nodded. “Sir.” Was all she said. Anything else caught in her throat.

Her hair tied back, look of determination on her face, Tilly flicked her wand with a “Scourgify,” over the cauldron they would be using. It was quick and rudimentary, but would help the quality of the potion they were about the brew.

“Essence of Dittany. We need to brew an infusion. Dittany is pretty delicate and the Wiggenbush Leaf needs to be torn instead of crushed. The oil is what we’re after, so we won’t want to add it too early.” Tilly was already working on getting the water into the cauldron from a nearby bucket. Then lighting the fire under to start the water simmering. While working, she was talking through the process with Maevie.

“It can’t be too hot, so we need to control the temp. Maevie, can you get the Dittany leaves removed from the stem? I’ll get to work on the Wiggenbush leaves.”

Matilda went to work on the leaves, tearing them precisely into four even pieces to get as much oil out as possible. All the while, watching Maevie out of the corner of her eye. Looking at the water, it was warming well, a few small bubbles rising to the surface. Not a boil, not a rolling simmer. An infusion needed the water to be warm, bordering on hot.

“Ok, water looks good, we need to add the Dittany leaves now, allow them to steep in the warm water. Next, we will add the wiggenbush leaves. The oil will be drawn out as it heats more. We have sap and honey here. I think we should use honey. Both would work, but the honey has great antibacterial and preservative qualities, so it will last longer.”

Looking around at the injured and knowing what was happening outside, Tilly figured the Essence of Dittany wouldn’t last long, but in her gut she felt it was right.

All the ingredients had been added, everything steeped until the color was just right. The spell was herbal, with a hint of sweetness from the honey. Stirring it one last time she decided it was time to bottle for easier use.

“Lets give this a try.” She said, dripping the infusion onto Idris’ wound.

(Powerplay Okayed by Maevie)

Maevie Golding · 02-12-2026, 11:01 PM

The mystery of the realness of their surroundings remained just that, and without further ado, Professor Laurence assigned them to their tasks.

Maevie sighed with relief when she was paired with Tilly, someone who knew what she was doing and that she could turn to with questions. Her own skills had improved some over these past months but it absolutely wouldn't save anyone if life depended on it.

Essence of Dittany at least was a potion she had heard of before, read of somewhere too. It was one of the most basics of healing essentials and hadn't sounded all that complicated. With Tilly by her side, Maevie was sure she could do this.

Otherwise none of these people would survive, a thought that submerged faster than she could hold it down. She felt a bit guilty for it and scolded herself inwardly for being so insensitive.

She still wasn't sure if the professor had somehow managed to take them back in time and these people outside were actually about to die.

Idris made a cut over his palm then and Maevie winced with phantom pain. He could have at least waited until their potion was done...

But her attention snapped back into sharp focus as Tilly began to prepare their workstation. For a moment Maevie just stood and watched and listened, uncertain of where to begin, what to do, or how to help.

Luckily Tilly was immediately jumping into position of leader and Maevie trusted her judgement without a flicker of doubt. "Infusion," she echoed, nodding once as though she was taking orders from a general. "Tear leaves, no crush. Don't add too early."

Sounded right to her.

Tilly filled the cauldron and lit the fire and when told to, Maevie went to fetch the Dittany leaves. She even knew which ones to grab this time! As instructed, she carefully removed the leaves from the stem, piling them into a little mound. When the water was ready, Mavie sprinkled them over the steaming surface, watching them drift for a second.

Using honey sounded logical enough too, and anyway, Maevie wouldn't have known a counter argument. So she just nodded in acknowledgement and agreement with Tilly's assessment.

Soon, the brew looked ready and Maevie helped bottle everything before stepping up to Idris alongside Tilly.

Craning her neck, Maevie curiously eyed the man's wound as the potion dropped against his broken skin.

Benji Laurence · 02-13-2026, 10:33 AM

If there was anyone he'd allow to maneuver him like a toddler, it was his mum, he supposed. With her hand on his shoulder, he glanced back at Rae, giving her a little wink before he was shown to his station, complete with a shell-shocked little boy.

“This potion won't erase his pain, but it will allow Cormac's body to keep going anyway. It's what the warriors will need in the moments they think they've given all they can. A warrior who drinks this must still be able to stand. If they sleep, you've failed them.”

Well, no pressure or anything.

As his mum wandered off to panic the next group, Benji stared with sympathy at the hallowed face of Cormac. He recognized the dark circles under his eyes and the vacant expression that went unmoving. They were the same he'd seen in the mirror; the same he'd seen in Kate's eyes before, and in all of the faces he'd grown up with.

Faces that had seen and experienced things that damaged the soul.

"Hey mate," he said quietly, stooping down in front of the pot and filling it with water from his wand. "We'll get that head of yours feeling better in a moment." The heart, well, that was a different story. Benji found the head was often easily convinced, while the heart remained stubborn.

The boy didn't answer, but crouched down beside Benji, watching silently as the Hufflepuff worked. A decoction, something that would add strength, seemed the best bet. A rolling boil was what they needed. "Incendio," he muttered, as the ancient hearth billowed to life, and the blackened pot was set atop it.

Once boiling, Benji tore the leaves, from the branch, knowing this potion was more about resolve than healing. Resolve wasn't always pretty, strength to remain standing wasn't neatly arranged and carefully measured. It was grit, and fire and tenacity. How the potion was made, Benji felt, needed to reflect that.

Once torn, he tossed the leaves into the pot in two large handfuls and gave them a stir. "It'll take a minute," he said to Cormac, who only looked at him in return. It wasn't unsettling to Benji as it might have been to the others. His own sister often communicated with him in only silence and looks. Sometimes, the boy realized, you could read more from those stares than you could ever infer with vague words.

As they waited for the hot water to extract the properties from the leaves, Benji glanced over his shoulder to the doorway outside. Villagers were rushing, but focused, everyone seeming to know exactly what to do and how to do it. The boy wondered what it must feel like, to know your entire world, your family, everything you knew was on the brink of collapse.

In some ways, he supposed he had an inkling, but he'd never experienced what these people were - or had, he supposed - experienced.

It must have been terrifying.

Properly extracted, Benji plucked a handful of dried sage from the table beside him and placed it in a stone bowl. Using the mortar attached, the boy ground the herbs until they were a fine powder. Into the pot it went, along with a splash of milk and a spoonful of honey. He knew Julia had said to choose, but when the boy thought of comfort, nothing tasted better than some milk and honey in warm tea.

This was...almost that.

Satisfied with his results, Benji scooped a bit out into a small cup that sat nearby and held it out to the boy. "Drink," he said, indicated with his hands what Cormac should do. The boy nodded, the first sign of understanding between them, and brought the potion to his lips.

Julia Barlowe · 02-14-2026, 12:14 PM

The drums had shifted from rehearsal to warning.

Julia didn't rush. She moved first to the outer hearth where the Poison of the Sleeping Death simmered in the open air. The mixture clung thickly to the stirring rod.

She watched as Morwenna stood still beneath its effect. The woman’s posture had changed — not dramatically — but enough that a trained eye could see the weight settling into her limbs. Shoulders slower and her hands less precise.

“Observe her balance,” Julia said quietly to those in the group. “Not her face. Her stance.” There was a slight delay in movement. A fraction of a second too long between intention and action. “That delay,” she continued, “is what you’re after.”

Her gaze returned to the cauldron.

“If her knees soften further, you've brewed too strongly. If her breath remains steady and her awareness intact, you are within range.” She glanced toward the horizon, as the village seemed to pick up in urgency with its movements and preparations. “Decide whether you adjust for safety or accept risk in exchange for potency.”

She didn't wait for an answer before turning and heading back to the main house.

Inside, the air around the Essence of Dittany was sharp and clean. The scent of herbs and delicate plant matter rose from the steam, medicinal and delicate.

Julia crouched as the infusion touched open skin, ridding it of the blood that dripped from Idris's cut palm. The knitting of flesh was subtle but visible while the bleeding slowed and the surface resealed.

But as Idris flexed his hand, the skin pulled tight.

"There," Julia murmured, resting a hand on Maevie and Matilda's shoulders. "You see it? Closure is achieved but mobility is compromised, slightly. Not the end of the world." She rose, reaching for the stirring paddle to give the brew a closer inspection. "If you refine it, you must do so without weakening its speed. War doesn't give second chances."

She studied the brew for a moment, noting the color was close, but slightly off. Offering nothing further, she moved on.

At the far hearth, the Wiggenweld potion had softened the air with warmth.

Julia watched Cormac closely, not his words or his expression, but his breathing. The tremor in his fingers had eased. His shoulders were no longer braced for flight. But his posture had shifted toward heaviness.

“You’ve restored calm,” she said evenly, light praise for her son. “Now measure alertness.” She stepped closer. “If his eyes track movement clearly and he can stand without sway, you are near success. If his focus dulls, even slightly, you have crossed into comfort without strength.”

Her gaze lifted as did her eyebrow. “This is not a bedtime draught.”

Outside, a horn sounded and the drums picked up again in urgency. Idris, the elder, rose to his feet. Julia met his eyes for only a moment, before calling out to her class. "They are moving sooner than expected." The light at the edge of the doorway had begun to pale. "You have one opportunity to adjust."

Her voice didn't rise, but the air tightened around it. "For the poison: adjust concentration or binder if needed. Consider again your delivery. Blade? Trap? Thrown vial?"

Back to the main hearth. "For the Dittany, assess speed versus flexibility. Refine heat. Alter sweetness. Reflect on shelf life."

And finally back to the far hearth. "For the Wiggenwald. rebalance clarity and comfort. Strengthen without sedating."

She stepped back. "One variable only. This is a fast adjustment, not a redo." She clapped her hands at some of the students that were staring silently, wide-eyed.

Villagers began to move in, eager to take their portions of the potions, their travel vials and flasks open and waiting for the final product.

"Quickly!"

*OOC: This round is about refinement and consequence. In your next post:

Describe how your student observes the test subject.
Decide on one adjustment (ratio, heat, steep time, binder, sweetener, dilution, etc.).
Show the student actively making that change.
Do not assume final success or failure.
Do not fully resolve the test subject’s state — Julia will assess in Update Three.
You may RP villagers, war sounds, environmental pressure.

Focus on judgment under stress, moral tension (safety vs strength) and technical refinement.

Update Three on 2/17 will determine final readiness before distribution to the warriors.

Maevie Golding · 02-17-2026, 10:54 PM

Maevie's eyes widened in awe. The tincture Tilly and her -- mostly Tilly -- had brewed barely touched Idris' cut skin before the two sides knitted back together like magic. Which, she supposed, it was.

Professor Laurence's hand landed on her shoulder, pointing out what she would have missed otherwise. Where a moment ago a cut had been, the skin now pulled tight. Not the end of the world, the woman said, but not perfect either was what she didn't say. When she moved on, Maevie scooted closer to Tilly, leaning in to whisper. "How do we refine it without weakening its speed?"

She really should study more potion theory.

...maybe tomorrow.

Stepping back up to their cauldron, Maevie cast a glance inside, noting nothing off at all. Which was hard to do without knowing what it was supposed to look and smell like in the first place.

A horn sounded outside, startling her from her thoughts, head turning to find the professor and her guidance. The constant thrum of war drums grew more intense, quickening, urging everyone on. The woman's words confirmed Maevie's suspicion. Things were moving.

Entirely invested in the setting and the happenings, Maevie's adrenaline spiked. They needed to get this done, the village was going to war soon! They didn't have much time though, the clap of Professor Laurence's hands like a start signal. Villagers began to pour in but Maevie was quite out of her depth.

Turning towards Tilly, she sought her older peer's judgement. "Do we add sap?," she asked uncertainly. "Does it make it more...smooth? Maybe the fire was too hot?"

Matilda Nordstrom · 02-19-2026, 12:33 AM

Watching the skin knit itself back together was a thing of beauty. Pride welled up inside her, happy with the outcome and how well it worked.

"You see it? Closure is achieved but mobility is compromised, slightly. Not the end of the world. If you refine it, you must do so without weakening its speed. War doesn't give second chances."

Shit…

Shit, Shit, Shit…

It worked, but almost too well. It needed to slow down. Tilly racked her brain trying to think. "How do we refine it without weakening its speed?"

The pressure was building, knowing that the people wounded or possibly dying were counting on them to create a potion that would work. That would save them. Their loved one. It was almost too much, she didn’t respond well under pressure.

“Umm… I’m not sure. The healing worked, so I think the Dittany is the proper amount and strength. But it’s too fast. I don’t…”

Her eyes roamed over the ingredients at their disposal, trying to find the answer in the mix.

"For the Dittany, assess speed versus flexibility. Refine heat. Alter sweetness. Reflect on shelf life."

Tilly’s brain was processing all she knew about dittany and the other herbs they had while Maevie stood by and waited. "Do we add sap?," Mae asked uncertainly. "Does it make it more...smooth? Maybe the fire was too hot?"

It was like a lightbulb went off in her head. “Maevie, yes! I think that’s it. Sap is more viscous than honey. It moves slower, so maybe that will make the potion heal slower. And I think if we adjust the heat down a bit it will also help with that. Let try it.”

She said, while immediately adding the sap into the mix. It would make the concoction less sweet and hopefully make it slower to heal, allowing for the potion to heal without compromising flexibility and mobility of the skin and muscles.

Benji Laurence · 02-19-2026, 11:24 AM

“You’ve restored calm. If his eyes track movement clearly and he can stand without sway, you are near success. If his focus dulls, even slightly, you have crossed into comfort without strength.”

Benji watched silently as Cormac's eyes blinked heavily and his body looking heavier than it had just a few moments ago. Shit. The kid was falling asleep. "If it's not a bedtime draught then..."

Too late. His mum had already rushed back towards the door and was yelling about urgency. Villagers began pouring in through the door, surrounding the hearts with vials and small pots open, waiting for their portions of the brews.

WHY DID MATILDA AND MAEVIE GET PARTNERS?!

He swore. His mum had more faith in him that she should have.

"Alright, hold your horses!" he barked at the people who didn't seem to understand what he was saying anyway. It needed alterations. He couldn't very well go spooning a sleeping draught to their entire village and hope the Romans would just tuck them all in for a nice nap.

Sage would add more clarity. He'd made the drink too comforting, but with a little freshness, a little extra herbiness, they should be right as rain. Moving quickly, he grabbed the bowl and mortar, dumping another heavy handful of dried herbs in, and got to work grinding and pounding away.

Once it was a soft dust, the boy tossed the sage into the cauldron, and gave it a good stir. This...had to work.

Julia Barlowe · 02-19-2026, 01:58 PM

The air inside the roundhouse had shifted again. It was hurried now, more chaotic as the villagers anxiously awaited their portions.

Outside, the sky had turned the color of ash. For a moment, the woman who had brought to life a piece of history, stood amongst it in quiet reverence. This was the moment when life in the ancient isles had changed - when long-lost practices and magic were silenced in favor of muggle beliefs. It was a battle that had already been fought - there was no changing the outcome. History was set in stone.

But the experience of it all was important as reading about it. Letting her students feel what those moments were like was important, allowing them to see, feel, touch and serve those who had lost everything.

These were their ancestors, whether they recognized it in the moment or not.

Julia did not call them together this time. She moved between the hearths as villagers began to crowd closer, not frantic, but urgent. Flasks and leather-wrapped vials were held out with steady hands. Clay cups. Corked skins. Whatever they had.

“Begin bottling,” she instructed calmly. “Measure with intent. These are not practice draughts.”

At the outer hearth, she lifted one of the sealed vials of the Poison of the Sleeping Death and rolled it gently between her fingers. The liquid within moved slowly, controlled, not sluggish. She passed it to the nearest warrior without ceremony.

“For blades only,” she said firmly. “Not arrows.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Rae, then back to the growing line of soldiers. “Ensure they understand.”

Inside, she returned to the Essence of Dittany. The brew had settled. The color cleaner now, less clouded. She uncorked one vial and inspected the clarity against the doorway light. “Strain this batch,” she said, “leave the next unstrained for wound washing. You’ll need both.”

Women stepped forward now — older and resolute — hands steady as they accepted the small bottles. One pressed her forehead briefly to the glass before tucking it into a woven pouch. Julia’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second before she turned away.

At the far hearth, the Wiggenweld was being poured into wooden flasks and stopped with hurried hands. Steam curled toward the thatch, heavy with sage. Julia intercepted one before it was passed along. Her son was often of the mind to just get things done, but this was important.

She rolled the cup once between her palms, watching how the liquid settled. It no longer clung with sweetness. The milk had retreated into the body of the brew. The scent rising from it was sharper now, herb-forward, with just enough warmth behind it.

Better. She gave a single nod.

“Good correction,” she said quietly. “You restored clarity without stripping steadiness.”

Julia stepped back from the hearths, her gaze sweeping the room once — not searching for perfection, only stability. The Sleeping Death held its balance. The Dittany had been refined, its surface no longer pulling quite so tight across Idris’s palm. The Wiggenweld no longer sagged into comfort.

Acceptable.

“That’s it,” she said, voice carrying without rising. “No further adjustments. Bottle."

There was no drama, only urgency in the woman's voice as she moved quickly amongst her students.

Villagers began moving in earnest now. Hands reached. Flasks exchanged. A mother with soot on her cheek took two Dittany vials and tucked them into a woven satchel. An older man received the Sleeping Death with solemn understanding, testing its weight before securing it at his side.

“Move,” Julia instructed her students, not sharply, but firmly enough that hesitation had no room to root. “You brewed for them. Now see it placed properly.”

She stepped aside, allowing her class to weave into the current of bodies — passing flasks, tying cord, explaining with gestures where words wouldn't translate. The horn sounded again.

Long.

Low.

*OOC:

Final update! Now you're in the middle of the chaos. Villagers are nervous, warriors are urgently waiting for their potion rations. Some are angry and make loud gestures at you. Others are quiet and contemplative.

Bottle the potions, mark them and start handing them out. Remember how your character feels in this moment. Is the pressure too much? Are they thriving? Are they getting scared at how chaotic everything feels? Are they worried the battle will come to them?

Class will close on 2/23.

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