The Advent of Alchemist Hongo

Campfire Story Halloween 2022

“SILENCE YOUR CROAKS, BERNARD!” Alchemist Hongo cast a minor lightning charm at his pet toad, but the amphibian’s sparkling golden skin effortlessly reflected the spell out the cottage window into a nearby field, igniting a grass fire. Hongo could have sworn that the toad was mocking him. He seemed impervious to most magic these days, though Hongo had no idea just how invincible, exactly. He certainly didn’t want to fatally harm the thing. As much as he hated to admit, he did like the company the toad provided. The truth was, both the alchemist and his familiar had recently undergone a big change. For since his birth, Hongo was dead set on becoming one of the greatest alchemists that ever lived. Every day he spent refining his craft in alchemy. He lived a nomadic lifestyle for years and travelled as far as The Savannah to The Infinity Veil. He attempted gold transmutations and would perform experiments with Mercury (ones that were usually performed on Bernard).

And truly, in due time, Hongo did become a great alchemist. He achieved many feats that many would never dare dream of attempting, but no amount of notoriety, spectacle, or acclaim ever seemed enough for him. It wasn’t until Hongo purchased a spell carved on stone from a questionable Witch that resided in The Thorn, that he finally directed all of that effort, his will, and his drive into a single potion. A passion potion.

The inscription on the stone tablet read:

"If all of the toil, under there sun, Could not cease your thoughts, existential.

Don’t stop brewing, until you’re done, potion of passion reveals your true potential.

What a lifetime of battle and blade, could forge a hero of lore?

Why not demand the fates cut to the chase? And see what destiny has in store?"

It took Hongo three years to complete this potion as its recipe contained some of the rarest flora and fauna that Hongo had ever been tasked to find across the Runiverse. During that time, he never once let the fire in his hearth die so that his potion would retain its vigor. Deep down, he felt that this was his ticket to becoming a wizard of legend, a true alchemist worthy of lore. After much labor, the potion was finally done.

He carefully bottled the precious red liquid that shone like colloidal gold. Hongo made a quick toast to three years of hard work before taking a stiff drink from the flask. Immediately, his face took on an ashen grey color, and his lips turned white. Almost all signs of life disappeared from his body, his entire frame stiffened as if rigor mortis had set in mere seconds. The vertigo in his head was too great and he fell to the floor of his cottage with a heavy thud. His body refused to release as he began to spasm into a full seizure. His hand still gripped the glass containing the potion as a small puddle spilled from the bottle and ran across the hardwood floor like tiny rivers of blood. The sounds of his teeth grinding and his neck cracking mixed with the snapping of the hearth fire as he tried to cry for help. He opened mouth to scream, but the warbled cry of panic was drowned out by a white foam that blocked his airways and poured out of his nose and mouth. His face, now purple, cried tears of desperation as the last thing he witnessed as his vision faded to black was little Bernard hopping into the puddle to faithfully test yet another of Hongo’s potions by wading directly in center of the spill. And with one more CROAK, Hongo lost consciousness.

During the following days, the foam pouring out of Hongo’s face transformed into a fuzzy, mycelial-like material that engulfed his head and shoulders in what resembled a giant spiders nest attached to the floor. When Hongo awoke, he felt emaciated and dizzy. He picked himself up but couldn’t seem to focus his eyes past the veil of the delicate cocoon still enveloping his head. He reached up and tore away the veil and turned to look at himself in a mirror across the room.

The shriek of terror that Hongo erupted was loud enough to disturb the flock of ravens perched in the trees outside. His head had morphed into a giant mushroom. He grabbed the mirror off the wall and brought it up to his face; his nose was gone and his facial features were simplified across his shroom stalk face. He collapsed into his armchair. On the fireplace mantle, Bernard croaked his usual croak. Hongo looked up to see his toad’s skin now sparkled like he was gilded entirely in glittering gold. Aside from that, the toad seemed unchanged.

“I don’t understand! It was supposed to reveal our true nature! Supposed to unlock my potential! How is this big, stupid mushroom head supposed to help me be a great alchemist?!”

Hongo pored over his notes. Did he brew the potion improperly? Perhaps he mispronounced the incantations or simply added too much mushroom? It didn’t matter. No spell or potion could reverse the effects no matter how hard Hongo tried. He seemed fated to wear the mushroom head. Since then, rumors of the failed alchemist with the shroom head have spread across the Runiverse. These rumors keep him awake at night. His new quest is finding a magic strong enough to reverse his spell and restore his body back to normal. So if you ever meet Hongo, be kind and try not to mention his head.

It’s a sensitive topic.

Entered by: 0x8C89…C48B and preserved on chain (see transaction)