Black Forest Cider with Amulette and Bangaal

The gifts of **** from the party following the liberation of Captain Mertz's checkpoint included plenty of rare wines and spirits. For your great success, your party had been gifted bottles of Royal Red, regarded as the finest wine in the kingdom, but you'd also been given flavors for more niche tastes. One of those was Black Forest Cider, a surprising drink to find served in a church setting. There were rumors about the wine's origins… disturbing whispers that the apples used in this cider come from a demon-infested forest. The apples, so they say, are tainted with a poison by demon witches, one which makes those who imbibe it temporarily enter a discreet stupor, during which they become puppets for witches, malleable to every suggestion.

You figured that if the cider was still commercially available, that had to be a lot of poppycock.

Still, when you finally decided to break out the stock and host a nightly party, you weren't surprised to find that only a peculiar sort were willing to attend. Around the bonfire, you found the party's resident witch, Amulette, keeping a somewhat cold distance from the mysterious djinn, Bangaal. Amulette was seated with her legs crossed, fiddling with some murky purple potion that did not appear to be cider. Bangaal danced around the fire along with shadows of herself in a vague, red flame, the type that would make one thing from a distance the camp had caught fire in the night. The performance was enchanting to watch, though you wondered if it might be a bit late in the night to be rattling her jewelry like she was.

“Lavender Vin! Come and join us! Feel the heat of the night with Bangaal!” the sorceress insisted, holding out her hands for yours.

You declined, raising a bottle in each fist to explain why. The jet black bottles you held by their necks were pricy, after all, although there was little risk of spillage. They were corked extremely tightly. Suddenly, as if by magic– and probably just so– the bottles were in the hands of a few of Bangaal's duplicates, who backed away from you while juggling the cider over their heads. Before you could protest, the one you assumed to be the real Bangaal snatched your hands, pulling you into her jig.

“Ke he he! The djinn desires a dancing double, but I do not bow to Bangaal's begging,” the witch cackled from her seat, tilting her hat up so that her gaze could meet your own. “Prepare precautions or you'll find yourself her puppet!”

That sounded ominous, but you didn't really have a choice in the matter now that she'd pulled you in. You found yourself dancing madly{if Fat = True} at a speed that did not match your rather considerable weight{endif}, moving your feet to steps you didn't truly know, while the djinn decanted the contents of the cider bottles into a selection of brassy cups. “The Bonewhistle tells Bangaal that this cider is so strong, it will even curl the toes of a djinn! I am eager to taste it!” she giggled, throwing her arms around your shoulders and pulling the two of you body-to-body for a close dance.

“'The Bonewhistle' does not boast without first boning up, you belly-dancing bone-head. Trust me, I've tasted this tonic and I know the treacherous toll it takes upon untested tongues,” she warned you, sticking out her own forked, purple tongue for emphasis and pressing one finger to its dual tips. “The poison apples are poppycock, but the bile-bubbling backlash is to be believed. You'll need a strong stomach to survive this, squire!”

You felt no fear whatsoever, even in spite of the witch's very educated warnings. At the time, you thought that was a mixture of your own natural boldness and your sense of duty as a squire, but when you looked back upon the moment later, you wondered if Bangaal's hypnotic spell-craft had something to do with it as well. Either way, in the moment, you were completely fearless, laughing in the face of danger and downing your cup without a worry in the world. A great procession of Bangaals clapped merrily around you as the burning cider went down your throat.

The number of stars in the sky seemed to double, and spin around you, as did the already multiplied number of djinns about the camp. For a moment, the world seemed to revolve around you and only you– and not in the typical sense of being a fated squire. Just as you were ready to fall, Amulette came up behind you and steadied you with both gloved hands, pushing upon your back. {if Slight = True}Thankfully, the difference in your stature and hers was not too pronounced, so she easily supported your weight. {else}This was no small task, given the differences in your stature. {endif}

“Ke he he! You must find your feet, though you be frightfully fit to fall upon your face,” the witch complimented you, moving her hands from your lower back to your upper to slap it a few times. You nearly collapsed forward in a drunken stupor, stepping forward a few times instead to find your balance.

Slowly, your world stopped swirling. You still counted too many Bangaals, but otherwise, things were back to normal… all except for that lingering sense of boldness. Invincibility, even. You felt in that magical moment that if the demon lord himself was here, you'd arm wrestle him and win. You could suplex a cyclops. You could headlock a hydra. You could-

“Throw up!”

Yes, you could do that, but you were trying very hard not to.

“Bangaal is impressed! Even when she tried to make you barf with her loud exclamation, you managed to hold it in! What a hearty squire!” the djinn laughed, as her copies joined in applause. You were so drunk that you soaked in the adulation and praise, not wondering why she had chosen to try to play that kind of prank in the first place. Half in dreams, you pointed between each of the Bangaals, trying to count themselves all as they giggled and swirled about.

Amulette gave a loud “pffft” and moved between you and the final djinn, swirling her cape and placing her hands upon her hips. “Does duplication truly delight this drunken dullard so unduly? I so happen to possess a potion, t'would produce a more perfect parallel than that pithy prestidigitation!”

You had no idea what she was saying– you weren't sure if that was the drink or just her way of speaking.

“I'm saying the potion I was brewing can multiply one's person, but more perfectly than Bangaal's chaos magic,” she explained in something closer to layman's terms.

The djinn's eyebrows arched– she'd evidently missed the meaning as well until Amulette clarified. “Is that so? You mean to challenge Bangaal's chaos magic? As if potions could ever prove the equal of Bangaal's primal sorcery! Ho ho! It is to laugh, silly demon!” The whole procession of Bangaals joined in her laughter, creating a raucous refrain, like at a comedy play.

Amulette handed you the potion with a grin. “I know you're the trusting type, but don't take her tenuous tale for truth. Try the tonic…”

You looked dumbly at the glass bottle in your hand and the swirling purple liquid inside. What was this? She'd just told you something… Were you supposed to drink this?

You decided that if the drink was in your hands, you were probably the one that was supposed to drink it. That made sense. With a shrug, you downed Amulette's potion, then set aside the glass and wiped your lips. The flavor wasn't great, but it didn't make you feel like you were going to collapse like the last drink did, so you counted it a victory.

When you spoke, intending to ask Amulette to remind you what was supposed to happen, you heard five voices at once, slightly out of sync. You looked at the other yous and blinked in confusion, then, each of you began to count each other, one after another. Each of you slipped up, forgetting what number came after three.

“Four, five! My fabulous potion has forged five times the Vin for our fun-filled festivities around the fire!” she announced, tilting her chin up proudly. “Praise me as you please!”

Your crowd and the Bangaal crowd all began clapping in an off-beat cacophony, before the real Bangaal began to “tut-tut” and shake one finger. “Silly demon! Five is all you could conjure? Bangaal could create so many djinns, she would fill this camp from tent to tent!” she boasted, spreading her arms and spinning while rising slowly into the air.

“I know you’re narcissistic, but we need naught of this narrative negligence,” Amulette retorted, crossing her arms beneath her black belt bra. “The difference between my doubles and your dummies is beyond doubt! They have the same mass and muscle as our{if Slight = True} mildly{endif} masculine mate. Your ill-conceived illusions are only that: illusions. A petty punch makes them go poof! A tiny tickle tells the tale of your trickery.”

“Hmmm? Are you challenging me, little witch?” Bangaal asked, suddenly turning to hang upside down. “You overestimate yourself and underestimate Bangaal." She spun in place to face you, then clapped her hands with a sharp jingle of her bracelets. "Squire Lavender Vin!”

All five of you jumped, surprised to have suddenly become the topic of conversation.

“With your wish, Bangaal’s illusions can become a tangible sexual fantasy for you and your new friends to explore. Does it not sound enticing? A camp full of sultry Bangaals for you all to enjoy. A dream come true, yes? All is possible with Bangaal’s chaos magic-- not a dream, but reality! But only if you wish for it,” the djinn tempted you, surrounding you with a whirlwind of herself. The entrancing view of fire-lit sultry djinns in alluring silks and gold jewelry was hard to say no to.

A hand waved through the whirlwind of Bangaals, then snapped it's gray-skinned, long-nailed fingers in front of one of each of your faces a few times. “Oooor, if you are so inclined, your intellect will illuminate you to the indelible answer: reject her rash, reckless ridiculousness and instead, you will win a night of worldly wonders with just one witch. No number of narcissistic numbskulls can nourish you with the night that I can…”

It sounded as though your choices were now between generating a tangible Bangaal for you and every one of your clones tonight– at the cost of granting Bangaal a reckless amount of power– or accepting Amulette’s claim that she alone could handle all five of you at once with the finesse of five djinns. It was a gamble either way...