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The Strange Brew
At the edge of the Everfree, under a purpling sky, Zecora stood over a great iron cauldron over a flickering fire, muttering and stirring as she worked her magic. Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy, faces worried but resolute, stood close by, passing Zecora odd things from her packs and bags as she requested them.
Zecora worked by rote, chanting her memorized recipies as she added ingredients to the roiling concoction.
Give me those purple pulsing reeds,
with warts upon their hulls.
And next these dry and dusty seeds
That rather look like skulls.
I’ll add three drops of liquid smoke,
And one small leaf of Poison Joke.
As she stirred in this ingredient, the sky darkened and a chilly wind blew through the roiling smoke with a sound like a heartrending groan. The trio around the cauldron continued their work, Fluttershy giving an anxious glance over her shoulder.
Some brown pond-scum and river grime
And muck from in the bog,
And next some gritty yellow slime
That oozed out of a frog,
And things you’d wipe off from your shoe,
All come to complement our brew!
The boiling fluid burbled and released a foul mephitic steam, but all three ponies were used to bad smells in their own ways, and they barely wrinkled their noses.
Next, a morbid bit we bring,
A pale old moldy bone,
And now I add a slimy thing
I found beneath a stone!
It has no eyes or legs, it seems.
I hope we do not hear it scream!
This time, the sky brightened to a dull orange glow, and a swarm of bats, or things like bats, fluttered and screeched overhead. Zecora’s face was outlined in the firelight as she chanted, working a mortar and pestle.
I have some dried stale potion flakes,
Left over from an old run.
I’ll grind them ‘til my pastern aches,
And add them to my cauldron.
Like cheese that ripens ‘til it moves,
The potency with age improves.
The sky grew dark again, and more things flew overhead that surely weren’t bats or birds.
Now, from a mordant shrubbery
We add some bitter buds
And then a mix of lard and lye,
All slippery with suds
For there is nothing soapier
Within my pharmacopeia!
Bubbles rose up from the stew and popped in the sky with little bangs like fireworks. There was a distant groaning rumble as the sky took on a greenish cast.
An egg that’s moldered in a cave
For twice a dozen years.
And soil from a sailor’s grave
Moist with a sparrow’s tears.
—But now, remove it from the heat!
Make haste! Our brew is now complete!
The brew bubbled and bulged ominously, and Twilight picked the whole thing up swiftly with her magic. The three rushed quickly to Fluttershy’s cottage and raced into the spare bedroom, where Discord lay in uncharacteristically neat array, a sack of ice on his literally burning brow and a huge thermometer in his mouth that gave readings in degrees Kelvin. A wastebasket overflowed with tissues stained with various colors and textures of revolting goo. Discord moaned and sneezed, and as he did a wave of frogs with butterfly wings issued from his snout, croaking and fluttering about in the air and filling the room with confusion until they found the windows and took to the skies, which changed in color to a rosy mauve.
Twilight levitated the entire smoldering, steaming cauldron to Discord, who drank the whole thing in three evenly-spaced gulps. His eyes turned fiery orange and blazed; his ears smoked and his tail curled, the thermometer burst and wilted like a dead flower, then he burped a string of smoky bubbles that formed the words “Ah, potent stuff, that.”
“The only cure for Stagnant Flu is a revolting drink,” said Zecora. “Your pains should cease to trouble you, and you’ll be in the pink!” She held out three pills that would confound an elephant. “And now, these tablets you should take, and call tomorrow when you wake.”
Fluttershy comforted her patient as he gulped the pils, Twilight teleported away to restore order to Ponyville, and Zecora took up her cauldron in her teeth and turned to leave, as the sky turned color again to the soft and normal shades of evening.
Zecora worked by rote, chanting her memorized recipies as she added ingredients to the roiling concoction.
Give me those purple pulsing reeds,
with warts upon their hulls.
And next these dry and dusty seeds
That rather look like skulls.
I’ll add three drops of liquid smoke,
And one small leaf of Poison Joke.
As she stirred in this ingredient, the sky darkened and a chilly wind blew through the roiling smoke with a sound like a heartrending groan. The trio around the cauldron continued their work, Fluttershy giving an anxious glance over her shoulder.
Some brown pond-scum and river grime
And muck from in the bog,
And next some gritty yellow slime
That oozed out of a frog,
And things you’d wipe off from your shoe,
All come to complement our brew!
The boiling fluid burbled and released a foul mephitic steam, but all three ponies were used to bad smells in their own ways, and they barely wrinkled their noses.
Next, a morbid bit we bring,
A pale old moldy bone,
And now I add a slimy thing
I found beneath a stone!
It has no eyes or legs, it seems.
I hope we do not hear it scream!
This time, the sky brightened to a dull orange glow, and a swarm of bats, or things like bats, fluttered and screeched overhead. Zecora’s face was outlined in the firelight as she chanted, working a mortar and pestle.
I have some dried stale potion flakes,
Left over from an old run.
I’ll grind them ‘til my pastern aches,
And add them to my cauldron.
Like cheese that ripens ‘til it moves,
The potency with age improves.
The sky grew dark again, and more things flew overhead that surely weren’t bats or birds.
Now, from a mordant shrubbery
We add some bitter buds
And then a mix of lard and lye,
All slippery with suds
For there is nothing soapier
Within my pharmacopeia!
Bubbles rose up from the stew and popped in the sky with little bangs like fireworks. There was a distant groaning rumble as the sky took on a greenish cast.
An egg that’s moldered in a cave
For twice a dozen years.
And soil from a sailor’s grave
Moist with a sparrow’s tears.
—But now, remove it from the heat!
Make haste! Our brew is now complete!
The brew bubbled and bulged ominously, and Twilight picked the whole thing up swiftly with her magic. The three rushed quickly to Fluttershy’s cottage and raced into the spare bedroom, where Discord lay in uncharacteristically neat array, a sack of ice on his literally burning brow and a huge thermometer in his mouth that gave readings in degrees Kelvin. A wastebasket overflowed with tissues stained with various colors and textures of revolting goo. Discord moaned and sneezed, and as he did a wave of frogs with butterfly wings issued from his snout, croaking and fluttering about in the air and filling the room with confusion until they found the windows and took to the skies, which changed in color to a rosy mauve.
Twilight levitated the entire smoldering, steaming cauldron to Discord, who drank the whole thing in three evenly-spaced gulps. His eyes turned fiery orange and blazed; his ears smoked and his tail curled, the thermometer burst and wilted like a dead flower, then he burped a string of smoky bubbles that formed the words “Ah, potent stuff, that.”
“The only cure for Stagnant Flu is a revolting drink,” said Zecora. “Your pains should cease to trouble you, and you’ll be in the pink!” She held out three pills that would confound an elephant. “And now, these tablets you should take, and call tomorrow when you wake.”
Fluttershy comforted her patient as he gulped the pils, Twilight teleported away to restore order to Ponyville, and Zecora took up her cauldron in her teeth and turned to leave, as the sky turned color again to the soft and normal shades of evening.
At first I wondered if Zecora was summoning the Smooze.
I can't help but wonder if this is a response to the prose vs poetry debate. It's about equal measures of both :D. Either way, I found it a lot of fun.
One small technical mistake I spotted, "Pills" is misspelled in the final paragraph. I also feel that the last paragraph might flow better if the "and" came after the final comma, but I'm no English major so take my grammar advice with caution.
I can't help but wonder if this is a response to the prose vs poetry debate. It's about equal measures of both :D. Either way, I found it a lot of fun.
One small technical mistake I spotted, "Pills" is misspelled in the final paragraph. I also feel that the last paragraph might flow better if the "and" came after the final comma, but I'm no English major so take my grammar advice with caution.
I figured I'd pop into this one, since it's the only story right now without multiple comments.
I like the idea that Zecora doesn't have to use rhymed couplets when she's doing something that's elevated above everyday speech for some reason, like your ABABCC rhyme scheme for the spell. I've had a similar idea before. But when she does go back to her normal speech, you're inconsistent. The first time, she does an ABAB, and the second goes to her normal canon couplet.
The first stanza of the spell is quite good, but as it goes on, it starts breaking rhythm and stretching for rhyme. Even the show isn't that great with her, but with a good leading stanza, you create the expectation that you will be. It feels strange to say this, but the whole effect might have been better if the first verse was worse (that's just fun to say out loud). Or, of course, tighten up the rest of them.
The story spends so much time on the spell itself that it doesn't have any space for plot. I appreciate the effect of putting narrative between the spell's verses, and that's something I've done as well. When a poem will otherwise go on unbroken for pages, it's nice to get pauses from it rather than a single wall o' poetry. but in a minific, the reader's assured it can't go on but so long anyway, so it isn't necessary.
Then after navigating all that, we just get a little climax/denouement about curing Discord of a sickness where he was apparently causing inadvertent chaos, I guess? That's my read of it anyway, but there's not much plot here, just a perfunctory premise as a vehicle to write the spell-poem.
>>Bremen Re: the pills/pils spelling issue, I could be convinced that was an intentional play on words juxtaposing the pills with the liquid brew ("pils" is a type of beer, a shortened form of "pilsner").
I like the idea that Zecora doesn't have to use rhymed couplets when she's doing something that's elevated above everyday speech for some reason, like your ABABCC rhyme scheme for the spell. I've had a similar idea before. But when she does go back to her normal speech, you're inconsistent. The first time, she does an ABAB, and the second goes to her normal canon couplet.
The first stanza of the spell is quite good, but as it goes on, it starts breaking rhythm and stretching for rhyme. Even the show isn't that great with her, but with a good leading stanza, you create the expectation that you will be. It feels strange to say this, but the whole effect might have been better if the first verse was worse (that's just fun to say out loud). Or, of course, tighten up the rest of them.
The story spends so much time on the spell itself that it doesn't have any space for plot. I appreciate the effect of putting narrative between the spell's verses, and that's something I've done as well. When a poem will otherwise go on unbroken for pages, it's nice to get pauses from it rather than a single wall o' poetry. but in a minific, the reader's assured it can't go on but so long anyway, so it isn't necessary.
Then after navigating all that, we just get a little climax/denouement about curing Discord of a sickness where he was apparently causing inadvertent chaos, I guess? That's my read of it anyway, but there's not much plot here, just a perfunctory premise as a vehicle to write the spell-poem.
>>Bremen Re: the pills/pils spelling issue, I could be convinced that was an intentional play on words juxtaposing the pills with the liquid brew ("pils" is a type of beer, a shortened form of "pilsner").
I am a poor judge of poetry, but what I see here I mostly like. I leave more apt minds to judge that.
This is creative and whimsical, and for that I like it. I think this is one of those stories intended to stand out for its writing more than anything, and in that regard it works well for me. From that standpoint alone, this one ranks high in my initial slate. Some stories are all about the word candy.
This is creative and whimsical, and for that I like it. I think this is one of those stories intended to stand out for its writing more than anything, and in that regard it works well for me. From that standpoint alone, this one ranks high in my initial slate. Some stories are all about the word candy.
What really bothers me is the ABABCC pattern of rhyme.
Anyway, the way you combined poetry and standard prose is, in all honesty, amazing. The only way I can think to improve this one is to work on the poetry pieces. Can you make the rhymes a bit more... rhyme-y? Can you change the odd feeling pattern? Etc, etc.
Tier: Top Contender.
Anyway, the way you combined poetry and standard prose is, in all honesty, amazing. The only way I can think to improve this one is to work on the poetry pieces. Can you make the rhymes a bit more... rhyme-y? Can you change the odd feeling pattern? Etc, etc.
Tier: Top Contender.
I can't help feeling like this was specifically crafted in response to the prose/poetry controversy of previous pony rounds. If that was the case, then bravo, author, you succeeded quite well at mixing prose and poetry to tell your story.
On reflection, I really enjoy how the ending recontextualizes the rest of the story. Until the end, there's nothing in here that says to me "oh, they're trying to cure Discord." Then Discord's brought in, and the hints at bizarre imagery come into sharper focus.
It's a subversion of witchy, Halloween-y stories, using Halloween-y imagery and ideas, and ultimately pulling the rug out from under them at the end. I can get on board with that.
Eight four-sided triangles out of ten.
On reflection, I really enjoy how the ending recontextualizes the rest of the story. Until the end, there's nothing in here that says to me "oh, they're trying to cure Discord." Then Discord's brought in, and the hints at bizarre imagery come into sharper focus.
It's a subversion of witchy, Halloween-y stories, using Halloween-y imagery and ideas, and ultimately pulling the rug out from under them at the end. I can get on board with that.
Eight four-sided triangles out of ten.
I don't care about rhyme patterns and how does it fit in the poetry vs prose debate.
I really enjoyed this story. It first shows classic Halloween tropes and then twists them when introducing Discord. And I loved the cartoonish way Discord's sickness and cure was described, since it made it feel in line with the show's tone, which is not easy to do when writing fics.
I really enjoyed this story. It first shows classic Halloween tropes and then twists them when introducing Discord. And I loved the cartoonish way Discord's sickness and cure was described, since it made it feel in line with the show's tone, which is not easy to do when writing fics.
It was a bit slow to start but after all was said and done it ended up being a very entertaining read. Straightforward and fun. Definitely fits the mood of the month; the rhymes gave me a smirk now and then and they they were this silly kind of spooky that contributed to how fun it was overall. Could easily see this being a scene from an episode (and obviously the inspirations from certain episodes haven’t been lost on me)
>>Bremen, >>Pascoite, >>PaulAsaran, >>MLPmatthewl419, >>Posh, >>moonwhisper, >>georg, >>regidar
Belated Retrospective: Strange Brew
Congrats to the medalists, and thanks for the Most Controversial prize!
I knew that I would have little time to write in this round; I had a most-of-the-day commitment which involved a strange brew of its own. (search #fic for “What is GGA doing today” if you want to see what I mean.)
I decided to have a go anyway. I knew I’d have to write something that could be composed in quick small chunks if I were to have any hope at all. This, combined with an early prompt idea (“herbal remedy for flu goes interestingly wrong”) led to the idea of a witch’s brew verse, and I decided that whatever I wrote should fit a scheme I’d read in the works of Guy Wetmore Carryl, a sharp-witted poet and satirist from a forgotten era. I had specifically in mind his poem, The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven. (This is not a specific response to the prose vs. poetry discussion, but feel free to take it as a vote in favor of po’ work.)
I jotted down a few notes before leaving for the soiree, and added bits of verse as they occurred to me throughout the day. I woke early the following morning, arranged them neatly, and completed the framing tale just in time, leaving one typo to signal my haste. (There might be pilsner in there, or PILs; it’s all just potluck
>>Pascoite
Zecora’s speech at the end, taken as a whole, follows the same scheme as the earlier stanzas.
>>MLPmatthewl419
The Fimfic version is here.
Belated Retrospective: Strange Brew
Congrats to the medalists, and thanks for the Most Controversial prize!
I knew that I would have little time to write in this round; I had a most-of-the-day commitment which involved a strange brew of its own. (search #fic for “What is GGA doing today” if you want to see what I mean.)
I decided to have a go anyway. I knew I’d have to write something that could be composed in quick small chunks if I were to have any hope at all. This, combined with an early prompt idea (“herbal remedy for flu goes interestingly wrong”) led to the idea of a witch’s brew verse, and I decided that whatever I wrote should fit a scheme I’d read in the works of Guy Wetmore Carryl, a sharp-witted poet and satirist from a forgotten era. I had specifically in mind his poem, The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven. (This is not a specific response to the prose vs. poetry discussion, but feel free to take it as a vote in favor of po’ work.)
I jotted down a few notes before leaving for the soiree, and added bits of verse as they occurred to me throughout the day. I woke early the following morning, arranged them neatly, and completed the framing tale just in time, leaving one typo to signal my haste. (There might be pilsner in there, or PILs; it’s all just potluck
>>Pascoite
Zecora’s speech at the end, taken as a whole, follows the same scheme as the earlier stanzas.
>>MLPmatthewl419
The Fimfic version is here.