Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Potion of Lover’s Delight (Patreon)

The words slithered through the market. They coiled behind the wheel of a costermonger's cart, narrowly dodged the hooves of some plodding draft beast, and — against all odds — managed to slip inside a royal coach. This was no one’s fault, of course. What bodyguard or man-at-arm’s could be held to account? Such gallant fellows are set to hold halberds high and straight, polish breastplates to a mirror finish, and scan crowds for cloaked maniacs wielding envenomed lengths of steel.  Yet neither their weapons nor their armor nor their vigilance were proof against the ophidian syllables poised to strike their charge. 

“Irresistible,” was one of these words. Another was, “Ensnare.” And a third word, which was most especially potent to the occupant of the coach, was the deadliest of all: “Love.” 

“Let us take small detour,” commanded Elf Princess. 

                                                                                     *****

The bottles were arranged neatly upon a countertop. They glistened in the noonday sun, sweated slightly, and looked for all the world like vials of fresh lemonade. 

“How precisely does it work?” 

“That’s the magic, Your Highness.” Witch beamed at her customer, hands spread wide in the act of the hard sell. “This stuff is Grade A homebrew. Does exactly what it says on the tin! Tastes like 7-Up! Guaranteed 100% effective and 99% unlikely to cause complicated subplots!”

“Well yes,” said the royal. “That’s all well and good. But again, how does it work?”

“Just gulp it down in the presence of your Prince Charming. The potion does the rest. Whatever he’s into, that’s what you become.” 

There came an audible eye-roll from the depths of the market stall. Its owner was perched atop a stool, idly reading a glossy new copy of Infern-Elle, and suffering from the worst cast of resting bitch face Elf Princess had ever seen. “The main ingredient is bullshit,” said Succubus, not bothering to look up from her fashion mag. 

“How do you figure?” said Witch. 

“Point number one,” said Succubus. “Potions don’t work like that. I’ll buy that they can transmute people, but there’s no way your concoction can know what some third party is into. I mean what, does it have levels in psychic? Point number two: Some people have exotic tastes. Suppose your little potion runs into a tree fetish? Or some schmo who’s attracted to statues? What if your partner wants to fuck deities?  There has to be some kind of limit, or else you’re going to run into idiots declaring that they’re attracted to rings of infinite wishing. And point number three: you forgot to specify a duration in the stat block. Is it minutes? Hours per level? Or did you mean for it to be a permanent thing? Honestly, it’s like you’ve never designed a magic item before."

“The duration,” said Witch through gritted teeth, “Is ‘until the gag stops being funny.’”

“Amateur,” said Succubus.

“Perhaps,” interjected Elf Princess, “A little demonstration might be in order?” 

                                                                                     *****

The sound of energetic lapping slithered through the market. It reddened the cheeks of honest hawkers, quickened the pulse of red-blooded heroes, discomfited the vaunted chastity of passing clergy. It was accompanied by the sound of glass clinking upon glass, as well as the excited heels of royal slippers making their way to some secret rendezvous.

"Good item," said a breathless Succubus.

"I know," said the fiend above her.