[ID: a banner showing a row of three potion bottles, white, blue, and yellow, against a dark brown background. The text to the right reads: “A Rival Most Vial” and “Potioneering for Love and Profit.” end ID]
Ambrose & Master Pearce: Snippets
Pearce, Ambrose’s potion master/mentor/absolute failure of a father figure, is one of those characters who haunts the narrative without being there. Here are some examples:
✨ Step 1, Preheat the Cauldron:
“Come on, Ames.” Dawn smiled. “This is your new neighbor. It’s exciting.”
“No, it isn’t.” Ambrose folded his cleaning cloth. “Master Pearce always said, he who brews fastest—“
“Brews alone.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “I know.”
✨ Step 2, Measure the Catalyst:
“Oh.” Eli’s face brightened as he unraveled the scroll himself. “That’s fun.”
Ambrose grimaced. Fun would not be the word he would have chosen for the incessant messages, nor what old Master Pearce would have chosen. Pearce had erased all the names from the Griffin’s Claw rose long ago, and Ambrose had kept the names erased upon his inheritance.
“Well, I should be going…” He looked to the door—but Eli was already holding up a quill.
“Weren’t you going to add your—?”
“No, no,” Ambrose said too quickly.
✨ Step 4, Add Salt:
“You, uh…all right there?” a voice snapped Ambrose out of his fuming surveillance of the rival store. He quickly straightened his robes and turned to his customer, a gnome pushing a healing potion across the counter.
“Perfectly fine, thank you,” he said, and rung up the customer without further conversation. Which was quite how everything was supposed to go—Master Pearce had always instructed him not to bother the customers. They didn’t want small talk, they wanted to buy potions. Best not to bother them, or anyone else, for that matter. Ambrose found such consistency in social decorum comforting.
But as laughter and gossip spilled out of Eli’s Elixirs, he couldn’t help but wonder what they were chatting about.
✨ Step 13, Wipe Clean:
“Down here is fine. Let me just…” He grabbed the stool from the front counter and carried it in. “Here. That should…um, work…”
After placing the stool, he ran through a quick safety check of his equipment, if only to ground himself. When was the last time he had someone else in his workroom as he brewed? It would have been years ago, with Master Pearce. He could recall his presence as clearly as if he were there—watery eyes, gruff voice, hardly a break in his frown when Ambrose held up a successful potion…
✨ Step 18, Snack Break:
“Always knew you’d be better than Pearce one day.” Grim sat back and shook their head. Banneker scoffed as he reached for a dumpling.
“Please,” he said. “He’s always been better than Pearce.” He rolled his eyes and waved his dumpling around. “Dumb Pearce, always with the don’t bother anyone, don’t owe anyone…”
Grim gave an affirming grunt. “Don’t come to street meetings, don’t come to bake-offs…”
“Don’t smile, don’t laugh…” Banneker stuffed the dumpling into his mouth. “Ugh, soboring.”
“Wasn’t that bad,” Ambrose mumbled, then nudged Eli. “How are the dumplings? Are they all right?”
Eli’s stomach churned as he quietly calculated how many years Ambrose had spent under Pearce’s influence, and he suddenly felt very, very grateful that Ambrose was sitting there, smiling at him.
✨ Step 21, Separate the Layers:
But the words went unanswered. Eli stood, wiped off his knees, and stared at the mute stone-speak. “How long has this been like that?” he asked. His tone was soft, but the undercurrent of anger flared deep.
“It’s…” Ambrose’s voice came out raspy, barely there, as if he had been smoking a pipe all day. The words stabbed at his throat as he spoke. “Always been like that. Pearce removed them—“
“Pearce, that son of a wood-eating—!” Eli burst, then ran his hands through his hair. “What if I hadn’t been here?” He started to pace. “What if I had chosen not to come in, or even walked away two seconds before? You would—you would’ve…”
✨ Step 23, Break it Down:
Soon he was standing in the street, just him and the quiet, dark air. He sighed and leaned more heavily on the staff in his hand. How much like Master Pearce he must look right now. Gnarled staff, potion master robes, guild signet ring. Standing alone with no one to call on.
