Description

Perched on the old oak shelf was a tiny potion bottle with a cork wedged tightly in the top. It was filled to the neck with a liquid so clear it was nearly invisible. A black substance, like liquid smoke, flowed throughout the bottle like a drop of dye in water, never breaching the surface, never incorporating. 

Ruin, it was called. Made with a touch of chaos, a drop of vice, and a dash of shadows. Consumption connected the body to a power most desired and the mind to the dark creatures that possessed it. Ruin was an apt name indeed.