On the first day, Iggy took a cab to the Celestial Bazaar.
He paid the price as he passed through the gate - one minor memory. Somewhere, someone would be carrying around an orb that held it. That orb would change hands, over and over and over. A tiny bit of his life would travel across Satyrine, and perhaps farther. Because he no longer remembered what it was, how could he miss it?
Seeds of life, scattered to the four winds, he thought.
He was looking for a tent, or a yurt, or something to that effect. It would have a certain crest on it. A connection of his in the Order of the Makers had passed it along. “The shop moves around a lot,” his contact had advised. “Don’t expect them to just stick around if you want to make something else for them.”
He’d showed the drawing of the rest to different people at the Bazaar. Some had pointed him toward his destination. Others waved him away dismissively, either because they were too busy or he didn’t look classy enough.
Finally he’d found the place, explained his proposition, and watched the shopkeep take it in with an air of detachment. There was a book - a client list - that the shopkeep jealously guarded. But finally Iggy got a commission.
“An inverse philtre, or potion of hatred,” he’d been told. “One magecoin, on delivery. One week limit.”
In a way, everything in the Actuality was temporary. Everything was in motion - lives, Suns, magic, everything. Even objects of power could deplete themselves after a few uses, because power by its nature was not so easily dominated. Ephemera embraced that truth, and many items only needed one use to be useful.
Indeed, one lesson Iggy learned as a Maker was that every bit of ephemera had its use, even if the item lasted longer than the opportunity to use it. The potion of illiteracy he carried was useful for bypassing locked doors that came with written wards or curses. If you couldn’t read the curse, it couldn’t affect you. But if you found a way to bypass the door entirely, the potion became useless to you. In that case, what could you do but trade it for something more immediately useful? Thus the Bazaar.
Another lesson was that to ordinary citizens, vislae were freaky and intimidating weirdos full of mysteries and laden with dangerous doodads. “Their every breath is laced with magic,” some said. In the Shadow, it would be like people who took assault rifles and body armor to a local coffee shop. But not all of it was frightening or off-putting. Imagine being able to drink a potion that gave you that experience of first love. The physical desire, the heady ambition, the rush of being swept up by destiny, the intoxication of it all - you could have that feeling, and have it again and again, and more and more, all for the right price. Again, thus the Bazaar.
What did someone want with this commission? Why was it important to cause feelings of hatred? Iggy didn’t know, and didn’t really care. He felt a responsibility to keep people safe, of course. The vislae were, after all, priests of a church of magic, not dangerous hooligans. Well, some were, but you know.
Besides - plenty of other Makers came to the Bazaar. Junior members of his Order, eager to make things in return for magecoins, while their seniors and superiors busied themselves with more esoteric tasks such as creating God-Machines, bespoke baubles for rich patrons, and so on. This sort of work was how the lower degrees found their footing.
One way or another, potions like this would be made.
Iggy could hold out hope. It was always possible that tools of hate and pain would outlive their usefulness.
Iggy looks for a potion seller who’ll offer a commission. The GM draws the “Fleeting Moment” sooth card, which is a success on an Interaction check to locate someone. The particular card suggests that the seller won’t be around again if Iggy goes back, but there could be many reasons for that.