Rhode took the potion bottle and peered into its mouth.
The potion barely even looked like a liquid. It was so thick it seemed impossible to dilute, a deep green sludge bubbling ominously.
Why does this look so much like that demon soup Gul'dan gave the Orcs? Yeah, somewhere between soup and shit.
"If I drink this, these undead will recognize me?" Rhode asked.
Amanenar nodded. "Yes. This is called a Necromantic Potion. Once you drink it, they'll consider you one of their own."
Rhode pressed his lips together, unable to resist the urge to make a joke. Pointing at the potion, he asked weakly, "Then what is the price?"
"Hmm? The price? There won't be any price." Amanenar looked utterly bewildered. Apparently, the reference went right over his head.
Fine. No pain in the bottle, no place in the tomb.
This cup of shit has to go down, no matter what.
Rhode gritted his teeth, tipped his head back, and poured the potion straight into his mouth.
Hmm?
The potion wasn't as hard to swallow as Rhode had imagined. Only its slippery texture felt a little strange.
As for the flavor... it tasted a bit like traditional herbal medicine.
More precisely, like that supposed cure-all, isatis root? So it actually felt fairly pleasant going down.
But soon, Rhode felt waves of stabbing pain inside him, as though they came from the depths of his soul, threatening to tear his body into pieces.
Then countless cries began echoing in his ears, yet they felt unreal. He couldn't pinpoint where they were coming from.
Shit, I'm hallucinating!
That crafty Necromancer tricked me after all!
This shit is poisoned!
Rhode was about to make one last desperate move and blast Amanenar first, but in that very instant, the cries vanished, along with