The Scorpion's Kiss

An excerpt from “Desert Brews and Blooded Spirits: A Compendium of the Scorched Lands” by itinerant scholar Vareth Al-Murash, Year of the Withered Moon.

 

Origins

Among the sun-wracked dunes of the Sahrim Wastes, where men and beasts alike cling to life through grit and spite, there exists a drink whispered of in both awe and caution, The Scorpion’s Kiss. It was first brewed by the nomadic Khejjin tribes, whose ancestors learned the art of distilling venom long before they mastered the sword.   According to their oldest myth, the first Scorpion’s Kiss was born from a pact between a dying wanderer and the desert itself. Stung by a sand-scorpion and left to perish, the wanderer drank his own venom-thickened blood mixed with fermented cactus sap. He survived, and dreamt of the dunes whispering secrets only madness could translate. When he awoke, he was not the same man. From that tale, the Khejjin took inspiration, and perhaps warning.  

Preparation

The brewing of Scorpion’s Kiss is a ritual as much as a craft.   Venom Harvest: At dusk, venom is drawn from the blackglass scorpion, a creature whose sting burns through steel and sanity alike. The venom must be extracted under moonlight, sunlight ruins its alchemical potency.   Fermentation: The venom is blended with the fermented sap of the Firethorn Cactus, aged in sun-cracked earthen jars buried beneath hot sand for seven days and seven nights.   Binding the Spirit: A handful of powdered scorpion carapace is stirred into the brew along with a shard of obsidian cooled in blood. This, say the Khejjin, “binds the sting to the soul.”   When done correctly, the liquid glows faintly amber under starlight, with a serpentine shimmer along its surface.  

Taste and Effect

The flavor strikes like its namesake, sharp, burning, and metallic, followed by a haunting sweetness that lingers like a kiss before death. The first sip numbs the tongue, the second, the mind. By the third, most claim to feel the Desert Spirit itself, a spectral mirage said to whisper truths, omens, or hallucinations drawn from one’s buried fears.   The intoxication is not mere drunkenness, it is venomous revelation. Drinkers may emerge laughing, weeping, or driven half-mad. The lucky ones wake at dawn with memories of visions they cannot name. The unlucky... are found stiff and glass-eyed, with their lips blackened as if by a lover’s poison.    

Cultural Significance

To the Khejjin, Scorpion’s Kiss is not a common indulgence but a rite. Warriors drink it before duels or raids to still the fear in their hearts. Seers imbibe it to walk the edge of visions. Lovers share it before a long separation, swearing by the sting that they will meet again, or die trying.   In the trade cities of the outer desert, particularly Vashra, where spices and slaves fetch equal price, a single flask of true Scorpion’s Kiss sells for the weight of a man’s arm in silver. Counterfeit versions abound, but none carry the same hallucinatory dread.     Notes of the Scholar

“I have tasted the Kiss once, in the company of a Khejjin war-priest beneath the dying stars. I recall the scent of iron and smoke, the burn of venom down my throat, and then... silence. When I woke, my hands were shaking, and my mouth bore the faint taste of ashes. The priest only smiled and said, ‘Now the desert knows you.’”

— Vareth Al-Murash