Dreamwater Distillate

Dreamwater Distillate

Ingested or Injury Poison

Type: Ingested or injury
Initial Damage: Euphoric hallucinations and disorientation
Secondary Damage: Cognitive collapse and sensory destabilization
Price: 350 gp per vial
Craft (Poisonmaking) DC: 22

Dreamwater Distillate is a cloudy blue-green alchemical narcotic refined from the venom glands of the Marais Dream Eel. Swamp goblin refiners extract the glands, ferment them in chicory spirits and marsh herbs, then repeatedly distill the mixture through heated copper pipes submerged in cold blackwater barrels. The result is a glowing oily liquid smelling faintly of river mud, burnt sugar, mold, and citrus peel.

When consumed or introduced into the bloodstream, Dreamwater rapidly destabilizes higher sensory processing and emotional regulation. Colors appear painfully vivid, sounds stretch unnaturally, time perception fractures, and victims frequently report hearing distant music, phantom voices, or whispered conversations emerging from still water. Mild users experience euphoric fascination and emotional openness. Heavy exposure often results in panic, dissociation, paranoia, or complete inability to distinguish hallucination from reality.

A creature exposed to Dreamwater Distillate must succeed on a DC 17 Fortitude save or immediately become fascinated by nearby lights, sounds, movement, or emotionally significant stimuli for 1d6 rounds. While affected, the creature takes a -4 penalty on Wisdom-based checks, Spot checks, Listen checks, and Sense Motive checks. Spellcasters must succeed on a Concentration check (DC 15 + spell level) to cast spells successfully.

One minute later, the victim must attempt a second DC 17 Fortitude save. Failure causes severe perceptual destabilization for 2d4 hours. During this period, the victim becomes highly suggestible, cannot take 10 or take 20, and whenever exposed to stress (combat, loud noises, taking damage, sudden movement, intense emotion, or spell effects) must succeed on a DC 15 Will save or become confused for 1 round, as the spell.

Additionally, while under the secondary effects, the victim suffers vivid visual and auditory hallucinations determined by the DM. Common manifestations include:

• Seeing lantern lights drifting through fog

• Hearing distant funeral music

• Believing statues or corpses are speaking

• Perceiving walls, water, or shadows as moving subtly

• Experiencing overwhelming emotional attachment or fear toward random objects or individuals

• Temporary certainty that one has received profound cosmic insight

Creatures immune to poison are immune to Dreamwater Distillate.

Lore

Dreamwater Distillate remains heavily illegal throughout most civilized districts of Ville des Marais, though enforcement waxes and wanes depending entirely upon how many officials are currently related to the smugglers involved. Goblin river clans were the first to discover proper refinement techniques after generations of accidental poisonings, religious experimentation, and catastrophically poor decision-making.

Unlike many narcotics, Dreamwater is considered genuinely dangerous not because it directly kills its users, but because it annihilates their ability to properly interpret reality for several hours. Victims have wandered into flood canals believing themselves capable of breathing water, mistaken strangers for dead relatives, or become entirely convinced they were receiving prophecy from decorative architecture.

Swamp goblins frequently insist that Dreamwater “opens the inward lantern,” though scholars remain divided on whether this statement is mystical philosophy or simply goblins attempting to sound profound while catastrophically intoxicated. Both explanations remain plausible.

Improperly refined Dreamwater is even more dangerous. Failed batches may induce seizures, temporary blindness, emotional collapse, or violent paranoia. One infamous incident involved an entire goblin river band becoming convinced the moon was “descending to negotiate” with them personally. The negotiations reportedly lasted seven hours and ended with three arrests, a capsized barge, and a municipal heron somehow catching fire.

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exist poisons that merely end life, and then there exist substances such as Dreamwater Distillate - compounds which instead pry open the mind itself and leave the victim defenseless before whatever horrors crawl within its architecture. I find the latter infinitely more disturbing. Death, for all its cruelty, is at least honest in intention. Dreamwater instead whispers. It convinces. It smiles with borrowed comfort while quietly dismantling the sufferer’s ability to distinguish truth from nightmare. Such things do not kill the body immediately because they do not need to. They first murder certainty, reason, dignity, memory, and finally trust in one’s own senses. What remains afterward is often merely a frightened animal wearing the shape of a person.

I have witnessed the aftermath personally. One man drowned peacefully in knee-deep water because he had become convinced he was “walking through the sky.” Another spent six hours speaking lovingly to the corpse of a cypress stump while weeping openly over conversations that never occurred. Most unsettling of all are those who emerge from the experience insisting it was beautiful. That is the true obscenity of the distillate. It transforms psychological violation into longing. The victim often desires to return willingly to the very condition that stripped them of agency. Few curses are so efficient.

The goblins who refine this toxin frequently defend it with tiresome language concerning “expanded perception,” “spiritual lanterns,” or “loosening the chains of ordinary thought.” Such rhetoric has always struck me as the philosophy of individuals too enamored with sensation to understand consequence. One does not achieve enlightenment by setting fire to the mechanisms responsible for discernment. If smashing a clock grants temporary freedom from schedules, it does not therefore improve one’s understanding of time.

Nor am I convinced the visions themselves are entirely harmless. The human mind is not designed to perceive reality without filtration. Those filters exist for survival. Dreamwater tears at them violently. Whether the resulting hallucinations are merely neurochemical chaos or glimpses into regions mercifully hidden from ordinary cognition remains uncertain. I confess I do not particularly wish to discover the answer. There are doors within existence that wisdom demands remain closed.

And yet, despite all this, the distillate persists. Civilization repeatedly creates instruments designed to erode itself from within, then acts surprised when they succeed. Perhaps that is the final cruelty of Dreamwater. It does not merely intoxicate the individual. It reveals humanity’s eternal hunger to escape itself - even at the cost of becoming something broken upon return.

Blackwater Venomtail Poison

Type: Injury
Fortitude DC: 18
Initial Damage: 1d4 Str and 1d4 Dex
Secondary Damage: 1d6 Str
Price: 2,500 gp
Weight: —

DESCRIPTION

Distilled from the glands of the Blackwater Catfish, Striped Venomtail, this murky, olive-black toxin carries the slow certainty of drowning within it. It is typically stored in sealed gourds, bone vials, or thick glass containers, as exposure to open air gradually dulls its potency. When freshly harvested, it carries a faint brackish scent, like stagnant water left too long undisturbed.

Unlike many poisons that overwhelm the body with pain or shock, Blackwater Venomtail poison works through insidious degradation. Muscles weaken, reflexes dull, and coordination slips away in stages. Victims often remain fully conscious as their bodies fail them, aware of their surroundings but increasingly unable to respond.

Those reduced to 0 Strength by this poison lose all ability to swim or hold themselves above water, immediately placing them at risk of drowning if submerged. This effect has made the poison particularly feared in swamp and river regions, where even a minor wound can become a death sentence.

Creatures reduced to 0 Strength by this poison are considered helpless for the purpose of Mireborn Harvest Instinct.

LORE

Among those who know of it, this poison is rarely spoken of as a weapon - but rather as a condition. Survivors describe the sensation not as agony, but as surrender: the gradual realization that resistance is no longer possible. Limbs grow heavy, breath becomes shallow, and the will to fight seems to slip away alongside physical strength.

The Mireborn are the most infamous users of this venom. They harvest it directly from living striped venomtails, collecting it with patient, deliberate care. Their weapons are coated not for immediate lethality, but to ensure that those struck cannot escape. Many victims are found not where they were attacked, but where they ultimately fell - dragged by water, or simply unable to rise again.

There are whispers that repeated exposure to diluted forms of the venom can build a tolerance, though such practices are dangerous and rarely survive experimentation. Whether the Mireborn themselves possess such resistance is unknown, but their casual handling of the toxin suggests a familiarity that borders on intimacy.

KELWYN’S NOTES

Ah… yes. I have encountered this substance before - though “encountered” feels an insufficient word for something that lingers in both the senses and the memory long after one has prudently withdrawn from its vicinity.

This is not, as some might simplistically conclude, a poison intended to kill. Death, after all, is decisive. This substance is something far more… contemplative. It persuades the body to abandon itself - to relinquish strength not in a moment of violence, but through a quiet and inexorable surrender. One does not die from it so much as one ceases to meaningfully resist the world’s claim upon them.

I have reviewed accounts - fragmented, often written in trembling hand - of those who survived exposure. What is most striking is not their description of weakness, but of awareness. They speak of watching their own limbs fail with a kind of detached horror, as though the body had become a separate and uncooperative entity. It is, I think, a particularly cruel experience to remain present for one’s own undoing.

And then, of course, there are the Mireborn. I find them… profoundly distasteful. Not merely for their appearance, though that alone would suffice, but for their methodology. To harvest such a substance from a living creature, to refine it, to apply it with intent - this suggests not desperation, but preference. There is a deliberateness to their actions that I cannot comfortably attribute to mere survival.

There are many poisons in this world that kill swiftly, cleanly, even mercifully by comparison. This is not among them. This is a thing that teaches the body how to let go… and then ensures that it does so at the worst possible moment.