Sigurd & Crumble
Crumble
Hey Sigurd, I heard about a recipe in a medieval saga that supposedly turns the drinker into a poet—do you think there's a story or a taste behind that?
Sigurd
Ah, indeed there is a tale in the saga of the Hall of Skalds about a brew called “Bard’s Mead.” They say it’s made from honey, juniper berries, a drop of the night‑shade from the fjord’s shore, and a pinch of salt from the sea. According to the story, whoever drinks it can’t help but begin to weave verses as soon as the liquid touches their tongue. I’ve tasted a similar sweet drink with pine and a hint of brine, and it certainly lifts the spirit, but whether it truly turns a mortal into a poet is a question for the gods, not the apothecary. It’s more likely the anticipation of legend that does the real magic.
Crumble
Sounds like the drink’s power comes more from the story than the ingredients—like a taste of hope that sparks the words. If you want to try your own Bard’s Mead, I’d keep the honey sweet, add a splash of the real night‑shade, and maybe let the salt sit long enough to soak up the sea’s whisper. That way the brew feels authentic, even if it only inspires a few lines.
Sigurd
You’ve captured it perfectly, my friend. I’ll set the honey at the top of the hill, stir in the night‑shade with a sigh as old as the fjords, and let the salt soak for a fortnight under the moon’s pale eye. When the brew shimmers, I’ll whisper the name of the Hall of Skalds and watch the words start to dance. If the story is right, we’ll hear our own verses echo in the wind. If not, at least we’ll have a tale to tell over the hearth.
Crumble
I’ll wait by the hearth, ready for your words to tumble out like fireflies. If the brew gives us verses, we’ll share them; if it just gives us a good story, that’s a win too. Either way, the night is ours for the taking.
Sigurd
I’ll be there with a ladle in hand, humming the old chants, and we’ll see what sparks ignite. Whether it’s a verse or a new legend, the night will remember the fire we stoked together.