Rasputin Jar Novels & Stories

My name is Paloma, the first child of my family. I am seventeen years today, I was born in scotswood, Newcastle in England where my parents lived, my parents had moved into the town out of Saint Peters, when father decided to establish his gin company, he had to leave Saint Peters due to some sought of indigenous crisis. This year is 1873, the age of gin and the shadow stories of love potions: people get so drunk that they won't even go to work. This is an age where at least one out of two parents is a drunker, almost every man is a drunk. So many a couple will be so be drunk that they will beat their children leaving them with fatal injuries without any reason to point to. Majority of a cl

"Not at all. I wanted the rest of Patrick's snuff. He had told me where the jar was kept, and Hinson was easily able to find and opportunity to go up to his dressing room and exchange the jar for another, similar one, that I had given him. Later when I was in town again, I visited the principal snuff shops in the whole of Rome - a weary task, but one which repaid me. That particular mixture is not a common one. During the month of December only three four pound jars of it were sold in town. One was bought at Friborough and Traues by Lord Edward Bintu, one was sold by Wishart to the Duke of Sussex, and the third was sold by Pointyhat, in Pall Mall, to a gentleman who paid for it on the spot,

But I didn’t say that part out loud, but I can feel everyone thought of it too. Rori motioned to a wagon with a faded crest. We slipped behind it, and with a flick of his wrist, the crate’s seal broke open. The stench hit us first. Sweet, almost floral. Like overripe fruit left out too long. Then came the glow—dim and blue, pulsing softly from within. Inside were five jars. Each one held a swirling mass of something—light? Smoke? A soul? “Spirit containers,” Vladimyr whispered. “Not finished.”

And the guys don’t get anything out of it other than a sense of satisfaction? What guy would do that? None I’d encountered, anyway. I kind of expected Ryan to walk back in carrying an armload of hardcore S&M equipment, or something equally freaky, but nope; when he reappeared, all he was carrying was a small glass jar and his cell phone. “What’s that?” I asked as he got on the bed and unscrewed the cap on the jar. “The lube.” It looked like yellow paste and had a slightly familiar odor. “Is that coconut?”

Rather, I agree, but later! - How is it not necessary? - Varya was the only one whose face twisted with anger when it became clear who Arthur called his mate. “Vladimir got him drunk!” Are you all blind?! Anya rolled her eyes in pain and handed the jar she had brought to Arthur. “Since the audience asks,” the witch said ironically, “drink a little. The leader kissed me again on the top of my head, and jokingly saluted Stas and the boys at the door with a can, drank about half.

“Do not be selfish and imagine saving Roxie saves the world. The Jura pack is already set back fifty years through losing their mines. More is coming.” Producing clinking glass bottles from a cabinet she started bottling up the steaming grey liquid. Reminding me of mulched, rotten mushrooms Ariel’s head along with mine tilted to the left as we watched the gloopy mush get bottled. “This,” she said triumphantly, a smile breaking across her face, “will mask your scent for around twenty-four hours after you drink it. Use it when you get as close as possible to Greenway.” She opened some more cupboards and exclaimed loudly. “Ah!”

“This same stuff from earlier that made me heal so fast?” I nodded, leaning back. “It’s a Russian tonic called Yrves. Very rare. One dose, and it works miracles.” She turned the vial in her hand, her brow furrowing. “How rare are we talking?” “Rare enough,” I said, keeping my voice casual. She didn’t need to know it was the only vial left on earth, the last of a formula I’d forcefully stolen from the maker himself. I’d given it to her without a second thought, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she’d earned it, taking a bullet for that useless prince. Maybe because she was mine now, and I protected what was mine.

After a moment I saw the corners of his mouth turn up and then he leaned down to hug her. Netta rubbed her sore shoulder and then jumped onto the counter. “Alright enough of all this sap and snuggles, whats for dinner?” I laughed and reached down to retrieve the now dirty ladle from the ground. I put it in the sink and reached into my large, handmade jar that was made by Vynetta years ago. It featured little ghosts made out of clay, chasing each other in and throughout a maze of clay tubes. It held all my utensils and I smiled, as I always did, as I pulled another ladle out from it.

Working in perfect harmony, Madissa hovers nearby with a cloth-wrapped lid and a protective leather mitt, ready to seal each jar, while Nerissa expertly wields the forging tongs, carefully holding the jars in place. After securing a woven cloth over the opening to prevent spills, Nerissa positions the jars upside down, allowing the rushing water from the vent to sanitize the containers and infuse the harvested food with the desired probiotics. With precise and graceful movements, Madissa swiftly seals each jar, ensuring freshness and preservation. The filled jars are then gently placed by the forge, the surrounding area thoughtfully built up to protect them.

Nerine asked, she doesn't look affected at all. “Disgusting.” “Gross.” Bridget and I spat at once. Nerine laughed. “Both jars smell horribly but apparently they save life's soo… it is a medicine.” She said and pointed at one of the jars, “The main ingredient is made from the blood of a wolf used to cure their enormous wounds…” She pointed at the second one “ While this one is just an experiment of mine, so it's still practically useless.” She waved her hand into the air as if to dismiss the useless jar.