Dungeon delvers may be able to make their own valuable materials as they go. In the right hands, demon ichor, giant ant carapaces, and Spleens Man Was Not Meant To Know may be immensely valuable as aids to enchantment, dyeing, or perfumery.
Patty: This needs more eye-of-newt.
Selma: You always want more eye-of-newt. If it were up to you, the brew would be nothing but newt-eyes.
Selma: You always want more eye-of-newt. If it were up to you, the brew would be nothing but newt-eyes.
Tsotha displayed a broad ring of curious design on his finger. He pressed his fingers together and on the inner side of the ring a tiny steel fang darted out like a snake's tongue.
"It is steeped in the juice of the purple lotus which grows in the ghost-haunted swamps of southern Stygia," said the magician. "Its touch produces temporary paralysis."
"It is steeped in the juice of the purple lotus which grows in the ghost-haunted swamps of southern Stygia," said the magician. "Its touch produces temporary paralysis."
Eddie: Dimension-dooring many large objects... we'll need one xorn testicle for each ship... so that's fifty six xorn testicles.
Meegs: Where in Ch'thier's brassiere did you get—?
Eddie: Don't ask!
Meegs: Where in Ch'thier's brassiere did you get—?
Eddie: Don't ask!
Willow: Are these newt eyes?
Giles: No, too rich for my blood, I'm afraid. No, these are salamander eyes, it's the cataracts which give them their newt-like appearance. They're really equally effective, though, it's... just a matter of overcoming snobberies.
Giles: No, too rich for my blood, I'm afraid. No, these are salamander eyes, it's the cataracts which give them their newt-like appearance. They're really equally effective, though, it's... just a matter of overcoming snobberies.
Eye of newt, I cast a hex on you
Grandma's wig, this'll make you big
Kitten spit, soon your pants won't fit
Pantalones giganticus!
(Oh, no, not again!)
Grandma's wig, this'll make you big
Kitten spit, soon your pants won't fit
Pantalones giganticus!
(Oh, no, not again!)
— "Ashley's Theme", WarioWare: Touched!
Oh, snow and rain are not enough!
Oh, we must make some brand-new stuff!
So feed the fire with wet mouse hair.
Burn an onion. Burn a chair.
Burn a whisker from your chin
And burn a long sour lizard skin.
Burn yellow twigs and burn red rust.
And burn a stocking filled with dust.
Make magic smoke, green, thick and hot!
(It sure smells dreadful, does it not?)
That means the smoke is now just right
So quick! Before the day is light
Go, magic smoke! Go high! Go high!
Go rise into the kingdom's sky!
Go make the oobleck tumble down
On every street, on every town.
Go make the wondrous oobleck fall!
Oh, bring down oobleck on us all!
Oh, we must make some brand-new stuff!
So feed the fire with wet mouse hair.
Burn an onion. Burn a chair.
Burn a whisker from your chin
And burn a long sour lizard skin.
Burn yellow twigs and burn red rust.
And burn a stocking filled with dust.
Make magic smoke, green, thick and hot!
(It sure smells dreadful, does it not?)
That means the smoke is now just right
So quick! Before the day is light
Go, magic smoke! Go high! Go high!
Go rise into the kingdom's sky!
Go make the oobleck tumble down
On every street, on every town.
Go make the wondrous oobleck fall!
Oh, bring down oobleck on us all!
—The Magicians, Bartholomew and the Oobleck
Stoke the fire for the cauldron
Make him love me
Add the hemlock and his pretty lock of hair
Add the wings of a young crow
To fly him to my door
And bind him to my side forever more
Add the willow and the salt
To make him miss me
Give him eagerness for me and me alone
Sprinkle in some poppy seed
To charm all of his dreams
To dream of only me and nothing more
Make him love me
Add the hemlock and his pretty lock of hair
Add the wings of a young crow
To fly him to my door
And bind him to my side forever more
Add the willow and the salt
To make him miss me
Give him eagerness for me and me alone
Sprinkle in some poppy seed
To charm all of his dreams
To dream of only me and nothing more
You take a bucketful of steam
And a dozen rooster eggs
And you mix 'em up gently
With a bushel full of goldfish legs
And you hang 'em on a sky hook
In the midnight sun
And then you fry 'em
Until they're done
And a dozen rooster eggs
And you mix 'em up gently
With a bushel full of goldfish legs
And you hang 'em on a sky hook
In the midnight sun
And then you fry 'em
Until they're done
—Louis Prima, "The Lip"
