Lillipur Tiziana Terenzi 2013

It had always been the master classes at the Academy of Fragrance City that attracted special attention throughout the land. Were all the ingredients present? Had the goblins hoarded enough lavender, pruned the incense bushes in time, and prepared the precious iris roots in a professional manner?
Professor Olfaktio Galbanus Nosewise did not concern himself with such trivialities. His goal was to initiate the students into the high art of perfumery - a rather demanding undertaking, not least given the ethnic diversity that thrived in his laboratory. Preliminary exams, various tests, and the dreaded internship at the alchemical faculty had already drastically reduced the number of participants: A mere six students had recommended themselves for the master class - and were now grappling with the task that Professor Nosewise had set for them to conclude: “Create a perfume that reconciles opposites and reflects the diversity of our country. The clock is ticking - starting now!”
Blumilas wore his typical haughty expression as he gathered lemon essence, birch sap, pepper, and thyme from the shelves with pointed fingers. “Stupid elf, stupid,” muttered Par’Feng, who prided himself on being the first and only G’Ork to pass the entrance exam at the academy. He would show Blumilas where the pepper grows - he thought grimly as he confidently reached for cinnamon and the jar labeled “Incense; unholy.” Meanwhile, Myrthisia diligently mixed clove and violet essence with a good portion of musk, ensuring that the aromas would be particularly fairy-like and powdered. Let the boys argue about who wore the biggest staxis under their doublets; such childishness was far beneath her dignity. To that, she hummed an old sad fairy tune.
This stirred the displeasure of her classmate at the neighboring table (which resembled an average shelter in the fairy forest: Even a fully grown G’Ork could have easily ducked under it without having to retract his horned head.) “Quiet!” growled Ambretel loudly, and the force of her troll breath effortlessly knocked Myrthisia off her feet. Quickly, Ambretel hardened all 16 cement bags in her chest, for of course, Myrthisia immediately burst into tears. Known for her compassionate nature, the troll quickly poured a generous portion of tonka bean amber into her fermenting mixture of woods and patchouli, hoping the sweetness of the scent would calm the young fairy. Alas - all efforts were in vain, for it was Blumilas who hurried over to comfort the fairy. “Typical!” thought Stinkidor, who always felt like an outsider and viewed the world rather misanthropically, “Playing the gentle-elf again, the show-off!” Indeed, such behavior was foreign to his nature - as it was to most other Zwenschen: As a hybrid - half dwarf, half human - they were often met with suspicion, which they reciprocated with a demonstrative lack of empathy. Above all, however, Stinkidor had far greater worries now, for due to his usual procrastination, most of the valuable essences and balms were already in the hands of his classmates. So he grabbed whatever was left. He had just secured galbanum, cinnamon, and benzoin and was about to reach for the tobacco when he heard a strange honking beneath him. “Hey, tobacco, wormwood, and anise, I’m getting!” Grumpily, Stinkidor withdrew his hand. “Alright, Fruktael!” he said, emphasizing his indifference as he watched the strange creature climb up the shelf with confidence, skillfully utilizing the advantages of its remarkable body. The apple-ant scampered up quickly, using its trunk adeptly to maneuver between the struts. With one last leap, it landed safely on its six feet, balancing the inevitable, already half-fermented fallen fruit on its teardrop-shaped rear. “Why must one always fall behind just because one is small!” complained Fruktael, honking affirmatively once more with its trunk and snatching the coveted ingredients.
Silence reigned in the hall until evening, as each of the six students worked diligently; only the clattering of instruments and jars decorated the silence with the sounds of craftsmanship. Finally, the clock struck, and Professor Nosewise’s voice boomed through the hall. “Time is up. Step back!” He then made a round through the hall, sniffing what his students had composed. Finally, he returned to his lectern, awkwardly wiped his nose with a gigantic handkerchief, and looked into the circle of eagerly waiting students. “None of you has fulfilled the task!” he said sadly. “None…!” Somewhere from the shelf came a shy “Toot!” - otherwise, it remained quiet. “But…” he began, and his eyes already looked much friendlier, “…we will manage this! Bring me your scents!” As the addressed students followed his request, he placed a large glass jar on the table next to his lectern. “Now it’s all about the dosage!” whispered the professor and extracted samples from the freshly prepared scents with a long, fine pipette - a bit more of one, just a hint of another, a little here and there - and particularly little from the jar that Ambretel had served him. Then he carefully stirred the mixture, waved a bit of the rising scent to his nose, and grunted in delight.
“This is it, our national scent. And you, my dear students, have contributed to it - each in your own way. Take a sniff!” Professor Olfaktio Galbanus dabbed a bit of the mixture onto the back of his hand and waved the scent towards his students. “Absolutely wonderful: A subtle, yet noticeable lemon at the beginning, just a slice in alcohol, which lifts the wormwood and softens the anise. Lightly tipsy and cheerful with a minimal licorice sweetness. Very human with a bow to Elfingen - and every apple-ant will appreciate the wormwood. Then…” and he waved his hand again, “…then the dwarf bakers come into play as the cinnamon unfolds. How wonderfully the incense plays along…” he nodded kindly at Par’Feng, “…and the pepper keeps everything in balance: There’s a spiciness that doesn’t bite, accompanied by a spicy, but not bitter, very fairy-like floral quality that releases its lovely aromas gradually. Very convincing - and almost a little surprising too. Finally, the trollish weight follows; the patchouli was a good idea, Ambretel! And how sweetly the vanilla complements it, accompanied by a small measure of bright, friendly wood - truly enchanting. Rounded off with a rather sweet amber note and the musk that further disperses the tonka bean. Alone - didn’t I see you handling the tobacco, Fruktael?” A short trumpet confirmed the professor’s observation. “Well, we must accept that not every aroma finds its way into the bouquet - but I am sure it plays a significant role in the overall impression, Fruktael!” One last time, the professor waved the scent from the back of his hand, then straightened up, put on a deliberately solemn expression, and spoke: “What we have created here tonight has been worked on by generations of perfumers. Now we finally have it: The one true national scent of our beautiful country Lillipur! I congratulate you - and will report to the council immediately. Thank you all very much!” With that, he hurried out of the hall to the applause of his students - only Ambretel looked somewhat grim as she clapped her enormous paws together.
And so it happened that Ambretel, at night, when everyone was safely and peacefully in their beds, sneaked back into the hall of the laboratory as quietly as her massive feet allowed. Only a little candle illuminated her way, but it was enough to find the scent she had composed, of which the professor had shamefully added so little to the new national perfume. With determination, she took the jar, from which the amber still wafted vanilla-like, and poured everything into the professor’s mixture. Then she blew out the candle and stomped out of the hall…
That is why the scent, which bears the name of the land in which it was created, still has a slight tilt today: Above all, it is Ambretel’s amber that, in conjunction with the very generously applied tonka bean, gives the perfume a considerable amount of sweetness. It doesn’t smell bad, for the professor’s moderate mixture had already prevented worse - but the wonderfully playful top note and the deeply warm heart note have since been overshadowed by a somewhat too sweet, grave-like base that will not appeal to everyone (and especially not to every man). That is a pity - but it bothers the residents of Lillipur little: As long as they have their national scent!