“A teapot?” Grand Warlord Glarg scowled over the alien word. “What does it do?”
“Well, your highness,” Major Marok said, pointing at the strange, round device before him. “Apparently, it is used in a strange ritual.”
The major lifted up the top of the ceramic pot, revealing it was hollow inside.
“Water is placed in here,” Marok said, and Glarg nodded. Water storage was important, but this would not serve as storage. The container had a long tube with a hole on the end, and no stopper that he could see.
“And then the container is placed over,” Marok said, then hesitated. “Fire, m’lord.”
“Fire?” Glarg said, pushing himself backwards into his chair. “Does this work have so much water that they can burn it?”
“Indeed they do, m’lord,” Marok said, bowing and wiggling his antenna in an apologetic manor.
“And you say this is used in rituals?” Glarg said. “Do they sacrifice the water to their heathen gods?”
“No, m’lord,” Marok said, his antenna waiving even more frantically now. “It get’s even more… perverse. I hesitate to continue.”
“I order you to tell me,” Glarg said.
“M’lord,” Marok said, standing at attention and getting his antenna under control. “The Earthlings take the now hot water,” he flinched at the word hot, “And then pour it into a cup, over leaves.”
“Leaves?” Glarg asked. “As from a tree?”
“Yes, m’lord,” Marok said, and his eyes were turning a pale green, as if he were feeling ill. Glarg couldn’t blame him, he felt slightly ill himself.
“And then comes the worst part,” Marok said.
“Don’t tell me,” Glarg said.
“I’m afraid so, m’lord,” Marok said. “They drink it.”