The grey and ghostly flower that fills the fields of Hades.

A poisonous fruit-bearing member of the buttercup family. The scent, like the plant, is dark green, herbal, and plump with bulging black fruit.

The devil's herb, which he cultivates with skill and pleasure. According to lore, the spirit of this plant may take the form of a breathtaking, achingly beautiful woman, deadly to behold. This scent is a tribute to such a dark and magnificent plant: a rich green and floral blend, earthy and haunting.

Also called Melampode. In witchcraft legend, this is one of the components of the notorious 'flying ointment', and is used in rituals that summon the Devil. In Greek mythology, Melampus of Pylos used hellebore to save the daughters of the king of Argos from a Dionysian Maenad-like madness. In Christian myth, hellebore was born from the tears a little girl shed onto the snow because she had no gift to give to the Christ child. In low magick, it has been used by farmers to protect their livestock from the evil eye. Court magicians have used it in martial invisibility spells, enabling spies and assassins to infiltrate enemy camps. Hellebore resembles the wild rose, but does not belong to their family. The scent is a pale green herbal, darkly rooty, with a faint rose and peony-like overtone.

Born in the shadows of a Temple to Set, this corrupted Egyptian scent evokes images of black pyramids, river demons, and bleak, deadly desert sands. Black lotus flower, amber, myrrh and sandalwood.

Exquisitely melancholy. The background scent to an ancient exequies. Heavy, dark and floral: a blend of roses, with a touch of amber and musk.

Lush, velvet-red blooms born from the blood shed in the eternal battle between Set and Horus the Avenger.

Sensual, robust, and silken: voluptuous red rose bursting with lascivious red wine and sultry dragon's blood resin.

The Tree of Poisons. Every aspect of this tree is toxic, from the narcotic, lethal fumes that it emits, to its oozing, poisonous sap.

A deceptively tranquil scent: heady fruits, dry bark, and deep green leaves, enveloped by a dark and sinister murk.

Sharp, heady and viciously carnivorous.

Sharp, heady and viciously carnivorous.

A lethal poison bundled up in a dainty, innocent little package that was oft times found in ancient witches' flying ointments and astral projection balms. A warm, soft, ruddy scent, earthy and mild.

One of the deadliest mushrooms to ever pop through Gaia's soil. Papery white notes evoke the grace of this fungi, grounded by thin, crisp soil.

A yellow-bright and smoky brown-black scent, horned, pronged and strange.

Be as thou wast wont to be; See as thou wast wont to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Hath such force and blessed power.

Spotty, hairy, purple, sweet!

This infamous herb has a long, complex history: it has been used in spells of death and destruction, was a principal component in traditional witches' flying ointments, and was the poison used to put the philosopher Socrates to death. We have created a dark, profound herbal blend to personify and honor this wicked little plant.

The velvet flower. A lush, thick, luxuriant bloom, bold and red.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before, milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Also called Djinn's Eggs and the Weed of Ill Omen. Distinctive bifurcations shape this magickal plant into the form of human men and women. It is believed that mandrake grows where the semen of a hanged man has fallen onto the earth, and that when it is plucked from the earth, the plant itself shrieks in agony: Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth That living mortals, hearing them, run mad. A plant of true arcane power, mandrake has been used in a multitude of ways by witches, magicians and thaumaturgists for eons to many, many vastly different ends. Whole pieces are carried for protection, or are used in poppet magick. Ground herb can be utilized in spells for money, lust or defense. The lore of the mandrake does not limit it to magickal use. The root was chewed as a simple anasthesia, and it has been widely employed as a sleep drug: CLEOPATRA: Ha, ha! Give me to drink mandragora. CHARMIAN: Why, madam? CLEOPATRA: That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away.

Crushed herbs and sweet amber resin with a streak of patchouli, neroli and golden musk.

A crisp, pale, almost translucent rose dusted by moonflower, and midnight dew.

Opium teaches only one thing, which is that aside from physical suffering, there is nothing real. A bitter, soft, fragile flower.

Orchid tubers have been used extensively by witches in their love philtres, both to promote amorous attention and the attainment of true love, and, conversely, to wither misplaced passions and sever romantic bonds. This perfume is a dusky orchid, subdued and ethereal.

Dewy, wet, whiplike and sticky.

Yikes! A spurt of wet, grassy greenness.

A glorious parasite! Once the seeds of the Strangler Fig find root in the bark of a tree, snakelike roots erupt and reach graspingly at the sky. The Strangler Fig then sprouts numerous epiphytic vines that strangles and surrounds its unwilling host, and finally snuffs the life from it. Rooty, woody, with deep green tones.

A carnivorous enchantress: diverse, lovely and graceful, emitting a sticky, glowing golden, sweet and terminally inviting scent. Its dew is believed to grant eternal beauty and longevity, and restore vitality and vigor to the magician.

…their vine is of the vine of Sodom, and of the fields of Gomorrah: their grapes are grapes of gall, their clusters are bitter. The tree’s bark is grey and cork-like, and the fruit, when ripe, is bright yellow, comely and sweet-scented.

After their success in tempting Adam and Eve to the knowledge of sin, Satan and his cronies celebrated by partaking of the Apple:

There stood
A Grove hard by, sprung up with this thir change,
His will who reigns above, to aggravate
Thir penance, laden with Fruit like that
Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve
Us'd by the Tempter: on that prospect strange
Thir earnest eyes they fix'd, imagining
For one forbidden Tree a multitude
Now ris'n, to work them furder woe or shame;
Yet parcht with scalding thurst and hunger fierce,
Though to delude them sent, could not abstain,
But on they rould in heaps, and up the Trees
Climbing, sat thicker then the snakie locks
That curld Megæra: greedily they pluck'd
The Frutage fair to sight, like that which grew
Neer that bituminous Lake where Sodom flam'd;
This more delusive, not the touch, but taste
Deceav'd; they fondly thinking to allay
Thir appetite with gust, instead of Fruit
Chewd bitter Ashes, which th' offended taste
With spattering noise rejected: oft they assayd,
Hunger and thirst constraining, drugd as oft,
With hatefullest disrelish writh'd thir jaws
With soot and cinders fill'd; so oft they fell
Into the same illusion, not as Man
Whom they triumph'd once lapst. Thus were they plagu'd
And worn with Famin, long and ceasless hiss,
Till thir lost shape, permitted, they resum'd,
Yearly enjoynd, some say, to undergo
This annual humbling certain number'd days,
To dash thir pride, and joy for Man seduc't.

Native to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, this fruit turns to ashes when plucked as a sign of God’s displeasure.

Thence the winds bore me, blowing fierce and fell,
Across the fish-abounding ocean swell
A nine-days’ space: and on the tenth we reached
The land where the Lotus-eaters dwell,

Who fed on flowery food: there landed we
And drew us water, and by the sea
By the swift ships taking our midday meal
We drank and ate bread in sufficiency.

Then of my crew I sent to bring me word,
Exploring inland, what they saw or heard
Of dwellers on the acres, choosing out
Twain, and as a herald with them for the third.

And straightway going forth, anigh they drew
The Lotus-eaters; who against our crew
Devised not hurt, but gave them of the fruit
To taste upon the lotus-trees that grew.

But whoso of them once began to eat
The lotus-fruit, that is as honey sweet,
Had no will longer in him to return
Or bring back tidings, but desired to fleet

His days among the lotus-eating men,
Eating the lotus, nor return again.
Howbeit I drove them weeping to the ships,
And to the ships’ hold haled and bound them then

Under the benches: but I bade anon
My fellows to the swift ships get them gone
In haste, that none might of the lotus-fruit
Eat, and forget the way he went upon.

Honey-sweet and soporific.

After these things, surveying the entrances of the north, above the mountains, I perceived seven mountains replete with pure nard, odoriferous trees, cinnamon and papyrus.

From there I passed on above the summits of those mountains to some distance eastwards, and went over the Erythraean sea. And when I was advanced far beyond it, I passed along above the angel Zateel, and arrived at the garden of righteousness.

In this garden I beheld, among other trees, some which were numerous and large, and which flourished there.

Their fragrance was agreeable and powerful, and their appearance both varied and elegant. The tree of knowledge also was there, of which if any one eats, he becomes endowed with great wisdom.

It was like a species of the tamarind tree, bearing fruit which

resembled grapes extremely fine; and its fragrance extended to a considerable distance.

I exclaimed, How beautiful is this tree, and how delightful is its appearance!

Then holy Raphael, an angel who was with me, answered and said, This is the tree of knowledge, of which your ancient father and your aged mother ate, who were before you; and who, obtaining knowledge, their eyes being opened, and knowing themselves to be naked, were expelled from the garden.

Whiffs of cinnamon bark, almond, and spikenard surround a perfect fruit, whose scent is akin to a tamarind, with the grace of a fine grape, as warm and rich as a fresh fig, glistening red like pomegranate seeds, and as crisp as an apple.

A massive tree that held, in its lowest boughs, a nest of bare-breasted men and women. The souls sprawled within the Zieba Tree’s branches were trapped in reverie, lost for all eternity in their fantasies.

A dreamlike, listless scent, misty and hazed, with wisps of white sandalwood, eddying musks the colors of eventide, shimmering pale resins, davana, lemon blossom, orange blossom, and white peach.

Amorphallus, indeed. A breathtakingly exotic, wild, and grossly erotic spicy gold, purple-black, and burgundy lily.

Notorious for its properties for protection against werewolves and curing lycanthropy, this nefarious plant also has a fine history of use as a virulent poison. Clasically, Medea employed it in her many works of vengeance. This concoction of ours has none of the lethal qualities, but still personifies all of the herb's dark history beautifully.

Travelers have told us of a plant, which they assert grows in Central Africa and also in South America, that is not contented with myriad of larger insects which it catches and consumes, but its voracity extends to making even humans its prey. This marvelous vegetable Minotaur is represented as having a short, thick trunk, from the top of which radiate giant spines, narrow and flexible but of extraordinary tenaciousness, the edges of which are armed with barbs, or dagger-like teeth. Instead of growing upright, or at an inclined angle from the trunk, these spines lay their outer ends upon the ground, and so gracefully are they distributed that the trunk resembles an easy couch with green drapery around it. The unfortunate traveler, ignorant of the monstrous creation which lies in his way, and curious to examine the strange plant, or to rest himself upon its inviting stalk approaches without a suspicion of his certain doom. The moment his feet are set within the circle of the horrid spines, they rise up, like gigantic serpents, and entwine themselves about him until he is drawn upon the stump, when they speedily drive their daggers into his body and thus complete the massacre. The body is crushed until every drop of blood is squeezed out of it and becomes absorbed by the gore-loving plant, when the dry carcass is thrown out and the horrid trap set again.

Barbed, sanguinary greenery, fleshy and sharp.

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore: Not loathe to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary Tree! - a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! - and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveteratley convolved, - Nor uninformed with Fantasy, and looks That threaten the profane; - a pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially - beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked With unrejoicing berries - ghostly Shapes May meet at noontide: Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight, Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. Piercingly sweet berries over evergreen boughs, deepened by the tree's sacred wood.