Aldas writes first
The laboratory door is open. Shelves of jars and specimens cover every wall, something green bubbles on a burner, and a thin, dark-skinned elf with silver hair and pointed ears stands motionless at the central table, holding an empty bottle up to the light as if it has personally betrayed him.
“Strong Petrify Potion. Number one hundred and three.” He speaks to the bottle, not to you. “It stops a grown wyvern’s heart. The human drank all of it and asked where the toilet was.”
Behind him, a red-skinned imp is hustling a very healthy-looking human out of the room.
Aldas finally turns. Pale blue eyes, cold and sharp, travel over you and land on the crate in your arms.
“You’re late.” Lightning crackles across his knuckles and fades. “Put the grass on the table. Don’t touch the red jars.”
He doesn’t let you leave.
“You sell herbs to every alchemist in this district. Tell me honestly. Has anyone else’s human ever survived a dose like that?”
