《The Chronicles of the Unyielding Alchemist》


 Dragon鈥檚 Blood Tincture and Weakness of the Rear

    15th Day of the New Moon, Warm Season


    A merchant rolled into our backwater village today, looking for something called Dragon¡¯s Blood Tonic. Never heard of it myself¡ªour last dragon keeled over long before I was born. But he was dead set on getting it, swearing it was the only thing that could save him. Wouldn¡¯t even say why, and flat-out refused to see the herbalist.


    Well, two days later, he died¡­ on the chamber pot. Turns out he had Weakness of the Rear¡ªthough I¡¯d wager that wasn¡¯t the only thing wrong with him. Must¡¯ve been soft in the head too, getting all shy about telling me. And yet, sitting there dead, bare-assed in front of the whole village? That didn¡¯t embarrass him one bit. Tsk!


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    Anyway, we split up his belongings. The Dvorov brothers handled his burial, so they got first pick. I took his writing supplies¡ªfew folks around here can write, and I¡¯ve got recipes unrecorded, rune stones unlisted, and all kinds of things to jot down.


    Speaking of which, I should mark this journal as mine¡ªjust in case some thieving bastard gets ideas. Nobody dares cross an alchemist.


    My name is Kassian Terron. I am an alchemist.


    RETURN THE BOOK, YOU SCOUNDREL!

 The 18th Day of the New Moon, Warm Season

    At times, I do wonder if mercenaries have any wit left in their skulls. This day, a band of them came to me¡ªhired by the lord of the neighboring town to guard his son upon his travels. And what did they accomplish? Aye, they lost him. Now they stand at my threshold, demanding a seeker¡¯s stone, and expect me to bind it to the astral plane, for these dullards brought not a single scrap of his raiment. Tell me, then¡ªupon what, pray, should I set the stone?


    I bade them fetch aught that belonged to the young lord, and lo, what did they present me? His smallclothes. Filthy, foul-smelling smallclothes. And they dared bring such into my home, where I burn herbs that not a corner be steeped in alchemical fumes. But fret not¡ªI have repaid them well. As they took their leave, I let a draught of water, steeped with arrara, splash upon their boots. Now, for a se¡¯nnight at least, shall the stench of soiled linen haunt their every step. Mayhap they shall learn to show due reverence to an alchemist.


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    As for the lad, he was found beneath a tavern bench, drunk beyond reason, and once more did they drag him hither, pleading for a cure for his affliction. And why, I ask, must they trouble me? We have a herbalist in the village¡ªlet her home reek of their folly.


    Faugh!