A knock on the door, a mischievous grin and a paper slip containing all the information of the job at hand. Zoa entered the small abode that contained the distinct fragrance of several chemicals and ingredients used for magic mixtures and concoctions. Zoa couldn't quite place a good few of the scents, but some he did remember from his master's lab back home. Particularily one metallic smell that he was able to separate reminded him of his time back in Midi. This was what he had come for.
The elderly owner of the place, the spitting image of a mad scientist (goggles and white lab coat included), offered Zoa a drink. Politely declining, he wanted to get to work soon. Following the old man into the cellar, Zoa was met with an unexpectedly well-equipped work station that offered a large variety of rare ingredients and scripture to choose from. The local mage, as it were, required assistance. He needed new inspiration, something to spice up the choice of products he had to offer the locals.
Immediately getting to work, Zoa, seemingly from memory, decided to start mixing and stirring. As he started working, the elderly man sat down in a rocking chair in a corner of the room and took a tattered book to read. While the silence loomed awkwardly upon the two, Zoa initiated conversation. He asked the elderly herbalist what he knew about the world, and what he knew about swordsmithing and magic. While he didn’t expect much of the man, perhaps some interesting dispute or conversation would come from his inquiries.
And as if the old man couldn’t surprise him enough, he began talking about an old swordsmith from Ca-Elum. A friend of his teacher who was said to be one of the greats, someone who was able to forge all kinds of weaponry mightier than anything the world had seen. He told stories and tales of enchanted swords that got lost in the throes of time, of warriors using mythical swords created by various figures of fact and fiction. Nothing that Zoa hadn't already heard before from the people he had met during his studies, but nonetheless, it was interesting to hear an old man wax poetic about embellished legends.
Zoa, listening intently while working on something that would likely knock the wind out of the old man’s sails, was nearly finished with his creation. He thanked him for the stories and information, as it promised that Zoa would somehow be able to escape his current situation and find an answer to his questions. Distilling a small, viscous but transparent liquid into a blue, tear-shaped bottle, Zoa smiled at the old man. Tossing him the finished product, he urged the old man to try his creation.
According to Zoa, it was a reparation potion that if applied to a broken object would be able to mend it instantaneously. Something the old man had never heard of, given the fact that practical application of potions and brews was not cared for much in this country. Zoa scribbled down the recipe on a piece of paper while the old man went to test it out on his broken radio. And while the elderly alchemist had left him alone in his cellar, Zoa began rummaging around looking for the metallic smell he had caught on his arrival. He soon found a small bottle of a thick viscous grey substance that reeked strongly of this particular fragrance upon opening. Stashing it away in his clothes, Zoa followed the old man upstairs. Taking his payment and bidding the old man farewell, they parted ways.
The elderly owner of the place, the spitting image of a mad scientist (goggles and white lab coat included), offered Zoa a drink. Politely declining, he wanted to get to work soon. Following the old man into the cellar, Zoa was met with an unexpectedly well-equipped work station that offered a large variety of rare ingredients and scripture to choose from. The local mage, as it were, required assistance. He needed new inspiration, something to spice up the choice of products he had to offer the locals.
Immediately getting to work, Zoa, seemingly from memory, decided to start mixing and stirring. As he started working, the elderly man sat down in a rocking chair in a corner of the room and took a tattered book to read. While the silence loomed awkwardly upon the two, Zoa initiated conversation. He asked the elderly herbalist what he knew about the world, and what he knew about swordsmithing and magic. While he didn’t expect much of the man, perhaps some interesting dispute or conversation would come from his inquiries.
And as if the old man couldn’t surprise him enough, he began talking about an old swordsmith from Ca-Elum. A friend of his teacher who was said to be one of the greats, someone who was able to forge all kinds of weaponry mightier than anything the world had seen. He told stories and tales of enchanted swords that got lost in the throes of time, of warriors using mythical swords created by various figures of fact and fiction. Nothing that Zoa hadn't already heard before from the people he had met during his studies, but nonetheless, it was interesting to hear an old man wax poetic about embellished legends.
Zoa, listening intently while working on something that would likely knock the wind out of the old man’s sails, was nearly finished with his creation. He thanked him for the stories and information, as it promised that Zoa would somehow be able to escape his current situation and find an answer to his questions. Distilling a small, viscous but transparent liquid into a blue, tear-shaped bottle, Zoa smiled at the old man. Tossing him the finished product, he urged the old man to try his creation.
According to Zoa, it was a reparation potion that if applied to a broken object would be able to mend it instantaneously. Something the old man had never heard of, given the fact that practical application of potions and brews was not cared for much in this country. Zoa scribbled down the recipe on a piece of paper while the old man went to test it out on his broken radio. And while the elderly alchemist had left him alone in his cellar, Zoa began rummaging around looking for the metallic smell he had caught on his arrival. He soon found a small bottle of a thick viscous grey substance that reeked strongly of this particular fragrance upon opening. Stashing it away in his clothes, Zoa followed the old man upstairs. Taking his payment and bidding the old man farewell, they parted ways.
