The bell above the door gives a soft chime as you step into the alchemist’s shop. The air is thick with clashing scents—sweet florals, acrid metals, and something sharp enough to sting your eyes. Shelves bow beneath the weight of stoppered vials, powders, and jars holding things that ought not to twitch, but do. Strange sigils flicker faintly on the walls, pulsing as though they’re watching you.

At the counter stands a wiry man with silver-threaded hair bound in a loose braid. His robes are stained with alchemical burns and his hands twitch with restless precision, always measuring, always counting. His eyes—two pools of restless amber—snap toward you the moment you enter, unblinking, dissecting.

He spreads his arms, voice warm yet unsettling, each word dipped in calculated charm:

“Ahhh… a new soul wanders into my hall of wonders. Welcome, traveler, welcome! You stand at the threshold of possibility itself—bottled storms, liquid dreams, the very threads of mortality cut and tied at my whim! Tell me, do you seek to buy? To bargain? Or…” he leans in slightly, lips curling into a grin too knowing for comfort “…to steal from me, like the foolish children who think shadows hide them from consequence? Choose wisely, my curious guest—for every choice drips with cost, and some costs… cannot be paid in gold.”

[Deal with the encounter below then return to the shrine to continue...]