[quote][h2][i][color=a187be]Wizzlebee de LaShtüp[/color][/i][/h2]
[h3][@Maxx] [@UrbanEvolution][/h3][/quote]

“So, you see, the strength potion really is tricky. Shave off some of the keratin from the bear's claw, take the barley milk you've been soaking the poppy seeds in, and mix it in with the egg yolk – that's reason why I can't drink most strength potions, you see, I'm allergic to eggs – and finally, whisk in that, uh, jelly. Yeah, that. It smells because you have to let it sit and ferment for a while.”

Wizzlebee was in middle of showing a young tyke the process of developing a strength potion, and it was safe to say, he probably wasn't being entirely honest about the ingredients. The egg yolk was only partially true, while in reality, it had been sat in a metal bowl of orcish adrenal glands, the neurons of which Wizzlebee had enflared and excited with some light magic via electrical pulses. The secretions were incredibly high in testosterone. As for the jelly? An outright lie. It was the emulsified blood of a centaur.

“Then it's just a big process of heating the mixture and then cooling it. The end product is something of a runny jelly, but it is extremely potent! Especially for a young'n like you, just take sips at a time. One small sip a day and it'll bolster your growth!”

The kid just gave the weird old gnome a toothy and rosy-cheeked grin from ear to ear. “Thanks mister! I bet Blake won't make fun of [i]me[/i] anymore!”

“Uh oh...” The alchemist mumbled as he watched the child march out of his shop. Now that he thought about it, didn't poppy-seed infused barley milk, aged alcoholic jelly, bear claw, and a yolk act as something of an anesthetic? Something like a drunken stupor, where jelly immediately intoxicates the drinker, the milk numbed the body, and the yolk and claw just gave the body enough energy to remain conscious. Really, it was an excellent poison if you wanted to dispose of somebody without actually harming or killing them. They could see and think and everything, they just couldn't walk or move or speak.

It rivaled paralytics in effectiveness, but lacked the neuronal damage that it often caused.

“Hey!” A feeble and croaky voice shouted out from beneath the floorboards.  Wizzlebee bent over and looked through a little hole that was in the planks. There, below the deck, stood his skeletal father with his hands on his hips. “If you're done selling fake drugs to children, I'm gonna need your muscle down here!”

“Shh! Shh! Keep quiet!” Wizzlebee insisted frantically as he saw potential customers lingering just outside the shop's door. “And what do you mean muscles, pappy? I'm a hundred and sixty and covered in wrinkles!”

“I don't HAVE muscles!”

“You also don't have vocal chords! Make it work!”

“I swear to--”

“Shh! Just keep it down!”

The swung wide open again. He saw only a handsome young man hurrying inside. He wasn't exactly interesting in any of the stock, per se, more along the lines of  “soiled pants and unadulterated terror as he ran balls to the wall”. The gnome looked at him curiously. “What's the matter, Bonny?” 

The young man, for a moment, looked at Wizzlebee incomprehensibly; almost offended. He then shook his head and peered out the window before finally spitting out, “...dragon!”

“What?!” Wizzlebee cried incredulously.

“What?!” Echoed the voice downstairs.

Immediately, Wizzlebee rushed over to the door and poked his head out the door. Just before looking up, he saw a great shadow being cast over the ground. Looking up, he just saw a silhouette of a giant flying beast circling overhead, against the sunny blue sky.

Wizzlebee squealed in terror and retreated back inside, slamming the door, and bracing it with his body.

A dragon?! He hasn't seen or heard of dragons since the stories of the hundred-year war back in Ostracus! How evildoers would fly down from the sky on their devil-steeds, scorching the land and troops with searing fire! Stories about how the dragon riders tamed the beasts through torture and dominance, and asserted their will over the most fearsome creatures of Tithe. Stories how, even without their dragons, the riders themselves were nearly as deadly and unforgiving.

This was of course the war propaganda that had been perpetuated, and even to this day, still is perpetuated among the Ostracus gnomes. His father, Bartleby de LaShtüp, would perhaps have greater reason to fear dragons than Wizzlebee did. The old man was probably alive for it, after all. If not, then [i]his[/i] father. Wizzlebee has long since come to terms that Ostracus was an estranged nation that was considered an outsider among the the current collection of countries... but he still could not forget the stories. Perhaps sixty years of condition within those Ostracian walls were enough to instill and maintain the fear of dragons. Not... that it was... [i]hard[/i] to be afraid of dragons. Any sensible man or gnome would be afraid of dragons! The riders? Well, any aspiring rider must have a death wish or something.

On the other hand... this was an amazing opportunity. How often did Wizzlebee have access to dragon scales? Hair? Teeth or claws? Skin off the tongue? Blood?  Oh goodness, the potions he could make! The discoveries! Perhaps he could find a cure for the magical disease that one strange minotaur man had. That would just be fantastic.

Given people's fear of dragons, who knew how they would react? Some might even try to... kill it. That itself meant a huge supply of resources and ingredients, or... [i]instead[/i]... 

“Fufufufu...”

Oh... man, oh, man. Wouldn't his necromancy love to get its hands on that? It would probably take a while. He's never worked on something so... [i]big[/i] before.

But he wouldn't outright kill it, no. Gods, how could one even kill a dragon? Yeah, Wizzlebee had a store full of potions and poisons, but no. No, no, no, no, no. Wizzlebee wouldn't get anywhere near that. Too risky, too scary. Let someone else deal with that.

“I'll be right baa-aack!” Wizzlebee called out.

“O-okaaay...!” The voice downstairs whimpered back.

The gnome stepped outside the door and looked back up overhead. It was gone. He felt his heart drop.

Hearing the conversation nearby, much thanks to some man yelling out “you're a dragon rider?!” - why that person felt the need to point out the obvious was none of the gnome's concern, all Wizzlebee could wonder was why a dragon rider was flying around the city like that scaring people. Dragons were frightening! Still, there was something compelling about the beast. Never having before seen one, Wizzlebee couldn't help but inch closer and closer at the sight of it.

“Oh boy, oh boy...”

Three quarters of his concern was his fear of the dragon. The remaining quarter is that the people who surrounded it, they themselves, also seemed dangerous and not particularly friendly. Save the one carrying a lute, but sitting on top of the dragon didn't help his amiability.