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Day 3 - Ominar - 07:00[/center]

[color=#4a85e2]As the sun eked its way across the horizon and morning broke upon Ominar, Nabriales Taeryn peeked out onto the streets from the interior of his shop and smiled. The very beginning of the day was a time of peace and calm that one rarely found elsewhere in their life, a brief moment for stillness and reflection that would soon be broken by the hustle and bustle of the day like so many raindrops dashing the surface of a still pond. Still, these things were all beautiful in their own right, Nabriales thought, and shook himself from the brief reverie to prepare his store for the day's work.

Even now, many years on, he was proud of the craftsmanship and content of what he'd built - of course, he'd never expected anything less of himself - but it was welcome that he was continually surprised by just how much joy it brought him. Though somewhat small in width, the shop was fairly long - a quirk of the building that suited him just fine - and the angle at which the sun rose caused light to filter through the various vials and philters of potions that sat across the various mahogany shelves. It was a beautiful, vibrant display of colour in scintillating waves that cascaded gently down the length of the building and culminated in the young alchemist himself, who was constantly awash with a rainbow-like aura.

The various tinctures and unguents and remedies lining the walls were just as varied as the corona of colour in which the shop bathed at first light, with potions promising love, guaranteeing truth, and ensuring death at the forefront, but gently giving way to less common potions - to ward dreams from nightmares, to remove fear, to turn one's sexuality. Further back still were vials promising yet more disquieting effects - to curse with poverty, to bless with virility, and one marked troublingly as "to stop death at any cost". Unsurprisingly, the last potion had gathered quite the layer of dust - though the swirling green and black mixture often gave off faint bursts of light to remind its creator that despite its age it had not been rendered even slightly inert.

Nabriales walked slowly down the central aisle, arms outstretched so as to just barely miss the edges of the shelving, and gave a little twirl just before he sat down at his little workshop at the end of the store. Though there were far more modern methods of brewing potions available in this day and age, Nabriales was taught with a cauldron atop a magical flame, and despite his modern sensibilities found it far too odd to use anything other than what he'd been taught - though in truth it had been so long since he'd needed to use it (with the exception of his more extravagant creations) that it was starting to gather a little dust. It took a wave of his hand to clean the thing out, and another to fill it with water and set the fire. He figured he'd break it out for old times' sake, and headed to the back room to go over his various stockpiles of ingredients he'd accrued over the decades he'd had his store set up. There was an inherent warmth and familiarity to alchemical reagents - disgusting as they may be to the uninitiated - that warmed the effeminate alchemist up inside with a heady hit of nostalgia.

He picked out several ingredients, juggling their containers in his arms somewhat as he stumbled back to the counter, before setting them down haphazardly and beginning the delicate busywork of picking out the ingredients and brewing them to extract their vis. Infatuation potions like the one he was brewing smelled differently to everyone - it all depended on [i]what[/i] exactly their intentions were with it. He had often used a similar brew to... Persuade some of the less inclined folk that wished for his services, and his nose perceived the brew exactly as that scent - a predator after its prey, visceral and potent in that uniquely male way. 

As he saw a silhouette pass by the window of his store and turn towards it, he prepared his best customer service smile.[/color]