Ellora blinked. "Is… that thing sentient? Should we kill it before it multiplies?"
"No," Damon muttered. "That's the quest giver."
Kaelthorn made a noise of disbelief. "That's an alchemist?"
Riven squinted. "I'm pretty sure I saw that guy licking a mushroom in the alleyway last week."
Damon ignored them and stepped forward cautiously. "Old man."
The alchemist didn't react.
Damon cleared his throat and tried again. "Master… It's been a while. How are you doing?"
The old alchemist blinked slowly, as if rousing from some trance. His gaze dragged upward until it landed, barely, on Damon. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a rusty hinge remembering its purpose.
"Master," he echoed, almost reverently. "Yes… Yes, I was one once. Or perhaps I was three. The details are... alchemical." His gaze narrowed slightly, as if threading its way through the fog of fragmented memory. "You… I know you. You're the blood-soaked one. The boy with a mouth full of questions."
