Just a dash of Groad blood, with the imp toe floating in the top for… was it two or three minutes? Let’s go with three, for good measure. Ok, what was next? I fumble around for my recipe book and accidentally knock some crusted creature parts off the desk. Hope I didn’t need any of those… The floor is too dark for my dim candle to reach. Maybe if I stoke it a bit.

“Oi, Squirt. Brighten up, will ya’?”

On a shelf near my shoulder the candle sits amongst piles of broken vials and spoiled root vegetables. I hear a squeaky voice from the candle, “What did you say, feather head!?” The little flame bares a ghastly face at me, hiding none of its rage. Perfect! The anger in its eyes boosts the potency of its flame! Now I can see the floor!

I slide off my chair and rummage around through the junk on the floor. Harpy feather… I probably need that one. Oh wait, that’s one of my feathers. Ah here we go! Ooh, I might need these few as well.

As I rise from the floor I glance over my shoulder, “Thanks, Squirt!” The miniscule fire spirit finally catches on - he’s a little on the slow side. His pouty face is adorable! I’m always impressed by the range of expressions a small blob of flame is able to pull off.

I place a harpy feather, my moulted feather, one hydra scale, a Farith-wood bulb and some Grinroot hairs on my work desk. Right, where was I? Ah, the recipe book.

“You should really clean this place. It’s dirtier than your armpits.” I take no notice of Squirt’s jabs, my gaze fixed on the weathered recipe page. I seem to have all the basic reagents, right down to the oddly-shaped vial. The misshapen glass looms at the top of my desk. It looks like a wonky watering can that has sprouted eyestalks and an overly curly tongue. Why is this necessary for the recipe?

“Ah!” Something hot singes a feather close to my ear. I dart a glare at the disgruntled candle on my shelf, “Squirt! No interrupting my work!”

His pouty face is less adorable this time around, “You didn’t hear me before? This place is a dump, so I’m cleaning it up.” His eyes thin into sinister slits, “Starting with you.” Another ball of flame-spit looses from his mouth, but this time I flick it away and it fizzles on the dirty floorboards.

“Many of my colleagues force their familiars into dull, repetitive, menial tasks. Should I reconsider your potential as a potion cooker? I haven’t forgot how much you love the smell of burning swamp creature parts.” His fiery eyes lose their earlier spark, “Perhaps I could repurpose you as the lavatory sconce? Maybe even reopen that space to customers!“

The flame retracts into a warm sphere. A few grumbles escape his grimace. I will tolerate most banter, but not if he wishes to escalate.

Well, that was about two minutes. How’s the imp toe going? Nice and blue – perfect! I carefully remove the shrivelled toe with my tweezers and replace it with the harpy feather. The feather fizzles into the liquid – gone before I even release my tweezer grip on it.

“Hmm, I had thought that would last longer, will I need another harpy feather?”

More of Squirts’ squeaking; “If you need more harpy feathers why not pluck one from your own-“

A knock echoes from my front door. A customer? This late? Ugh, fine. My knees creak loudly as I stand up and head to the door. “Die faster, you decrepit chicken.”

“Don’t forget, as my familiar you will be joining me in the afterlife.” The edges of my withered beak curl into a smirk. The light shines brightly behind me - that one always gets right to Squirt’s wick!

I amble past the shelves of my simple alchemist’s shop, surfaces lined with potions of varying quality and contents. While my current project requires some truly exotic reagents, most of the stuff I sell out here is barely worth the price I give it. If any of these foolhardy adventurer types had half a brain for alchemy they’d know the weeds which grow on these very streets can be used as a major ingredient for most basic potions.

The front door bursts open, “20 healing potions, my good man-bird.” A human male stands in my doorway, rugged plate armour hanging from his body, a sword bouncing on his hip and a tower shield on his back – slung on a crooked angle.

I freeze for a moment to collect my senses, “Ah, yes… right. That will cost-“

“No coin on me this time, Squawks. But how about all this?” He presents a tattered bag, then empties its varied contents onto my shop counter. My eyes narrow at the dirty pile. While my backroom may be a tad messy, I like to keep the shop presentable. “Will any of this cover that cost?”

This man barges into my shop near closing time, dirties my counter then offers up a mound of assorted rubbish assuming I will trade for a sizeable collection of-

Hang on. “Is that a harpy feather?”

He follows my gaze to the muddy red feather amongst the pile, “Oh, aye. Probably. I came from-“

I snatch up the feather, “You have yourself a deal.” I was worried I’d have to wait a while before finishing my potion. Harpy feathers aren’t easy to come by in this area. Too much plains and water. All the mountains and harpy nests are further east.

With the feather in hand I stow the mound of junk in a box behind the counter. There’ll surely be more useful bits in all that. He hands me his bag and I hobble through the shop gathering up the potions. “What beast is to be slain this time?”

The man shrugs, “More of those sea monsters up north. They’re blocking trade routes out of the port. Nothing glamorous this time around, but me and the team could use the coin.” He seems well-fed and clothed. I’m sure he could fatten his wallet if he took a brief moment to properly value his acquired goods, like that feather.

Maybe I’ll give him a tip. “Here we go. 21 potions. One extra for good luck.”

His dumb grin almost makes me laugh, “Pleasure doin’ business with ya’, Squawks!” Most of the earlier cheer leaves me at that name. Since when did anyone call me Squawks?

I bow my head and he exits.

Alright, time to check on that potion. The light from my work room has dimmed somewhat. Did Squirt fall asleep?

I drop into my chair and scan the work bench. Just as I had left it. A quick glance over my shoulder to check on Squirt – not quite napping, but not paying me much attention.

With the harpy feather in my tweezers I lower it into the vial. It takes a moment longer to shrivel up and join the yellowing solution. A wisp of smoke snakes its way up from the vial, dissipating into the air above.

Was that it? A quick glance to the recipe book reassures me – all wrapped up.

A pleasant scent of fresh pine needles and chamomile wafts by my nose. With it, a warm yellow glow from behind me.

“How does it smell, Squirt?” I’m smirking again, but with less sarcasm to my tone.

I glance behind to see a relaxed ball of warmth – Squirt likes it already.

He notices my attention and quickly pouts and spins around, “w-what is that?”

Still smirking, I pick up the vial and swirl it a little. Yeah, looks about right. I lift the vial up to Squirt’s candle saucer and pour the liquid in. The solution latches onto the base of his thinning candle, and then slides up to fill out the rest. The wax structure is now tall (for a candle) and shiny, with little flecks of red through it – likely residual bits of the harpy feathers. I hope two wasn’t overkill.

If a candle flame could melt in delight, that’s kinda what Squirt looks like now. He can’t hide it from me.

Right, now on to the other potion. I flip through a few pages in the recipe book and sneak a glance at Squirt. A devious smirk curls the edges of my mouth.