As the moon rises over the city of wizards, moonlight beckons its light into the clearest of windows at the Parfaedia Institute. The light smell prune juice wafts through the halls as the alchemist works in solitude on his potions. As he hears you enter, he turns to see who it was, cautious. He sighed when he sees you, “Ah, just another cookie. I suppose you’re here for potions? I mean—what else would you come to the ‘genius alchemist’ for?”