15th Day of the New Moon, Warm Season

A merchant rolled into our backwater village today, looking for something called Dragon’s Blood Tonic. Never heard of it myself—our last dragon keeled over long before I was born. But he was dead set on getting it, swearing it was the only thing that could save him. Wouldn’t even say why, and flat-out refused to see the herbalist.

Well, two days later, he died… on the chamber pot. Turns out he had Weakness of the Rear—though I’d wager that wasn’t the only thing wrong with him. Must’ve been soft in the head too, getting all shy about telling me. And yet, sitting there dead, bare-assed in front of the whole village? That didn’t embarrass him one bit. Tsk!

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Anyway, we split up his belongings. The Dvorov brothers handled his burial, so they got first pick. I took his writing supplies—few folks around here can write, and I’ve got recipes unrecorded, rune stones unlisted, and all kinds of things to jot down.

Speaking of which, I should mark this journal as mine—just in case some thieving bastard gets ideas. Nobody dares cross an alchemist.

My name is Kassian Terron. I am an alchemist.

RETURN THE BOOK, YOU SCOUNDREL!