The White Stag.
Inside the dimly lit room of the tavern, Adam stood hunched over a wooden table cluttered with all sorts of tools and apparatuses.
The room was filled with the mixture of the scent of herbs and the acrid aroma of alchemic reagents.
Adam had dark circles under his eyes as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. Before him lay a cauldron that was bubbling with a vibrant green liquid.
He carefully measured out a pinch of nightshade powder, his movements were deliberate and precise despite the weariness that had accumulated in him for days.
An ominous hiss sounded as the nightshade powder came in contact with the surface of the green solution. The liquid inside churned and gradually turned to a sickly black.
Adam's heart sank as the foul odor of failure filled the room once again.
"DAMN IT!!" He roared as he picked up the cauldron and smashed it against the wall.
