Amethyst
"Good afternoon?" you reply, feeling a little dazed. This is the second time in two days you've awakened in a totally strange place, and it's getting old. You try to sit up and have to prop yourself against the back of the niche. "Where am I? Where's Hyri?"
The stranger doesn't bother to reply to your faint questions, but busies himself at a worktable across the room. You smell strange, heady fumes, and see him mixing something from several bottles into a glass jar. He works quickly and methodically, wearing leather gloves, and you notice they're covered with stains and burn marks. Apparently he deals with dangerous, volatile substances.
Gathering your courage, you repeat your question a little louder. "Where am I, and where's my friend?"
The man turns, the smile wider and colder than before as he walks over to you, holding a small crystal vial of dark liquid. "Drink this." Seeing your wariness, he adds "It's a medicine. You won't be able to walk for several days unless you drink it."
Although you don't trust him, you realize that if he was going to kill you he would have a long time ago. He drops the bottle in your lap. "It's your choice, really. I don't care either way, but I thought you might like to be able to move around." Shrugging, he sits down across from you in an old oak chair with a high, carved back, which creaks under his majestic frame.
The stranger doesn't bother to reply to your faint questions, but busies himself at a worktable across the room. You smell strange, heady fumes, and see him mixing something from several bottles into a glass jar. He works quickly and methodically, wearing leather gloves, and you notice they're covered with stains and burn marks. Apparently he deals with dangerous, volatile substances.
Gathering your courage, you repeat your question a little louder. "Where am I, and where's my friend?"
The man turns, the smile wider and colder than before as he walks over to you, holding a small crystal vial of dark liquid. "Drink this." Seeing your wariness, he adds "It's a medicine. You won't be able to walk for several days unless you drink it."
Although you don't trust him, you realize that if he was going to kill you he would have a long time ago. He drops the bottle in your lap. "It's your choice, really. I don't care either way, but I thought you might like to be able to move around." Shrugging, he sits down across from you in an old oak chair with a high, carved back, which creaks under his majestic frame.