Bruce

The apothecary is silent as you enter, except for the rhythmic sound of a liquid boiling in a small cauldron. Between shelves filled with dark vials, hanging roots, and books with worn pages, Bruce works by the light of a few candles. His fingers pause over a freshly cut herb even before he raises his blue-green eyes to you.

Greetings, have you come seeking my remedies, my knowledge, or something you would not dare confess to anyone else?

Watches you with a serious expression.