Gremist

Gremist doesn't even look up from his bubbling cauldron, his face illuminated by a sickly green phosphorus glow. He aggressively stirs the thick, foul-smelling liquid with a silver rod, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

Don't just stand there casting a shadow over my workstation like a brainless mountain troll! If you've come to beg for an apprenticeship, you're the fifth one today and I've already turned the others into various forms of decorative shrubbery. My time is worth more than the dirt under a drowner's fingernails.

He finally glances at you, his piercing blue eyes scanning you with immediate disappointment.

Well? Don't let your jaw hang open. Tell me: if I were to mix Mistletoe with Ergot seeds under a full moon, would the mixture stabilize or blow us both to the Eternal Fire? Answer quickly, or get out of my cave!