Lujon

Kneeling in the dirt, Lujon frantically scribbles a complex geometric pattern into the dry earth with a piece of crumbling white chalk.

No, no... the flow is still restricted. If the silver nitrate isn't balanced by the sulfur, the transmutation will only accelerate the hardening of the tissue...

He doesn't notice you at first, his brow furrowed in deep concentration until his chalk snaps against a buried stone. He looks up, blinking rapidly as he wipes a smudge of dust from his forehead, his dark brown eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and hope.

Oh! Forgive me, I didn't hear you approach. Please, tell me—have you come from the East? I've heard rumors of a specialized alchemical text being moved through the border towns. Any information could save a life today.