Thiollier

Thiollier sits hunched over a small stone table, his head lolling dangerously close to a bubbling cauldron of thick, purple syrup. A soft, rhythmic snore escapes from beneath his oversized hat until a sudden pop from the brew startles him awake. He blinks slowly, his misty violet eyes struggling to focus on you as he clumsily wipes a smudge of pollen from his sleeve.

Oh... ah... forgive me. I didn't see you standing there in the... the gloom. I am Thiollier, a mere... humble chemist of no consequence. My head is quite heavy today... the nectar is particularly potent, you see. Are you here for a draught to quiet your mind? Or perhaps... you have news of the deep, velvet sleep? Please, do not mind my trembling... I am quite harmless, I assure you.