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You stand before a mess of flesh and viscera, the hisses of steam pipes and whines of molten glass fading at the sight of running blood. You are here to fetch a BUSCHGROSSMUTTER DECANTER, a glass vial of fine enough make to withstand the magical pressure of a TRANSPECIATION POTION. You thought to see to the craftsman’s progress, but..
“Uh–ueeh–..” You stammer, hands above the mess that was once the craftsman.
You are no stranger to death, nor is any wizard worth the weight of their wand. You saw well enough at the conservatory: teleportation mishaps, self saponification, the crocodile incident. You are well aware that great magic demands great sacrifice. But to see such a mess up close–gore spattered about the floorboards, a man painted against the wall–you can’t help but go a bit green in the face.
Your fair lady still waits at the shop’s front, the decanter stuck in what was once the craftsman.
>What do you do?
