Potions are a reliable field of work. It pays well, brewers are generally respected, remedies are always needed, and new discoveries can be life changing. Lou’s parents were delighted when they heard of the career choice.
I, however, was not.
Most potions are fine but, folks, can I tell you? Grinding up burned dragon scale or softening troll skin in acid smell about as awfully as you would imagine. But then times it by seven and you’re partway there. One whiff of fermented kelpie draggle and my whiskers try to pull themselves from my face.
The remedy for a dragon’s sinus infections is the worst. Just thinking about the gorgon gunge makes my stomach somersault. And the goblin hair, warmed and chopped. Then basilisk venom, topped with chives. Nothing else is as acrid, as powerful, as utterly revolting in every respect, than that accursed dragon sinus remedy.
Just let the dragon pups stay clogged up, for all I care. So they’re a little more flammable than normal, what’s the big deal?