The sun broke over the eastern mountains as the merchants began their daily routines.

The clatter of boxes and chests mingled with the familiar ear-splitting tear of rusty metal hinges marked the opening of Swipp's overloaded cart-stand. Accompanied by his daughters Pipp and Tripp (the latter showing no enthusiasm for the ordeal whatsoever), they stocked shelves and hideaway cupboards with artifacts, adornments, and other treasures. Not far off, Tomo was still poring a pile of parchment that had reached magnificent proportions. Her loyal scribe Scribbles flitted around the massive "nest" she had created, futilely attempting to locate a missing transcript. Crim and Pinkerton were already arguing. Heated words and animated gestures flew over the gargantuan mound that loomed behind them.

With a great sigh, Baldwin righted himself, heaving his tired, brittle form up off the haphazard pile off cushions, formulae, and sundry ingredients that made up last night's bed. A familiar ache renewed its grip on his weary joints as he began to prepare for the day's experiments. Junior alchemists from all over Sornieth would be looking to him for usage of the imposing cauldron in the center of his plot. Mustn't keep them waiting, he thought, science waits for no one!

And so began a rigorous day of experiments, each more unstable than the one that came before it. There were times that the brews reacted so violently, Baldwin and his apprentices had to dodge behind crates and ingredient shelves to shield themselves from the cauldron's unstable projectiles. At one point, an explosive plume hurtled the old alchemist back so far and so fast, he created a thirty foot skid mark into the grass behind his plot. He reflected that his unpredictable practice might just end him before age did. With a great sigh, the elderly Pearlcatcher called off the day's work early, sent his apprentices home, and collapsed with exhaustion.

The next day, gloom hugged the sky as a thunderstorm rolled over the mountain range, having picked up intensity in the Shifting Expanse. There were fewer patrons travelling to the trading post today, so Baldwin occupied himself cleaning up from the day before and cataloging results of some of the wilder reactions so that he didn't accidentally attempt them again. Today will be much more restrained, he thought, the downfall of the persistent scientist is the lack of control.

Nature itself saw fit to challenge that introspection.

The weather turned from bad to worse while Baldwin was extracting what he deemed to be a "relatively stable" brew. The alchemist soldiered on, dropping powders and plants into the sludgy green mixture below him. A monumental crack of thunder shook the sky, and lightning started to streak in threatening fingers from cloud to cloud. Undeterred, the old dragon continued his work, now nearing completion. This batch is the most balanced and reproducible concoction I've made, I wager. But there wasn't time to add the last ingredient. As if to challenge him, a bolt of lightning arced from the clouds, striking the massive cauldron. A torrent of power coursed through the metal, making it glow bright blue in a shower of sparks.



The force of the strike caused the contents of the cauldron to erupt, drenching the Baldwin's fallen form from head to toe. He cried out, scalded by the steaming mixture. Before he could get up, the other merchants were already moving to help.

"Whoa, old dragon, are you trying to get yourself killed?!" Pinkerton gasped, grabbing for rags and a bucket of water to help clean the drenched scientist off.

"Someone's ticked off the Stormcatcher..." Tripp muttered under her breath.

Baldwin waved them off. "Not to worry, I was yelling more out of surprise. The pain is nearly gone."

Before he could finish, Tomo cried out, "Baldwin! Whatever you're covered in is.... it's seeping into your skin!"

With silent analysis, Scribbles was jotting down observations from Tomo's shoulder. "Acquire more avocados."

Indeed, the substance that had spewed from the cauldron now seemed to be soaking right into Baldwin's skin. After a few moments, it had completely dissipated. "...complete dermal absorption..." Baldwin breathed in awe.

The gathering stared in horror. Pipp stammered, "Are you okay?"

"It appears so... I actually feel... I feel... excellent! Spry, even," said the alchemist. After a round of assurances, the other merchants retreated to their respective plots as the thunder abated. Crim swiped a few flasks on the way out.

And Baldwin did feel better. He was tired, but his joints ached a little bit less and he felt as if he had more energy in his muscles. He could swear that even his sense of smell had improved. Ever the scientist, Baldwin ran quickly to his mountain of parchment, reaching for the first quill he could find. If he had found some sort of age-reversal serum, he had to get the recipe transcribed before he forgot it. Noting the look on his students' faces, he blurted out: "We've got work to do!" After having made as many notes as he could muster from the day's events, Baldwin retired for the evening.


Day 1

Slightly better motor skills. Reduced arthritic pain. Neck irritation.

Baldwin spent the first part of the morning writing down how he physically felt following the prior day's catastrophe. So far there hadn't been any noticeable side effects other than a strange itch along his neck that he had not encountered before. There was no evidence of a rash, so he continued to dabble with the separated ingredients to try and determine what may have happened.


Day 2

Tongue feels thick, and the irritation has spread to the bridge of my snout. Feeling very terrestrial today.

Pinkerton, trying not to raise his voice, said: "That playing card set was a gift!"

Crim feigned ignorance. "Oh, that? I just saw it laying around! If it's yours, then-" She fell silent.

Taking notice of her sudden drop-off, Pinkerton turned to where she was now staring. Baldwin was scurrying about, moving stacks of books and rolls of scientific diagrams, but something about his demeanor was off. He was crouched low, his belly almost sliding in the dirt as he moved. He somewhat resembled a giant rat, and the two had never seen him move about in such a manner. Back and forth he skulked, invigorated by his latest scientific "breakthrough".

Pinkerton and Crim sat for quite a while, taking in the peculiar behavior.

"Does the old man look... I don't know, a little larger than usual...?" he said slowly.


Day 3

Baldwin woke with a start, feeling a very strange sensation on either side of his nose. Allowing his vision to focus, he turned his gaze to the rug below him, where two long string-like objects sat coiled. Slowly, he raised a hand to his face, feeling around in the area where the irritation had been.

... his whiskers were gone. They were on the ground.

"AH!" he yelped, recoiling from the two disembodied tendrils. Stumbling over legs and arms that felt much clumsier and thicker than normal, he produced a polished brass plate and used its reflective surface to observe whatever wound was sure to have been left behind. But there was no wound. The places at which the iconic Pearlcatcher whiskers had attached to his face were smooth. His snout looked... ordinary.

Without a second of thought, he lurched toward the nearest parchment he could find, dunking his quill and getting the day's notes in.

Painless detachment of whiskers. No open wounds. No wounds at all.


Day 8

Continued metamorphosis. Horn has almost entirely receded into snout (probably for the best, considering I lost the other one). Ears are beginning to shrink, but hearing has somewhat improved.


Day 17

Impressive fin growth. Starts at top of head and continues down to the base of neck, which has also elongated significantly. Trunk is noticeably thicker and sturdier. Feeling insatiably hungry for meat... Insects no longer satisfy.


Day 30

"He's a completely different dragon..." Tomo observed, noting for Scribbles to continue writing down what they saw each morning.

Baldwin's gradual transformation was fascinating. It wasn't uncommon for dragons to utilize magic-imbued scrolls to change themselves, but those worked nearly instantaneously, and were only successful if one focused all of their own internal magical energy into the process. Seeing someone go through it over the course of a month was very alien, and appeared quite physically taxing.

Or was it?

And just what exactly was he turning into? Magical scrolls could only hold the full-bodied countenance of dragon beings that already existed. There were myths and legends about cursed scrolls that could leave an unlucky dragon malformed and disfigured, but Tomo had never seen or heard of that occurring in her or her ancestors' lifetimes.

"That goop is going to be the end of us all," she said to Scribbles.

Scribbles wrote it down.


Day 41

Metamorphosis seems to have slowed significantly, if not halted entirely. Fins and neck have likely been the biggest changes, aside from the shortening of both my front and back legs. While my overall size has increased, it's much more difficult to be nimble with my equipment. I've had to rearrange the items and furniture in the workshop to allow myself ample room to move about.

I get a great deal of satisfaction the closer I am to cool, damp places. My students have taken notice of this. Some of them are affectionately calling me "Bogwin." I have also lost almost all of my previous urges to fly or glide. Perhaps this is all for the best, as my old bones weren't really suited for it anymore. Feeling very adept at hiding.

Ingesting a daily diet of meat and plant matter regularly. Eyesight is awful in the daylight, so I have taken to performing most of my work at dawn and dusk, or under the shade of nearby trees. My students and apprentices have had little success completely replicating the exact results.

Baldwin turned to a group of young alchemists that had just finished packing up their work and said, "That will be all for today. I appreciate the help, even though it seems we're not much closer to discovering the key to this condition."

Disappointed grumbles and chatter rose from the group as they dejectedly shoved test equipment into leather packs and satchels. They eventually disbanded, each flying or gliding in a different direction in to the darkening sky. Some stopped by his neighbor-merchants before making their long journeys home. Baldwin busied himself with cleaning up the day's used equipment and concoctions, but upon turning back to the cauldron, he nearly dropped several fragile beakers to discover that a young Ridgeback was still present, silently working.

"You there, you can head home now. It's going to be a long while before we've deciphered this-" he started to say, dejection creeping into his voice.

"I'm close, I just know it," spoke the young dragon. She was writing feverishly on her last clean piece of parchment, huddled behind what looked to be a pile almost rivaling that of Scribbles' archives.

"I assure you, that's quite enough for the day. There's always tomorrow." He moved closer to her, and picked up the parchment on top of the pile. Scrawled in messy-yet-organized script was The "Bogsneak" Mutagen: A Treatise.

"Science waits for no one," she shot back, perseverance shining in her eyes, the scribbling reaching an almost frantic pace.

Welling with sudden pride, Baldwin read on. "Carry on, then," he said.