Tattered Flag<br/>Augustana, Andoran<br/><br/>Emeric sat at one of the tables sipping at a mug of warm tea. His ability to go about gathering information was one of the reasons he’d stayed on with this merry band of intrepid adventurer’s. They’d all come through a few tough scrapes together. He sat in a small circle of cleanliness in a whirlpool of mud and madness. As an Alchemist, cleanliness was required. Because even the slightest amount of foreign matter into one of his vials could ruin a potion or heavens above mutate the contents of one of his Mutagen vials.<br/><br/>He was clean shaven accept for the mustache and goatee, his hair swept back away from his eyes, the white tunic he wore was one of the half-sleeve types that left his forearms exposed, making the fact that he wore gloves that were missing fingertips all the more conspicuous, the leather breeches he wore were form fitting without being constraining in the wrong places. His black leather vest was untied and open for a change. The half-boots he wore had seen better days and were probably due to be seen by a cobbler sooner rather than later, but for now they would suffice.<br/><br/>He sat looking at the vial of mutagen he had made up earlier that day. It sat in the spine of his open book glittering blue-green back at him. He was trying to piece together what happened that last time he’d used a mutagen. He couldn’t remember about an hour and a half of time from when he took it before facing the Necromancer until they were on their way back to Augustana.<br/><br/>None of the others had said anything about the missing time as yet, but he could tell something had happened judging from the way they looked at him, especially Terra. As the boy approached with a letter, Emeric smiled and said, “It’s alright lad, I put my pants on the same way you probably do in the morning. We’ll not bite. Promise.”<br/><br/>Accepting the letter, he sat it on the table, “Come, let us get you something warm to drink. Perhaps some hot cocoa, hmm?”<br/>