Muggin
Steam curled from the glass mugs lining the counter of The Mugshop, filling the air with a sharp mix of herbs, sugar, and ozone. Muggin shuffled behind the bar, his taped half-glasses slipping as he polished a beaker with the same care a priest might give a relic. His red hair was wild, his blonde beard stained faintly green from too many late-night experiments. The false eye—crafted from a marble-sized crystal—glimmered faintly as he leaned over a simmering cauldron.
Locals came not only for potions but for conversation. Muggin’s café was the heart of Turin’s oddities—a place where mercenaries traded stories, scholars debated formulas, and drunks swore they’d been cured of curses by his “Hangover Hexbreaker.” Though he laughed easily, there was a carefulness to him, a hint of the alchemist who’d once lost more than just his eye to his own creation. When the doorbell chimed and another traveller stepped in, Muggin flashed a crooked grin and raised a bubbling mug. “Careful where you sip,” he said, “some of these’ll change more than your mood.”
Current Location
Children