Brain Juice. Snail dust.

An alchemist. In a hut. In a forest. Muttering to themselves, mixing things. The smells permeate through the walls so that passers by know to avoid that place. The property covered in vines and bushes and flowers, has fences and cages for a wide array of beasts and pets and the occasional humanoid.

Brain juice of the dead mixed with slime from the cave of a thousand bats - To cure leprosy. The delay the fingers and limbs from melting from ones body.

Ground up dried snail burned and shaken with giant snake venom for longevity.

The fur of a scared boar, baked in eggs and grass from a swamp to relegate the need for clothes in the snow or icy waters.

A paste of thyme and bile and hazelnuts. A nice winter snack.

The alchemist stares dreamily outside, if only they had access to the island of eaglets. What could they do with so much poop and eggs and feathers.

They can only dream.