An injured sellsword.

After packing your alchemical tools, notebooks, and traveling equipment, you set out from the hidden entrance of your cult's lair. A brief jaunt through the moonlit woods leads you to the main road. Save for a few loose stones, the journey ahead looks easy enough. Hills swell to either side of the forest from which you just emerged, and the dirt road snakes steadily downhill. You march with your tools on your back, walking along the road dressed in plain linen clothes while wearing a broad-rimmed, straw sunhat. It's your intent to blend in as best you can with the foolish peasantfolk, and appearances can go a long way. However, your thoughts and schemes are stirred by the sound of a howling deathcry in the distance. Though a chill runs down your back, you blame the cool night breeze. You fear no mundane beast.

Another short while passes in quiet travel when you notice the crickets abruptly pause their singing. One hand rests on the dagger at your hip, and you brandish a torch in the other. "H-Hello?" you call out with a trembling voice, feigning weakness. Silence. You shrug and lower your guard when suddenly a figure stumbles out of the treeline. You step back with heightened anticipation but quickly recognize no threat in the stranger's staggering gait. At last within torchlight, the armored figure clutches their stomach and slumps down against a tree trunk. For a moment you can only stare in perplexed apathy. What an odd turn of events. Could it be a sign from the unholy mother herself? That's when the warrior pulls off their steel helm, revealing a dirt-smudged face of beauty. Golden hair tied into a loose, shoulder-length braid, eyes as blue as the ocean, and cheekbones to draw the envy of any noblewoman-- she is absolutely stunning!

"Help me... please," she murmurs feebly, her eyes fluttering. Judging by the blood trickling at the corner of her plump lips, she appears to be suffering from internal injuries. You crouch down in front of her and plant the torch in the soft earth.

"I am an alchemist of some skill. If you'll allow it, I can treat your wounds," you explain with faux modesty. She nods before resting her head back against the tree. At this range you see deep claw gouges in her armor dripping with fresh blood. Careful not to inflict any further pain, you unfasten her breastplate and set it aside. You take note of her modest B-cup bust still wrapped in linen bindings but continue your inspection of her injuries. The claws raked across her stomach, and it looks like they cut deep. Mundane medicine might not be able to save her, but you have a variety of potions at your disposal. "It looks bad. Quick, let me fetch you a healing potion," you comment and begin digging through your backpack.

"Please... I promise I can pay you back," she says with a cough. Her brow glistens with a cold sweat, and she's looking more pale by the minute. You nod and continue digging through your pack, metal and glass clinking softly. Your mind reels with possibilities...

You don't have many formulae at your disposal just yet, but it was never too late to start experimenting. Of course you'll give her a healing potion, but you have the chance to spike it with a secondary elixir. Your current options are as follows:

Minor Lust Potion. This potion will cause the imbiber to feel uncontrollable lust and devotion to whatever creature they see first. Lasts for 8 hours.
Elixir of Goblinoid Fertility. This elixir causes indiscernable alterations to the imbiber's reproductive capabilities. Any offspring sired by the creature will always be a goblin, and said offspring are born within three days of conception. Goblins will mature quickly, and must be manually trained. Lasts until dispelled.
Minor Abyssal Mutagen. (WARNING: potential body horror!) This mutagen causes the imbiber to slowly gain minor physical mutations over time. Repeated consumption of this mutagen accelerates and intensifies the transformation. Lasts until dispelled.