Two doors down from the Cat & Cauldron, which is as cozy and welcoming a tavern as anyone could wish to find, looms a narrow stone building as grim and forbidding as any building has a right to be.

Or rather, it should be grim and forbidding, what with the stone and the looming and so on, but in truth Philandra’s Philters (“They’re Phamous!”) is the sort of place that’s difficult to speak of without a smile and nearly impossible to pass by.

Philandra is a woman in merry midlife, not exactly a wench but no crone, thank you very much. She always dresses in rich shades of sapphire blue–the color reserved for Adepts–but her outfits are so outrageous that they inspire grins rather than censure.  Philandra gets away with things no one else would dare attempt.  Since she is not technically an alchemist, much less an Adept, she markets her wares with a wink. Her concoctions come with a long list of extravagant claims which no one, including Philandra, takes seriously.

People come to Philandra’s Philters to be entertained by her stories and drink a mug of her spiced ale, but few leave without making a purchase.  It’s an open secret that Philandra’s concoctions work. They might not live up to their creator’s more lavish claims, but they do small, practical things such as remove ink stains and cure hiccoughs. If you need a glue to hold things together or a solvent to take them apart, chances are Philandra will have just the thing. Her patrons appreciate her solutions to their small everyday problems, but participating in her cheerful parody of Sevrin’s alchemists is the real attraction.