Variel
Tathviel's shop is small, simple, and orderly. A single-room hut, perhaps enough for four or five people standing maximum before people start knocking elbows, with a bench and three shelves - potions on the left, alchemical items and supplies on the right, scrolls and magical trinkets in the back. Beyond the door a single curtain is all that cuts off viewing straight into the room. Daeronon Tathviel himself is a rather young-looking elf who is obviously not a native to these frozen lands: his skin is far too tanned, his hair far too dark, and he's bundled up in almost twice the necessary cold-weather clothing. A large lantern rests on the floor next to him behind the bench, as if he's using it as a small heater. At the time you enter he's closely studying a petri dish with some green flakes in it, an artificer's monacle pressed deeply into his left eye, and takes a few moments to look up and notice you after your arrival.
"Oh... good day saer, how can I assist you?" The absentminded-looking elf either forgets or does not consider it necessary to remove the magnifier from his eye.
"Oh, I have no need of assistance. I simply wished to meet the other practitioner of the fine art of alchemy in this town. I'm Variel, by the way. So, what is the going rate for basic alchemical supplies in these parts?", he says as he attempts to get a better look at the petri dish.