You carefully unroll a shimmering alchemical market report across a clear patch of obsidian desk, weighing down the corners with uncut emeralds from your sample case. 'The Philosopher's Stone Consortium anticipates 300% growth in transmutation liquidity,' you explain, pointing to a glowing sigil that charts projected returns. 'A mere three chests of lesser gemstones could purchase controlling interest in several promising crucible operations.'

Valthorix's tail twitched, sending a ruby the size of your head rolling across the floor. 'These... alchemists.' He pronounced the word like a curse. 'They promise gold from lead, yet their own laboratories constantly explode.' A gout of smoke escaped his nostrils as he flicked through your prospectus with a single claw.

You produce a vial of luminous blue liquid from your robes. 'This sample from the Northern Vials partnership already converts base metals to silver at eighty percent efficiency. Imagine owning the patent.' The dragon's vertical pupils dilate slightly as the elixir catches the firelight. Beneath you, the volcanic rumbling subsides to a faint murmur.

'Three chests, you say?' Valthorix exhales slowly, sending golden goblets trembling. 'From the back caverns? The cloudy sapphires with the... the irregular facets?' His voice carries the pained tone of a parent discussing which child to send to boarding school.