Bag of Alchemical Materials, a stout burlap sack sealed with a tarnished brass pin, bears a faded sigil that hints at an extinct alchemist guild. The weave is rough to the touch, each fiber catching on your fingers like dry grass, and when you rub it you release a whisper of powder that rains back into the sack. The scent is a sharp, mineral tang—sulfur and iron, lacquered resin and a trace of something citrus and bitter—an aroma that feels almost characterful, as if the bag itself remembers every batch it has weathered. In legends, these bags were the cargo of itinerant alchemists who traded in curiosities: a sentry's tense nerves, a market's restless sigh, a map pressed between sleeves. They are not merely bundles of reagents; they are compact vaults that keep potential simmering just beneath the surface, ready to be coaxed into form by careful hands. For those who craft at the bench, the Bag of Alchemical Materials is a portable toolkit. It yields a scattering of tinctures, powders, and small vials—ingredients that can spark a potion, fuel a bomb of impromptu utility, or dye a tool with a temporary edge in a skirmish. The bag’s true charm lies in its versatility: it can supply the raw spark a tinkerer needs to convert scrap into something that might turn the tide, or provide the precise tracer elements required to align a gear’s hidden mechanism. Players speak of it as both a practical staple and a talisman: a steady, dependable resource that makes a craftsman’s life feel less precarious and more intentional, even when the world around is pressing in with new mats to chase and new recipes to discover. In the market’s back rooms and crowded stalls, the Saddlebag Exchange has learned to price such bundles not by fear of scarcity but by the quiet arithmetic of supply and curiosity. A typical bag sits around a modest silver—enough to reward a patient apprentice who saves their coins, yet flexible enough to fetch a little more when rumor hints at a new alchemical path opening in town. Traders speak in a rhythm of barter and provenance; a bag’s worth swells when its sigil matches an old lineage of makers, or when a batch glows with a residual hum of magic. And so the Bag of Alchemical Materials remains more than a crate of dirt and glass. It is a passport: a reader’s key to the hidden chemistry of the world, a reminder that every recipe begins with a handful of ordinary things gathered, weighed, and stirred with care. When the bag is opened, the moment isn’t simply about crafting; it’s about listening to the small sounds of possibility that the characters around you have learned to hear—the soft clink, the sigh of powder, the promise of something better shaped by patient hands. On dawn market days, vendors pore over the bags, tracing the sigil, mapping projects. The bag is both tool and talisman, reminding that small things carry weight.