Dagran smiles as broadly as he can to the well-dressed fellow, fat fingers covered with rings outstretched as his splays his arms outward in a greeting. “Good sir,” he begins, “Oi be here to sell me wares, oi do!”
The dwarf gestures to the satchel slung over his shoulder, flipping the bag open so that the man can see the contents of the container. “So oi suppose yer right when ya say wealth! Roight here oi have the foinest candlesticks, made frem wax from an apiary in Reza! Oi’ve everythin’ else bee-themed ye can imagine. Mead, too, an’ o’ course some honey. Oi’ve come straight from there with this shipment. Can ya tell me how oi moight go about settin’ up a bazaar, on a, er, temporary basis?”
