Her bag was heft on her back, she wheezed and she panted. Her bones creak.

She has what you need.

She takes what you don't.

She trades, and she has gold.

She has a red eye of glass, and it bobbles as she talks. Her breath smells.

But she buys, and she sells.

If you come to the tavern, about once a month- perhaps she will be there.

Because she buys, and she sells.


Not much is known about this mysterious traveling trader. Surely any who knew of her past are long dead. Anyone you ask seems to know of her as she is now, and nothing more.

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