By Megan Parmarter

Eyes sliding from stall to stall, Windwalker finally found the one she was looking for. It was a stall that sold precious and rare metals. It was run by an angry looking, gruff dwarf named Barlo. Windwalker could see him standing behind the counter of his stall, furry eyebrows furrowed and skin weathered with hard work. Most people who got near the stall veered out and away from it once they caught sight of the dwarf.

Slipping her way through the crowd, Windwalker sidled her way up to the counter with a wave and jolly smile. “Good morning, Barlo!”

“Lass,” grunted Barlo with a polite nod, “what can I help ya with t’day?”

“I’m looking for some top quality mithril,” said Windwalker as she placed her forearms on the counter and leaned in towards the dwarf, “and I mean top quality. I need the best you have.”

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