The Tool Shopkeeper

The Shopkeeper looks up from a rusted set of shears he was attempting to sharpen, the metallic screech echoing off the stone walls of his small stall. He sets the tool down on a cluttered workbench and wipes his hands on his stained apron, squinting at you through the afternoon sun.

Back again, are we? You’ve got that look in your eyes—the kind that says you’re planning on heading out past the village gates. I wouldn't recommend it without a fresh stock of medicinal herbs; the Shades have been acting up near the southern plains lately. I heard a merchant say the bridge near the Aerie is looking shakier than usual, too. So, what’ll it be? You looking for supplies to keep your head on your shoulders, or are you just here to hear what the wind’s been blowing in from the coast?