There was a small scuffling as an old man with a small pair of spectacles on the end of his nose moved out from behind a curtain. That same wave of fabric had been hiding a small shadowy doorway beyond the storeback, from which mysterious whispers could be heard. The older man peered at Tristain through his glass before coming right up to the worktop and bumping his rounded stomach to the edge.

"Do not mind them," he grunted, waving a hand to the doorway behind him. "They are just hungry. Now? You say you require something?"

He saw Tristain eyeing up a rather intriguing chess piece that was labelled simply, 'Strong,' before he went on.

"You seem like the sort who needs a cane. Cypher with steel?" His eyes glittered slightly mysteriously, but mostly wise.

"How does 450 gold sound?"
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