A strange man stumbles in, looking distracted. He has several bleeding gashes on his face and a hole in his right shoulder. He looks exhausted and angry. He mutters to himself “Rusting bandits, always making life so rusting hard.” Then he looks up and his face smooths into calmness. “Greetings, I’d like a bowl of your signature stew and a mug of… Horneater Lager? That sounds good. Also some bandages if you have them. What currency do you use here, Spheres, Coins, Shells?”