Willow doesn't look at you as the hut door falls closed behind you. In fact, she is quite determinately looking anywhere but at you, her eyes roving around the cave system with the same apparent interest in the half finished carvings littering the art bench, and a small rock that looks a little like a frog.

You clear your throat as she leads you down past the first palisade, and the sudden noise makes her startle.

“You know it's fine that you walked in on us, right?”

She makes a noise a little like 'meep' and stops walking. You don't giving her a little space.

“It's not like we have many doors here, let alone locking ones. We're not going to punish you for doing your job at a slightly inconvenient time.”

She hesitates for a moment longer, till you turn to look over your shoulder at her. You can see her firm her resolve before she meets your eye and nods. Your eyes drift down to her belt, and the sword that's hanging there, before you turn your head back forward. Another 'meep' sounds behind you and you can see the horned kobold freeze once more in your peripheral vision.

“New sword?”

Hurried footsteps bring Willow back to your side, although for some reason her blush has returned.

“Yes sir. Bulwark gave it to me, apparently it was one of the loot drops. It's Good Quality.”

You nod, slowing your steps as to not outpace her.

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It's uh... 'Minor bonuses to durability, weight distribution and sharpness; adding five to the wielder's Melee Skill'. Bulwark said that, um,” she drops her voice an octave and changes her walk into the slightly stooped skulk of the shield specialist, “'Party Leader gets the best loot.', and then he threw it at me from across the room.”

You snort and then wave your hand towards her when she looks affronted. “I'm sorry. I've never spent so long with any single group before. The nearby goblins were just... goblins, you know? An ever changing cast of forest dwelling short folk.”

Your words do not seem to have made her feel any better. You sigh lightly. “That didn't sound right. I'm just still getting used to spending time with people who let their guard down. Living with people who...”

You trail off, looking for the words that Willow supplies a moment later.

“People who live.”

Both of you fall silent at that, until your steps take you out into the entrance hall where you first lay eyes on your mysterious visitor.

At first glance, he appears to be an old human man, with white hair fanning out from underneath a well worn leather cap, and a thick moustache. A large pack sits on the floor next to him, nearly as large again as the stooped traveller. He's looking around with a gimlet eye, staring at the artwork that's subtly carved into the torch sconces and occasionally exchanging a glance with Hammer, who seems to be on guard.

As soon as he spots you however, his demeanour changes. His bent stoop straightens with a staccato of clicks, gaining him a solid foot of height, and his blankly inoffensive expression twists into a smirk.

“So,” his voice matches his appearance, reedy and wavering as he swoops into an elaborate bow so low his hat seems to be in danger of falling off, “The rumours are true. An honest to gods two level dungeon.”

His voice is... different, as he straitens once more. As he spoke it gained strength and timbre until the voice is that of a man in his prime. And when he faces you once more, again his face matches his words. Gone is the walrus hair lip; the white hair is now a silky black and tied back into a loose tail; the brown eyes sparkle green...

And the ears point outwards, coming to sharp tips.

“It's so rare I get to drop the role, I really must thank you.”

The... figure seems content to wait for your response, a mischievous light dancing in his eye, so instead you come to a stop and let your perception activate.

Well now that's rude, Level wouldn't you like to know

Subtypes are so limiting, don't you agree?, Although I am an NPC, Buy me a drink to see if I'm explicit

That brings you up rather short and elicits a bark of laughter from the creature in front of you as you draw yourself into a combat stance. The only person you've seen who could hide from your perception is Mercy; and the only item, the Commoner's Cloak used in Mhæri's ill fated attack.

“Ah-” he holds his hands up as smoke begins to leak from your lips, a slight frown marring his features, “There's no need for that. I just couldn't resist. Really, I mean you no harm. Would it perhaps help if I showed you how so many others who try the same see me?”

You keep the flame building as you activate your perception again.

The Wandering Merchant, Non-Combat

Human, NPC, Trading

You let the power slip away from you.

“A merchant?”

The clearly non-human creature in front of you pulls himself up to his full height, striking a pose of disgusted superiority, his nose so high in the air that you can see right up both nostrils.

“Nay sir! I am The Merchant, and I thank you to remember it!”

You reach up and gently massage your temples to stave of the headache that you know is coming.

“And... what does that entail?”

The Merchant deflates. “You don't already..? No? Huh.”

He stares at you in thoughtful silence for a moment before shrugging.

“I am the Wandering Merchant. I, well. I don't know how to break this to you, but I wander around and I buy and sell things.”

You glare at him, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “OK, OK. Look, I'm here to make it easier to fulfil whatever ambition you had when you used the claimant crystal. Once a claimed plot reaches a certain size,” he gestures around the entrance hall, “And for dungeons like this that's a second floor and a door, I add them to my rotation. Then I wander, and I trade. Stone sells well away from the mountains, wood well away from the forest, glass away from coastal cities. A couple of heroes make a good amount of cash by making furniture to sell to me, although I'm out of most of that at the moment and Lairs tend to need less of that anyway. So...”

He turns his eyes on you, and something locks your gaze to his. His irises swirl. The green getting deeper as you struggle to look away.

“What is it that you desire?”

Then he blinks, and the spell is broken.