Tack heard the door to his small shoe shop open. Business was slow, so he usually spent most of his work hours in his room. He sprung up from his bed and tripped over himself heading downstairs.

You see a man in patched up overalls and a peasant hat with some hair sticking out the front tumbling down the stairs from his bedroom. He winces and rubs his head, the Tacks in his mouth forming a frown. He stops a moment to take a look at you.