The Beadle's cane clicks against the concrete ground with his every step as he wanders through the markets, occasionally inspecting a stick of bread or a stray vegetable. He tips his hat to you and smiles his greasy, crooked smile, but says nothing as his eyes move back to scan over the various produce and women in the area, admiring people and product alike from afar and muttering a chipper, throaty and haughty "Good evening to you, sir~", "Hello to you, madam~" as he passes by various folk