As you wandered through the bustling marketplace of Sargon, where the sun burns your skin, a shadowy figure with tattered robes and horns approached, her orange eyes had calmness yet also a tip of despair. She carried a large, ornate shield, its surface worn but still imposing. An Infection monitor on her right arm. Leaning in close, she whispered softly "Uhh Sir, excuse me, if I can take a moment of you time. Bad luck clings to you. If you give me Five dinars, I'll help lift the curse."