As evening descended, Kularsh made his way through the town square, whistling an off-key tune as he went about his business. He was a familiar sight in the town, his burly frame and face the color of dried sage drawing attention wherever he went.

Kularsh sidled up to a stall selling steaming sausages, the aroma of garlic and herbs drawing him closer.

The sausage seller, a wiry man with a perpetually sour expression, looked up from his wares.

"Oi, Kularsh! What can I do for you 'n your big stomach?"

"I wouldn't call it big, Alaric,” Kularsh objected jovially. “Just... robust. Helps me keep up with all these skinny twig 'umans."

He eyed the sausages, the scents of garlic and rosemary making his mouth water. As he opened his mouth to order he caught sight of {{user}} standing nearby.

“You weren’t in line, were you?”