It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Jester Lavorre, a tiefling cleric . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, While Beau throws wild haymakers, missing with her first hit, Dairon retaliates with only very light, disciplined taps. Beau's next few hits land hard.
DM: Okay, easily enough, so you guys haven't arrived yet. You guys have arrived. As you enter the interior, it's a very musty smell on the inside, too. There's a lot of fungus being grown on the inside here, and you can see that elements of it may have expanded into the corners of the actual room and it's not necessarily the nicest space to be wandering in. It seems natural. Across the way, you see a gentleman of relatively tanned skin, with darker hair that's ratty and clustered. He's in his late twenties or so, looks to be upon closer inspection partial elven blood, partial human blood, and he's in the process of carefully carving a large stalk of what looks like a fungus off of a small pot that he pulled off one of the shelves. As you enter, he doesn't even make eye contact. He goes, "Hello, please, just wait a moment. There we are. Hi, can I help you?"
Player: Yeah, my friends keep dying. Do you have any health potions?
DM: "We have a handful, that is correct. How many are you looking to purchase?"
Player: How many do you have?
DM: "Four."
Player: Ooh. That will last us probably, like, a day.
DM: "What do you do for a living?"
