If the old monk had listened to his surroundings, he might have heard some rather ominious figures, easily half a dozen, all clothed from head to toe in the same grey linen, speaking with sinister tone "That them?"<br/><br/>To be answered by another "That them.", followed by the unmistakable sound of determined foot-steps directly into the monk's direction.<br/><br/>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/><br/>"HEALING SALVES! WARMING BALM! ALL OF THE HIGHEST QUALITY, DELIVERED FROM THE FARTHEST REACHES OF SHAR'TUL UP TO EVEN THE MIGHTY TOLDARE! COME, AT THE MOST RIDICULOUSELY LOW PRICES POSSIBLE! COME, BUY A BARTOLOMEW!" one of the merchant's voices rose over all the others on the market, his particular stall a curious amalgation of different shades of red, the table in front of him full of flasks of varying size and color.