<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/16/Belmug.jpg)</div><strong>Name :</strong>Bel-Kharran-Sharrat<br/><strong>Race and Occupation :</strong>Sekhemi portalmancer<br/><strong>Location &amp; Time :</strong>Afternoon, Amberdale General store<br/><strong>Tagging :</strong>Enkh, open<br/><br/><em>Chirp. Chirp. Chip-cheep. </em>The tips of Bel-Kharran-Sharrat's fingers pressed through the bars of a little cage to feed one of the shop's fragile yellow canaries. That they were nestled into an alcove with the iron pickaxes, pitons and coarse hemp rope predicted their fate. Chimes made from miscast glass leavings alerted her to the first customer of her lazy afternoon shift, and her fingers withdrew from the cage. Standing on her little stool she'd been just this man's height, but when she stepped down she was much less impressive. The hand-painted stool, whittled into the shape of a heart, pushed back under the shelves with a nudge from her desert sandal. "Good afternoon, mystery man."<br/><br/>She had been at this merchant game for most of her life, raised into it from a child. There was nobody more qualified in little Amberdale to nibble a customer's earlobe and drain him of his last coppers, and so little else was asked of her. She did not stock, she did not clean the messes, she did not light the lanterns in the morning. All that she did was lean into the dappled light and make herself a part of the aesthetic, and intrigue the kind of desire that led to coins spontaneously jumping out of purses. "What a long road you must have traveled to reach Amberdale's foremost supplier of goods."<br/><br/>Bel-Kharran-Sharrat had something to say about the layout when she'd come to work here. Better use of hte space had been made with drawers for the herbal medicines labeled along the cozy cottage wall behind the raw timber counter, shelves a feast for the eyes of texture and color arranged to an expert Sekhemi aesthetic to tickle the pattern centers of the brain. The former wine half-cellar had been transformed by a heavy sage curtain into a changing room for the fitting of armor. "But I'm confident whatever you need, I can help you to find it." She handled the rim of a repurposed barrel as she took in the whole of him. He didn't seem like a wealthy man, so her uncalloused fingers plucked a fuzzy peach from the canvas hammock laid over the barrel and offered it to his much broader hand. "Complimentary, from the General Store's own orchard."