Bartholomew makes his way swiftly across the arching second span of bridge toward the New Lindbur Trade and Crafting Hall. To the taller races, his footsteps would seem almost comically quick, but to the aging yet still energetic gnome, they were merely an everyday means of getting from place.

"Much to do. Much to do!" His simple words were heard by passersby, belying the far more complex tapestry of contemplations that filled his every waking moment, and many of his sleeping ones for that matter.

He indeed had much to do, and his purpose today would serve as an enabler: an outlet for his perpetual tinkering with things magical ... and perchance an opportunity to earn a little coin to finance his procurement of the rare, and often obscure, ingredients essential for his craft.

His determined progress brought him quickly to the proprietor of the small merchant stand adjoining the Hall.

"Ah! Good day, young lady!" he greeted in his disarmingly genial tone. "Who do I speak to about opening a sales table just inside the Hall there?"