Selling my father's wares.

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You become lost in the memory.

"Swords, swords!" You call. "Wooden carvings! The finest swords you'll ever see!" Your most recent batch of wares is twelve swords from the south. They are expertly made, and should fetch a good price. The wooden carvings were actually made by a friend of yours, a Druid girl named Crysa. They weren't magic-looking, so you won't get in trouble.

"Swords?" An inquiring voice asks you. You look up into the eyes of a dark-haired man. "May I see them?"

You nod and hand one over. "They were made in the kingdom of Mercia. My father says they're the finest swords he's ever seen."

"Your father must not have seen many swords, then." The man suddenly sneered, dropping it on the ground. You inhale sharply at the insult. "These are terrible! I wouldn't pay a dime for one of these!"

You...

Explain to him calmly that they are fine swords, and he should stop disrespecting your father

Tell him to go away if he isn't going to buy anything.

Glare at him and pick up the sword.

Get mad and start yelling

Yelling? Why yell when you can just use magic?

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