A boisterous, tattooed dwarf with a long beard sets up a merchant stall in the market place. Among his wares are locks, keys, lock boxes, numerous clocks, and other fine—if mundane—metal and mechanical wares.
“Aye, greetings. The name’s Arrakk [pronounced “are-ack”] Kundarak [rhymes] and this is my shop. Well, my stall. I don’t have a shop yet. I hope to soon. Me and some of the other folks around here wanna build up the area, get more traffic, you know. Sell specialty goods. I got some ideas about that but I gotta make some coin first, you know.
“I’m a locksmith by trade and a consultant. I can pick ‘em and fix ‘em and break ‘em and make ‘em. What ‘er you need.” I’ll go wherever you need me to go, be on retainer. I can do security and I’ve built vaults and, well, I’m getting ahead of myself. These are some of my recent projects.”
There is a small workbench with tools and tiny clock pieces strewn about behind him in the stall. The clock that he appears to be working on looks overly mundane, some might say utilitarian or even boring, but the guts look to be fine craftwork.
Arrakk smiles, “I know,” he says, pointing to a row of plain clocks the size of apples, “they ain’t much to look at, but they will run forever and don’t need winding. Ain’t a more accurate clock out there, I’ll tell you that. This one here,” he picks up a larger, melon-sized clock, “this one tracks the seasons and moon and the tides and you can use these knobs here to set eight different timers to run all at once.” Arrakk appears to be an earnest salesman and a capable craftsman. He would probably talk your ears off if given half a chance.