You see a very worried-looking black woman. "My CHILE, oh my po' CHILE!" "Mabel, th' king's cook. My need art great. Lookit mah po' sick CHILE here..." "I cooks fer th' king, but jes now ah mo' concerned with mah CHILE here..." "He got bit by a rotworm near here. They cans cause fevers in KIDS." "Aydults they is immune to th' poison...king h'aint got no mo' ship, elsewhut we'd a traveled to Zeblin where they gots them fancy POTIONS." "Potions o' healin'...them mages makes it." Suddenly, the woman runs over to yousobbing: "Oh please, great Granmassa...please trah an' gets some fo' me po' lil chile...Ah'll COOKS fer ya..." "Even if ya total runs out o' food, and caint fahnds any, Ah'll keep makin' a fresh supply here...Ah promise, Granmassa....Ah promise!" She kneels by her child, trying to comfort him, but says no more. She looks up at you with hope in her eyes: "Bless ye."
