“Thank you, Sol” she dips her head gratefully to him, listening to his words attentively. He was indeed a merchant, a 'lost soul' like she will be called soon enough by a goddess. “Novus has treated me well thus far” she says to him “nobody has been cruel to me, though I confess some have lacked some basic manners.” Some thought her a fool, others thought her weak... Odd, even.
But she tried not to focus on what they thought. It was not important. “Instead of weapons or anything that could be hurtful to others” Willoughby went on, musing out loud “you could sell medicine, jewelry or defensive gear?” Like Galileo, Sol had been a warrior once upon a time. She wondered how many in Novus knew how to fight, and if she should ever consider learning some basics. “perhaps even food and drink.”
Goodness knew that merchants were critical to the economy. “It won't be as popular as weapons and armor, but you'd be doing a good service?”
“speech”
