‘Hassai…hold,’ an old, heavily accented voice says from within as you pass a simple red tent, ‘come in and share my tea. Weary feet, weary mind. No cost to you but time. Come in and see what the world beyond yours can offer.’
The old man is Pho, a Khitan merchant of vaious items that polite people might be able to buy from him. The inside of his tent is covered in oddities and trinkets, and the old man himself is a withered old Khitan in a colourful silken robe. His fingernails and facial hair are very long and thin, but he moves with more grace than might be expected.