The Storyteller1987

Cook:
What's your trade, fool? It can be scratched on your gravestone.

The Storyteller:
I am a teller of stories. A weaver of dreams. I can dance, sing, and in the right weather I can stand on my head. I know 7 words of Latin, I have a little magic...

[the guards lower their halberds to bar his way, The Storyteller gestures them to remove the weapons]

The Storyteller:
and a trick or two. I know the proper way to meet a dragon, I can fight dirty but not fair. I once swallowed thirty oysters in a minute. I am not domestic, I am a luxury and, in that sense, necessary.