Ah, welcome traveller, to The Thule Exchange.
Here, we have had many different kinds of stories to circulate. That is to say, that we have run into.. trying times.
I will be frank, traveller. We are low of stock. Having been relocated to the middle of this desert was not kind to our business here in The Exchange. At first, there were those who found their courage to cross the barren expanse in order to continue their trading. With the coming of more to see our wares rose the small houses that surround The Exchange.
Then setback after setback...
The first sign of the coming times were the raiders. They usually kept to themselves while occasionally trading goods for our exotic stories. At one point, they ceased contact and attacked anyone who tried to negotiate on sight.
The second sign was the drying up of the various springs around us. Traders, merchants and nomads who had once come in droves.. now vanished into the horizon without a trace.
Finally came the sandstorms. Massive, hungering maws of sand buffeted The Exchange and made what scarce business was left impossible. Only one person ever braved the storms to venture outside. Never did he give his name, and never did he speak. Then, with the established prosperity gone, he vanished in the night.
"Am I the first?"
In nearly three-hundred years. We are the last descendants of those who established The Thule Exchange, these few and myself. We have no hope of carrying on our ancestors legacy, and no resources to rebuild The Exchange. Please, if you will stay...
...help the others and I to make The Excahnge prosper again.