The Winter Gods are fighting tonight, no question of that. The shadows conceal your features from me, so please be assured that I refer to the Gods of your native land. All others are undoubtedly false. Please, come sit here by the fire with me so that you may shake off the chill and that I might see you better. The contents of that dilapidated pitcher on the mantle will help warm your bones as well, if you so choose. I would offer you some food, but alas a poor hermit such as myself diets only on whatever herbs and berries I can scavenge when the weather allows. That smell? Nay, it is not mutton! My pantries are as bare as your stature is noble, so I do swear by all that I hold Holy.

So how may I be of service to you? Are you questing for gold long buried by forgotten kings? You search for mystic spells and forbidden incantations, perhaps? Much knowledge resides in this dusty chest perched upon my neck. Like all chests it requires a key, however. Specifically, a golden key.

Oh my! Look at the size of that pouch! Your key is quite sizeable indeed, my liege. What ancient lore do you hunger for? The Dark Age of Camelot? Oh yes, I know something of the subject. I have studied it quite extensively, actually. You might even say that this entire shanty we sit in is a shrine to it. Feel free to look around, perhaps the knowledge you seek can be found in some nook or cranny of this crumbling house. Oh, but stay out of the pantry, will you? You see the hinges are nearly rusted through, and besides there really isn't anything in there�.