The Commoner's Patience
A plain branch, bark still on it, strong but unpolished. Notches mark where someone kept count of questions asked. The first notch is deep and generous — the commoner's one good answer, given freely. After that, the notches get shallower, angrier. The branch narrows. Scratched into the wood at intervals: 'I don't know nothin bout that.' Then: 'I'm afraid that means nothing to me, Ser.' Then: 'Go on and find a friend or someone who knows somethin.' And finally, at the branch's broken tip: 'I'm new to Daggerfall too. Now, please excuse me.' A small plaque reads: 'Ysolda Yeomwing. She had one rumor, one greeting, and fifteen ways to say no. Each one more tired than the last. That is a person.'