You start your shift at Old Dough's

The day is in full swing. You wrap warm meat pies, shove blocks of dough, and collect Lentimes as fast as you can. It's a hard, grueling job, demanded constantly by constant customers.

“Keep it up!” Nulfhild barks. “Don't be dying on me yet!”

Sweat sticks to your forehead. Every crevice of your body is coated in the salty, slick substance. During a brief lull, Nulfhild tosses you a slightly burnt honey cake. It tastes great. With faint traces of what seems to be some sort of undiscernible spice.

Gobbling it down, you soon find yourself face to face with more customers, continuing until the day's end.