Old Dough Bakery

The shop is small, but bustling. There's a smell of meat pies from the window, and freshly baked bread. Folk come here to get their premade breads baked, as they don't have ovens in their own homes. But there's also the option to just buy some of the Old Dough's stuff, if need be.

A grizzled old man stands behind the counter. His face is just as red as his hair, kept short, but falling messily across his forehead. With a well-groomed beard to match. He must be from the Northern parts. Maybe in his late-40s.

He's shovelling bread into a vast stone oven with something like a baking shovel. There's the faint smell of smoke, food, and other things. He's clearly busy, but will probably pay you attention if you just call out to him.