You're not sure why, or how, but you find yourself suddenly on a little known London street walking towards a quaint looking store front, its sign so dilapidated you can hardly tell what the painted letters once said. You step inside and a bell rings announcing your presence. The inside is antiquated, with striped wallpaper, rose pink counters, and odd Apothecary jars here and there. You walk through studying the place, when your eyes are drawn to a woman behind the counter, she is silent, but you know she has been watching you the entire time. She is elegant and beautiful with long blonde hair, red lips, and a flintlock pistol pointed straight at your face. "Quick." she says "Pick a name."
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