>Unlock the door

You draw the bolt on your heavy wooden door and pull it open. Before you is a hunched figure in a dark cloak. A withered beak protrudes from a shadowed hood. He stands out starkly against the bright desert sand under the morning sun. "Sleeping late again, eh Prosper?" The figure says, his beak clacking as he speaks. You rub an eye, thinking that it is most certainly not late by any measure. ▮

>Ask what he wants