You are walking around the relatively subdued markets of Nishapur, the former capital of the glorious Sassanian Empire, when you see, in a secluded alley, a lady clad in Persian armor, accosting a clearly frightened, sobbing Arab kid. Her mouth incessantly spews insults, accusations and harassments,

"Go away, little sandmutt parasite! Eran doesn't welcome the likes of you here! Arabs get the fuck out! REEEEE!!!"

The sound of you approaching diverts her attention away; an opportunity for the crying child to escape. She turns to address you,

"Now, what are you doing here, dirty Bandag? Don't you see that I'm in the middle of something important—Shit! That little sandbrat got away!!"