A luthier's workshop(e)
Your nose wrinkles as you enter the dusty workroom, and you try to refrain from sneezing. Dust coats the room, covering the instruments which fill the place. Tiny motes have landed upon the varnish of the lutes and violins, and upon the goatskin heads of the drums. The only items which seem to have escaped the dust are the woodwinds, which are packed away in small felt bags. A wooden sign hangs upon a counter at the back of the room.
The east door is closed.
The only obvious exit is east.
An oil lamp [lit]
A fat luthier mops the sweat from his brow