(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

this... balance... is in order." With that, he spoons a pile of coin into a small
pouch and scribbles in a ledger, "Now we stand at the tip of a precipice,
steep and high. Our foothold is slippery, and the fall would be fatal indeed.
Balance..." he mutters.
Shara clicks her tongue, "The only balance I'm worried about is the
precarious situation with the Black Knot Ale." She dangles a set of keys
before Scales-of-Three, "Go to the warehouse and roll in four fresh barrels.
I'd been saving that stash for next month's Festival of Serpents, but with this
sort of business..."
The Rilmani blinks in his egg-shaped robe, "But- the ledgers-"
"The coin's still flowing," she snaps, "And at this rate we'll be down to the
last dregs in half an hour. Now get going and bring another twelve tins of
those crisps, as well."
As Scales-of-Three scurries off, Shara Six-Blades looks to you with a smile, "A
good worker and steady accountant, but such a preachy fellow. I don't
suppose you'd be thinking of lunch about now? Cook is going to have a hard
night ahead of her, but we might as well keep bellies filled while throats are
wet."
When Oudilin returns, a good-sized cut of venison is set before you,
slathered with a steaming gray sauce and peppered with mushroom slices. A
bit more rich than you are used to, but you had skipped breakfast in your
haste to meet your old friend. The smell of spice and grease was alluring.
"Now," Oudilin's piercing voice cuts the chatter quickly, the sudden silence
ringing like a brass gong, "As I was saying, the Nameless One's quarry,
though a poor Dustman..."
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