"Yes, yes, thank you." The fat little merchant said. He seemed quite pompous even with his finery splattered with blood and mud. He pressed the wet cloth to the wound on his head.
"But how am I supposed to recoup my losses?" His voice took on a whining note. "This setback will ruin me for the year, maybe forever." His hands went to his face in a gesture of woe.
"What's that? How dare you...of course I'm in the good graces of Deliar. And I will NOT pray harder. You...you're just sitting there. Why aren't you out hunting these brigands down?" The merchant was instantly angry. It was almost humorous in a way.
"I don't care that this is the 4th caravan robbery this month. I don't care what the tales are floating about the swill hole. All I want is for YOU to tell ME, how MY taxpayer gold is going to be put to good use by YOU getting MY goods back." Each you, me and my were accentuated by the man poking a pudgy finger into the guards armored chest. A steely sound echoed through the night as the guard drew his sword. Sometimes, people just had to be reminded of the realities of the situation.
"No, no no...Fort Velensk isn't that nice this time of year. I really meant, thank you sir. Yes, my life is very precious and thank you for reminding me. Yes, I think I will just be on my way. Thank you for your time." The little merchant picked up his few remaining belongings along with his pride and headed toward the inn. A few minutes ago refered to as the local swill hole.
