“Eh?” Emmerling smacked his lips in response, “I see. Ya’ll killed a dragon.”

His head bobbed slowly in contemplation. He had never seen a dragon, and for that matter he had never seen a desert before. Emmerling’s entire existence was a microcosm of life. Waking up and working and sleeping. Never travelling far from home. His complexion was localized, his accent was familiar. Emmerling was not one who had ever been more than fifty miles from his home, and the slow creep of a resting face softened his expression. He was content with his lot in life.

“I ain’t callin’ your guild a failure. I am askin’ if it is some kind’ve failed guild.” Emmerling repeated. “Ye know, as in it hasn’ been successful currently. Ya’ll need to repair your guild hall, ya sound like ya’ve been havin’ financial troubles too.”

The fat man tugged sharply on the leather straps on his shoulders pulling them tight. “If it ain’t workin’ as intended then it is failed.” Emmerling grunted as he fished along his belt for a wine skin. A low wheezing cough rolled up from his throat and he quickly drowned it beneath a gulp of wine. “Now, I ain’ tryin’ to get in an argument ‘bout semantics.” 

Emmerling’s brow furrowed and his gaze narrowed as Sarrai’a snarled at her. With a wipe of his chin he looked over the woman, “Why are ya growlin’ at me?” He turned down to Lilith, “Why is she growlin’ at me?”