[center][b][h1]Bork[/h1][/b][/center]

When Drom pushed the bowl towards him, Bork’s eyes goggled and his mind boggled.  Staring at the bowl, the dwarf’s mouth worked mutely and his head shook from side to side.  He stopped and frowned, then looked up sharply at the clerk.  [b]”Wait, kill *me*?!  What are you talking about?  I never even crossed paths with this Shadowclaw, only the catlady.  And she tried to blackmail me, but she didn’t attack me.”[/b] 

He glared at the unexpectedly proffered bowl as if it had crashed a bridal shower.  After a pause he shook his head again.  [b]”I don’t even know why she wants this bowl.  Do you?  And she wants it bad.  I wouldn’t have to negotiate to get a good price; she already offered a ridiculous one.  I pushed a bag of gems away that she offered me.”[/b]  Still regarding the bowl uneasily, the engineer brought his hands up on the table to either side of it.  He bunched them up into fists and rapped out an impromptu rhythm while he continued to ruminate.  [b]"I don't like this."[/b]

Finally, he looked up at the clerk, suspecting for the first time that she was more than just the mundane goblin functionary she presented to the world.  [b]”Do you *want* me to give her this bowl?”[/b] he asked, with more than just a hint of accusation.  [b]”You running some sort of game here?  One that I’m going to get jammed up in?”[/b]  There was an old saying that things that sounded too good to be true probably were.  Simply being handed a Golden Bowl of Life and Death with which he could enrich himself and resolve all of his apparent conflicts besides certainly fit that description.

[center][b][h1]Nelthurin[/h1][/b][/center]

It was even easier to read the elf’s expression than before now that he had heard the abbot speak:  he was utterly flabbergasted.  The abbot didn’t know?  He wasn’t privy to all the guild goings-on?  If Nelthurin had been a Gold Tooth insider himself, he might have worked that out, but to him, on the outside looking in, Andrew might as well have been Platinum Tooth.  [i]And why would I think that?[/i] He asked himself reproachfully, pummeling himself with the armaments of hindsight.  [i]His Grace just got off the boat a week or so ago after having been away for years![/i]

The harbor master nodded deprecatingly.  [b]”I may have made some assumptions, Your Grace,”[/b] he said, abashed.  [b]”Silverclaw is a tabaxi; something of a freelance crook.  The Gold Tooths don’t like him much.  He’s involved in some sort of smuggling;”[/b] he smirked and indicated himself.  [b]”That’s how I know about them.  And I try to keep their rackets and the Gold Tooths apart so there isn’t a turf war in Pigeon Spit.  But it’s not up to me now.  When I heard about the ‘Cat’s Claw’ or the ‘Red Claw’ or whatever they call themselves, I suspected Silverclaw.  And now it appears I was probably right.”[/b]

Nelthurin looked down at his thin, nimble fingers and started drumming them on his knees.  [b]”The guild is making some sort of big move,”[/b] he said after a moment.  [b]”One meant to squash any sort of turf war in Pigeon Spit.  I guess I didn’t figure they would dare such a thing without some serious juice behind them.  Like yours.  That’s why I thought you knew all about it.”[/b]  He puffed his cheeks and tried unsuccessfully to blow the awkwardness out.  Then he looked up.  [b]”If not you, then who?  Who would have the front to just declare ‘That’s it.  No more turf wars.  Gold Tooth wins, case closed?’”[/b]

The elf realized after another awkward pause that he had not answered the abbot’s question about getting the tabaxi on a boat.  [b]”Yeah, I got a note saying Silverclaw and his wife were to be on the next boat out of here.  I couldn’t think of many people besides Your Grace with the authority to make that happen.”[/b]