The dry sound of thread being pulled through cured skin was almost hypnotic. Graves had been doing this long enough that by now his hands were on auto-pilot, and his mind often wandered to other things. Despite his other more unique abilities, traditional taxidermy remained his top business practice. Likely it was the price point. Being the only necromancer around for miles had it's advantages in a city where such things weren't necessarily shied away from. Presently he heard the bell on the front entrance ringing as someone entered. The goliath would come get him if he was needed. He heard a voice speaking hesitantly to the thrall, but was unable to hear what was being said. After a minute or so, the bell rung again, signifying the visitor's departure, and the large skeleton came shambling into Graves' office. Graves put down the pelt he was working on and turned around to see a letter in his thrall's bony fingers, outstretched for him to take. "Somethin' for me, eh? 'Nother special request?" Of course, the skeleton couldn't answer him. Not having any vocal chords did that to people. "Let's see here..." Graves' eyes scanned through the letter, one hand stroking his chin. "This be rather outta the ordinary, don't it? I dunno any "A.G.". D'you?" The goliath shook it's skull slowly. "Dunno how you still think with no brains in that head o' yours, but it's no business o' mine." He considered the letter. "It pays a pretty penny, for sure, but what use does an A.G. have for a taxidermist?" The goliath stared at him. "No need to be insultin'. But you're right, he probably don't need a taxidermist. Hmm. Shady as hell, but maybe worth at least lookin' into. Watch the shop, I'm gonna go see what's this all about. Likely some hoax, I reckon." The Caraway Inn was in fact not too far away from Graves' Taxidermy and Services, a short enough distance that it was no bother for him to simply walk. Not that he had a choice. He wasn't sure he wanted to pay for a horse, and horse corpses not picked at by vultures were hard to come by. Though if this letter proved to be a serious venture, he might have to spring for one anyway. Just as he was heading out into the street, he heard a familiar rattling and clattering behind him. "Thought I told you to stay at the shop... Yeah well... never mind then." He could command the thrall to do many tasks, but for some reason he refused to stay put when he was going out somewhere. He didn't think it had anything to do with the necromancy - every animal he brought back always seemed to retain free will - but the goliath was the only sentient creature he'd ever brought back. He certainly did act differently, but was that because he wasn't sentient any more? Or perhaps he still was? Graves just hoped that the goliath wouldn't someday stab him in the neck in his sleep. He certainly displayed at least a little bit of intelligence - and they say anger is the basest feeling of all. He was accustomed to the inevitable pause as the two of them entered the Caraway Inn. People generally weren't accustomed to a large skeleton waltzing into an Inn - but fortunately the patrons were quick to resume their activities, and Graves approached the bartender, who didn't seem at all phased, but appeared to be sizing him up. "You one of them?" Graves paused, confused. "One of who?" The bartender snorted, evidently amused. "You're looking for room 310. Should be unlocked already." The goliath had already started upstairs, so Graves followed, still a little bewildered. When the pair reached the room in question, there seemed to be a a bit of a traffic jam. A genasi, a human, and an otter, to be precise.