With some unease, Shyan gestures to the weapon at her hip, and says, “What do you think we’re doing with these old things?”
“They are not merely for hunting our dinner,” adds Cang.
“Good, good,” chirps the wizard, in an oscillating cadence. “Let me describe your mark!”
For a few moments Ulxurix works herself into a righteous fury, decrying her dreadful rival, whom the gang is to make suffer in exchange for Fassn’s teeth. The portrait is that of a middle-aged fellow, overweight, with a wife and four children.
“He lives at the centre of town,” says Ulxurix.
“Town? As in, this town?” Shyan asks.
“Of course,” the wizard replies. “He’s the blacksmith!” She cackles with manic delight.