Mr. Jashenzizok, the mushroom man, struggles in his fungoid form, but most of his body is still enveloped by spongy puffball. He clears his throat and adopts a moderately more conciliatory tone. “Let’s just take a look at what you’ve brought me, hmm?”
“Not so fast,” Shyan says. She steps up to Mr. Jashenzizok to square her eyes with his.
“Have you goods or coin to exchange for these wares?” Cang asks. “We do not accept spores.”
The mushroom man laughs. “Fear not, foolish child. I possess many riches.”
“Do not call me child, mushrump.”
Fassn lays at the base of the puffball, idly poking his pitted, yellow teeth. “Not feeling so great, you guys,” he says.
“Enough. We have chemicals and compounds such that surely a cure for your condition can be found,” Shyan says. “Show us the loot.”
Burbaloo, the alchemist, looks at Shyan in awe. “We’re splitting it five ways, right?”