The boy is taller now, three quarters my height, but despite how much I feed him, he refuses to get bigger. That makes me look bad to other lizahn. Like I don’t care for the boy’s comfort and basic needs. Elves might like the scrawny look, but we prefer our people to look well-fed. Perhaps more sweets are in order.
A fellow lizahn arrives, and we greet each other warmly, though truth be told I quite hate the fellow. But he is kin of a sort, and my comfort is his. I leave the shop to the boy, knowing full well that he will skirt his duties to read. As much as I hate to say it, I quietly encourage Tobias to read -- if he cannot look his part, then he can at least be educated enough to assist me in everything else.
My fellow and I go upstairs to my quarters and begin the pleasantries. Talk of breeding negotiations in the slums, how the elves made a deal with Quenta to push more of our kind out of government positions, and my most recent work. A gnome approached me regarding some lizahn artifacts that they found, asking for assistance in an expedition. Shards of crude pottery, and I am not sure if they are really of our race or not, but the desire to know more of our ancient history spurred me into finding like-minded individuals to invest in the effort. With conditions, of course.
I do not ask my companion if he is hungry, I simply begin cooking, breaking out my finest spices. Even if not hungry, he will eat his fill as much as he can. If there are leftovers, I will share them with the boy. Perhaps push him towards reading some Colzag -- orcish poetry is brutish, but contains a unique elegance.
My companion tells me of his own efforts, securing some more flour for the western stockpile. We know feast, but we also know famine. The great secret, the greatest, are our stockpiles for when things are bad. We must never let the other races know about these, as those damnable elves would do something about it.
But an offhand comment, about chuura oil of all things, catches my attention. Useless to us, but helpful for some less savory people of other races. And, sadly, useless for me at the moment. But I press him about it as my keen mind works. Useless to me is not the same thing as useless. The filthy mages here, they have a stranglehold on it. It was useless to me, but he could make some money hawking it to them, or better, to the dropouts who struggled to make a living recharging their wonders. Useless to me, as the mages would be on me fast, but useful for selling out in the slums where the mages have no ability to scry. If I ever find out the bastard or bitch who is responsible for that little trick, they’re getting a permanent discount.
After that, it was mostly just pleasantries. It took nearly an hour and a full belly for him to tell me a rumor that he heard about a group of orcs heading towards town, ostensibly the reason for him coming, and another hour for us to wrap up. Typical among lizahn. Honestly, the less social races who would just give a message and get out were easier, but there was something nice about sitting and talking to blood, no matter how removed.
Tobias was the perfect picture of an employee when my guest left. Reading a book where customers could see, standing so poised and dignified. But he’s grown so much that I couldn’t help but notice that he needed a new suit. Bah. Lanky bastard. Fill out, damn you! I’m going to have to ponder this, but I have to prepare the wharves. It’s doubtful that the orcs are anything other than a stinking adventuring party, but if they mean trouble for the city, I have places to sent at least one of them.
If they are just an adventuring party, then chances are they’ll come to my shop. I’d rather they be raiders or bandits. Fucking adventurers.
