Just something quick before the Wayward Spirits hit. That was what Glen was thinking as he muttered and stalked around the basement/cellar of the Ragged Maiden. Blom wasn’t aware of his dealings (so far as he (Glen) was aware), so Glen was free to conduct business in the basement of the inn.

“And that’s just fine for me,” muttered Glen, “considering I have business to conduct.”

Glen took a paragraph of pauses. And then another.

“And now for my first customer of the night.” Briefly Glen considered whether this scene was an absolute waste. If he was supposed to be using this project as a way to improve his craft, well, this was not the way to do it. But on the other hand, if this simply was an opportunity to produce raw output, raw material, raw thought, raw DEALINGS, well then this indeed was ideal.

“AND WHO APPROACHES?” hollered Glen in an unnecessary how that rattled nearby window and caused the rocks outside to do nothing.

“It is just I,” whimpered a fearful voice.

“Ah, it then do be my old friend Marnerter Brumbergarten,” Glen pronounced. “An old friend of the Blomgrins. What do you need from me?”

This whole farce was all it was: a farce. Conducting business in the cellar of an inn: how far this man has fallen. Down into the depths of a basement. Before, at least, before the Gilba Gilba time, Glen was RESPECTED. He was conducting business in HALLS and MANORS. How he wished he could return to those days. Perhaps someday he would.

“Just one then, if it please do ya sir,” said the whimpering Marnerter.

“And why do you require this product?” inquired Glen.

“None of your business indeed,” answered Marnerneter. For indeed it WAS none of Glen’s business. Glen’s business was exchanging the goods for the dracoins. “Your business is to take my dracoins,” continued Marnetenrer.

“Fair enough,” answered Glen without a SHRED of remorse or humility. His mind was so far gone it could not string together two thoughts, let alone a consistent emotional state. It was insane.

“Thank you,” said Martnerer. He dropped a few dracoins into Glen’s hand and departed with the Wayward Spirit. It was just floating there inside the small box. The orange glow was not present. The box was sealed tight.

Glen sighed. This position down here in the cellar did not provide the power and authority and respect he wanted. He would have to improve this operation. He would have to move up in the ranks. He would need to fortify his plans, make them stronger, move into more sophisticated infrastructures. He could do it if he wanted. He just needed the funds. And in order to get MORE FUNDS he would need to move MORE PRODUCT. It was not difficult in principle but it was difficult in practice.

No more customers today. At least none scheduled (he checked his schedule). He would need to make another hike into the Madman’s Mountains soon. After checking his supply he knew it would be necessary before the week was out. He could not manage with such a sparse inventory. Perhaps he could cut a larger deal with the Dark Matters in the mountains.