A tongue of silver, indeed.

He had arrived in his intended location, finally. Ost Forod. A ruin, in every sense of the word, where he was certainly less than welcome. An attribute enforced by the glares, and turned noses, that he had been receiving since he had arrived. But, he was safe, at least, for that moment. His skills were those of merit, and warranted his breathing necessary.

Confidence was always something that oozed from him, though even the most street-smart may have afforded a double-take had they known Dagramir had even attempted to haggle a better price, in spite of rather impending danger. His namesake, however, would continuously prove true, and he managed to garner a further fifty silver coins for his troubles. Now, all he needed to do was find that blasted cart. Else, his head would soon find itself surprisingly unburdened of body.