Ránnvig tossed the folded parchment on the table, next to Dwimmers half-empty tankard.
"As if I didn't have enough to do," she sniffed. "Tell him,for heaven's sake, that I am no messenger service. That's the last time!"
Dwimmer winced and, shifting in his chair, reached into a leather pouch that hung on his belt.
"Come now, Rannvig, don't be like that. Don't I always bring my custom here rather than the Burnwater? Here, take this for yer trouble..."
The white-haired dwarf tossed an exquisitely polished and shaped gem of Lapis onto the table. Rannivig's eyes brightened, and with a reluctant smile she picked up the beautiful stone.
"Oh, alright. But only for you, Master Dwimmer." She turned on her heel and went back to her usual place in front of the kegs. The old dwarf smiled as he heard her faint giggle of delight. Picking up the parchment, he read its contents slowly, his hand dropping to the table once he had finished.
"Now what's he done?" He sighed. "No good will come of this..."
