"Sorry for sleeping in. I have a few important things I wanted to ask you."
Old Mercer shot him a look, and Franz, taking the hint, walked off to check on the cowshed.
"Go on, son."
His large, rough hands raised an axe, ready to chop firewood. But with a single cast of Rorschach's Decomposition Skill, the branch split into neat strips of kindling.
"I took a job, and... well, the deal I made with my employer was to have twelve Gold Coins sent here to you every month. Have you been getting them? There should have been at least two payments by now."
With another cast of the Decomposition Skill, a new pile of kindling appeared.
"Yes, we've been getting it. During the last ten days of the month, a silent fellow comes knocking with your letter and the money. Otherwise, where would we have gotten the money to buy everyone rounds of light beer?
