"We are NOT selling a fridge! he calls me FATHER! " Rogue yelled, Rogue stood with arms protectively fanned out over the tiny boss monster, the picture of righteous indignation, except his legs wobbled, and the tin cup in his fist was shaking like a maraca.
"He's my boy! He's my little guy! My buddy, my pal! Look at him, he's traumatised! You already ate his king, Liam, you can't liquidate my son for a scam, AND he knows where a dungeon is!"
"He's worth at least twenty-five hundred to a necromancer guild, probably…" Liam said, his voice entirely flat and analytical.
The statement came in Liam's usual affectless deadpan, as if he were discussing the price of lentils or a vaguely interesting cloud.
He stretched out one massive, pale hand, palm up, as if already weighing a sack of coins. "That covers your debt, helps buy us a house together, and probably some gear."
"No!" Rogue shrieked.
