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"What will I do?" you ask. "I will allow you and your wretched business to survive. I will allow you to go on trading in the suffering and misery of others for"—you wave your hand about the room—"for more of this worthless indulgence. If you do not assist me, then in my eyes, it is the same as if you captured my people yourself."

Utrio meets your gaze, his eyes calm and steady. "Do you really think that is the first time I've been threatened, Basileios? In my time, I have developed both patience and a thick skin. Allow me to make some observations. You are strangers in a town that I practically own; you care about your people, otherwise you would not be here; your journey is being made in some haste, or you would have avoided Blightmarsh entirely. This leads me to the belief that you cannot and will not follow through with this threat." He pauses. "However, conflict between us would harm me as well, so I will meet you halfway. I have some favors to call in, and it may be that I can free some of your people for a modest cost to myself. That is the best I can offer. Have we an accord?"

You think for a moment. It's some of your people or nothing. "We do," you reply.

Utrio claps his hands together, and several servants appear, to whom he starts issuing orders. In what seems like a matter of moments, platters of cured meats and sliced fruits are brought forth. Utrio picks up a piece of ham, its surface marbled with fat, rolls it neatly, and pushes it into his mouth, gesturing for you and Drazha to follow suit. You pick at the food a little, until presently a servant arrives bearing a sealed letter and hands it to his master. Utrio breaks the seal, glances once at the contents, and gets to his feet.

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