Terms of Sale

Gerrart kept his snout down. His evasive, red eyes rested on unkept fur sticking out from the deep V-neck of his cheap, cloth shirt. That tinge of untidiness kept his fur more muted, almost giving it a feint grey tint. 

"... Why?" 

"Why what?" Rizz snickered. "You'll have to be more specific than that." 

"Why… all this? Why me?" 

Smack!

As the goblin's hand slapped the table with fervor, Gerrart's gaze was reeled in slightly. 

"I want you to work for me and my adventuring guild. As a contracted worker, not a slave. So long as you agree to work only for me for at least one year, then I'm more than happy to offer you complete freedom." 

Rizz pulled his head in close. He motioned for the wolfkin to do the same, all while sharing a not-so-subtle smile with the weaselkin. 

Dezlo leaned back out of courtesy. Gerrart leaned forward out of curiosity.