[b]All for a Coin's Worth[/b]


Amany adventurers had followed into the footsteps of olden tales from riches and glories long of the past. On the borders between two hemispheres there lied a town called Ziradon, once carved into gray rock and shadowed by many towers of pointy roofs which had been erected by the ancestors of an elderly elven society, that has long since passed on into the lore of dusty old books found within the shelves of withered libraries. But the importance of this town was lasting, it lied not in great works of craft or in the goods sold on the markets, but rather in the meaning of its region. Ziradon marked the border between a colonized world, where there folk lived amidst the comforts of a sophisticated society to its technological merit, and  the other side facing the vastness of an untamed world, where there magic was yet remembered, and beasts of sapient intellect claimed their homes in places long forgotten.

Amany men shared this hub and home in the back of greater mountains with the bestial folk, the ancestors of which had chosen to live under the roofs of races that bore skin, while beasts wore the countenance of animals gifted with a mind and gait alike to mankind. And so, Ziradon meant a sanctuary to some souls, while others deemed it a harbor for merchants, scholars and explorers who turned their eyes greedily upon the relics and goods found within the wilder hemisphere, that began to stretch in its vastness north of these mountains, of which the mists often fell from the snowy peaks down unto the conifer trees. A vastness which was known as the Valley of Mists.

For just a young hireling from the town, this day had offered a treacherous fortune, for he was a beastfolk who was possessed neither with wealth nor any remarkable goods for the trading. He instead relied on a set of keen skills. Those folk who had their coin sit right and could afford henchmen to do their dirty work for them, would know him by his mercenary name; Limon, a small-grown fennec beastfolk who had his name derived from the distinctive color of his fur.  Today the tavern's billboard unfolded an opportunity to Limon, a contract submitted for the recruitment of a fourth member to an adventuring party, with the corresponding group of fortune seekers still lingering about in the very same tavern.

Three members  composed this adventuring band. The male and female archer gnolls, Yori and Rani, and the leader of the company, the lizard Lennumar, whom's verdure color of scales lay under flexible sheets of light-footed armor, as he was a slender figure who preferred to dance with two swords. They eyed over Limon upon his first approach, who in his gear of leather, cloak and daggers, resembled more of a burglar than a warrior. The lizard rasped, "So you wish to join us? Small like a half-breed. I shall hire you to wash my boots."

Promptly so, the lizardman raised a booted foot at the smaller creature, it was coated in metal, but the bottom treads were plain and leathern with a rancid blackness of filth accumulated beneath their soles. He pushed his footgear forth and sunk his boot with the repulsive sole into the fennec's face, then twisted it, as though he was to tell this fragile creature that this kind of business looked one number too big on the scale, for the likes of Limon. The toes and balls of the footgear entered Limon's mouth with a twisted motion, and for a moment there, the fennec fox was left speechless, startled and utterly aroused at the taste of humiliating filth and black texture wiping itself off over his gustatory organ, as well as the view to a leg which appeared both flexible, and with some muscle attached to the boot, that was forcing him eat the dirt, and forced him to taste every detail of things the lizardfolk had stepped into.

Yet, Limon could not dwell on this slight. He wasn't one to be vengeful, but not one to be regarded as a mere pushover, either. He had to act, in order to pass this test, knowing very well that these mercenaries were expecting him to do something about the humiliation being offered, if he was to be deemed worthy of their companionship. As for a brief moment, it looked like Limon was sucking on the toe and ball end of the booted foot, but as he did so, he only took his time and prepared himself to seize the moment, then leaned forth at the ready, drew his dagger, and knocked the leg of his tormentor aside whilst he cut his opponent's belt open to fall to the ground, along with the two shortswords the lizardman kept attached to the belt.

Staggered, the lizardman flinched back. He flickered his tongue, his victorious grin upon his face having turned dampered, and his handclaws balled themselves into fists. That's when the Gnoll Yori stepped up inbetween the two, facing his band leader, but also putting the fennec fox behind his rear and simply sitting down with his butt clad in leathern pants of a dark brown hue. The two hemispheres of his rump simply descended, haunches akin to two moons of muscles, and weighing themselves over Limon, who could have not foreseen this, nor has he ever heard of this particular combat move before. He lay pinned with his head wedged up between the Gnoll's thighs, and the mighty arse of a male Gnoll spreading out softly but bearing heavily upon his back, making breathing into a hard task. The Gnoll however simply began to trace his claws over the top of Limon's head in an affectionate manner.

"Now, now. The little un' managed to disarm the boss. I say he's proven his worth. Let us keep him. He can of course get to all of those difficult to reach places." With short resignation, the lizardman withdrew his mockery, and Limon remained snugly sat upon by the bulky Gnoll. "Figures, fox  knows to take a risk," Rani joined in, offering a toothy grin when her Sandal was teasing in rubs from her broad gnollish feet to a hapless Limon's pointy muzzle. "I'll take my chances. Besides, what's this job anyway?", said Limon, who demonstrated how his spirit was left unbroken, albeit strained in the way how he was throned upon and abused by the odd bunch.

Lennumar presented a map over a table, re-assuming his regal composure. "So it bes settled then. We go to raid a wizard's tomb. The local guild shall pay good to retrieve any trinkets of historical value. And besides, if the more valuable findings happen to disappear, none of them shall be the wiser." Yori plopped his feet up happily, by accident smothering his black solepads firmly into Limon when he was excited for the prospect of a rewardful quest, with one gnollish paw pushing over the face with soft-soled bottoms, the other footpaw forcefully squeezing the air out of the fennec's lungs when bouncing over the back of Limon's chest, all while Yori raised up from his living cushion and finally put his feet back on the actual ground. "How will we check for traps?" All eyes slowly turned toward Limon in that moment. "He's swift on his feet. He can do it." Limon thought he knew what they were setting him up for, a betrayel likely to come, but this was his only opportunity to get on a ride into more dangerous but rewardful business. And besides, it was as they said it themselves earlier; None would be the wiser if -he- made the most valuable of findings to disappear. After all, the fennec fox has always had a skill for survival, and for making it out of situations unseen.

As the group had later departed for an adventure, they went astray from the usual roads and into the dark woods, circumventing the gates of the civilized world and entering no man's territory through a mountain cave that lead them straight into a region of rocky formations, no path the fennec had ever seen before. There, under a rock below a hill was found a door to a place below the surface, carved into the formation and adorned with many runes and spells, as though they were a warning placed upon this door.

All the magic that was sealing the entrance to the womb of the dungeon had long faded before this adventuring group arrived, and so despair settled in the group quickly when they began to suspect that they hadn't been the first to enter here, by their conclusion. The two Gnolls Yori and Rani tapped their heavy arms against the rock to assess the stone door for weakspots, or a mechanism that could possibly be figured out. But only Limon noticed when there was a little hole inlaid into the center of one of the many depicted ornaments, apparently a craft made of dwarven hands long ago. Only his little arm could reach all the way inside, and while being pushed around by impatient gnolls, Limon soon figured out how to move the metal rods he found in the keyhole by the help of his tools. Not long, and the door would unlock accompanied by a clanky noise, followed by a scoff from the lizardman Lennumar.

From this point on, the door was an easy push with the strength of two bulky Gnolls, who took the lead from here. And behind this entrance, they found a distinctive hall of fitted stone walls which rendered the dwarven craft even more apparent. There was nothing there but junk, which almost caused the lower jaws of everyone to fall with disappointment, until new hope lit up when Lennumar pointed out a narrow stairway he had found, leading deeper down into a very claustrophobic slope, where the ceiling was arching high enough such that only small Limon wasn't forced to watch for his head.

The descend was uncanny, even for his small feetpaws as Limon was the first to venture down, whereas those steps could be easily missed. Convenient handles of metal were found built into the wall, which served him to keep his pace steady. What then followed however, was too close even for the likes of Limon. At first, he thought one of the handles was broken, budging like a leaver. He nearly slipped, whilst performing a balancing act. Then, Limon noticed how the ground was shaking, and the stairs withdrew from under him, turning into a slippery slope.

It was a trap. There was no way he could have prevented a fall, where even the most skilled feet could not find grip, and so he descended rapidly into the dark, whilst trying to slam his daggers into the walls in an attempt to slow the fall, knowing very well the sharpness of the blades would be ruined, but there was no time to think of such trivia right now. The attempt had proven mildly successful, and he managed to slow down his descend, enough so that he could see his torch fall before him and reach the end of the tunnel, where an iron grate sprung from the ceiling and pointed with sharp spikes like needles toward him. Merely in the blink of an eye, before the impact, Limon managed to lower himself, his head missing one of the spikes by an inch as he managed to hold onto a bar and survived the gruesome trap.

Back on his feet again, Limon made haste to raise the grate, before something else came falling down. He moved it out of the way, giving free the access to a passage up ahead that seemed much more spacious and safe when compared to this suicidal stairway. And the way back up was too slippery to do that again. He looked at his weapons, and cursed with blazes to see them ruined beyond the repair of any blacksmith. Tossing them away.

The next surprise awaiting him came falling from above. It was not a nasty trap, but a gnoll companion coming for him, following down the slope. Crashing right into Limon, and planting a rear so hard over Limon's dwarved body, that he squeaked like a rat, and felt the air pushed out of his lungs again, with one asscheek sat over his head, the other one having brought down a firm impact over his chest. Yori, the Gnoll Warrior, took his time to gather the lay of the land, keeping Limon trapped under scenty leather pants and muffling the fennec's vision and hearing underneath a broad and toned posterior of the large gnoll. Yori shouted something to upstairs that was muffled to Limon, then the gnoll flopped off of Limon, who swore the gnoll was liking this position more than he should have.

Limon was still catching breath, but one eyeblink later the two plain and blunt bottoms of foul-reeking sandals plopped themselves into his face, squashing his facial flesh mildly into the apparent marks of the old sandals of Rani the Gnoll. She didn't stand long in his face, quickly peeling her treads out of his vision, with Limon wheezing in a bit of agony, wondering how his skull was still intact.

What followed was the last member of the party. Lennumar slid down gracefully on his booted feet, well worn from amany travels of the elegant lizardman. He ceremoniously put one foot in front of the other, catwalking over Limon uncaringly. A first straining step smothering small Limon's belly with intense burden, the next step forcing Limon to wheeze as the brown and worn traveler boots pushed on his chest like a cobble in the street. The last step went for his face,  it felt for a brief moment as though it would crack from the fully-supported weight of a thankfully slender and light lizardman, rubbing street grimes into the facial fur of the fennec, and pushing the facial flesh up to forming pressurized dams in the mold of the tread. Whether Lennumar knew Limon was situated beneath him was up for debate, but the lizardman gave away no remarkable sign of care.

Having lived through the torment, the awakening Limon slowly regathered his senses, as he noticed quickly that he must have passed out for a brief moment from the pressure put over his head. The others have seemingly gone on without him, but left behind a lit torch for Limon so that he could hold onto it, and wasn't completely lost to the darkness.

The journey onwards was less hindered by toils and traps, however Limon had to remain all by himself and an uneasy feeling began to settle in. Did the others simply scout ahead of him, or abandon him for his rightful share, possibly even leaving him for dead? Time would tell, and if there was truth to it, he knew which town to be looking out for the miserable bunch. But now was not a time to worry. He had to find them, or find another exit for himself. The way ahead was mostly following a linear structure, with traps and spike pits built into places that appeared to have been cautiously deactivated or circumvented, by what Limon could only assume was his quirky lot of misfitted companions. One of the blade traps he found bore distinctive marks of fresh blood over them. But there was no body, nor signs of any life about. Limon began to like this situation less and less with any second passing, of wandering the dark tunnels, watching his every step as a necessary precaution, even if it put his progress to a slow pace.

At the end of these withered old tunnels, the young fennec spotted a light, and what he found was a chamber hosting the promised tomb of the wizard, with arched ceilings not unlike a cathedral. It was a majestic view that revealed itself, the ornaments and the reflections caught in them from even the slightest light cast into the room. The sight alone was so breathtaking, that he felt a sliver of awe in the face of what has been built here by people from long ago. The treasure of this hall were the gems and fancy metals worked into the walls, composing an architectural artwork, shining above like undimmed stars forever out of reach, and not to speak of the likelihood of magical goods held within the wizard's sarcophagus. The mere thought and sight filled the fennec's heart with joy. However, his joy was interrupted by the approach of footstep from another hallway echoing into this hall.

Limon doused the flames of his torch upon a realization that he heard voices from people who were not his own party. Luckily, his eyes were keen to see in the dim and nearly fully dark environment. The strange voices sounded foreign, and much more akin to the rasping of Lennumar the Lizardman. Hiding behind one of the stone pillars, Limon observed a group of smaller creatures, akin to lizards which were entering the hall and searching around as though they appeared less interested in the treasures and ornaments, and more likely interested in guarding the place and searching for his missing companions – or for him! A leader revealed himself, a tall and bulky draconic being that was shouting commands in an incomprehendable draconic tongue throughout the dungeon.

Limon grabbed what he could, anything shiny he saw that was within his reach of the grabby little paws, before he aimed to sneak at the long route leading around the pillars, all to avoid those likely unfriendly folk. He realized there were more of the bloodmarks he saw on one of the traps before, dragging over the floor. Limon figured, if those things had brought his companions here, then there must be either a prison, or the likelihood of a second entrance to this lair. Exactly what he needed right now. And so, evading the locals, he followed the blood tracks that lead him through another corridor, so to eventually reach a wall with an opening, leading only a few steps down into an earthy cave overgrown by olden roots. There and then, his nose caught a gust of fresh air. He wasn't sure whether if to feel lucky the exit was so easily found, or feeling upset over the fact that his party went through so much hardship when there was another way in this whole time, just waiting around the corner.

Heading outside, Limon found himself just back in the tall and ancient conifer forest, standing between the remnants of overgrown buildings of stone, and surrounded by an active campsite with bonfires lit all about, and more raspy and yip-yapping noises echoing in the distance, coming from Kobolds and Draconian warriors of various types and sizes. He knew, making an escape would be the hard part now.

Being a sneaky fellow, the natural course of action to Limon was to evade the lights, sneaking by a route that crossed only those tents seemingly inactive. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had already been following him. A pair of distinctive feet stomping after him, always near, always around every corner, searching for lost Limon. Being caught here would mean the end of him, so thought Limon. The fennec was forced to enter a larger tent, one of the largest in the campsite with rich ornaments, curtains, banners and tables, lit only dimly by candlelight. He could gaze into it and see that it was unoccupied, for now. As he was trying to evade an oncoming patrol, he rushed to seek shelter under a wide table, where the shades provided unseen shelter.

While Limon lied dormant in his hiding spot, his heart nearly skipped a beat as those same hefty footsteps that gave pursue to him moments ago, suddenly came to enter the tent. Limon saw the most massive boots he had ever beheld, endowed with wide and sturdy bottoms and metallic caps reinforcing the toes on the front end of the traveling footgear, which were clearly fitted for a beast soldier to march far and trample everything that happens to fall into their path.

Limon was at great risk to be exposed when the figure before him, evidently a draconic being coated in armor with a red-scaled tail dragging behind it, took a seat infront of him and bent its knees to nearly bump into the face of the fennec, when the large and bulky dragonman was taking seat at the table. One of the enormous leather boots of a brown hue had an unfortunate landing on the little hand of the fox, pinning it hardly beneath a plain and forgiving tread, made out of leather that was sturdy and flexible to engulf his hand, just like any pebble would be, yet the pain of a leg's weight measuring thicker than Limon's skull, strained painfully heavy over his hand. He felt it burn into his flesh, making Limon able to feel the toes moving inside of the boots, massive and strong as they were, with his hand pinned so flatly that he feared moving his fingers would cause those toes to feel him all the same. He tried to suppress a yell when the hurtful burn from the pressure increased, what with the beastman leaning forth and causing even the floor boards to creak complainingly beneath his feet.

The secondary boot that was fitted for long and separated toes came moving in dangerously close to the fennec's face, until the wide footgear rather unceremoniously entered Limon's muzzle and forced the entire front of it to be suckled on rather involuntarily, with the thickly toes and the widely-shaped ball of the sole, by a far too small mouth that was a poor fit. Limon struggled not to grunt was he was degraded in a way that even Yori and Rani could not match up to, with one hand trapped underfoot, and a worn and stenchy leatherboot occupying his maw. The drool from Limon ran in streams over the floor when he tried not to make a wrong move, letting the boot guide the direction of his head being pushed around. Surprisingly it was gentle, almost gingerly in the way how the dragonman demanded the unaware suckling, and Limon began to taste not only the worn leather, but also the bitterness of earth and grass that adhered below the treads, among a concoction of various other things and discarded edibles that the large dragon warrior had stepped into. A texture of grimes that now washed itself away over the tongue of the fennec, as though it were a shoe brush for the most repulsive spots.

It took not long to figure out that something about this act seemed suspiciously off, when the dragonfoot raised and caused the muzzle of the fox to make out with the toes more deliberately, surrounded by stenches of filth and various worn leathers emitted from the shoes and the pants of the beast seated above up so close. And then, a throaty voice was uttered from above, sending the very air vibrant inside the spacious tent.

"Did you not know that a dragon not only sees with eyes, hm?" And by the timing of saying so, the foot pinned down the tongue of Limon roughly to the floor, and the fennec was forced to gaze up from a very low and humiliating position on the floor, to the dragonman up above with a foot on the tongue, who now was raising the table to catch a better glance at Limon. The look of sickled, piercing eyes greeted Limon, along with the face of a red dragon who bore a mane crest of black hair upon his head. Limon knew who the figure was, from the very moment he saw the face and the hairy crest on the creature's back of an ebony hue. At least, there were similarities Limon recognized from many depictions back in Ziradon, and it was undeniable. The armored beast before him was no other than Varrekxaran, the Bastard Lord. The half-bred of a dragon, who was known to call the northern parts to be his territory, beyond Ziradon with his court of beastmen.

"The punishment for a thief should be well known to you, but if that should not be the case then perhaps I will have to familiarize you with our ways. Convince me you were not a looter like the other bunch of misfits." Varrek's booted foot raised from the fox tongue and he moved the other leg over, to put his foot onto the neck of the thief. The pressure was not hard, it was surprisingly gentle, however the looming tread was wide enough that it could have squashed Limon's upper body into paste, when instead it gently brushed the back of Limon's head, causing the little rogue to shudder.

Of course, Limon figured whom the others were which Varrek must be referring to.  And he began to recall the stories of this warlord that have been circulating Ziradon for as long as he could remember, and a clever twist sprung to his mind. "Objection! There was a mistake," the fennec howled. "I was a caravaneer from Ziradon, here to conduct trade and offer tribute to the House Karressian, your mother dragon. The matriarch promised safe conduct to us. This was when I was double-crossed by some thieves when being offered to buy shiny trinkets." And immediately, the rogue emptied his pockets, dropping all the stolen goods.

Varrek's sole curiously brushed and stroked at the neck of the fennec in silent contemplation, ere he decided to take his step off and came to a conclusion. "You have offered me a reasonable account, I like it. And besides, it does not deem to me that you're being made from the same material as those audacious rogues, pestering me and my property. However, how can I be assured of your loyalty, now that you have nothing to offer me in tribute than that, which I had already possessed?"

Jumping up onto his knees, the cunning and skilled Limon wrapped his hands around one of Varrek's boots to show his eagerness to shine them. He knew his life could depend on his creativity to come up with something. "Woe be mine, Master, but I can serve and please to earn me back my rights to return to Ziradon. Our two lands have a truce. And I will do my best to honor this pact, if only I could do so to you, most graceful dragon."

A deep puff of smoke erupted from the nostrils of the red half-dragon, who could be read as being angry, but in truth there was excitement to Varrek when his ego was appeased, and the strong and large lord of the beasts closed the entrance to his tent, with there being an intimidating sense of intimacy, in the way of how Limon found himself secluded with the lord of the land in his nesting tent.

"I'll accept on terms of doing a Kobold's work, for now. There is a shortage on the little workers, faulted to the predatory wildlife hunting in the forest. Your grabby little paws are soft. So I command you to serve me in a more private manner. You will tend to my armor, and my scales. You had better convince me your passion is as strong as those words of yours."

Varrek then returned to his quiet demeanor, calm and observingly of his surroundings, he never seemed to talk much nor answer many questions. Limon found himself dismissed from further communication, but he was put on a chain and collar. Something told him he was not the first one to be put in this peculiar position. Moments later, the new dragon liege lord lay with his belly upon a cot, undoubtedly a spoil of war, much like many of the exotic furniture and goods that the beast lord hoarded in his precious tent.

With awe and a hidden blush under his fur, Limon approached his captor for conducting a massage to the warrior who seemed weary from the toils of a day, and the night had been still young, while the warm light of candles and fires gave away a rather soothing atmosphere to a campsite of so many ferocious beasts dwelling here and uttering their noises. Thankfully, most of Varrek's retinue were sophisticated, for entertaining a courtly life like this, a jurisdiction of beasts.

Being stripped of almost all of his own gear, a nearly naked Limon, safe for his fur, began to doff and remove the layers of armor from Varrek, to expose a trained and impressively toned body of a strong reptile, clad in a surface of scarlet red scales dotted to an array of an endless ocean, feeling sturdy, yet warm and velvety to the touch. The bipedal dragon's thick tail was swinging left and right, seemingly appeased by the hands of a small fox who had to utilize all his little weight to even manage to feel the muscles of Varrek's body, and remove the stiffness from those muscles by the means of a deep and thorough kneading of the tissue.

While doing so, the mind and thought of the fennec wandered astray from the fear for his life, to a collection of rather pleasant and arousing thoughts that were derived from touching the masculine body of a male dragon with quite an impressive girth and strength, weighing likely twenty times or more when compared to the dwarved fennec, who ran his hands over from the neck of the scaled beast and down toward the posterior, the base of the tail, and even the legs, hiding his aroused breath from Varrek as much as he was able to. But the rush of adrenaline in his blood from the happenings on this day weren't of much help to him either, in the containing of his lust. His palms squeezed and rubbed affectionately, slowly along the course of the flanks of Varrek, and the red dragon seemed to be enjoying the touches, sometimes even seemingly leaning into the touches, if only very faintly. But the tail and legs raised, Varrek calmly and without a word allowed for the involuntary servant to touch him, anywhere. And his red-scaled body gave off an incredible heat in this rather cold and harsh land.

At some point, Limon began to place a little kiss over the toned rear of the dragon lord, grabbing and massaging it with his hands. In that moment, Varrek looked over his shoulder and pointed the attention toward his footgear, like a wordless order. Not daring, or even wishing to refuse such an attractive male, the aroused Limon took his place to sit behind the resting Varrek's legs, placing many more small kisses along the humiliating soles of those old marching boots, all while slowly removing them, to expose the broad hindfeet of the dragon. These stompers were heavy and made for turning things flat. The fennec was more fortunate to meet them as a pacifist. They were not quite human, but not fully digitigrade in their shape either, but somewhere inbetween and attached with four very powerful toes, that may grab objects akin to fingers.

Luckily, reptiles didn't sweat. However there was a biting stench still coming out of those boots, and some of the distinctive smell of worn leather was soaking these otherwise smooth and fine feet, with their dominantly meaty soles now laying exposed, hued in a white color under the soles of many million of small, dotted white scales that arrayed to a very soft and pliable texture, meant to engulf sharp rocks safely without the risk of injury. Limon forgot about everything in that moment, he leaned in to press and kiss his lips passionately under the very soles of a dragon that could squash him out like a rat, but instead the feetsoles seemed to smother with an incredibly warmth into the landscape of the fennec's face, and engulfed it with a stenchy heat like a pebble into its semi-soft and meaty surface.

The other footpaw idly hovered, pushing in against the crotch of Limon with an overwhelmingly strong and warm pressure, that brought the fox to a climax in a near instant, huffing and moaning in a rush of pure ecstasy as he was pushing himself into the two enormous white soles like pillows made out of meaty fabrics, that responded by smothering themselves into him responsively and rubbing at his lips head and his lower sections, Varrek was not minding the attention, but rather encouraging of the feeling of soft fur and little hands squeezing into his very exhausted soles. Limon could not endure the heavenly overflow of his senses for long, his day had become the ride of a lifetime, with all of the good and the bad things happening. Completely void of energy after his climax and the long, exhausting adventure, he began to collapse into Varrek's soles like a limp doll, mustering only a few more licks, before he passed out in bliss and the warmth of the massive living soles, willing to embrace any fate or justice at this point that Varrek would render over his life.

When Limon woke again on the following day, he fought with himself to become awake subsequent to the intensity of the previous night's merit, and he noticed the lingering tastes and smells in his senses. Only the rays of the sun falling into the entrance of the tent managed to wake up the poor fox. He found himself laying at the feet of Varrek, but the chain and collar had been removed from Limon's neck. And Varrek, he sat there at the table and gazed over and down at Limon, interrupting his breakfast only for a brief moment to roam his pocket, just to take a northern coin with dwarven motifs imprinted on it, and the coin of gold was dropped by Varrek right into the little paws of Limon.

"For your trouble, merchant. When you come across my men, present this coin from my hoard, and your path should be clear." Those were the last words from Varrek's deep and vibrant voice that Limon would remember. "Now you had better be on your way, before I change my mind."