“Melvin? That’s your name?” Said Tumbor sniggering into his beard. “I’m sorry but I won’t be calling you Melvin.”
“You won’t need to call him anything, as he won’t be joining us,” snapped Jax already looking for the remaining captives.
“Excuse your friend. I fear he has a dislike for people in my line of business.”
“Your line of business? You’re a theif, and not a very good one. And if I disliked you, we would have left you where we found you.”
Tumbor was less than interested in the verbal exchange, instead he set off searching the immediate area for anything of interest.
“I refute the title of ‘thief’, for I am but an aquire-er of items people no longer know they need.”
“You’re not joining us!” snapped Jax again, kicking a small wooden box sending its contents scattering across the floor.
Melvin tutted loudly, before then scrambling across the floor collecting together the contents, a collection of metal pins and hooks.
“Always that hidden temper old friend.”
Jax huffed and sought council with the dwarf, who had lost interest in searching and was busying himself demolishing another drumstick.
“There is no sign of any others.”
“Agreed!” mumbled Tumbor his mouth full of chicken. “Him?”
The two of them looked at the peculiarly named individual, who was busy checking the weight and balance of several daggers he’d found laying around. Sensing eyes upon him, he turned and smiled in their direction.
“The group can decide,” replied Jax dispondently. “That is the way of thsee matters.”
“I’m not calling him Melvin!”