Brin bursts through the door, shouting.

The half-elf blinks, and shudders, gasping.

At first it seems like he's crying... No, he's laughing.

Finally he finishes, and mops his face with a scrap of paper. "Oh. Oh, you gotta sweet wife dere. Dat's FIRE in de hart, dat is."

Still not smiling, but the eyes twinkle with amusement now. "Easy chile," he tells Brin. "Was jes de stantart warnin. I know adbenchurers. Sciotto tellsem I deal in machic, dey start stinkin' up my place wit spells an actin like I ent here. Best to geddof on de right foots."

His eyes slide back to Roqoan. "De right foots bean wisdom of de ages, ancient machics, and priceless arty fax available for a soot price. So whatcha want, son?"