Firae looked towards the exit from the dragon’s lair before responding to Gaston. “No thank you sir. Like we discussed yesterday, I have no intentions of joining the bone pile.”
“You elves have the strangest concepts about possessions.” Arlin placed a golden scepter into his sack.
“Yeah, they sure do,” Jarik scooped coins into his bag. “I have no idea where they get it. I, on the other hand, cherish my expensive belongings. This treasure should let me get on with my life and strike out on my own.”
Arlin eyed the half-elf. “You don’t like living with the elves? You are one of their kind. Tales of the Mallvrann forest always made it to be a wonderful place.”
Jarik shoved more gold objects into his bag. “See, that’s the thing. I’m only half an elf. It’s pure torture to grow up in a society where you’re only halfway one of them. They never let me forget that I am not a full elf. They would call me human every day and the barbs against my mother were the worst. You would never know those particular difficulties, since you are a prince in line for a throne. You would never truly understand the harsh realities that are my life.”
Arlin continued packing his bag in silence.
“I’ve filled my sack,” Gaston said as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “You guys just about finished?”
“Aye,” Thothen said as he pulled a solid gold battle-axe from the pile. “I can say this for sure, the dragon sure does have good taste.”
A smile grew upon Jarik’s face. “We are now the ones with the good taste.”