Sbatarra would find Sil standing just as vigilant as before, her body slightly beaten, but still in better shape than when the two had parted ways before. She scowled slightly at the appearance and voice of the drow, feeling a desire to make more threats in Draconic at her, but she knew better than to waste her time with such banter. Instead, she replied, "I see no reason to tell you such things," upturning her nose slightly. "But I suppose there is little harm. You cannot make an offer that will change my mind." A thoughtful look came to her face, as though she was having trouble remembering what her pay was supposed to be. It was something she did not think of very much as the only thing on her mind most of the time was what enemies could spring up. "I believe the offer was five thousand gold pieces to guard it until the crew is to arrive, and then for my weapons to be tempered with the Oerthblood. A fair trade, in my eyes."<br/><br/>She then looked into Sbatarra's eyes again, her expression once more scornful. "Why do you ask? Do you wish to make an offer of your own?" Her swords were still at the ready, though it was more out of habit than anything else; her trianing had ingrained it into her mind to always be ready for conflict.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>