A voice, scratchy, familiar, calls out. "Cloxeta-Abagal ihita!" Despite the small number of people that actively spoke Old Realm, the thaumaturge always seemed to speak in it when there wasn't a reason to speak something else.<br/><br/>"Oh," he says, switching to a language you actually know, " 'tis you. And I take you have the things I've asked for right?" He opens up a badly hidden, but apparently well locked panel in the door frame, taking out a bag of money. "This has the price we agreed on." His face has a small grey splotch uncovered. Everyone just avoids speaking about the sign of his (probable) non-human heritage. He charges more if you speak about it.<br/><br/>His clothes are fairly simple clothes, appropriate for a peasant in the rice patties, other than the sigils sewn and painted onto the edges. "While you're here, would you want any services from me? More of your poison? Perhaps summoning a demon for you?"