He nodded and took his hand off her arm. He didn’t feel good about trying to intimidate her. He knew she liked him—wanted her to like him—but he was a desperate man and he needed her help.<br/><br/>“Good girl,” he said gruffly and stepped away from her personal space. He made a face, his mouth pulled to the side as he tucked a hand under his armour, grimacing as he struggled. A coin purse in ugly, patchwork brown leather came out, secured by two small drawstrings. He weighed it surreptitiously with a few small hand motions, as if trying to determine the value of what he might have in his hand. “There’s fifteen silver in here—ah maybe fourteen. But I need you to take it west, into Kilntown. You don’t have to leave Cheapside, don’t worry, but on the main way, there’s a tavern, the Applebarrel Alehouse. Give this silver to Hodge, the barkeep, and tell him Eller’s paying his debt.”<br/><br/>Eller tried to thrust the pouch into Miriel’s hand without waiting for an answer. “Hodge. Eller’s paying his debt. Don’t forget that—that part’s very important. Hodge. Eller. Debt. Very important.” Eller made a motion with his other hand, trying to impress upon her the importance of her mission. He knew if he went to the Applebarrel, they’d kill him—even if he brought a pouch full of silver. It was the principle of the matter. When it came to gamblers not paying off their debts, sometimes you just had to write off a loss and set an example. Eller just hoped it wouldn’t be he who was the example. Perhaps they would be more understanding of a sweet young thing like Miriel. And besides, he’d seen her with that staff. She was inexperienced, but he could tell that she could hold her own with spunk and grit alone.<br/><br/>He wanted to tell her that it might be dangerous, but he held his tongue as he waited for her to take the pouch. He couldn’t risk her not going. And if she didn’t go, who else could he send? Bardryn? Sure, she’d be able to better defend herself, but that pompous, self-righteous ass would probably only give Eller a lecture about personal responsibility and then refuse to pay his debt anyway.<br/><br/>“Like I said,” Eller continued, clearing his throat, “you do this for me, and I’ll set you up for a face-to-face with one of the most connected sonsofbitches in all of Brightgarden. There’s no one better to dance for, if that’s your thing. And I can get your viol back. And your swords too! I promise.” Eller looked at the wagons as the rest of the travelers milled about deciding what to do and where to go. He was trusting an awful lot to Miriel if she agreed to help. She could just as easily disappear with his money as she could right his wrongs.<br/><br/>But what choice did he have but to ask?