My dear fellow, isn't it for you to be apologetic? Consider your position. You burst uninvited into the most strenuously forbidden vault of Thousand Doves Monastery, and lie hurling abuse at a simple artisan who's never done you any harm. I mean, do you make a habit of flinging yourself over precipices and cursing whoever helps you up?
Oh well, I take the point. Losing a leg is apt to strain the temper. A hand too, I see. Ribs. Spleen. We'll deal with that presently. Would it be naive to assume that you're a visiting Hero, out for loot? And came via the dummy flagstone in the long cloister ... no mistaking the marks of the Grinder on that particular route. Spider bites, as well? But you were too quick for the fire-blast trap. Mostly. Well, never look a gift cautery in the mouth, ha ha.
One simply has to install these tiresome precautions to retain any shred of privacy in an age like this. If I ever catch the scribe who sells those wretched maps.... A pity, speaking impersonally, that you didn't try the oubliette route from the refectory. There are some tolerably ingenious safeguards there that could use testing, including a squad of killer were-orcs.
Good question. Were-orcs are tricksy: all the time you're fighting them, they keep shifting shape into different orcs. Throws a swordsman off completely when the wart he was aiming for leaps six inches to the left. Oh, do please stop bleeding over things. Here ... ah ... amulet of serendipity, periapt of good digestion, rune of resistance to the clap ... here it is. Philtre of implausible healing.
If you say "foul villain" again I shall grow seriously bored. I'm no petty poisoner. Only good things get manufactured here. See, I'll sprinkle some on my hand. Reassured? And now on you.
Shush. Yes, I should have mentioned that your injured limbs would dissolve painfully into thick pools of evil-smelling slime. A normal part of the healing process. They'll reform in an hour or so, good as new.
There is no effect on me because my health is already perfect. It is customary for me to have a single red eye. I detest personal remarks.
Now, what have we here? Your shield has had it; you must have used it to jam the rotating knives in the fourth traverse, very resourceful. Iron rations from Ombrifuge in the Twenty-Four Kingdoms: a poor bargain, that stuff, it gives you the trots. Good, well-worn shortsword. "WHOSO PULLETH THIS SWORD FROM THE STONE IS RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL..." From Blind Odo's smithy, of course. He puts that on all his blades. A sort of trademark. And this opal ... dear me. I must consult the speculum.
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