Meanwhile, in a rancid-smelling lair safe out of reach of the sun, the location of which was known only to its foul denizens, Morhâk the Looter sifted through spoils with Shagdug Darkspear:
"Still say we gots us a good deal goin', Shagdug, so quit yer whinin'. Sleep if yer wants." The hunchbacked figure yawned himself after a long night's work.
"Sleep? So yer can claim any good stuff what we don't deliver to the Dead? Tell me again, Looter, why we packs up fine crockery and bottles and brings 'em to those what can't eat or drink?" Shagdug rubbed bleary eyes against the weariness of morning.
There came a grudging conspiratorial growl. "Handin' over them tall, fancy prisoners last time is what gets me. Better not get to be a habit. But the Butler's right, benefits us all to keep Master Maladil distracted."
Shagdug uncorked a wine bottle, drained the contents, and belched. "Well let 'im throw empty bottles. I could use me some distractin' meself."
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