The Three Stooges

Hanging back by themselves, Barbella stares at Henshaw with a look of sneering incomprehension.

"Why do you keep giving your gold back to the adventurers? It's not as if they’d even care about a few missing coins or gems here and there."

Henshaw gazes over to the deceptively blubbery looking Doberman for a moment, who’s happily still gnawing on one of the ambush bug’s giant segmented legs.

"Do you still not understand? The coins and gems you value so much are worth little compared to the simplest potion, let alone that magical glowing sickle you just talked your way into owning. That single item alone; it's worth thousands!"

The swarthy Barbella smirks.

"Sweet, but takin’ our rightful share of the magic don't mean we can't have our cut of the gold as well."

Still watching Doberman, Henshaw smiles as he sees his fat friend wrinkle his bulbous nose and pull a momentary expression of disgust at the flavour before renewing his chewing regardless.

"Well, I suppose, in this strange new world, I'd rather know that they're watching my back as much as they think I'm watching out for theirs."