Sounds of clattering and shuffling echo through the night as Rifkinn hauls his tools and equipment down the path towards the Order of the Dragon Shield headquarters.

“I should have enlisted those Gnomes Marssi got for the repair job” Rifkinn mutters as he fumbles with tins of paint, paint brushes and a ladder.

Reaching the front of the giant building, Rifkinn proceeds to extend his ladder. He draws forth his blade. Using his knife he opens the tin of paint, picks up a wide paint brush and begins his work.

After what seemed like hours of dark sweaty work, the handsome Olvi descends from his ladder and steps back to admire his handy work.

Painted on the front facade of the huge building in bright red paint is an enormous “smiley face” extending from the very top eave to the lowest point of the door step.

Smiling at his work, Rifkinn gathers up his equipment making sure that not a single drop of paint is left anywhere on the ground and all is left neat and tidy as though no one had been at all.

Rifkinn turns around and starts to walk away when he sees the mule, who is half asleep standing in the front grounds. He drops his equipment and makes his way over to the mule.

“Marssi would not be pleased if i came all this way and didn't bring you a thing to eat my friend.” Rifkinn reaches into his thigh pouch retrieving a ripe apple and a few sugar cubes.

Glancing back at the front of the building Rifkinn goes on to explain to the mule….

“Ever since the last Town Hall meeting i've been so impressed with how the ODS stressed that they would not tolerate any Necromancers in the North. I thought i would show them my gratitude and brighten up their lovely building with a token of good faith and to let them know, that i feel all this business with them is done for me. Nothing says “well done” like a smiley face, hey beau?”

Rifkinn pats the mule on his nose, and whispers, “don't tell Marssi i bought you sugar cubes”

Just as Rifkinn is again gathering the equipment there is a bright flash of lightning across the dark nights sky, followed moments later by a booming clap of thunder. The pitter patter of rain is felt, prelude to the torrential downpour that is to follow.
Rifkinn holds up the tin of paint to read “WATER BASED PAINT, CLEAN BRUSHES IN WATER”

He takes one look back at beau who is happily munching the last of the sugar cubes and mutters...

“Everytime i extend the hand of resolution, it seems something slaps it away, Maybe that buxom barmaid will see it before it's washed away”.

With a stride in his step, and whistling a merry tune, Rifkinn sets out on his way back south.