Bor found himself seated in quite comfortable conditions. Plush red couch, gilded armrest, nice view of the stage, all because he had paid a few extra gold pieces. Whoever knew that one chunk of the glowing green wood paid this handsomely. He craned his neck to his right and found Derry the Baker conveniently seated beside him.
"H'lo, Borgrund."
"Aye." The woodsman settled himself in his seat. "I overheard snippets of that story you were enthusiastically blabbering on about to your patrons. Apparently, the location of your secret dough ingredient has shifted from the wild mountains of Alber to the treasure trove of the [i]dangerous[/i] pirate by the name of Blackblade, who - surprise surprise - he doesn't exist."
"I'm not invincible, Fellhallows! Telling the same story to the customers does wears them out a bit, you know."
"O, how the mighty have fallen."
The two merchants shared a quiet chuckle. 
"Oh, by the way, Bor. About that glowing green Mystra wood you sell."
"What about it?" Bor struggled to contain his interest.
"I think I know what it does."
Bor widened his eyes and stiffened. "Go on."
"Well, there have been a few tongues waggin' about Old Man Crimson, one of your regular customers I believe."
Bor slowly nodded. Crimson was an avid buyer of Mystra. Bor often asked what it was good for, but the man simply handed over the money and wouldn't say.
"Well, word is that he goes into his laboratory, plops the wood into a great big cauldron and-"
"Oi, Derry! Get your blabberin' mouth over here! Haven't seen ya in a month, you big bollock."
"Forgive me." Derry abruptly finished his tale and went over to the seat of to an equally fat man garnished in jewels and purple robes. Bor sighed. He was so close.. but he did have to try boiling the wood which Crimsom unsurprisingly advised him to never do. Bor had only found the tree a month ago. He had to know why it fetched a handsome price among.. certain persons. He didn't notice it, but Bor felt something was up. He should've brought his axe. Almost instinctively, his hand strayed to his hunting knife hidden within the folds of his bearskin.