Racath’s eyebrows drew together. “Terms?”
“Yes, terms,” Briz’nar replied, a forked tongue dancing behind its sharkish teeth. “Conditions for the riots to cease. The rabble must have some sort of price if they are sending one of your kind to do the bargaining. What is it, then? Coin? Food? Perhaps a much needed bath?” Some of the Arkûl chuckled.
Racath rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to negotiate with anyone!” he answered incredulously. “The only terms I have are that you die, this Bridge is destroyed, and the Dominion never even thinks about looking at the Burrows ever again.

Author: S.G. Night