Tarag emerges hurriedly, fully kitted out and blowing on a scroll to dry the ink on it. When he's satisfied that it won't smudge, he rolls it up and pokes it at the open flap of his rucksack, at which point it disappears from sight.
Tying down the flap, he scowls at Keldar and says, "I do wish you wouldn't be so noisy! I nearly misspelled the final phrase of that prayer. Besides, if you keep that up, the neighbours are likely to petition the city to close my shop - as the scene of cruel and unusual punishment."
"I take it we're ready to leave?"
OOC: Tarag's been scribing some scrolls. I'll add a reference to them retrospectively in the Forge.