ook:

Ook hands you a drawstring bag, its a bit dusty, and smells a little like old apples. You peek inside, there's a slightly ragged Rare Import Scroll and a bunch of weird jewellery. An anomaly potion is upside down, leaking a little. You look back up at them and they grin a weird toothy grin. "One skull child please. Its almost time to wake up the apple trees." No further explaination is given.

The creature listens intently as you tell them a modifier potion would be cheaper. Its' long harelike ears quiver for a second before they plunge a paw into the sack and fish around for the Gray band. They put it in their mouth and grab a modifier potion from the bandelier belt around their waist and hastily shove that into the bag, it clinks upsettingly against the anomaly potion. A line of spit escapes around the band as they grin back at you. "Ghanks!" The bag is yours once again.

esk:

The amorphous shadow reaches out long spindly fingers to take the bag and settles next to cold, dying embers, giving the bag an approving shake as everything rattles within. Gently they reach in and pull out the scroll, two fingers holding the corner. They lift it up to where eyes should be, the shadows drifting and shifting curiously as they lean into it. A small, flat line of shadow presses against the scroll, and you can almost imagine the smacking of lips as it nods and flattens it onto a circle. The two charms are pulled next, held both within one shadowy hand as they're haphazardly tossed within a cauldron, old bones being tossed in after them. 

"Coursers must be given shape within the magic before they can be summoned," their voice creaks, both high and low in unharmonized frequencies. 

The potions are next as they're opened, each cork pulled off with a bite, the contents sniffed, and dumped within. The old wooden spoon that they reach for is stained grey from use as they dip it within the cauldron and stir the contents. The shadows shrink and grow, a soft reedy hum in the air as they turn to look at you, staring a little uncomfortably. The liquid flashes once in your periphery vision, and with a snap the scroll is off the circle, and dipped within the cauldron. Smoke rises, and the scroll is oil-like slick as they pull it out, droplets of the potion spattering across the floor. 

"This one might have too many bones," they say with a wide grin, looking it over once more before they hand it over to you, arm stretching unnaturally long. "But it will treat you well."