A rapping sound woke Uncle from his reverie. When the rapping sound upon the front door came again, Uncle pulled on his robe (though forgetting, or simply not caring enough, to cinch it). With his bedecked halls showing, the ancient philosopher-business-king flung the door open and said, “What?” to the ugly little dwarf-elf… thing that stood there.
“Payment,” the thing said. “Benefactor send payment! Put in courtyard, near scorch marks.”
Uncle turned and beheld his payment. A twenty foot tall pile of green glass-like boards. “What is this?” Uncle asked.
“Payment. Rare mineral. Silly Cones,” was all the thing said before it limped off.
Uncle raised his fist to the heavens and growled, “Multiplexor…”