Meet our Urist. I think he looks properly sinister, don't you?
When I asked his last name, he sneered at me and said "Palaiologos." I don't think he was being truthful, as the Palaiologos line is still alive and well in Constantinople, but that's the closest I'll get for now. Who knows, maybe it'll come in handy later.
"The previous owner called it 'Misty Silence,'" said Sybell. She handed Urist an old iron key. "Good name for a graveyard, I think. Will you be changing it?"
"Not just now." Urist stood among the gravestones, inhaled deeply, and smiled. "I smell fresh dirt."
Sybell glanced at him and walked to the door of the chapel. "Let me show you the inside."

Urist strolled through the archway and whistled. "Nice place."
"Damp, though," said Sybell.
"At least I know my skin won't dry out." Urist pointed to a stack of bones in the corner. "I'm going to go check out my more private real estate. Be a dear and fashion some rings from those while I'm gone? Quick as you can. We'll need income."
Sybell nodded and got to work.
This is Urist's house. You'll approve of the name, of course.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Urist sat and read a book about negotiations while Sybell worked on the rings. The only other event of note was Urist writing out to purchase a new hammer for Sybell; she assured him her productivity would skyrocket.
Urist tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep, pondering his plan for the next few years. "I may have to start a legitimate business," he mumbled into his pillow. "I'm not sure if anyone's going to buy bo..." Sleep overtook him, and he was left to the mercy of his dreams.