The dwarf was hideous, even by matchlight. No, Dru corrected herself. Especially by matchlight. The tiny flame wavered as he applied it to the end of his cigar, illuminating the ruin of the right side of his face as he puffed the tobbacco into glowing coals. A clouded white eye stared out from a twisted mass of scar tissue, fixed sightlessly on the pair. Two steel-grey braids hung from his chin - the rest of his hair was shaven or burned away.
He didn't seem concerned by the weapons pointed at him. He made no move for the oversized axe that leaned against his chair. Instead, he reached over to light the lamp that Di'Fier had been seeking, then rolled the match between his thick fingers to douse the flame. "A couple of lucky amateurs," he repeated.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in our rooms?" Dru demanded, the point of her rapier never wavering.
"Put it down, girl," the dwarf said. "You'd never have known I was here if I hadn't let you. I ain't here to fight. I'm here to talk."
"Then talk fast." Dru didn't lower the blade an inch. "Who are you?"
The interloper took his time, leaning back in the chair and blowing a cloud of smoke into the dim light. "Names are power, especially in my business. You can call me...'One-Eye'."
"And what do you want?" asked Di'Fier. Unlike his partner, he'd lowered his sword - but his open hand curled into the proper shape to conjure a forceblast.
"You." The dwarf let that sink in a moment, then continued. " There’s a real pretty speech they want me to read, but I don’t hold with that bullsh-t. I’m going to tell it to you straight, and if that doesn’t sell you, then you ain’t the right people for the job."
"I work for the Tribunal," One-Eye continued. "You probably ain’t heard of them, but they make sure that certain things don’t get out of hand. Like that little incident with the Lighthouse you dealt with. That kind of thing is too important to leave to the locals...or adventurers." He pronounced the word with the same scorn that Dru did. She slowly lowered her own blade, still watching the dwarf carefully.
"Trouble is, there ain’t enough of us field agents to go around. Tangling with rogue wizards ain’t a great way to an increased life expectancy." He leaned forward, shadows from the lamp tracing the scars on his face. "So things get missed. Like the lighthouse, or what happened up in Luzern — an entire barony turned into walking dead before we got someone in there to stop the problem."
One-Eye leaned back, the chair creaking, and took a long draw on the cigar. "So, the Tribunal’s recruiting, and they’re looking at you, after hearing what a couple of their agents had to say. Here’s the deal: You don’t get glory. You don’t get pay. More than likely, you get a closed casket funeral, and that’s if there’s enough left of you to bury." He let it hang there a moment, then spoke one word: "Interested?"
Dru looked at her companion. "No pay...but we get to kill wizards. That's a plus. Do we get to keep their stuff?"
Downstairs, in the common room, the patrons of Brocail's could hear the roared laughter of a dwarf.
