At last, the heavyset, well-dressed man enters the conference room with Varga at his side. His eyes sweep across the adventurers, lingering slightly longer on Vincenzo than the others, before he shrugs and sits down.
“Close, but not quite my type,” he says, mostly to himself.
“On to business then?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues.
“I’m Geralt Franco, if you hadn’t already guessed. I deal in specialized goods: rare herbs, rare books, rare gems, artifacts that predate the Years of Darkness … items of that nature. Generally speaking, I buy and sell the things that rich idiots like to waste scads of money on.”
Varga rolls her eyes.
"Speaking of rich idiots..." she says, which draws a chuckle from Franco.
“What Varga is trying to say is that I've become a rich idiot now, too," he agrees.
"Wasting scads of money on a dueling tournament."
Franco laughs heartily, his expansive belly shaking. "Just so, my dear. Now, despite Varga's disapproval, I’m sponsoring a dueling tournament a few weeks from now. In my younger days, I was quite the fencer, if I do say so myself. And though I’m no longer the duelist I once was, I still enjoy watching strapping young men cross swords.” He winks at Vincenzo, and in a stage whisper, he says,
“That last line was a bit of innuendo for you, dear boy.”
He’s briefly interrupted by an accountant with a form to sign. He glances at the paper and initials it before turning back to the group.
“However, we’ve had ongoing problems with some sort of little vicious beasties attacking our southern caravans, and they’ve been getting more aggressive lately. This last time, they managed to ransack a cart of goods from Irthos – including a shipment of dueling blades I'd ordered for the competition.”
He leans forward.
“This makes it rather more personal than just an insurance claim for me. I’d go to the Lower Guild, but frankly, they're nothing short of useless, and the guildmaster Enza Furros is an incompetent boob. I’ve not the slightest confidence in them, which is why I've turned to you independent contractors.” He turns to Varga and frowns.
“And speaking of incompetent boobs, go and fetch Alvise, would you?”
Varga snorts.
"For Alvise, 'incompetent boob' is putting it mildly," she says, and leaves the room.
Franco continues speaking.
“In short, I want those swords back, and I’d like the little pests that took them taken care of. And I’ll of course pay full value for any recovered items. Agreed?”
.... Geralt Franco .......... Varga Renlow ...
