The Stranger

Signaling to the serving wench with his left hand, he calls for another round of ale, and after the tankards arrive and the empties taken away by the flirtatious red-headed woman, the man runs a hand through his short-cropped hair and continues, "I may have some business for you. If, of course, you’re the right man for what I have in mind; if not, you’ve lost nothing, and guzzled your share of some free ale merely for answering my questions. And, to alleviate your unspoken concerns, I’m not any type of official, nor a bounty hunter. This is strictly a private affair for me, and concerns no one else." Taking a sip of his ale, the stranger fixes Kyll with those disturbing pale grey eyes, and states, "I will say this, if you are the same man I’ve heard so much of, and certain stories prove true, then you will be well rewarded for the task I have in mind."

His eyes wandering the crowded room, seeking anyone overly interesting in the conversation, Kyll asks, "An’ jus what’ve ya heard o’ me adventures? After all," he declares with a snort, "I’ve a right to know what’s been said o’ me." Peering over the rim of his upraised tankard, he gives a sly grin, "Least iffen ya want to do biz’ness."

The stranger takes a long pull at his ale, pinning Kyll with that icy reptilian glare and after a lengthy pause, says, "Actually, I’ve heard several conflicting stories. How well you fought isn’t in contention. But, there are conflicting versions of what loot you took, as well as what your actions in Huhlport really were."

Draining his tankard, the stranger pulls out a worn, though finely crafted briar pipe and begins stuffing it with an aromatic tobacco from an old leathern pouch. While puffing it to life, he speaks around the pipe stem, wreathing himself in a dense cloud of blue smoke, "Some say you did nothing but follow the other two in . . . "

"Tha’s a thrice-damned lie!" exclaimed Kyll indignantly, slamming his near empty tankard to the table with a loud bang.

"You damned fool! Lower your voice," the other man commanded in a harsh whisper, "Neither of us needs unnecessary attention!"

Glancing around the tavern, Kyll realizes that he has indeed drawn much more attention than he wanted. "Sorry bout’ that. But, the idea o’ either Brod or Fat Ron leadin’ anythin’ is crazy. Neither o’ those fools could fart w’out someone given’ ‘em directions first," Kyll sneered, "I was the leader o’ those two, ya can be sure o’ that!"

"Well," drawled the stranger, "let’s get on with this business, shall we?" Kyll felt a shiver of dread as he glanced at the stranger, his face wreathed in pipe smoke, and eerily underlit by the redly glowing pipe. There appeared to be an evil malignancy gleaming from those frosty grey eyes. I must be drunker than I thought, Kyll thinks.

Refocusing upon the other’s words, Kyll hears, " . . . need to find out if you are indeed the man I sought; if so, as I’ve mentioned, you’ll be well rewarded. Now, there are two versions of the story I’ve heard. One side has it that you merely scavenged whatever loot you could glean from others’ leavings,"

Kyll bolts forward, about to interrupt in outrage, but is silenced by an upraised palm and wintry glare from the stranger, who is looking more malevolent than ever. Perhaps, Kyll thinks to himself, I should call it a night and go home. But, this line of reasoning is brought up short by the cold reality of the near-empty purse tucked within his tunic.