"Why did you lie to him?" Rautt's voice was lowered so as to avoid any large ears listening in.
"Who, the guard?" Oleir glanced up at him, "You ask the same thing every time, expecting another answer; you know, those are the actions of a mad man. Are you mad?"
"I'm upset, if that's what you mean." he retorted, refusing to back down, but not in a way that the conversation closed off. He'd done that before, forgetting Oleir's skill in word smithing, and it wasn't exactly the healthiest moment for the bystanders involved.
"It's not, but it works," he scanned the surrounding area, trying to get at least a rough idea of the place they were dealing with. Depending on what he saw, he'd change how he behaved. "anyway, most people aren't like us - they're not honest--"
"Then why not just kill them?" Rautt interrupted, seemingly having forgotten that it was his question his friend was taking the pains to answer.
Oleir continued regardless, "--and they're quick to change their minds. You need to fix up a slot in their heart whenever you can... just in case." a strangely clothed beggar caught his eye and he paused for a bit to examine him, deciding in the end the guy wasn't worth his time, "Because no matter who they are, they're likely just another slave to their heart. That's also why you're all dressed up like that: to make the carving process easier with the tough ones."
"But, why not just kill them?" Rautt repeated himself, prompting Oleir to heave a deep, cold sigh.
"Killing makes things easier in the short term but harder in the long term. You probably have nothing to worry about, but what if my core gets tainted?" he thought about it for a while and decided it was reasonable, though killing still seemed far more appealing.
Oleir ducked into a random alley, his companion following closely, and carefully weaved his way through the packed houses. He had no idea where he was going, only where he wanted to go. As long as he followed the trail of shady characters correctly, such a thing wouldn't be too difficult.
Finally they came across a fair sized opening, beyond which was a large and impressive building, well kept by its owners. It was connected to a major street which also housed a number of shops and businesses, its sign artfully glazed so that it shone in the rain and printed with the infamous image of a shield, sword and staff enshrouded by yellow fire.
Buildings like this one came in many different forms, existed in many different places and were called by many different names, though they all held the same reputation as being a somewhat reliable source of income... the guild.
Now make no mistake, guilds are a relatively common sight in any established community, it's just that this particular breed was designed for hired hands, mercenaries and adventurers. Its original title is plain, being only 'guild', but most suppose it has the right to be, being that Fel "Hook-head" had founded it himself.
Oleir, in general, disliked guilds. He had his own reasons for it, reasons few would ever come to know, but it also had to be said that HHMA guilds weren't the most hated on his list.
Besides, it wasn't as if they had the right to be picky right now; they needed the cash.
He glared darkly at it for a moment, masking his relief at having finally found it. Truth be told, he'd started getting nervous.
"Huh? Why are we here, Ollie?" Rautt asked curiously, knowing full well of his friend's dislike.
"Money... all there is too it." he grunted, still not the least bit pleased with what he was forcing himself to do.
With that said, they entered.
...Oleir wasn't surprised at the interior. It contained the standard layout of its kind: a small hybrid bar/café, a fair few tables and benches fastened securely to the floor with likely magic resistant bolts, a main reception area, some labelled billboards with a variety of jobs posted to them, a small stage and a few mystery doors at the very back that led to who-knows-where. He knew where one of them led, at least. Not which one, but just that one of them hid the stairs leading to the upper levels.
The defining trait of this particular guild was its cute welcoming mat placed at the very front, made of fine horse hair and coloured a light brown.
Upon second thought and sight of said mat, he gently eased Rautt through first, making sure he didn't touch it, and stepped over it himself. Who knew whose it was - he didn't particularly want to be the one to find out.
Leaving the other to his own devices for a short moment, Oleir approached one of the billboards and took a look at what was on offer.
The dark elf at the desk watched him inquisitively while an olive skinned human watched Rautt, both seemed to be on guard. Although annoyed at the lack of hospitality some claimed them to possess, he didn't really blame them. Two suspicious men had walked in, uncaring for a view that would excite many. One went straight to the bar while the other to the offers, almost opposite of each other like they were planning to round them up - what exactly about them said anything to do with 'amicable travellers'?
Oleir snorted, nothing, that's what.
After browsing through all the ones that caught his eye, he eventually picked four requests. "Rautt." he muttered, not wanting to frighten the now very alert staff, his accent making the name sound more like a curse or threat.
He cringed at the receptionists' reactions, but thankfully the quiet call worked. He sensed Rautt soundlessly make his way over to him, likely using a silencer spell. He was always one for preserving the atmosphere, he noted bitterly. A break in this one would be a welcome relief.
"Which one do you want?" he presented his choices, pressing against them with his forefinger as he read them out for him, listing the pros and cons for each one all the while using their native tongue. He partially hoped that it would make him sound more natural and less threatening (of course completely forgetting that it in itself required gutteral inflection) and also partially because he wanted he wanted to try and teach the other how to read different languages.
Oh, and also because he'd gotten too used to speaking natively. By the time he realised it, it was too late... and so, the above excuses were promptly fabricated.
"This one sounds nice!" he pointed at the request with the well drawn image of what looked like a large rooster with an inflated wattle. The artist had also added fairly comical dashes emitting from the creature, as if to bring across the message that it was glowing.
"A subjugation request, huh? ...could be fun, I suppose. Though solar hens only come out in the day, don't they..." he declined it reluctantly. They needed something they could do immediately, something like--
"Then, this one?" Rautt was referring to a request Oleir hadn't really considered.
"Flying moon lizards? I didn't choose it because they're bountiful, so pay's probably negligible." but still, Rautt persisted.
"They aren't, here."
His words made him pause for a moment before he realised their validity. What he said was true.
Initially he'd only skimmed over their names, so he had completely forgotten that the blue lizards weren't as common there than at home, so he looked over the price and, "Two Songs for four dead lizards? Are you joking?"
He looked at it, bewildered.
In the first place, they were inedible. Secondly, they were incredibly easy to kill. Thirdly, two Songs?!
To put it in perspective, they only had twelve Tacks, seven Chips and two Double Chips. The Double Chips could be ignored, as they were travel money. One hundred Chips equalled one Song, and with one Song you could book a decent double room for roughly half a week. With two Songs they could buy at least one set of standard clean clothing, sleep in for a day or two and have a reasonably sized meal for one.
Yes, they had been that poor.
A grin slapped itself into his face as he carefully pried the request off of the board and approached the reception desk, deciding on the dark elf. "Okay, thank you Rautt, I wouldn't have remembered if it weren't for you." he spoke quietly, but due to the silence in the building it was clearly heard.
The dark elf narrowed his eyes slightly at how violent the gratitude sounded, but Oleir couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
Clearing his throat, he began speaking in the most common language of the country. He would try elvish, but he didn't trust himself enough not to butcher the pronunciations on such a short notice, as they were just too different from his own.
"Do you accept immediate transaction?" he began speaking slowly, making sure he softened his voice.
"We do. What's the request?" he answered curtly.
Oleir handed over sheet and then his card a moment later. The man took both, scanned them and handed them back.
"The items?"
Oleir took out exactly four dead flying moon lizards out from somewhere under his cloak and handed them over, their tails conveniently tied together with a thin string so as to not damage the delicate scales.
As he passed it over he untied the string and muttered a spell to deactivate the time stasis enchantment on it, gaining another wary look.
Here he was, being ever so considerate, and he gained not appreciation but disapproval? He grumbled inwardly, the things he did for people... truly, he was on a steady path to saint-dom, and while he ascended he'd laugh at the foolish scrubs that deigned his kindness...
He could barely contain his laughter, stopped only by the stern look of the receptionist before him.
There is a time and a place, but neither are now.
The dark elf checked over the lizards, marked down their quality and magicked them away, probably to a store room until the requester came to pick them up.
Expressionlessly he began handing over the coins, but halted upon the cheerful cry of the human beside him.