The Tavern

The tavern air was dark and musty, lit by a few sallow candles and rushlights. Men laughed crudely as they gambled and bragged over their latest exploits, tankards clinking as greedy throats gulped their frothy contents. Few even noticed the haggard old horse thief who sat alone, quietly sipping his mead. Chairs slid across the filthy floor as two drunkards began to brawl. Fists flew and a few teeth clattered across the table before they were through, but soon the general murmur and raucous laughter resumed. The door swung open as a few newcomers entered; a handsome, dark-haired man and two burly men with meaty arms and brutish faces. The dark-haired man quietly made his way towards the old thief and took a seat across from him.
“You’re a difficult man to find, Olaf.”
The thief took another swig of mead.
“I hope you’re as good as they say you are. I’ve spent far too long tracking you down to suffer another disappointment.”
Olaf looked up, searching the man’s face for a hint of familiarity. “Yes, yes. I heard about the last man who was unfortunate enough to accept your offer. Very tragic indeed! He was as good as they come. What makes you think I’ll be any better?"
The man’s face flushed red. “I’ve heard of the things you’ve done. You hate these damn elves almost as much as I do, and it’s clear you already know why I’m here.”
“Word gets around. What you’re asking for is too risky. You need an army, not a thief!”
The man slammed his fist on the table. “Well I haven’t got an army, have I! You’re my last option, you know. I wouldn’t hire you unless I had no other choice. Anyway, an army is too noisy for this kind of work. This job needs light feet and lighter fingers.”
The thief sighed. “And what if I refuse? The elves are good for business. Plenty of expensive trinkets on them, if you know where to look. I’m quite content keeping them around.”
The dark-haired man gestured at the two brutes near the exits, who bristled and rested their hands on the pommels of their swords. “I think you can figure that out for yourself. We are men driven by a passion not so easily quenched, and I would advise you not to get in our way.”
The old man chuckled confidently. “You can’t be serious, can you? I’m as slippery as a fish! I’ve dealt with far worse than your bodyguards on the streets of this city. Don’t think you can threaten me, Halmar.”
“Don’t say my name! I’ll have your throat slit,” Halmar spat.
“Tsk tsk. Is that how you treat all your hirelings? If you want my services, you’ll have to do a good deal better than that.”
Halmar clenched his fist. “Fine! It is a matter of urgency. These accursed Lamorien are catching onto us, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re found out and strung up like puppets. This heist is our only chance.”
The old crook gave a sly grin. “Then I trust you’ll make it worth my while.”
“Twenty thousand for the job, another ten if it’s clean.”
“Come now, is that the best you can do? I’ve dealt with many urgent men in my years, and if I’ve learned anything, a desperate man’s pockets are lined with more than mere gold. Tell me your offer!”
“I can clear your name once the job is done. With that... item in my hands, I can guarantee you a long and happy retirement.”

Olaf leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Now that’s more like it.”