31st of Fall, 518 AV
The animals at Killroy’s were of a surprising quality. Though strays were plentiful in the streets and alleys of Sunberth, they did not seem to make up the bulk of the stock. The dogs, which were the most useful and therefore the chief source of income, were well taken care of. Most were in good shape, and when one arrived that was hungry, beat up, or otherwise abused, their state improved after only a few weeks of being under Hannah’s care. Whether this was out of genuine care for the creatures, or whether it was simply a merchant taking good care of her wares, Koroshtoph did not know. The woman certainly did not give the impression of being heartless; yet to run any business in Sunberth one had to act in accordance with the environment. That is to say, with some degree of ruthlessness. Or so the Syliran imagined.
It was afternoon and Koroshtoph was stood at the entrance of the kennels main hall, waiting to be summoned by the owner after she was done with the current customers. The customers in question were two men, each representative of its own breed of thug. The younger of the pair was of an age with Koroshtoph. A mocking grin had played on his face as they passed the entrance of the establishment. It had been directed at the Syliran, or more precisely at the hand that he had put on the hilt of his sword upon the pairs approach. He had tried to put on a face befitting a seasoned mercenary whom such a thing would not faze, but the derisive chuckle which the man had let out made it clear that the act was transparent.
The other thug was older. He bore a grim countenance decorated with many scars, which extended also onto the bald of his head and onto his bulbous nose. The callous eyes underneath furrowed eyebrows, and a thin, jowl framed mouth, which bore a tight frown, conspired to give an effect of a choleric brute with an edge of intelligence – exactly the type of man that could keep the other one in line. This one had not seemed to notice Koroshtoph at all, nor did he acknowledge his companions chuckle.
Though the newly-baked mercenary did not have a particular affinity for animals, he could not help but feel sorry for each creature that left Hannah’s care. It was rare for an animal to be bought by someone who would or could provide it a better home than the kennels, but the fate of those bought by such men as these two seemed particularly grim. Or perhaps the bigger and meaner dogs, which such types tended to buy, were of a compatible temperament to their new owners. Koroshtoph thought of a black hound, its breed unknown to him, which growled and bared its teeth him each time he passed the enclosure where it spent most of its time. None of the other dogs ever approached it. That one would fit right in, perhaps.
It had been a couple of chimes since the thugs had entered the kennels, and Koroshtoph could hear them speaking to Hannah. Judging by the gruff voice, the older man did most of the talking. As far as the Syliran could tell, they were looking for a tracking dog that could follow a scent. He wondered what kind of quarry they had in mind, but something told him they would not be hunting for food.