"Is anything else . . . required?"
The voice was cold, cutting the air between the two men like a warm knife through butter. Krev set down his quill and folded his hands. He studied their newest applicant darkly, not liking the insidious emphasis the man had put on required.
"Perhaps. We do not accept every wanderer that comes in from the cold, you know."
The applicant stared unblinkingly at him. He was a stereotypical Nord, with shoulder-length fair hair and strong frame. No one would ever spare him a second glance in a crowd. His only distinguishing feature was the way his mouth seemed to uncontrollably twist into a smile every few minutes, like he was a child playing with toys. Krev also disliked the man's attitude, the way he'd come sauntering in, for all the world acting like he ran the organization. And now he just stood smirking at Krev, like protocol was for lesser mortals.
"You'll have to give us a full background, and be evaluated running through various-"
"I hear," the Nord cut in loudly, "that your organization has extensive knowledge on the . . .ah. . . more abnormal, for lack of a better term, men of this world. Is that true?"
"Yes." Krev replied after pause, more than a little irritated. He had now decided that under no circumstances would he ever accept this man. "That's what my organization does." He hoped this man would take a hint, and then a hike.
The Nord's mouth twisted into a smile again. Slowly he lifted a dark bloody mass from his satchel and threw it. The thing landed on his desk, and Krev grimaced as drops of blood splattered him. He wiped the largest glob of blood from his shoulder and then leaned forward to examine the thing. Krev raised his eyebrows and slight surprise. It was unmistakably a head. A were-wolf's head.
"Is anything else . . . required?"
Krev raised his eyes and studied the grinning Nord for a long moment. Then he made up his mind.
"Welcome to the Silver Hand."