"Buy me a drink," said Anoriel Eight Eyes, retired Pathfinder and active headhunter, leaning on the counter.

Hazel Stormwalker tossed back their hood, dripping a good amount of rainwater onto the floor, and measured her up. She looked just as wobbly as when they’d last met. Still, whatever she wanted, it was more comfortable hearing her out in a cosy inn than being out and about in the pouring rain, or joining the gnomes in the room they rented. Their constant prattling was much more bothersome than the big drops of rain travelling on the wind and pelting one's face like so many pebbles.

"Fine," they said, turning to the innkeeper. "Svetlana, what is your best non-intoxicating drink, apart from spring water?"

The blonde beauty behind the counter tapped a barrel and filled two mugs with a decent-looking brew.

"This," she said, putting the mugs on the counter. "Leaf-Lover's Delight, straight from the Stag... erm, Tuskdale. Just imagine, the baronial palace is still under construction, but they already have a brewery, and not half bad at that. An amazing taste of ale, without the torpor."

"Thanks, Svetlana," said Hazel. "Just what my friend and myself need tonight."

Anoriel contracted her eyebrows.

"You are evil, Hazel."

Hazel smirked, arranging their long black braid on their left shoulder and squeezing some water out of it. Being a stormwalker didn't mean that they liked their hair soaking wet. They removed the hairclip from the tip of the braid, and gradually shook their hair free.

"You know, Anoriel, if you increase your alcohol consumption even further, you will soon be called Sixteen Eyes. Let us find a table, and then you can tell me why you want to talk to me so badly."

"Just a minute," interrupted the innkeeper. "I'll get you sorted in no time. Friends and employees of the baroness deserve the best we have to offer!"

She hurried to the fireplace and persuaded a group of workers to free up their table for the newcomers, ushering the grumbling men to another table. Hazel grabbed both mugs and made their way to the fireplace, with Anoriel in tow. They spread their wet cloak on an empty chair, took a seat on another one, placed the drinks on the table, and sipped a little ale. The warmth of the fire felt comforting, and the drink tasted much less bad than they'd expected.

The retired Pathfinder took a long swig, pretending to enjoy it, and wiped the foam off her lips with her sleeve.

"Do you have a job right now?"

"Yes," said Hazel, rubbing their chin. "And I am quite happy with it. Professor Narthropple pays his security personnel generously, and it is fun to learn from him. My cartography skills have improved to such an extent that he only calls me stupid twice a day. We started from twelve. If you can go sober for a month for starters, I am willing to put in a word with him for you."

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"Oh, no, no," laughed Anoriel. "You misunderstand me. I am the headhunter and you are the prey."

Hazel flashed a wry smile.

"For your own sake, I hope very much that you are talking about recruitment."

"Indeed. For none else than the baroness whose land you have just entered."

"You mean, the ruler of this filthy backwater with hardly a place to get cover from the rain, to quote my esteemed employer?"

"Oh, come on! You have no idea what this place was like before. Compared to that, it is coming along nicely. And as I mentioned before, the baroness is hiring."

Hazel had their doubts. The leader of an emerging state with a virtually nonexistent economy, trying to outbid Jubilost Narthropple, the famous polymath of Absalom? Still, Hazel was of a restless nature, unusually for an elf, and they felt they’d spent too much time in the same job. And although gnomes were frantic thrillseekers, even that became boring after a while. Hazel found themself craving for something new.

"What is the name of this baroness again?"

For a while, Anoriel was trying to catch a shard of thought blown about by delirious winds within her brain. The silence was getting awkward.

"Sod it," she finally muttered. "It is on the tip of my tongue... Anyway. When she arrived here, people called her the Hound of Brevoy. Now her admirers call her the Leopard of Tuskdale. Probably because of her pet leopard."

The ranger smiled wistfully and took a gulp from their mug. They used to know a leopard girl, back in their younger years. They had been close to each other: two misfits, finding comfort and fun in each other's company, until life led them to separate ways.

"The Stag Lord versus the Leopard of Tuskdale," they mused. "That is nature for you, red in fang and claw. Something you want to watch from a well-protected blind through a bloody expensive spyglass, amazed at the savage beauty of the cycle of life."

"I am certain she will like your style," laughed Anoriel. "Her adventuring group is in sore need of ranged fighters, and she wants someone as good as me."

"As good as you were before or as good as you are now? I am trying to determine whether I should feel flattered."

Anoriel cast a withering glance at them.

"Save me your witticisms, and read the framework agreement instead. You will never be as good as I used to be, but you are still decent, and perhaps not too self-conceited to improve on yourself. Here. Take your time."

Hazel pushed their mug aside, and started reading. The payment was about 20% worse than in their present job. Still, a nascent barony could be a promising setting where they could utilise their talents and even have a say in shaping history. It looked more fun than escorting an annoying, self-important gnome until he would finally succumb to the Bleaching and waste away. But the most thrilling part was the header of the document, with the name of the baroness in it.

It was indeed the leopard girl.