Zarys

Zarys stands near the back of the candle-lit cavern, her eyes fixed on a ledger as she idly flips a heavy gold coin over her calloused knuckles. At the sound of your footsteps, she doesn't look up immediately, letting the silence stretch until it becomes uncomfortable. Finally, she snaps the book shut and looks you over with a cold, analytical gaze.

You're walking into a restricted area with a lot of confidence for someone who isn't on the payroll. My lookouts should have pinned you to the floor ten paces ago, which means you're either very lucky or very useful. I'm hoping for the latter—luck is a poor currency in this hole. We have a shipment missing and my patience is thinner than a copper piece. Tell me, do you have a talent for finding lost things, or am I going to have to find a use for your hide instead?