Eiravel didn’t look very happy about it. She gestured towards the table and nodded sullenly at Dinald and the others. The sharp, well dressed man sat down without invitation.
Unshaven and slightly battered, the man wore a look of desperate exhaustion as obvious as the fine stitching on his forest green doublet. He nodded knowingly at the group, trying to muster an expression of false confidence.
“You may not know me. I am an old……aquaintance of the….ah…… much sought after Eiravel here. I’m Grigori.” Eiravel quietly fumed. Grogori ordered a beer, and took a long swig.
“I need your help with something. I did a job the other night, and I think I got in over my head.” He looked sideways, as if checking for something. “The Watch just got done grilling me hard for most of the afternoon. I’ve got to lie low a while, but my girl Ilyana, she doesn’t know. They may not be so kind to her, especially since she’s wearing some my handiwork, if you know what I mean.”
Grigori took another pull from his flagon. “If you can find her first, I’ll make it worthwhile.” He handed Ailukka a square of artists’ canvas bearing the charcoal sketch of a striking tiefling woman.
“This is her likeness.” he continued. "And look in the Fire Quarter. She has friends working at the Silk Scabbard. Filipa maybe, or Iskra. Either might know where she is. ” He took one last drink from his mug. “Tell them Grigori brought them their earrings. They’ll know I sent you.”