“Oh, I’ll kill him for ye. Eh’s justa matter a’ how dead ye want ‘im.”
“I want him as dead as you can make him.”
“Can ye puta number behin’ that?”

The richly attired man, looked around nervously around the nearly empty bar for the fifth time in as many minutes before answering.
“I want him 100 gold dragons dead.”
The grimy man whistled through his unkempt beard, as a clinking velvet pouch was laid on the table.
“Well, ah guess we don’ have to go through the bargainin’ dance, then. Half now an’ then half when he stops breathin’.”

The cold gentleman opened his mouth to respond and silenced himself as he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. His right hand dropped beneath the table and invisibly drew out his concealed short sword. His frigid gray eyes didn’t relax when he saw the busty tavern waitress approaching with a pair of overflowing tankards. He quickly and repeatedly searched her body with his eyes for any hidden weapons or possible threats. The wild red eyes of his business associate had no such concerns and were firmly fixed on the exposed tops of her round breasts.

“Here you are, gents.” The cold one grimaced slightly as he noticed her slightly crooked teeth. Teeth that could have easily been fixed with cosmetic magic or better breeding, but were far out of her means. He glanced to the brute, who was now lost the clearly arduous tasks of ogling the woman and draining the rather earthy smelling brew. He sighed and pushed a pair of silver coins across the sticky table, rather than handing them to the woman and risking touching her.

“Thank you, dear. That will be all.” Her disappointment was plain as day to the aristocrat, who carefully kept his face slightly cheerful, masking his complete disdain for everyone within this district, including his murderous company.

Once the firmly built woman was gone and his companion’s frown was drowned in the alleged beer, he spoke again.

“I want his body.”

Another fitful glance around the bar from the man in the crisp black cloak prevented him from seeing his companions momentary shock.

“You’ll have ta send some one ’round ta collect it. I’m not for traipsin’ ’bout where the Watch kin see me, wi’ a dead body slung o’er mah shoulder.”
“Fine. Just be sure he’s dead before the morning.”

The rich man stood, brushed off his cloak and barely restrained his impulse to flee the dingy bar.

Mofari cringed and vanished the pouch under his shirt. “Well, shit. I knew that maintaining my many identities would be tough, but I never imagined that I’d be hired to assassinate myself. Coming up with a body that looks like me is going to be tricky.”