Masterful Mercenaries

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt 'The Hirelings'

'My Lord, must we hire these, cretins?'

The words of his advisors reverberated in Lord Tyraster Leontious' mind as he saw the approaching mercenary crew. He almost reconsidered meeting them once he did see them, were it not for his aging father's recommendations. It took but a jot to earn a rebuke from his father and far too much to gain its equal in praise, yet this beastly seeming and stunted crew he held in peerless esteem. He never could guess his father's mind, but he knew to trust every word he spoke.

"Good morrow. To whom am I speaking?" Lord Leontious greeted the gruff gnome who appeared to lead the crew, at least in negotiations.

"Wil, my Lord." came a voice not unlike a child, a rather unsettling sound from a face that most certainly should have belonged to a man nearing a century old with a heavy white beard to match.

"Wil," Lord Leontious said, quickly hiding the shock that had come over him, "I'm reliably told you and yours are the best crew around for solving any mechanical issue, even if it's sabotaged in origin. Is that correct?"

"It is so, sir." Wil prattled, almost running each word together and nodding, though less with his head as it was his whole body bouncing up briefly, a soft clink punctuating his 'sir' as tools, jewels, and all manner of whats-its jangled together.

"Good. Several tenants of mine have complained of a series of malfunctions or malfeasance in their windmills, plows, and more. Will you accept a contract to investigate?"

"Any tools stolen? and damages found in the mornings, or midday?" Wil countered, a hand appearing from within his cloak as he stroked his beard down, the other beginning to fiddle with a small contraption at his belt.

"None reported to me, but the complaints are always from the mornings, never midday." Lord Leontious stared at the gnome, wondering at his seeming immediate knowledge of the problems found.

"Ah, ah." Wil acknowledged, fiddling more with the strange tool. "Goblins, yes, goblins are a likely culprit. No, gremlins, gremlins are to blame most like. Yes, yes. 50 silvers to start." Wil declared to Lord Leontious, bouncing on his heels again, producing more clinking and jangling.

"50 silvers?" Lord Leontious replied, careful to play his shock a mite dishonestly, as he had expected a higher price. 50 silvers was a bargain if, indeed, a colony of gremlins was to blame.

"To start! 14 more per gremlin head, or 20 if there are goblins found." Wil emphasized in response, stamping a foot to prove his price wouldn't budge.

Lord Leontious almost immediately agreed to the price, save he knew gremlins usually numbered at least 30 before their presence could be noticed, and goblins should have as few as 12 to a band. These gnomes could expect a payout of 470 silvers for the gremlins and at least another 240 silvers if they found goblins. Over 70 gold, if they found both, two years of taxes in one payment to solve this issue. He hesitated, not for lack of funds, but over whether these gnomes were worth that price. A few years of taxes paid out in one shot, or indefinite years of minor problems eating at his farms' ability. Wil forced his dilemma by turning to leave the meeting.

"Agreed, another 60 silvers if you help us improve our tools' resilience." Lord Leontious thought he might play on greed to keep Wil in the meeting.

"No, improvements are free." Wil replied, stopping mid-step and holding out his hand for the agreed price, and the other for a peculiarity of gnome deals.

Lord Leontious counted out the correct payment before noticing the other outstretched hand was vertical. "What are you wanting for your right hand?" he asked Wil.

"Your hand. Binds us to the deal." Wil answered.

Lord Leontious shrugged and clasped the gnome's hand, feeling Wil turn to some manner of stone as his hand released, and the gnome stood perfectly still. Until Tyraster blinked, and all 6 gnomes he had seen were no longer in the same spots.