"Clydus Rhaine," he rasped in a voice that sounds like the throat had been given a treatment of battery acid. Thumping into the room unceremoniously, hunched over with his staff in hand, the raggedy man looked around. "Nice digs," he growled with approval. He purposefully kept his eyes hidden under the wide brim of the hat. They were one of the few giveaways in his costume, and Ducard felt no need to offer it up on a silver platter. "So, I heared that a little blonde girl was calling for the death of a dragon," he said to the armoured man that had opened the door. His eyes weren't on the man, however, but were instead continuing to survey the room. "What kind of money is there in this job?"