Send in The Dogs is a piece of fiction from Guilds of Sundara, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

Selene Troyas sat at her elegant desk, the sun splashing across her study and the sound of birdsong coming in through the open window. Her short bob of dark hair gleamed in the soft light, and the white jerkin she wore practically shone, contrasting with the dark, whipcord breeches and riding boots that hugged her legs. Her quill scratched over a letter, her neat, particular handwriting looping across the page in perfect lines as she made a final offer on a parcel of ground east of the town of Kask. There were holdouts who were waiting to see just how badly the Landers Guild wanted their patch, and Selene was making it very clear that if this price did not satisfy, then she would move onto other methods.

A knock at the door drew Selene’s gaze. Iris withered under the house mistress’s look, and Selene took a moment to compose her face. She offered a smile, and carefully set her quill aside. It was a mark of how frustrating the acquisition near the small town had proven that she was letting her emotions show on her face.

“What is it, Iris?” Selene asked.

“The… representative you sent for has arrived,” Iris said hesitantly.

“Send him in,” the mistress of the estate said.

“Do you wish to meet with him alone, miss?” Iris asked. Selene pursed her lips. Iris wasn’t usually so skittish.

“Yes,” Selene said, sprinkling a handful of writing sand over the ink to ensure it dried quickly. She held the letter out to Iris. “Now take this to Duncan. Tell him to send the redtail to deliver it.”

“Yes ma’am,” Iris said, taking the paper and departing the room. Selene crossed her legs, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. Heavy footsteps entered her outer chamber, and a moment later a figure stepped through her study door.

He was rangy and rugged, dressed in an oilskin duster with a ragged rain cape that bore the scars of fire and blade alike. Crossed weapon belts hung from his hips; a brace of daggers on one side, and sloshing, alchemical concoctions on the other. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his face, but it did nothing to hide the three days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, nor the brand on the side of his neck. What most struck her, though, was the smell of the man; a mix of horse sweat, rich forests and earth. When he met her gaze, she saw that one of his eyes was a deep, dark brown. The other was a golden yellow that caught the light, and glimmered.

Now she understood why Iris had been so nervous about their visitor.

“You sent for me,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

“If you are the representative of the Manhunters Guild, then yes, I did,” Selene said, her voice cool, and steady.

The figure tucked his fingers behind the edge of his coat, and pulled it back. Resting on his hip was a gleaming guild seal; a pair of manacles beneath a headsman’s sword. He pulled his coat back over the badge, and folded his hands in front of him.

“Very well,” Selene said. “Do you have a name?”

“Trask,” he said.

“The job I have is a sensitive matter that needs to be handled with the utmost discretion,” Selene said, pursing her lips slightly. “Some people are making… trouble near one of my guild’s holdings.”

“What kind of trouble?” Trask asked.

Selene opened the shallow, central drawer of her desk, and took out a series of letters. She offered them to the bounty hunter, who read through them carefully. Selene withdrew a smoking taper from a box on the corner of her desk. She placed one end in her mouth, leaned over to the oil lamp where it hung on a chain, and lit the other end. Fragrant herb smoke filled the air as she watched the manhunter. After several silent moments he unceremoniously dropped the letters on her desk.

“Guild will expect double the normal fee for this,” he said.

“Oh?” Selene said, her voice as cool as winter dew. “And why is that?”

“You want us to hunt down a runaway, maybe deal with bandits, that’s one thing,” Trask said. He tapped the letters with his index finger. “That ain’t what this is, and we both know it.”

“And what is this, exactly?” Selene asked.

“Landers Guild doesn’t appoint people who spook easy,” Trask said. “And they don’t send their governors out without competent guards. You lost three governors in as many months over this little patch of ground. Every one of them sent you back a report saying something different was wrong with the land. Every one of them resigned. The ink is crooked, and smeared, which tells me their hands were shaking. There’s drops of blood staining the bottom of the third letter.”

The manhunter folded his arms over his thick chest, and focused his mismatched eyes on Selene. There was something unnerving in that gaze. It was as if he could see straight through to the core of her thoughts, and read the secrets written on her soul. She took another drag on her taper, and let the smoke trickle out from her nose.

“Your point?” Selene asked. Trask stepped closer, and planted his scarred knuckles on her desk, lowering his face until he was eye-level with her.

“Somebody walked right under your people’s noses, and scared your lackeys so bad they didn’t believe you could protect them,” Trask said. “And whoever they are, they did it three times. You want us chasing ghosts in the dark, that’s the price.”

Selene leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. She blew out one more breath of smoke as she re-evaluated the hunting hound of a man across the desk from her. Then she stubbed out the remnants of her taper in a shallow, glass tray.

“Double the fee, then,” she said. “Triple if you resolve this in the next fortnight.”

The manhunter gave her a wolfish grin, and without a word turned and left her study. After a moment Selene realized that for all the noise he’d made coming in, there hadn’t been so much as a whisper when he departed.