Ozgad's Folly, though a remote village overrun with pirates, still possessed a small constabulary. That was to say, a single sheriff that collected modest fees from pirates taking refuge, posted bounties for those that disrupted the peace, and put any lawbreakers that did not pay him to the sword. The constable, Jerez, lounged comfortably in the stilted shack that served as both his home and office. Easily one of the richest men in town, he sat back in a wicker chair, feet perched on the desk he used to draft bounties, and smoked a fat cigar.

A heavy knock at his door broke him from his dozing, and he answered gruffly, "Enter."

Though the orange sunlight of dusk briefly entered the smoky abode from the opened door, it was quickly shut out again by the hulking figure the ducked down through the doorway. Though he squinted to get a better look at his visitor, Jerez already knew who it was. A half-giant from the hellish badlands to the south, whom he had met some days prior to arrange a bounty. Jerez sat up straight to greet the man, who seemed no worse for wear despite his days allegedly spent hunting outlaws in the wilds of the marsh. The only difference was a hefty burlap satchel slug easily over his shoulder.

"Good hunting?" He asked casually.

The beast didn't answer him, but instead upended the satchel onto his desk. One, two, three, four human heads rolled out, thudding wetly onto the papers scattered atop it. One rolled a ways and dropped onto the floor. Jerez licked his lips, eyeing the severed heads with slight alarm. The bounty [i]had[/i] been "dead or alive," and if he brought them in breathing he would have killed them men himself. [i]Still[/i], he was not used to the casual brutality of barbarians. He looked up at the monstrous man, whose body seemed to fill the entirety of the shack.

"I see..." He said, quieter than before.

"The four men," the half-giant said, the room seeming to shake with the dark timbre of his voice, "As agreed. My payment?" He held out a meaty hand, easily large enough to Jerez's skull like a handfruit.

"Of course, of course." Jerez said, after a moment's pause. He gripped his cigar in his teeth has he retrieved his purse, counting out an assortment of rough coins into the man's hand. Silvers and coppers, peasant's pay that he assumed the brute would be grateful for.

As Jerez stopped, the half-giant did not withdraw his hand, but carefully counted out what had had been given. Jerez eyed him carefully, as an irritated expression crossed his brutish features. His thick fingers curled over the coins, securing them in his leathery grip.

"Less than half what I was promised." He said, his tone neither questioning nor threatening. A simple statement, but it unnerved Jerez none the less.

"Yes, well," the constable, who found himself sweating, began to explain, "It's a reduced bounty for dead men. After all, I can't confirm their identities with only heads. Sure, I can see their faces, but I have only my memory to go by and I cannot say for sure-"

He was cut off by the barbarian suddenly flinging the remaining heads to the floor with a brush of his hand. The towering man loomed over him, leaning across his desk with his knuckles upon the wood. The desk creaked loudly under his weight, and Jerez could smell the blood and gristle on the man's hot breath. He glanced at his eyes only briefly, but in that moment did not see rage, but cold focus.

"Remember quickly." He said curtly.

Jerez jumped from his seat like he had been shot, and blindly grabbed a loose handful of coins from his purse and flung them onto the desk. The half-giant stood up with this, the wood of the desk seeming to sigh with relief, picked out the few gold coins among those that had been thrown at him, and left the shack without another word.

Zoa squinted into the sunset, his payment clutched in his fist, his belly empty and his thirst great. He licked his chops like a wild dog, fangs poking out over his lips as he did so. He could only hope that the tavern in this squalid town had enough meat and ale to satisfy him, and no less than two spare beds that he could push together once he was too drunk to stand. With that he set off carefully down the stilts, and toward the center of Ozgad's Folly.