The whole room became silent. The leponite who had entered the room wore a fancy, but practical red coat and a beautifully woven pair of combat breeches as well brass, not gold, cuff-links and buttons. Everything on him was made as if to accommodate luxury and practicality at the same time.

He was especially generous in the belly area, but even though he was *ahem* roundish, his features were handsomely built. ((No, he is not some disgusting potato-like blob. Sorry to disappoint))

The last thing the gnomes noticed was that this leponite stood a four and a half feet tall. He towered over everyone else in the room.

Boddypen heard a whisper from one of the guards.
<This is the first time I've seen him>
<Yeah, me too.>
<Is it true that he hasn't died in, what, a hundred years?>
<Shush!>

The massive leponite sat down at the end table. He waved his hand, signaling for the guards to leave. When the room was entirely empty, he sat there, staring at the gnomes for a while before speaking.

Eleven...An odd number for a typical halfling entourage. If you had meant to come and try at my life, again, you should have been more subtle about it. However...

He sat back, his fingers pressed against each other.

Halflings do not fly in rickety stone deathtraps, not willingly at least. So...This is what the City of Cogs calls an expedition, hmm? Yes, I know what you are. One does not live as long as I do by being ignorant of one's surroundings.

His face remained expressionless as he talked, his cold stare boring into the Gnomes.

Of course, it all boils down to this. You had the misfortune to fall into my land, and now, like everything else here, I own you, I own the flying machine, I own your lovely box and what's inside it. You see, "the Boss" is not simply my title, it is pure. I am, since other words fail, "The Boss"