“So…” I said, sitting on the back of a tractor in the machine shed and watching my ‘guests’, “your a dwarf from the nordic wastelands who’s been fighting your ancestral enemy–”
“Dirt-eaters,” the one called Brock growled helpfully.
“Whatever.” I turned to his montrous companion. “And you…” I’d somehow managed to miss that Brock’s companion was wearing full fifteen-century samurai armor, but in my defense the thing was nine feet tall and did have a damned horn sticking out of it’s forehead. “You’re some kind of genderless ogre wizard –”
“Magi,” it corrected.
“– Magi who’s been working with that,” I jerked my thumb at Brokk, “for how long?”
The creature made a dismissive gesture and stepped forward. “The duration of my partnership with Brock is not relevant, Sean. What is relevant at the moment is our partnership with you, one which can save your father. Also, please call me Bhuto.”