Dirge stood against the wall near the back of the Tea-House. Though he was fairly distant from the Inquisitor, he caught every word, including those of the man who tried to accost the guard. The poor sap ended up finding himself looking like the symbol of Malinor
Dirge took his cup of tea from the nearby table and took a sip. It was a delicate, aromatic blend. The sort that few would suspect he drank, even if they ever thought he drank tea at all.
He replaced the cup along with it's saucer, back to the table.
He heard the others speak and ask questions about the man who the guards sought. Pointless.
As one man was quick to point at, if they had any leads, they would have the majority of the guard chasing them up, not crawling into a crooked tea-house such as this to ask the service of some of the city's lowliest individuals.
"I have but one question" said Dirge as he straightened up from the wall and began to pace forwards, dragging his huge sword across the wood/stone work.
The sound of his booming voice from the darkness caused many patrons to turn and stare at him. They knew the tales, along with having seen Dirge kill his fair share of men over trivialities.
"How many shots, have you got in that pistol?"
His sword hung heavily by his side, he made no intention of tightening his grip.
"Because who, in their right mind, would come into an establishment, that you know to harbour some of this city's most unsavoury indivuals, ask, nay, decree for assistance, and then proceed to shoot one of the patrons stone dead?"
His voice exhibited no emotion, no hint of malice or remorse. None.
"I'll give you some advice for next time you attempt a stunt like this. One word. Subtlety."
He took the flagon of ale that belonged to the now dead man.
"That, or 'Amputation'. Sends more of a message."
He took a hearty swig of the ale.
"Anyway, I'm in."
Dirge took his cup of tea from the nearby table and took a sip. It was a delicate, aromatic blend. The sort that few would suspect he drank, even if they ever thought he drank tea at all.
He replaced the cup along with it's saucer, back to the table.
He heard the others speak and ask questions about the man who the guards sought. Pointless.
As one man was quick to point at, if they had any leads, they would have the majority of the guard chasing them up, not crawling into a crooked tea-house such as this to ask the service of some of the city's lowliest individuals.
"I have but one question" said Dirge as he straightened up from the wall and began to pace forwards, dragging his huge sword across the wood/stone work.
The sound of his booming voice from the darkness caused many patrons to turn and stare at him. They knew the tales, along with having seen Dirge kill his fair share of men over trivialities.
"How many shots, have you got in that pistol?"
His sword hung heavily by his side, he made no intention of tightening his grip.
"Because who, in their right mind, would come into an establishment, that you know to harbour some of this city's most unsavoury indivuals, ask, nay, decree for assistance, and then proceed to shoot one of the patrons stone dead?"
His voice exhibited no emotion, no hint of malice or remorse. None.
"I'll give you some advice for next time you attempt a stunt like this. One word. Subtlety."
He took the flagon of ale that belonged to the now dead man.
"That, or 'Amputation'. Sends more of a message."
He took a hearty swig of the ale.
"Anyway, I'm in."