[center][h3][color=993333]István Shilage[/color][/h3][/center]

[@Crimson Paladin][@The Otter]

Where Roger's sentence died in his mouth as he was taken aback, a new grumbled curse was born out of István's, freshly liberated from a Morahti archer's tongue only so few hours prior. A moment later, he spoke again in civilized tongue.

[color=993333]"Getting right into it with this shit, then."[/color] the big man droned, blithe as his tone went, stepping forward and thrusting the fuller mug of dark liquid forward, offering exchange between it and the current offending slip of parchment. [color=993333]"Drink. Murder is planned best with a vigorous, sharp mind. It'll give you a moment to take a step back, as well." [/color]

Inane babblings by washed up hedge knights, short-sighted requests by township "richfolk" that thought they could go past their own mayoral system for the sake of their pithy 'estate', neighboring lordlings trying to invoke Cadmon, himself, even Guillaume into petty squabbles, István had seen much over Cadmon's shoulder and in his own right in his days as advisor and mentor— whatever had been scrawled onto this sheet had to be a "good one" to even warrant threats idly made.

May as well tear free the bandage and get back to running on your slashed leg, lest the rat race pass you by.