The black-robed figure completely ignored that last comment.
What traitor faction didn't have schemes cooking? Nothing new there.
The real kicker was what came before.
"Would they actually rat themselves out?"
The black-robed figure asked without thinking, torn between conflicting thoughts.
Considering the traitors' track record, both men shared a knowing look.
"This is serious business—gotta get word to the lord right away! Let him call the shots!"
The Black Poison Faction was no joke—their arsenal of poisons could drop you before you knew what hit you.
This was way above the black-robed figure's pay grade.
Soon as he finished talking, he spun around and hightailed it out of there.
After watching the black-robed figure disappear, Salimo reached out his gnarled hand and smoothed down the wolf-head parrot's ruffled feathers.
Thinking to himself: "The big guns are moving in."
