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Let it go. This is as far as you'll get on this.

A trace of concern that you've pre-achieved the very thing he was attempting to do when you found him.

Behind his gaze, he is cast in iron. You are being entrusted with this.

His seething anger appears genuine. No false notes in his voice.

Wait. A discrepancy, like a false note.

This man is main quest complete, side quest curious.

Unguarded by his headphone helm, his neck seems strangely vulnerable.

The warmth in her voice dipped, only for a moment.

Superstitious at heart, you can almost see the shivers run down his spine as you stray into weird metaphysical territory.

Smoke unfurls from his nostrils, like an ancient dragon.

His eyes acquire a ceramic-like quality. Brightly dead, impenetrable.

If there was any sarcasm in that phrase, it flew way over his head and directly into the Noscorrentes sea.

His eyes are dark, tired, but still sharp.

He's asking you to hold back.

Feels like a gesture that means something. Help? You cannot reliably tell.

Behind the apparent chaos lies all the trappings of a carefully executed ritual. This isn't the first time. Not for either of them.

A visage corkscrewed with distress.

He tries to conceal it, but something in his voice tells you he's more concerned about Ultra Violeta's fate than that of the Grand Lich.

A distinction that will preoccupy you in the small hours for many years to come.

The old spy's grey eyes flash like light reflecting off a rifle scope.

Shades of Tempo reflected concave, convex, through a hall of mirrors.

If it was a direct order -- yes. Any which way you command.

What she wants to say is: grow a pair.

'It takes one to know one', his expression says.

Take it from somebody who shoots his conscience with a designer drug-loaded dart every time it so much as stirs.

A small measure of doubt, a hefty dose of fear. You're safe to proceed, for now.

A miserable defiance to the set of her chin.

Or was it the drink, the job.

She puts her hand to her heart, sighs.

She smiles in a way you've never seen before; Eszti without a trace of ESTOC.

More than him. His face registers nothing, not even the acknowledgement that he has been shot.

More than him. His face registers only the bitterness of the man who knew he was going to be betrayed, and was.

133 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 3 of 3