Brother Herox had missed the blatant display of magic right next to him thanks to a wonderful stew like he hadn't had in weeks. His companion, though, had not, and the scream and following silence were deafening.
Slowly, so as to not look too interested, Herox turned around. At first he wanted to throw up, but the quality of the stew more than anything kept him from it. His mind was racing. Taking the drunk magician now, or waiting for more to reveal themselves? He thought back and forth while the heretic dared to repeat his blasphemous actions.
His guards already had their hands slipped towards their concealed weapons. They were waiting for his signal.
He gave it.
"In the name of the holy inquisition of the temple of Estardes, hold it right there, heretic!", he yelled a minute later, standing at the exact distance his mentors had taught him to stand.
In every southern town, silence would have fallen over the inn. Here, some of the patrons shut up and looked, apparently from the south. But others went on undisturbed, or hurled insults his way.
"What?", the barkeeper yelled, among the noise, "the inquisition has no pow..." he stopped in his tracks as the first guard put a cold blade uncomfortably close to his throat. The second guard was covering Brother Herox's back. The weapons accomplished what words could not: The noise level went down considerably, though a few patrons were way too drunk to care for anything short of an earthquake.
"You there!", Brother Herox continued, pointing at Kalan, then Garath, then a third man (OOC: no player character) "Will follow us for questioning. Move it."
