This may also account for the glove the man is wearing on his left hand, although from the side he wears his sword it might very well be his dueling glove and have nothing at all to do with mysterious chunks of magic material embedded in the flesh. Riftwatch is certainly no stranger to charming affectations among its ranks.

"Ah," he says, a flicker of surprise glinting at the edges. Working with strangers is such a novelty; it catches him off guard. Well, at least no one will be expecting him to do the rough work with big Fereldan women ranging about. "So we are. Amanza. Desidério Amanza."

He makes a small gesture with that gloved left hand. A pleasure to make her acquaintance, so on and so forth.

"And that would depend. Fuck Off, have you learned your lesson?" He uncovers the boy's mouth.

"If I say yes, you're just going to keep me here for longer aren't you?"

Desi gives the woman on the edge of the scaffold a significant look. What a relief, it says. Maybe the boy isn't fully brainless after all. Then he returns his attention to the orphan, saying, "I've a case in my pocket. Fetch it for me."

With a great aggrieved sigh, the headlocked boy complies. All the fumbling around and clinking of various pocket contents must be pure pettiness on the child's part, or else he is in fact a very terrible thief. But in short order, the case is produced. Desi snaps it open and plucks a cigarillo from it. He trades this to the boy at the same time he looses him from the headlock.

"Tell your friends I'll cut their fingers off if I find them in my pockets."