Tormented Tarns and he was the man for the job; a one-man bombsquad

If you're a murderer, it concerns you, he thinks, resisting the urge to laugh, but he doesn't voice the thought. He does laugh at the other's maybe — that would be just his luck, wouldn't it? But he's not terribly bothered; he's a murderer himself, and he's dealt with them plenty before. More surprising is the offer of a name — at least, he thinks it's his name. Was that one word, or two? Wintersbane or Winter's Bane? Fuck. Alarian, He offers, deciding he'll never call the dude by his first name ever. Maybe Winnie. I live east of here, not too far. He gestures slightly with his muzzle in the direction of Easthollow, then glances back to the icy-eyed male almost expectantly.