"MAKE THE RAT TALK!" shouted a drunken man, his breath stinking of ale. It could be smelled all the way across the room, and in a way, Per'dra Raliry was grateful that he'd spoken up before all the rest of 'the people' had. Even drunk, this patron of the Drunkard's Haven was still in possession of some of his senses. He stood up, shaking his fist. "SQUEAK, you rodent!"
Turning to Velor, Per'dra smiled slowly and took the shining amber insignia into her palm. "Very well. This is indeed the sign of the Amber Hand. I assume you know everything about this seemingly-innocuous piece of metal, since you follow both the Purge and its cause." All of a sudden, she remembered Vakarr. "You're right, good sir. We common folk are not animals, even though this spy and his ilk are worse than beasts! If we decide that he is to die after being interrogated, we'll behead him outside so no one else will have to see."
"Here's my second question: How close is the Purge to cracking down on the Slum District? Days? Weeks? Even hours? How much time do we have left?"