Getting Lazar to agree to anything not clear-and-fucking-paid-for's a gamble in good mood. This ain't. He likes Barrow fine. And he likes Barrow better alive, and he likes him best of all when skimming his lyrium.
(Grand thing for templars: They lose count, and it's just them to blame.)
So he's not in a hurry to stand around, while Barrow scratches like a hurlock can smell you through the walls. By the time he steps in, Abby's shouting, someone's down. Blood. Before he's past the door he's moving.
Lifting a chair's like raising his hand. Easy. Swings it high — hey, look at me — before he breaks it over Barrow's back.
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Getting Lazar to agree to anything not clear-and-fucking-paid-for's a gamble in good mood. This ain't. He likes Barrow fine. And he likes Barrow better alive, and he likes him best of all when skimming his lyrium.
(Grand thing for templars: They lose count, and it's just them to blame.)
So he's not in a hurry to stand around, while Barrow scratches like a hurlock can smell you through the walls. By the time he steps in, Abby's shouting, someone's down. Blood. Before he's past the door he's moving.
Lifting a chair's like raising his hand. Easy. Swings it high — hey, look at me — before he breaks it over Barrow's back.