Georg sat, slumped in his chair while he waited to be summoned. He felt tired, but hadn't bothered with coffee--it woke him up, but made him feel paranoid and gave him spasms. He noticed he was drawing the glances of his companions, and attributed it at first to the massive weapon strapped to his back. Then he registered their expressions of disgust, and sniffed once. Maybe I should have taken a bath, he thinks, and then they are called forward by the Dispatcher.

He took a moment to size up the other standing figures. None of them were as large, or armed quite as heavily, as himself. Still, he knew better than to rush to conclusions when dealing with the Cult of Bel. Even the pox-scarred woman looked like she might have some fight in her.