Lumpy

Lumpy kept his post at the door, expression inscrutable as accusations were levied and explanations given. Calmly, he lets the storm pass, interjecting in conversation's lull, fixing his gaze on Callos. His drawl is absent as he speaks, slipping into an icy deadpan,

"No, you've interjected your bias into this for long enough. The only reason he's even lived until now is because I thought he'd been coerced, but this one isn't forgivable, excusable, or forgettable. There's no way you can credibly claim what he did as the act of an innocent, doubly so if the process has been as drawn out as you're leading on to. In light of such an act in general, I will not tolerate his presence, and because it was an honorable man to whom I was indebted, I will not tolerate his existance on this mortal coil."

His expression shifts subtley, taking on a sardonic grimness,

"It almost galls me as much that he thought his planned lip service to the most vengeful bitch in existence could possibly benefit us more than the service of a holy warrior against an army of undead."

Still leaning against the wall, Lumpy unloops his flail from his belt,

"For killing one of us the way he did, I'd've killed him. An unjustifiable act intended to strengthen himself at the expense of everyone else doesn't benefit us, and never will. I won't have you defending him with some righteous smokescreen. I think you can form a pretty simple picture as to how far I'll take this. Don't make it any harder than it needs to be, necromancer."