Parsons listens to the group impassively. His brow furrows as the first several speak, though the building tension seems to melt a bit when Kepli speaks.
Then the bird knocks on the door, and Parsons, seeming a bit flummoxed, speaks.
"It sounds like many of you've already been talking to the wrong sorts of people," he says. "The White Cloaks aren't in the business of slitting people's throats in the night, not even with contracted labor.
"However, I can tell you that this isn't just a peaceful encampment of people we don't like the look of. Several of the individuals involved have been implicated in bandit raids on the low end, and things along the lines of what you thought I was asking you all to do on the high end. These are not good people. They are not misunderstood people.
"They also aren't the kind of people who generally gather, honestly. They hit, they hide. Often they hit each other. That they're positioned so noticeably, and just outside our reach, is deeply troubling given ... let's just say this group of troublemakers isn't the only problem we're dealing with. Any more than that would breach our own internal security.
"If the five of you have the means of collecting an entire camp of these people and dragging them back for questioning, then by all means," Parsons says, though his tone is clear in its doubt such a thing can be done.
"What we're after, though, is that the camp is broken up. These people gathered is an avalanche waiting to happen. Also, bring us any intelligence you can find about what convinced a bunch of backstabbing felons they should settle down and play house together."
Parsons raises an eyebrow, then, adding, "Most of these goons are murderers of one stripe or another. Feel free to do what you have to do to safeguard your own lives. I said we aren't in the business of contracting assassins. We also aren't keen on having our contractors killed."
He stands, surveying the room, awaiting any further questions.
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