Muvoso stalked out as some of the homeless and mostly friendless dragged the bruised innkeeper over to him. He was breathless, his face was as flush as one could get while wearing a mask, and imaginary smoke puffed out of his nose as he snorted at Muvoso. The idea that any great info would be obtained from this squirming traitor was absolutely ridiculous. Dessimus trained his actors well.
A sparkle suddenly appeared in Muvoso's eye. "It took half the townsfolk to move this desk," He said, patting it generously. "Lash him to it."
As the struggling Okotoran failed to break free as his former compatriots, shaking from the sudden release into the cold from their ragged blankets but invigorated with the thought of catching another fiend, lashed his ankles and wrists around the desk, Muvoso turned to Kyrlahni.
"This is asking a lot of you, but... Would you question him?"