Furtha stares at Borgrim's blade as Rosa continues. With seemingly great effort, the priest pulls his eyes back to the tiefling woman. He draws a shaky breath and rummages with an unsteady hand in a desk drawer, finally pulling out a small, dark bottle and a glass. He pours out a small measure of what appears to be alcohol, and then downs the shot in one motion.

"Can I o-offer any of you a drink? No? Ah... so, he is your master. Right. I did a little reading after our, uh, meeting. As a precaution, you understand. When one is confronted with an apparition such as that, no matter how brief, I think it best to find out all one can. Your master goes by the name 'Zanbar Bone', and is a warlock of considerable power, rumoured to have been defeated many years ago by a wizard by the name of Nicodemus. Nicodemus was aided in this by Zanbar Bone's former mentor, Vermithrax Moonchaser. This defeat was not as complete as the sources I read claim, evidenced by my meeting with your master two nights ago, and your appearance here now. I know that your master now can project himself, or travel, across large distances by moonlight. He is capable of sensing the calling of other spirits, and somehow, locating the source of that calling -- much to my chagrin." Furtha gives a weak smile.

"Older accounts claim Zanbar Bone had some skill in necromancy and the binding of demons, and that he used these powers against his rival and former mentor. I would assume he still possesses such talents. It is possible that he used some form of binding ritual to avoid his previous defeat, and is why he now has the appearance of a dread skeleton. That's my own conjecture, however."

Furtha pours another small shot and drinks it. "I'm afraid I didn't find much in the way of specifics. I don't know why your master is back, or what his designs for Port Blacksand -- if any -- may be. However, there have a been a few recent rumours going about the city that have taken on a new light since our 'meeting'. I've heard a number of accounts -- third and fourth hand, though -- of devilish attacks at night, leaving terribly disfigured and sometimes dismembered bodies." Furtha leans in closer, over his desk, and lowers his voice to a whisper. "I have also heard very quiet whispers that not all the noble houses are pleased with Lady Salancia's current rule. Rumblings from House Rogoan and House Valentis. Protests from the Merchants Guild, and more trouble from the free merchants, as always. Perhaps, and forgive me If I presume too much, your master is interested in exploiting such things?"

Furtha leans back in his chair. "Now, the cultists, as you call them? Forgive me, but I don't recall lying about them. I, ah, may not have offered every detail or suspicion that I had, but that's not the same thing, is it? I suspected that the group was perhaps poking into my own affairs, which may or may not have been the case. But now you know that, so it doesn't much matter. I just thought that making it sound like they were making a ritual sacrifice would be more convincing, and get you out of my hair."