The door swings open an the grisly remains of what could only be assumed to be once a man are flung through it. The thick stench of iron wafts out the door accompanied by the sad crying wails of some very desperate people. Lined against the counter-tops are pitiful visages of human beings. Hand bound behind them, beaten and bloodied, they beg their assailant for mercy. He dusts himself off of the disobedient curs filth, now he's been disposed of via hot steel, black powder and the oaken planks of the tavern door. He talks a calm seat merely glimpsing to his sorrowful hostages. lighting a cigar which he would place between his lips. This man is caked with the entrails of man, but does not worry. Not a single drop of blood is his. He takes an interest in a note pinned to his table by a large butchers knife. He'd begin to read it, deaf to the pleas of the innocent folk. As one makes bolt for the door he swiftly rips the note from the knifes hold, keeping his eyes locked on the message. He tackles the would be escapee, drawing a squeal from the whelp as his knee plunges into the small of his back. The man let's out a low compulsive giggle to himself, eyes still reading. He would relieve his lips of the half smoked cigar and extinguish the embers against the cheek of the bound whelp prompting a scream of agony. The assailant makes no more than a chuckle as his hand now drifts towards the escapee's hand, an instant passes though to some it may feel like a pained hour. And now, resting in between the man's lips, similar to a cigar, is a finger. He cackles uncontrolled for a few seconds before looking to his hostages uttering these words. "If all you ladies and gentlemen would excuse me. I have a Harbour to visit"