Degnar sat in the Four Seasons' bar, looking down at the whisky Sam had served him. He wasn't particularly pleased about having made that deal with the hob at the Fleshmarket, but it wasn't like he could magically turn back time and undo what had already been done. He could feel the weight of the Wyrd on his shoulders, and the Darkling knew better than to not follow through with his word.
"So, we've got this glass shard...and we know what he looks like," said the Archer as he turned to face Dominyk Prise . "I guess that's a start, huh?" He gave a little shrug after saying those words, reaching for his drink and taking a sip.
"But what happens when we find him?" said Degnar as he set down the glass and focused on it once more. "We don't even know what he's capable of. I don't like that." He turned back to face the Winter Incubus, giving him a blank look.
"We are gonna need more muscle."