Trained killers knew how to exit quickly from the scene of the crime, and leave no trace. Oggy was no trained killer. Which meant Oggy was lingering in the house of the man he just so happened to kill. Sure he was a killer, but he didn’t receive any training; his was a natural sort of skill and the victim this night was the natural sort of person to die. Practically asking for it, belligerent drunkard picking fights with the wrong sort--specifically Oggy. 

Oggy had no regrets, in fact he was enjoying the deceased’s lush robes.Turned out the one thing he liked about the mean old codger was his taste. “Now this is a good vintage, shame to let it all go to waste.” The vasharr, decked out nearly head to toe in stolen gear as he poured out the spirits into the goblets he also planned to steal later. Rolled tube of tobacco pinched nicely between his lips. “This is the life.”