Morgo waited inside a bar in the Iron Prison. He had been to this bar many times, becuase he grew up in Angband. The violence didn't drive Morgo away from here forever, it actully drew him back time and time again. Every time he approached the gate, he became twitchy, for he knew that a fight was intimate.

His murders were different in the Iron Prison. Normally, he hunted women and children, easy pickings. But women and children were very rare in Angband, and warriors and crooks were plentiful. He didn't like the normal slaughter better than the Angband death, but didn't dislike it more. The fight was a different experience, but not necessarily more enjoyable, but definitely more rare.

He sat in the musty, dingy bar, sipping his drink, observing his fellow patrons. There was the bartender, old and fat, bald and smelly. He was human, and wore a musty, unclean shirt. The two other patrons were different, and better equipped. In the corner was a goblin, wearing a set of light armor, and sharp dagger at his side. In the tables at the center was a half dragon. He was wearing a robe, and flipping pages of a book, probably a spell book.

Morgo couldn't hold in the desire to kill. But who? He wanted a fight, and a difficult one. He made up his mind. He swung around his stool, and beckoned for Xoac at his side to come with him. He came up to the mage and shoved his chair back. The half dragon fell and quickly jumped up. "Take this outside!" the bartender yelled. They both strutted out to the street, with their weapons drawn. As he walked out, he willed his alligator to go around the side.

The mage chanted inaudible incantations, and blasted a bolt of fire at Morgo. Morgo quickly dodged, and was surprised to see it following him. He attempted to duck, but caught the end of the fire ball. He grunted in pain as his shoulder was burned. The mage laughed and began another incantation. But it was to late. Xoac had come around and lunged at the half dragon's shine. He turned around, startled, and Morgo created blasts of lightning from Denger's Talon. They hit him in the back, and he fell to the ground, dead.

Morgo laughed, and felt relieved once again.

The bar within Angband was little more than a hive of scum and villainy, where the eyes roamed they always found a settling place upon mortals with unsavoury characteristics weaved into their personalities and spirits. Morals were at an all time low behind the great iron curtain that kept Angband hidden from the prying eyes of outsiders-more importantly the law.
The taverns patrons were doing their usual thing, drinking, smoking, fighting, a perfect place for a drow to blend in without being noticed, not that it mattered much.
Drow kind were not shunned here sat amidst the throng of villains was an example of the dark elves, lavish and outlandish materials covered his ebony skin, almost silk in this instance.
An over sized hat sat precariously upon his head to anyone that saw it they could almost believe that it may fall off at any given second or swallow his head, though Tarlak was confident and self assured that such a thing was impossible in any circumstance.

Around him sat burly, hairy and pungent fellows call holding daggers and various other weapons in one hand whilst the other hand carried a foaming mug of ale. They roared and cheered as Tarlak painted an overly lavish picture of murder, plunder and pillaging all of which this particular brand of villains enjoyed . Some was truth and some was fiction, it was often a great move to mesh the two together, misdirection was often the key in Tarlaks case.
Though their attention was drawn else where, to an orc no less. A violent and single minded one, typical of his kind, he seemingly thrust a wizards chair out from under him with no purpose, though dealings within Angband were often dark and many who knew what secrets those two had between them, what rivalry had suddenly exploded from a spark to an inferno.
All the same, Tarlak was intrigued. Raising to his feet he ignored the cries for him to return to his seat and raced outside of the inn only to find the wizard dead upon the ground, his body broken and charred from a mighty blow, magical lightning by his estimations.
“Orc” The wily drow cried with a grin upon his face.
Profit and power seemed to become apparent once more to his ever turning mind.

Morgo felt relieved from the murder. His need to kill had been filled, and know he was at rest. Earlier he had been twitchy from lack of bloodshed, but now his body was at ease. He beckoned for Aha and Xoac.

Aha and Xoac were at the back of the building, resting. When the lupine and alligator arrived Morgo said to them, "Eat,". The two dipped there heads in, blood spattering on Morgo's face. He grabbed a finger and wiped the blood on it, then licked his finger.

Morgo turned and found a drow. He knew that drows were sometimes considered the most evil beings in the world. He didn't believe that though, he was more chaotic than any drow. Morgo noticed a very large hat, almost to big for the man underneath it.

It seemed that at any step, it would fly off, and smack the nearest person.'This drow is like a dog,' Morgo thought, 'he's just trying to attract attention to himself! Lets see how evil the dark elves are.' Morgo sheathed Denger's Talon.

"Why, hello! Sorry about the mess. My apologies, I just couldn't help myself! His death was incredibly painful. His face was seared off, and hurt in an unimaginable amount for about six seconds. Even you must admit, that would be fun to do to a child, wouldn't you?" He said with a sadistic grin.

"Oh, I forgot my manners! I am Morgo, Morgo Domanu, Frenzied Acolyte of Ita at your service," he added cordially, hand outstretched, ignoring the reeking body behind him. "And you are?" the orc asked.