Inspector Tissen
Officer in the Old City Watch station
A tall, dark-haired man in a well-tailored though working-class suit approaches you. He wears a light moustache on his upper lip, and his hair recedes about halfway up his scalp. A splotch of fresh blood marks the left shoulder of his outfit. He smiles as he walks forward, cleaning off his right hand with a handkerchief with dark reddish-brown stains.
Inspector Tissen does not suffer fools or idealists (and idealistic fools least of all). He’s frank if someone asks him if he was just beating a confession out of a suspect. “I suppose those with a more sheltered life might look at it that way. I see it as a matter of efficiency.”
Children
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