The lord stands stunned by the question, sweat beads dancing down his face. "Your...Your what?"

"My mother. Breia Autumnsong, wife to Phinneas Autumnsong, who bore his one and only son." Tyrion's finger relaxes on the trigger, a hair's breadth from giving the Lord a new hole to breathe from. "What did you to her, Phinneas?"

"I...You can't be him. He's locked up in that prison, the Cube of Despair." The lord eyes him curiously, narrowing his gaze upon the unfamiliar face.

"I was locked up. It took me ten years, alot of luck, and more than a few sacrifices of good people, but I escaped. I came back to the house and collected a few things owed to me. The knife my mother made for my birthday. The music box she played as she sat in the temple, praying you'd change your ways. A little money from your vault, easy enough to open now that I knew how to pick a lock. And your favorite cufflinks, which I will admit to selling for a crown."

"You're not Finn. He should have died in that hell hole." The lord huffs, and Tyrion glares at him, trying to resist the urge to pull the trigger.

"No, I'm not him anymore. Phinneas Autumnsong II died in that prison. And from his ashes, I was born. Not that it matters. You didn't even recognize me at the meeting. You just went about your merry way, pretending you're not a monster, pretending you never had a son or a first wife. You'd have it so much easier if we had never existed!"

The gradually rising voices brings the downstairs commotion to a halt. Uma looks between the two of them, then eyes Tyrion curiously. "You...You're the son he had, the one who killed that man."

"History lesson for you, Lady Autumnsong." Tyrion steps backward to the window. "I didn't kill anybody. I had to go to prison to become a murderer. My father didn't want a son who loved a woman beneath his station. And at the same time, he'd had an argument with his business partner, and his partner wound up dead. Two birds, one stone." Tyrion flips the latch holding the window shut, opening it up.

"Don't you fill her head with your lies!" Lord Autumnsong throws the knife, catching Tyrion in his stomach.

The halfling groans and holds his wound, spitting on the floor. "No sir, you're the liar. And after I find out what happened to Breia Autumnsong, I'm coming back-" He lifts a finger, blood dripping from the tip of it, and jams it accusingly at the lord. "I'm coming back to kill you." His balance fails, his vision falters, and the halfling falls out of the window, sailing through the air before crashing to the ground.

The landing knocks the wind out of him, and he lays momentarily sprawled across the stone, gasping for air like a fish out of water. After several seconds, he rolls over and gets up, pulling the knife from his stomach.

"Tyrion, you fool." He chastises himself. Hearing the front door of the inn burst open, he turns and moves toward the alleyway, stuffing himself into a tight space behind some bins and crates. "Gods, I'm an idiot." He winces at the pain filling his body and slows his breathing as a throng of footsteps passes him by.

"Which way did he go?"

"I'll go left! You two check down that way!"

"Edwin, go right and we might cut him off!" The footsteps part and head in different directions before silence falls.

Tyrion leans back in his little hideaway and sighs. The evening air blows through the alley, and he grimaces over the pain its icy teeth fill his wound with. "Gotta get out of here." The little figure limps away, disappearing into the shadows of the alleyways and making his way back to the Robust Raven as quickly and quietly as he can. He slips between the thinning crowds and dark streets, stumbling now and then, ignorant of the blood trail left in his wake.

A voice creeps into his mind, a gentle melody sung by a vibrant and youthful woman from his younger years. He smiles, collapsing to the ground in the alley across from the Robust Raven Inn. And then across his vision comes a human man, laughing softly over something said by a dark elf woman. Behind them, her face deep in thought, a devilkin lady walks with folded arms as they enter the inn, not noticing their halfling companion laying face first in the shadows just across the street. His breathing goes shallow, his vision fades, and Tyrion closes his eyes, drifting into darkness.