The man received the words as he did before. He was a stone wall, but the words did crack the solid rock. It wasn't hard to imagine what he was saying. The murderous illusionist, a bar fight between Titans with electric fists, if anything broke out in the tavern, his wife was not built for combat. His hands clenched on his arms, but that was the only November during the spiel. Dale was a silent man during these matters. He was a murderer himself. But that was in the past, despite how it seems to haunt him in the present. He closed his eyes in the silver after the rant and took a deep breath before responding, as if gaining his composure. The grip relaxed. "We all have our fair share of troubles. I won't ask you about your leg, or your past. It's clear you have been hurt, physically and mentally, but don't you worry." He took the great hammer off his back, (I took your advice lmao, giving a bo staff to someone else.) and tapped the head against his palm with his dull eyes tracing its movement. "We all have something we want to protect. I'll do anything so that people won't have to feel the pain which I might later on, an excruciating pain." The bland eyes seemed brighter as he continued his talk, but, he they dulled as he took another deep breath. "But, I can't promise the best results. As of now, killing people for their crimes is off the list, unless I do it by mistake."