The small human woman finished clearing her spectacles of the ever-present rainwater and perched them upon the bridge of her nose. She looked to be in her mid-fifties and free from the signs of coal-stain, bleak-lung, or the other afflictions common to Sigil - clearly she lived in the Guildhall or Clerk's Ward. "Emina Distrova."
Measure Volar settled back into his chair, his discarded breastplate - standard lacquer read - draped (almost disgracefully!) across its back, a charcoal pencil resting uneasily in his thick fingers pressed against a sheet of yellowed, stained parchment. "Alright now, Miss: tell me what happened?"
"Well... see, he were black in color..."
Volar interrupted, "Oy? You say? AND? Is that all you got? I asked you 'what 'appened' and you start with a description!"
Flustered and flushing slightly, the small woman leaned forward in consternation, her voice rising: "I was getting to that!"
Measure Volar, having none of it, slammed the pencil onto the scarred and pitted desk, and stood tall (at least, as tall as a dwarf could get), "See, a description don't do us any good. You say he's 'black', eh? Are we talking skin, scales, fur, feather? Hells! It's not like he has to have animal stuff on his outsides! See Notary Jenku, over there?" Volar pointed at a being with reflective skin like obsidian. "We don't even know whether that's actual skin or he's made of stone! Never cut 'im open, and I have no desire to try: there's laws against that!"
The Measure started to pace back and forth, one stubby finger raised into the air. Activity in the watch hall slowed: the crews knew a lecture when they saw one, and they were always a good time.
"And why wouldn't a description help us, you may ask? Well let's see... does the term 'polymorph' come to mind, yeah? Abyss take ye, there are even folks what change their skin color! Not even big magic necessary for that!"
The dwarf waggled the fingers on his raised hand, making evident a gold ring on his finger. Swiftly, the shaggy beard on his head changed from brown to white-blond, his eyes from brown to green, and his skin took on a blue-ish cast. "Different, no?
"So, when I ask 'WHAT. HAPPENED.' that's what I expect! Ya know, if I told the lassies in this office, that it happened at two bells towards anti-Peak, they came out the shadows, short dagger, serrated edge, held backwards, said nothing until I'd given it my jink, and at the end said 'Keep these two for the ferryman' and threw two coins at my feet..."
Notary Pinitar's eyes opened (or, at least, the nictitating membrane slid away) and spoke up, the Kenku's feathered hands behind her head, pointing with one of the clawed feet resting on her desk, nictitating membranes opening across her eyes in recognition: "Aristovistes! Emond caught him last year in a right good haring through the Hive." The slight human at whom she pointed grinned as he repaired tears in his red chain mail.
Measure Volar cleared his throat, restored his natural coloration, and settled back into his chair, failing to stifle a groan over his bad kneees. Collecting himself, he returned his attention to Emina Distrova, who had gone through something of a transformation herself during the discussion: shrinking visibly at the start, but now sitting up more fully and at attention, clearly ready to dish. "Now, Miss Distrova, please, do tell me: what happened?"
Measure Volar's Interview