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“Don’t move,” he says, making sure you can all hear him. It’s obvious that he’s trying to stay calm and equally obvious that he’s finding it difficult.
“I see you recognize this,” the man says, swinging the amulet carelessly about. Every time it reaches the apex of its swing, straining at its chain, Dorian flinches.
“I’m familiar with it, yes,” he says. To the three of you, he says, “That amulet used to belong to my tutor. It’s extremely dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?” you ask.
“It controls time,” says Dorian. “And not in a good ‘oh, dear, I’ve said the wrong thing, I’ll just pop back three seconds and not do that’ sort of way. In an ‘everything you love is blighted and ruined’ sort of way, in fact.”
You look at the amulet with renewed respect.
“You should all leave,” says Dorian. “I’m partially responsible for this. I’ll take care of it.”
You look at Ashur, then at Tarquin. Neither of them seems inclined to move. Ashur makes eye contact with Dorian and shakes his head just the tiniest fraction.
“I see how it is,” the man says, and does—something—to the amulet. Dorian shouts, both he and Ashur throw spells, and everything goes to the Void.