[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XIII

[Cyber Punk]

Emile Jacques Yvette Ambrose gracefully walks into the bar of Black Dragon's Inn, heading straight for the bar. She gets a few glances from the NPCs, and her gait is of one who's capable of more than she lets on.

"The fresh bread, please." Her voice only serves to make her french accent sexier. As she takes a seat, she folds her legs and scans the bar while waiting for her bread to be served. "Curious place, zis ees."

[The Alexandrian]

Fresh bread? I'm honestly surprised that Yvette didn't order a baguette!

No matter!

As Yvette scans the bar while waiting for her bread (and presumably her butter) to be served, her eyes might fall on an individual she hasn't seen in quite some time.

Just over yonder, a human woman with short, sleek, golden hair, smooth, fair-skin, deep blue eyes, and dark red lips hurls darts at a dartboard nailed to the wall. She's a comely lass with a feminine, athletic build clad in a full suit of enchanted plate armor (sans her helmet which has been prudently placed well within her reach on the edge of a table). Working as a corrupt city guard when the sun shines bright above and pursuing substantially less than pure pleasures while bathing in the moonlight, Adeline "Adder" is an alluringly dangerous woman Yvette should recall from her past. She was, after all, one of Yvette's longtime allies. On top of that, she proved especially susceptible to Yvette's charm time and time again, and no matter what she was up to, her sword would never leave her side...once she had a sword, anyway.

[Cyber Punk]

Yvette smiles, recalling the past times she's spent with Adeline. She didn't expect to see her here, not that her presence is unwelcome. On the contrary, this is just what Yvette needs.

Her bread arrives and she pays the server before savoring a bite. Nodding at the taste being to her satisfaction, she gets up and saunters towards Adeline.

"Well, if eet isn't Adeline ze Adder!" Yvette smiles as she announces her presence. "Your presence ees most surprising, darling."

[The Alexandrian]

Adeline visibly perks up when she lays her lovely eyes on her very, very close friend. That's not to imply that she was in a dour mood before Yvette made her entrance, it's just that chucking darts at a wall is far less entertaining than watching Yvette's hips hypnotically sway from side to side. Mmm. She'll have a burger with that shake.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! If it isn't my bosomy buddy Yvette in the flesh!"

Adeline mischievously smiles as she attempts to greet Yvette with a desirous hug, her hands potentially sliding down to caress Yvette's lower back.

"What's a ravishing dame like you doing in a dive like this snacking on a single loaf of bread? You will let me order something more filling for you, won't you? It is my turn to pay for our drinks and snacks, if memory serves, and I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I knew I had let you go hungry, not that I plan on sleeping tonight anyway."

[Cyber Punk]

Yvette accepts the hug gratefully, her free hand moving down to caress the small of Adeline's back, returning the gesture. "I vil not butter your butt, but I have similar ideas een mind." She responds, tracing her finger along her friend's arms.

"By all means, mon cherie. Zen vhile we wait, ve can... catch up a bit." By now she grabs Adeline's hand and pulls her gently closer, before turning away. What a tease.

[The Alexandrian]

The gals are in public, admittedly. They can do little more than tease 'n flirt.

Adeline takes a couple of seconds to snatch her helmet and admire that which Yvette has to offer as she turns and strides away before following her (presumably to a booth).

"We have all of the time in the world to catch up, Yvette. My employers, my house, and my kitty don't exist anymore, evidently, so I've nothing to do until I run out of gold."

Yep, Adeline just lost everything save the armor on her back! Curiously, she doesn't appear to be bothered by this fact in the slightest.

"I'll bet that the story of your arrival is head n' shoulders more interesting than mine. I was returning home for the night after a tiring patrol when suddenly the streets didn't make sense anymore and all manner of queer creatures were roaming here and there and everywhere as free as the wind blows over a prairie. Been living in an inn just across the way ever since, but I need to book more permanent quarters sharpish."

[Zefir]

The twins start searching and even look at the toilet. They don't really split and after a while they come back into. After a short talk with each other they leave the Den and throw a glare at the squirrell.

[Cyber Punk]

Yvette sashays to a two-person booth, mostly hidden from prying eyes. She smiles when Adeline sits down as well, presumably as close as she can manage...

She appears shocked, moving her hand to her mouth. When Adeline expatiates, she drops her hand, smiling knowingly. "I came here eententionally, mon cherie. Eet ees time for my famille to pay for zier crimes." She makes a fist. "But I vill need some resources. You'll assist, vont you, mon cherie?" She smiles lustfully, blowing a kiss to Adeline.

"You can stay in ma chambres... ven I get one, zat ees."

[The Alexandrian]

Adeline cheerily seats herself opposite Yvette as opposed to beside her, actually. She doesn't have to strain her neck to "make eye contact" with Yvette if she sits across the table from her. Perhaps more importantly, she wouldn't be able to playfully tap one of Yvette's legs with one of her armored feet every so often if she turned down the opportunity to place herself in this most advantageous position.

"Do you even have to ask?"

The smiling Adder laughs with all of the innocence of a corrupt guard nonchalantly chatting with a sorceress about killing people because they made enemies of the wrong people, kicking her feet up onto the table while waiting patiently for the right moment to strike.

"You know me well enough to know that I'd be bored to tears if I wasn't caught up in one of your dastardly plots, Yvette."

"You still remember all of the trouble we used to get mixed up in before you left, don'tcha? Like that one time we sealed that old guy in a wooden box and sent him floating down the river in the middle of the night or when we threatened that street urchin with a speech impediment and left him upside-down in a barrel?"

Adeline, I don't know if Yvette was physically present when you were committing those ghastly crimes against old people and street urchins, but nonetheless, you should really get a hobby that doesn't involve destruction, self-destruction, or curtains for your waning sanity's sake.

[Cyber Punk]

Yvette is suddenly reminded of the many reasons why Adeline was useful to her. A love for chaos and murder for when things need taken care of, access to info. She also knew that she herself was one of her main reasons for doing those things, what with the 'close relationship' they shared.

She smiles at the first tap, but is more direct: she places her right foot in Adeline's laps, but carries on as if she wasn't aware of her action. "I vas zere for ze street urcheen. He vouldn't provide las eenformation. Now ve have a chance to do somezing as wonderful, mon cherie."

Looking left and right, Yvette leans in and lowers her voice, using her bread to block anyone from reading her lips. "I need a base d'opérations. I have my eyes on le château, inhabitée par des monstres. You see vere zis ees going."

[Recaiden]

"I was?" Reinholdt's already forgotten asking about that. "Well I do want to hear them because if you aren't going to tell stories in a bar, you might as well just drink at home. So let's hear it," Reinholdt says firmly, now thoroughly prepared to wring the stories out of her if he has to.

"You were."
Tahlia nods. Not that there's anything wrong with drinking at home. You can tell stories there too.
"So, the way it is is that nobody who knows what they're doing is fit to be in charge of the old country, because obviously they're biased. So all the decisions are made by little children, and all the advise and details are handled by ghosts, since they don't have a personal stake in it anymore. So of course mediums and prophets and so on are very important to the bureaucratic functioning of everything."
"But forget that. I'm actually here looking for revolutionaries. I figured this would be the sort of place those rightly discontent with the world would be found."

[Reinholdt]

Reinholdt frowns and tilts his head. "Interesting system to say the least. I can see an issue where the mediums could go bad." He's not sure how well the children thing would work out either, but that'd have be tested to be sure. He supposes they're testing it now.

"Wouldn't be surprised if you find a few here. Afraid I'm done overturning governments though. At least... I presume that's the kind of revolution you're looking for? If you want a technological revolution, you might be better off checking in Skyside."

[Murkus]

A lizard limps in out of the dark. He's of the large sort, the sort that walks on two legs and talks like a man. This particular lizard is wearing a rather nice suit and a whole lot of what looks like his own blood, a clawed brown hand smashed over the oozing wound. It's ruined his attire all the way from his side to the knee of his trousers, and if one were to get closer they'd realize it drips from more than one place, like he's a boat with too many a leak. His long snout is striped with it, a deep thick red, and more still falls from beneath the crumpled little hat he wears atop his spiny head.

He drags his heavy tail behind him like a ball and chain. With the hand that doesn't hold in his guts he carries a bulging black duffel bag. Bearing his two burdens he staggers to the bar, the light catching on the crimson trail he leaves behind.

His face is an old one, and set with deep wrinkles, deeper scars. Its razor-mouth exudes a deep and shaking breath. With a groan, he heaves himself onto a stool, and he claps three things down on the bar - a handheld energy weapon, his hat, and his duffel. He brushes the thin, papery spines on his head back and straightens his neck.

"A drink, please," he says, with a very small voice. "Anything that isn't--" He sucks some blood that's leaking down into his throat from his bruised snout and creates an awful rattling sound. "That isn't rum. Hate rum. Quick-like, please." He casts one eye back toward the tavern door, out into the rainy night, and he thumbs the little pistol he has resting on the counter. It radiates eager heat. "I don't have very long. One way or the other."

There is a deep resignation to the old reptile's demands. He fully expected this to be the very last place he ever patronized.

[Recaiden]

"It wasn't without its own kinks and turns."
Tahlia definitely stopped nodding in between posts, but she's nodding again right now.
"You presume rightly. I'll leave technological progress to the engineers and alchemists. Bores me, honestly. I'll keep-oh goodness!"
She's turned to look at the new arrival, as one does, and look at all that blood. Hops off her own stool and waves to Reinholdt to do the same, as if he weren't too despondent to raise his head off the bar.

Is this guy mad? Coming in and drinking instead of staggering towards a hospital? Who does that?

"What's the other way?"

The lizard should feel an invisible pressure on his wounds, doing a fair job of holding him together and trying to staunch the bleeding.

[Earl of Purple]

The unusually-large squirrel in his bicorn hat and wicker basket sees the new lizard patron and runs down the bar to where he stands. "Master Lizard-Giant, I have some herbs that promote healing and blood clotting! I, uh, hope I have enough." He throws down his basket-pack and opens it, reaching in and rummaging. It seems far larger inside than out, and at one point he tips over so most of him is inside the basket, more than he should be able to fit into it. He comes out holding a bottle of goo in his hand. It's a very small bottle. The squirrel will then attempt to clamber up the reptilian patron to where his injury lies, and pour out half the bottle onto his largest wound. It's pure water, from an enchanted pool in a magic forest, and the old lizard should, if all the squirrel has attempted so far is successful, begin to feel the warmth of life flowing into his limbs, healing his injuries and possibly reversing his age slightly, with any magic left over.

[Murkus]

The lizard is startled to find young people rushing over to help. This is supposed to be a seedy sort of place. One where he could have a last drink in peace, and then...

"Bloody mammals - get away!" He snarls, lips curling to reveal rows of sharp teeth. He turns and half-stands from his stool, only to find that his legs aren't doing a very good job supporting him anymore. While he doesn't quite notice that whatever Tahlia's doing is holding his guts in, he does try to shoo away the squirrel, at least until his knees quiver and he heaves back against the bar counter. He gives a withered groan.

"Don't need your kinda help. Don't need... anybody," He gives Tahlia his sharpest gaze, his pupil a thin black slice across a gold medallion. There's something fearful in his face though, a dread that seeps from him like sweat. Ironic, considering.

The reptile murmurs something unintelligible, eye appraising his 'saviors'. He turns his gaze a little more precisely on the overlarge squirrel, and his eyelid droops. If the rodent continues to insist upon pouring that fluid on his wounds, he won't swing a hand toward him this time. "Wretched taverns - ha! Hahaullgh--" His laughter devolves into a hideous cough. Tahlia and the squirrel may be caught with blood if they're too close, and he pushes his fist against his mouth to staunch the spray. "B-better'n a mending shop. Always someone wants to lend a hand. Know, my son died in a tavern too. I can git there where he's gone an'... and..."

He goes down in a coughing fit. Unless caught, he hits his hands and knees, hacking red onto the Den's floorboards. "M'sorry... I'm so sorry..." He sways, head bowed toward the ground. Crushing regret pours from his ragged tongue. "I shouldn't have come... I just... I just didn't want to die in the cold, was all..."

Should the bicorn-wearing squirrel do as he intended, he'll find that his salve works only partly as intended. It seems to stop his wounds flowing, but they won't close, and he certainly looks none the better. Something black and filthy writhes in his ruined flesh. Perhaps given time the powerful healing salve will overcome whatever affliction has been imparted here, but for the moment the life-giving water and the wretched black veins of infection can only wrestle with one another.

[Reinholdt]

Reinholdt sighs and slides off the stool onto his feet. Sticking his hands into his pockets, he follows Tahlia over to the commotion, where he watches with a level of impassiveness. This lizard person doesn't even like rum. And certainly doesn't like squirrels. He supposes it might be worth saving someone who doesn't like rum on account of there's more for Rein, but it's just not as fun sharing a drink with. The large, bulging duffel bag catches his interest though. Or rather I should say his curiosity.

"If you really want, we can get you to a soft bed here. Then you can decide if you want me to put a bullet between your eyes or not. To stave off the pain." Or more reasonably, attempt to cut out the infection. "In exchange for whatever's in the duffel of course." Oh silly me. Trying to imagine reasonable and Reinholdt together.

"That is, if you're really just looking for a place to die." Reinholdt's bedside manner is absolutely horrible.

[Recaiden]

Tahlia raises up a hand cautiously. He's not really going to jump and bite one of them in his state, is he? He might. Desperate. And it makes it easier for her to stop the spray of blood in midair, well before it can touch her, letting the awful stuff drip down to the floor.

"Well, if you just want to die. We can make that happen. Don't think of it as help."

She nods slowly at him. Done, without his son, sick. Right enough for him to want to die.

"It's warm here, isn't it?"

[Earl of Purple]

"The wounds are cursed, I think. There's not nearly as much healing from that water as there should be- even accounting for Master Lizard-Giant's vast bulk. Uh, no offence to you, Sir. Everyone here is far larger than any from whence I came." The squirrel plugs his water again and hops off the lizardy man, onto the bar. "If you're so desperate to die, why are you scared? Of death, or of living?" He's an attentive guy, and managed to note the brief expression.

In my last post, I described the bottle as being 'goo' before I knew what it was, and didn't go back to correct. It's not goo at all; it's water, pure and undiluted, from a healing spring guarded by an ancient adder that drank from the spring regularly, and thereby achieved a form of immortality.

[Murkus]

Reinholdt makes the lizard give a wet cackle. He can appreciate the attitude - especially in the Den, bless his heart, keeping the place's reputation alive - but when the others add on... He stamps his fist into the floorboards. "No. That ain't it! I know well enough I ain't going where my son's gone, and I ain't got a mind to go just yet! I'm not lookin' to die, you short-assed fools!" He swallows a wad of blood, with some difficulty. Tries to get up on one knee, his hand propped on the other. He turns his head and looks with one gleaming eye at the entrance to the den. It sounds like his mouth's gone dry. "Nngh. M-merely 'spect to."

There is a man standing in the door. Or something that stole the shape of a man. It is too thin, too tall, head so high it's cut off by the top of the Black Dragon's doorframe. It is dressed in gleaming plate, awash with rainwater and the remnants of blood. Blood in a whole wheel of colors.

The emaciated giant stoops and enters the den, curling one hand around the top of the frame to steady itself. The other is occupied with holding an ornate sword, one that must easily be five feet long, its colorful blade fading from steely silver to a sandy pink toward the hilt of the weapon. An ornate, almost organic swirl forms a guard for the creature's monstrously long hand.

The creature's helmet is curled backwards and downwards, shaped like a hunter's horn. An ornate plume of feathers from a thousand different avian specimens adorns the top of the suit... as does a conspicuous dent in the side of the helmet. One deep enough that it could not have conceivably been applied without causing damage to the humanoid's head... if it has a head inside the helmet at all. Utter black peers out from the twin slits in the armor's visor, but one pours with it, seething, living darkness burning out and rippling back as though being struck with a perpetual gust of wind.

The knight stands there, bleeding from the seams in his faceplate, and he stares at the quartet by the bar.

"Go," murmurs the lizard dumbly, tongue flicking. "Look away. Act like you haven't seen me. Please."

He didn't expect to be found so fast. A pair of minutes to enjoy his drink at least, surely. His gun, he has to get a hold... The lizard slowly tries to gain his feet, seemingly hesitant to move, as though the overlarge brute at the door could close the gap between them in the time it takes him to turn and seize his weapon.

[Reinholdt]

Reinholdt's head slowly twists to look at the new arrival. A suit of armor equally likely to be containing something hideous as it was to be possessed itself. Certainly seemed to have gone through a number of people to get to the lizard, if the blood indicated that. But was the armor here for the barely standing bleeding man or the bag behind him? The fey's eyes flick back to the duffel bag. It would be relatively easy to try and filch it right now.

Reinholdt chews his lip a bit before tsking loudly and turning around, hands still in his pockets. "Good luck lizard guy." Maybe the squirrel will turn out to be a badass and save him. But this sounds too much like the adventure questing nonsense Rein was specifically avoiding by hiring that Fayyaad guy to do the questing for him. He'd be handy to have around right about now. But he's not here and this isn't Rein's business, so time to step away. Which is what Reinholdt proceeds to do for the moment, making it at least five full steps by the time this post concludes.

[Earl of Purple]

The squirrel-chap turns to the lizard-bloke. "I... I don't think I have any magic sufficient for such a thing. Assuming its blade is cursed, which would explain your injuries, it is highly dangerous. Especially as that blow to its head should have killed it, though I'm not an expert on giant anatomy. Oh, wait! Maybe this will help, if it's hostile. I'm not going to abandon you, because... Well, I was bored. Now I'm not." Reaching into his pack with both hands, the squirrel pulls two objects out. One is a red sphere, seeming pearl, as large as the squirrel's head. The other is a helmet. The helmet is squirrel-sized, made from the skull of a larger, rodent-like creature with prominent horns along its snout. Once the helmet is donned, he loosens his cudgel and pulls it from his basket, nonchalantly leaning upon it whilst hoisting the red pearl in his other hand. The helmet is enchanted, to make him seem scarier, and also boosts his strength. The first effect is likely ineffective, due to the unfortunate fact he is probably the smallest individual in the bar right now.

He's an adventurer, though one on a much smaller scale to most of the Nexus, from a world that seems much larger to its inhabitants, and where the difficulty of scale has made mining and metallurgy nearly impossible.

[Recaiden]

Tahlia turns and looks up and over at the knight crossing the doorframe. And she keeps right on turning, getting back in her seat, grabbing onto her cup of tea with a bit of a shake.

Which isn't to say that she's not watching, still. The lizard has had a few foolish requests already, and this looks like violence is going to be done, one way or another. She can't let that poor squirrel do it on its own. She's simply not starting the fight. The bloody knight deserves a chance to present his side of things. So she listens. The air will conspire to bring whatever happens to her ears, and keep her appraised of everyone's movements.

[Cyber Punk]

The shriek of an eagle (which is really a red-tailed hawk, but thanks to media, everyone hears it and thinks 'eagle') is heard outside the BDD, and the surroundings temporarily heat up for a few seconds. Then a second knight, a giant of a man wreathed in flames, steps into the inn. His helmet resembles and eagle's head, and his eyes are glowing balls of fire that seem to stare back at you. The mark on his chest bears an insignia, the same one on his shield whenever he materializes it, an insignia of a flaming eagle.

The knight stands tall, his arms by his sides and his body remaining still (save for the licks of flame rolling all over his body) as he too scans the area, taking in the lizard and those around him, before finally turning to look at the other knight.

A growl escapes from his throat as he shifts into a battle stance, his flaming sword materializing in his hand. "State thy purpose, fiend!"

[Murkus]

The lizard is abandoned, as he expected... and turns quickly to retrieve his sidearm, reptilian gaze never quite leaving his adversary. For all he knows Tahlia and Rein are regular folks, civilian types, no sort of match for a Knight of the Path - even a bludgeoned one. It's well they listened to him.

The old mobster puts his free hand around his gut again. Oh, gods does it hurt, but he's been hurt worse. Gun battles. Knives. His son's funeral. He swallows his pain and manages to glare back, and for a few seconds the pair glares at each other across the barroom, swaying dazedly like old reeds.

Then the lizard hears the squirrel. He looks at him abashedly, blinking, then snaps his gaze back onto the tall knight. "Strange, aren't you?" He asks, Adam's apple bobbing (or what resembles it for an oversized lizard). There is some derision in his voice, but... also relief. A little thankfulness. "Grasp your cudgel tightly, little friend."

Nothing moves the tall Knight. Not even the arrival of his burning, eagle-helmed counterpart. The lizard thinks for a moment that there's a second man, come for him, and just about fades on his feet before the strange warrior makes his demand. An ally! And a powerful-looking one, at that!

The Knight of the Path puts a hand to his dented head. He looses a slow, awful sound, a howl of utter misery. Sways from left to right, inch by inch.

In an instant he seizes his helm in both hands and rips it from his head. His moan gives way to a sigh of relief. "Ahhh," says the Knight, with a noble and lilting accent, "That is better."

Knight Rhodes is blonde, curly-haired, and very handsome. He has a man's face, which is a good sort of face to be handsome, and he was well liked by the girls back home because of this face. Because it was still human. Those close to the race of ancient Man were prized, sought-after and fought-over.

What would they think now? For while one half is still intact, a crescent of fair and rosy man-flesh, the other sags with rot. Webs of hideous black permeate his skin. His eye is a burst pustule sagging down his face. And Gods, his skull... something evil bursts from the rotten side of his head like a corpse-flower, a black malignancy with writhing arms and little clawed snippers that seems to have carved out a seat for itself in the left half of his brain.

"Purpose?" Rhodes turns his putrid head and stares at the other knight, looking him right in his fancy helm, intact eye burning with fever. Otherwise his expression is slack... dead, almost. "What know you of purpose? Still your tongue a moment, I beg."

"Bag," he starts, before his gaze even realigns with the lizard-person. He brings his head back around, whip-crack. "The bag. Stavrus." He extends his free hand, curling those deadly fingers. "P-please."

The lizard... Stavrus isn't doing so well. His tail lashes. It seems, based on his slack jaw, that not even he knew what lay beneath the Knight's helmet. He claps his teeth together and growls. "No."

"No?" The Knight squeaks back, lips curling back from his teeth as his face contorts... and the skin on the bad half rips open, just slightly. He laughs, giggles, the sound almost turning into a sloppy sob. "N-no, he says. Ha! Ahahaha!" A tear trails down Rhodes' cheek.

[Reinholdt]

See. There we go. There will always be another hero ready to jump in the way of another villain to protect another civilian until the end of time. Reinholdt doesn't need to be involved when such people literally swoop down from the skies to take care of the problem.

Though he can't exactly leave the area via conventional means at the moment. It's a little crowded over there by the door. He can at least take up a table in the far corner by the fireplace, back to a pair of walls. Maybe it's time to do some observing about the make up of these encounters. It's a shift in focus for him and rather difficult. But at the very least it should provide some level of entertainment and education.

[Recaiden]

"What know you of purpose?"

Tahlia turns back to face the Knight of the Path - and gags, wincing away from actually seeing that horrible thing growing on him with her own two eyes. Her voice quavers when next she speaks, but she stays with it.

"Who are you but a monster and a killer? I also say 'no'. You will have nothing like this."

"I suspect you won't leave this place alive."

[Earl of Purple]

"Everyone says that. People should always live up to their names, don't you think?" When the helmet is removed, the squirrel snorts. "Eurgh, it's hideous. And that half is rotting, with a crab thing. You should just turn around and find a doctor for a headectomy. I'm not a medic, but I think there's no other option." The squirrel is very irreverent, and deliberately taunting the evil knight makes him feel better.

The squirrel is clutching his cudgel with a professional grip in one paw, whilst the other holds the unusual pearl, balanced ready to throw it at the evil knight should such become necessary.

[Cyber Punk]

The flaming knight's eyes seem to narrow, his eyes focused on the malignant tumor. He had sensed something of the sort on passing the black knight. The grip around his flaming sword is tightened. "I knowest that thy purpose is not of a good nature, foul fiend. Wherefore dost thou seek the bag? What art its contents?"

He momentarily glances at the lizard and back at the knight. "Still thy tongue, dram creature, if thou will not speak with wisdom." He mutters in response to the squirrel's taunting of his mutated foe.

[Murkus]

"You could be no more wrong. My purpose is holy, friends, my heart and mind are pure. There is no greater clarity than that which I feel at this moment," replies the Knight to them all, breathing deeply into his righteous lungs, his words burning with fervor and throbbing madness. Rhodes brings his sword up and holds the hilt in both hands, point skyward, like a pillar to the Heavens. "I-I am Knight Rhodes of the Path, ward and warden of the road. I will... I am... Nnngh!"

Rhodes clutches the intact half of his head with a grimace of searing agony, and his gaze goes blank. His mouth tightens to a small, whispering O. "My feet... do not stray," he looks down at himself, hands uncurling from around his weapon, and one set of clawed fingers dips into the bloodstains on his armor. "...Where did all this come from?"

"He's mad! Utterly mad!" Cries Stavrus suddenly, his tail whipping heavily behind him in the throes of great agitation. "There was a deal! It went very, very bad, and something got onto his head! J-just kill him! Put him down! Put him down before he remembers he's of the Path and we're all gone--" Stavrus's plea chokes off as Knight Rhodes twitches his head up to stare at him.

"Between heaven, and hell..." Begins Rhodes in a sanctified whisper, clutching his sword tight with a gasp of metal on metal. It aims guardedly at the ceiling once again. "Between the will, and the fire... Across the sea of night. The Path. The Path. The Path. My steps are Guided--"

"No!" Stavrus howls, and fires, but with not enough care for his aim. Several bolts of orange light cut useless swathes out of the Knights armor, and still more may strike the burning eagle-headed figure entirely by accident. Rhodes never sways, not even as several circular portions of him are returned to the dust.

"Yours have strayed," He completes, eyes flying open, and his sword moves. Reinholdt, or others in the room with considerable prowess and observational skills, may be able to see the Knight as he crosses the barroom. He is still enough to see for an instant as his arms wind back, and back, curling over his shoulder, then unleashing a massive crescent strike that will sunder bar, stool, and patron with equal brutality. The squirrel, Tahlia, and Stavrus are all threatened lest they or others act. Each thing the blade cuts bursts around it, splinters flying as though blasted apart with the will of the Gods. Or the Path, more like.

If Rhodes is attacked before he can finish his supplication, he'll still attempt to move forward in the same fashion.