Now there was something even Pete had not seen before. His surprise at the sight of a floating, pale boy with a cloth tail carrying a sword<span style="font-style: italic">almost</span>reached Pete's face, and Pete, who was used to wear his face as a mask, had to make a conscious decision to keep his subtle smile from changing. The scene was just bizarre, but Pete simply looked at the big man, Orsk, and the boy with a look of dull curiosity, his faint smile, and his head lightly tilted.<br/><br/>The second strong emotion came only a sentence later when the boy proclaimed himself a demon warlord. A warlord was one thing, Pete had met plenty of those. In his native Darmlands there only were three kinds of people: children, mercs and warlords. In the ten years it took for Pete to go from being a child to a mercenary his home region had been conquered no less than four times by three different warlords, and as he left home a fifth army was approaching.<br/><br/>Warlords were as common as whores, and for enough coin Pete would happily cut down a warlord without dislike for the poor conqueror. Demons, on the other hand, were rare, extinct and still hated. The last demon blood were half-breed bastards, the children of Camas, and they were despised and feared by all, loathed even by Pete Girly who had sworn to not let hatred influence him.<br/><br/>When the child announced what he was, loudly and boldly, Pete was stunned and angered, and for just the briefest moment his eyes squinted and he stared daggers at the child, and then just as soon it was gone, Pete's mask of a playful smile and mocking eyes was back and he continued to listen to the child, his hand on his lap, close to his sword.<br/><br/>The child told everyone to leave and they left. Rather an arrogant little squirt, demanding people to leave if they wanted to join him, rather than just asking potential guards to follow him outside or to a quiet room in the back if they were interested in what he had to offer. The fact he also did not say what he was offering made Pete want to shake his head.<br/><br/>Still, a child should be allowed to be a child, and to make mistakes. When Pete was just starting his life of adventure he, too, made mistakes. Not that Pete was sure the child was a child, and he made a mental note that the demon was either young or a fool, either/or.<br/><br/>Pete did not move from his chair, but as the barkeep left his own tavern Pete called out softly: "bring back milk". He had no intention of joining this child, and the boy would not be able to afford him if Pete cared at all. But he was also not about to retreat either. He had expected to kill people this day, ugly, big men who would come at him with big stupid grins and he would cherish their looks of surprise when he'd open their throats with a slash before the even knew he had moved. He took little pleasure in killing, but the scenario as he played it in his head had been amusing, and the little, floating twerp had ruined that fun. Now all Pete could do was listen more closely in what he had to say, while judging him silently.