His head turned sideways to look at the pendant in the mud. He got off the wagon, and its corpses, and climbed back to the ground. Bending his knees, he scooped up the pendent and pushed it against the lower side of his armour, waiting for the ice to hold it in place.<br/><br/>He began to walk to the door of the tavern, and hoped that not many more people would die here tonight. After years of this thrust upon duty, he was sick of it. He had never wanted it, had never asked for it, had almost never enjoyed it. Decades of rage and hatred at what he was forced into becoming, and what he 'had' to do turned him cold and vicious whenever he had to fight.<br/><br/>He pushed the door open with the clenched fist around his icey club, as a sheet of thickening ice began to spread and grow on his lifted left forearm.<br/><br/>The tavern was a mess. The usual suspects, against their usual opponents. He inwardly sighed, and lifted the wall of ice on his left arm in front of him as he began to force his way through the panicking crowd. His right arm outstreched behind him, the weapon pointing down, ready to fly forward as he kept shouldering his way through the patrons, tables, chair, strewn tankards and spilled ale.<br/><br/>Every step freezes the ground where his feet tread, hoary footprints on ancient planks of wood, frozen beer, frosted table edges and chair back. The bulk of the undead here are killed, there only remains this.... hulking thing.<br/><br/><em>This would be a shitty death</em><br/><br/>He raises the war-door to cover his torso and most of his legs, only his lower shins and feet are possibly visible behind the massive block of ice, and charges at the creature. Hopefully pinning it with his shield and beating it with the club will give the others in the room a chance to get in close, or attack it freely.<br/><br/>Glais hears a shattering sound, and the roar of a belching fire goes off as his sheild slams into the creature. The club whips around the tower shield and hits the creature's left side. The creature roars, twice.<br/><br/><em>Fire?! Where?</em><br/><br/>His helmet whips around to see where the fire is being thrown from. The bar, a man has seveal bottles ready with cloth wicks. He takes a step to the side, as an other bottle comes flying and breaking on the creature. The bottle shatters and covers it in more fuel for the already licking flames. Glais sidesteps again before moving forward before he begins to use his shield to press against his enemy and whip it with the ice club while it's distracted.<br/><br/>Hopefully the thing would fall before the ice shrouding him would completely melt... or boil.