<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/27/PZO9009-Monk.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Elokhat (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=173601.msg8203009#msg8203009)<br/><strong>Nationality:</strong>Stygian<br/><strong>Class/Skill Set:</strong>Noble Duelist<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Leaky Wench<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Bhalar Ahran, three random dudes<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Elokhat moved through the crowd, touching no one. Those who saw his expression quickly moved out of the way; the rest were easily avoided by the nimble warrior. There were times when the reputation of his demon-besotted homeland could be considered an asset.<br/><br/>The three warriors rose to their feet at his approach, two of them dropping hands to the pommels of their swords. Elokhat's own weapon was slung across his back. The heavy curved blade would be troublesome in these close quarters, even for him, but a razor sharp knife tucked into his belt should work nicely if the occasion for bloodshed arose. That was not his primary goal today, though if it should come to that he knew he could count on the blade of the man now at his back. Without looking he trusted that Ahran had moved into position to strike.<br/><br/>The men were Nemedian by the look of them, or possibly Brythunian. Big, brawny and blond, with identical cow-like expressions. Elokhat's knowledge of the interior races was sketchy; after a while all of the big pale people looked the same. But he recalled that there were problems between Nemedia and Acquilonia. Perhaps both sides were seeking to recruit muscle from neutral towns like this, though if so they were far afield. Or perhaps Kordova had enemies still, even after their company's recent rout. In any case Elokhat did not enjoy being the subject of observation.<br/><br/>"Greetings, my friends," he nearly hissed. His dark eyes flicked from man to man, until the steel in one man's gaze revealed him to be their leader. "I think that perhaps you have come to the wrong tavern this evening. There is nothing for you here. I and my friends invite you to go in peace. Immediately." The last word nearly dripped poison from his tongue. He had long years of experience in addressing slaves, and his tone made it clear he gave these men no more credit than that. Indeed some part of him hoped the Nemedians would respond with violence. A victory at arms, no matter how small, would do much to offset the bitter cloud of defeat that had hung about the heads of Kordova's shattered band these last few days. They were a shattered weapon in need of reforging.<br/><br/><br/><br/>