Larren Ordhir (Slayer, Amsen, EI)

"If that little pissant ever tries commanding me again I'll rip his fucking eyes out." Dan Lagh'ratham stifled back a snarl bubbling up in his throat by drowning it with a deep swallow of whiskey. His stay at Ixian castle was beginning to wear on him; it seemed all his "comrades" did was bitch at him. Stop eating up all the food stores, stop sleeping for fourteen hours of the day, stop smoking up all of the tobacco, stop trying to eat the new recruits. He'd be able, honestly, to deal with all of their whining, if it wasn't for the god damn leader of the Reformation Team that he'd been stuck on. Duffy Bracken was, as he'd said directly to the face of the man before leaving for Corone to drink, a skipping, mincing little daisy who's only real accomplishment was servicing the real men of the Knights via a hole in one of the bathroom stalls.

He picked up the bottle of whiskey just as Jensen Ambrose set it back down on the counter. Jensen, the cackling little lunatic that he was, was among that small handful that he'd found he could at least tolerate. There was even a small glimmer of respect for the little Knight of the Apocalypse. Between the three that had been with him when Hromagh had called for bloody entertainment, Jensen had been the one that seemed to be able to keep some pace with him for a while. Dan couldn't say that there were many men alive on Althanas who could do that anymore, with the sacrifice of Godhand Striker in Raiaera.

"Sick of that little cunt's shit. What the fuck is the point of the "Reformation Team", anyway? For fuck's sake, I promised Sei that my power was for the good of the Knights, as long as he comes through on his promise to me. I'm wasting away, god damn it. We don't do a god damn thing; all I do is sleep and eat. It's like working for Xem'zund all over again. I'd get more action on the Monster Hunter team or the god damn mercenaries." Muttering angrily, he poured the last of the whiskey into his glass and knocked hard on the counter top, leaving small dents in the wood.

"Hey! Those god damn taps fixed on the kegs yet?! Get me some more fucking liquor!"

((All right guys, just small intro posts for each of us, I'll bring in Larren in my second post.))

Jensen looked to Dan with a careful eye, seeing whether or not the man would eat him. True, the bastard could most notably beat the ever loving tar out of the immortal if given half a chance, so thus the point was mute. Yet being eaten alive is not one of his more enjoyable deaths he would like to experience. Being immortal granted him such hindsight.

However, one thing for sure was the Rotslayer was one hell of a drinker. The immortal fancied himself a man who could drink, drink with the best and come out in better shape than most. He ordered a fairly alcoholic concoction known as an End Times, which after half a cup would make lesser people drunk off their rockers. When he offered a glass to Dan he shot the whole thing down, slapped his chest, shrugged and ordered five more.

They traded stories all day, as the knight had nothing better to be doing with his free time. Dan told him about his service to Xem’Xund, his time in Hadia, and his other adventures. In turn Jensen told him about his missions in the Apocalypse, his fight against a colossal Berevian Bear, and his fights with William Arcus. It seemed in the battle with the Thayne H’moragh, the two had formed an uneasy alliance. Uneasy enough to not trust the other, but enough to at least get wasted.

Yet Jensen still thought the prospect of Dan being wasted was impossible. As he bellowed for more drinks and bitched about Duffy Bracken the immortal could only think that he was well passed buzzed himself. Chances were the Rotslayer was going to drink him under the table with ease. But the liquid courage of the fire in his chest did not deter the knight from speaking his mind.

“Whine whine whine,” Jensen spoke as he leaned back on the countertop looking over the bar. “Yedda’s sagging tits, is that all you do? Swear I’ve heard you complain about Ixian castle for twenty minutes now. I got the memo,” Jensen taunted the man as he watched the bartender drop off drinks. They both took their glasses, took a swig, and slammed them against each other with a mock salute. “You don’t like the place.” Dan gave him a threatening look as Jensen laughed.

“Grant it, Sei does make the place a nice little hell hole. He hired the Gisela Reaper for his army, and has demon’s run around the place like it’s some great summer camp. Taka Laka Ding Dong get’s half his unit obliterated in one move; Willie blows the head off a spiritual guardian of some village; Bed wetter Talen gives the army bad intel making us all look like jack asses, and Duffy wants me to prance around in some dress with him on stage. But ya know, it’s home.” Jensen shrugged taking another sip of his drink.

He had not mentioned it earlier, but someone had been set up next to him at a table by himself, tinkering away at some object ever sense they walked in, and the little tap tap tapping began to grate on his nerves. As he swigged the last of his drink, tossing it back onto the table where it spun to a halt just before the edge, he looked to the back of the man, or woman, he was not really sure, and angrily spoke to him.

“Yo, asshat, can you do me a favor and be a little more annoying with that tiny hammer?” Jensen snapped his fingers and pointed to his glass as he heard the bartender walk by. “You’ve been banging on it for more than an hour now. Knock it off already.”

Since more than seven days have passed since the last post in this thread, this boss battle has ended unsuccessfully.