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Choosing the less expensive of the two as his needs are relatively spartan, Aaron, much like the others, tries to gather more information. Still, his manner and his neither-warm-nor-cold demeanor are not traits an information gatherer generally prizes. Thus, he has little to no luck at finding out almost anything of importance.
"Investigation work then," Aaron says simply as they exit the building and start making their way to the hotel. "I believe we can rule out mere coincidence. As for motive, perhaps Kreel had run afoul of one or both of the gangs in the past? Though both does sound a bit less plausible. Or perhaps they were hired to kill him? But again... both gangs?" The android's words are more or less thoughts spoken aloud as he tries to make sense of what transpired only a little time ago. "As for us being the targets as well, who even knows about us? We hardly know each other."
Aaron remains silent, diplomacy and charm not quite being his strongest point. Still, even the android has to admit to himself that perhaps he could have done a better job at explain the situation than Lolo and her cheerful directness.
"Agreed," the android says simply. "As for the credstick," he continues as he proceeds to hand each one to each of his companions and keep one for himself, "this should take care of it." "Now, let us hurry and meet this Chiskisk."
"It is possible that this Chiskisk was unable to get here," Aaron offers a possible explanation. "Perhaps they are hurt or dead." He pauses for a moment before adding, "Or perhaps they are not a prospective member like us. They could just be a contact of Kreel's." "Either way it would be a good idea to pay them a visit, yes." "Furthermore," he also says after a brief examination of the credsticks while Lolo busies herself with the dwarf's computer, "these credsticks seem to contain 200 credits each for a sum total of 800 credits. Could it be advance payment for a job, a... hit so to speak?"
"Perhaps we could explain what happened? I am certain if we tell them precisely how events unfolded, they are bound to reach the conclusion that we only acted in self-defense," the android offers. From his tone it is quite evident that he more or less truly believes things could actually that way.
"How is he?" Aaron asks the question as soon as he approaches the half-elf and the fallen dwarf. With the fight over, the android leaves his opponents where they lie, instead preferring to focus on his allies and their contact.
"Just stay down please," Aaron says simply, his tone dispassionate despite his wounds, as he delivers another solid blow to his opponent.
With his first foe down, Aaron turns around and charges another. With speed greater than most humans can muster, the android makes his way to him easily and delivers a strike with the back of his right hand at the right side of the man's face.
Calculating quickly the best course of action, Aaron moves fast, charging at one of the enemy combatants, his fist connecting solidly with the man's chest, the crack of bone audible even above the sounds of combat.
Without a clear path to any of their adversaries, Aaron instead makes a run for the downed dwarf in an attempt to perhaps provide some aid to the injured man.
"Very well then, they are hostile after all," Aaron observes, more or less stating the obvious before moving to close the distance to one of the two groups, preferably behind some cover.
Taking note of the men taking up defensive positions, Aaron remains impassive. It is a good look for him. In fact, so far it has been his most common look actually. "Are we certain they are not on our contact's side? Security of a sort? Perhaps we should talk to them first, avoid any misunderstandings."
"That is a fascinating outlook, Avery," the android remarks, pausing for a moment to ponder on the information. "But I have to ask, how did you know that the man you met was indeed the avatar of a deity, in this case Weydan? Did he introduce himself as such? Did he possess some distinctive divine trait that identified him?" Aaron's tone is not challenging. It is one of curiosity. It would seem this particular android is an inquisitive one.
Aaron follows suit, faintly glowing blue eyes taking in his new surroundings in mere seconds, if not fractions of one. "We are here," he states matter-of-factly as he looks at the tiny hologram coming from Avery's communicator with interest. Interest and more than a little curiosity. "Why wings? And antennae?" The question is asked in his usual even tone. Well, usual for him anyway, as these people do not really know him all that well. Yet.
"Different?" The android repeats the strix's word and reason for the disguise before looking -pointedly, one might say- from the winged humanoid to the small ysoki to the androgynous half-elf and then back to Dej'arrick, who probably gets the feeling Aaron would also direct his gaze on himself if such a thing was physically possible. And then the same smile as before appears on his face. Literally, the exact same smile. "It is quite interesting you would think that. Fascinating even."
The third passenger of the small shuttle appears human enough, at least at first glance. Seemingly between his late twenties to mid thirties and around six feet tall, he appears fit and somewhat slender of build with raven black shoulder-length hair, this latter physical trait contrasting with his fair or rather, to be more precise, pale complexion, at least what can be seen of it considering he is clothed from head to toe. But there are certainly differences to an actual human, such as the synthetic look of his skin, the tattoo-like circuitry that is fainly visible under it here and there and, perhaps most tellingly, his eyes with their lack of both irises and pupils and their soft blue glow. "It is fortunate," the android speaks up, his voice and tone calm and even. "Violence in here could potentially cause any from a variety of unpleasant consequences, depressurization from a stray projectile only one of them." And then he smiles a thin and slightly crooked little smile to the ysoki and the human. "I am Aaron, though my original designation is... was...," he starts before pausing for a moment, as if trying to decide on the appropriate tense before giving up, "...RN-4." He pauses once again momentarily and pulls his right sleeve up just a little, the letters RN-IV easily visible on the anterior side of his wrist. "So, Aaron Ivey. Like the plant." "I... run a little cooler than most," he answers a question about his wearing gloves no one really asked as he offers his hand for a shake. "Some find it somewhat... disconcerting," he adds with a shrug.
"The idiocy of these backwater people in this backwater town," 'Carsus' readily agrees with the enthusiasm only alcohol can bring about. "And now you, a proper Chelaxian, doing menial work..." He shakes his head as he puts an arm around the other man's shoulders in understanding. "Digs... Disgusting..."
"I must insist you allow me to buy you this next drink," Aaron says, adding just a hint of slurring into the words. "It is not every day we find a man after our own hearts." Taking the bottle from the bartender's hands, at the same time indicating he will be covering the tab for it, he fills Petrucio's glass once again. "But, I think you were saying something?" He shows interest, or rather curiosity, the curiosity of the slightly inebriated who has found a friend and kindred spirit. "If it has to do with the quality of the workers here, I can sympathize. But it is not like we can find anyone better, anyone... properly trained."
"Westcrown," 'Carsus' answers with a friendly smile. "As for what brought us here, nothing terribly exciting I am afraid. My cousin wanted to do a bit of traveling and insisted I accompany her. Truth be told though, I did find myself in need of a change of scenery. And you never know when a business opportunity might come up." He sighs then, rolling his eyes. "Of course, this... town was not exactly what I had in mind. And we did not even bring any of our..." He pauses then and leans in a little closer, his tone somewhat conspiratorial. "Any of our servants. It seems having a few of the..." Another pause and his voice goes even lower. "...of the little vermin along would have earned us our fair share of disapproving stares." Sitting back into his chair again, he appears to change the subject, though not by much. "What about you? Business? Pleasure? Both? If what I recall of your ship is correct, I cannot imagine you will find much of the former here..."
"As am I," Aaron says with a courteous bow of his head in greeting. "I am Carsus Verunn. And a fellow Chelaxian and a gentleman no less is certainly a most welcome sight. I was beginning to lose hope." Taking a sip from the drink offered, he smiles in approval before adding, "Both I and my cousin, in fact." Turning to look at Sandara, he calls to her, beckoning her to approach. "Cousin, please join us. I have found a gentleman that is sure to be excellent company." He then moves to almost whisper to Grover's ear. "After all, such a thing is in short supply in this... I do not know, town sounds too good a word." "Hell's Harlot, you say? Why does that name sound familiar?" Aaron, or Carsus, appears to try remember, seemingly helping his memory along with another -tiny- sip.
Moving towards the bar, Aaron reaches it just as the Chelaxian speaks to Doran, the malice in his tone quite unmistakeable. However, the halfling's crewmate is not there to lend aid. Well, not to the halfling anyway. "You heard the man," Aaron says softly, coldly, adding his voice to the other man's, his own Chelaxian accent easy to discern, as he is not trying to hide it; quite the opposite really. "Take your little toy and your little self and stop bothering proper gentlemen with that noise you call music."
"That could work, yes," Aaron concurs after a moment's thought. "I am guessing they would not mind talking with one of their own. I could even let slip that I was at some point in the business of slave trafficking and see what they have to say about it? I doubt they will feel shocked about it, especially if what you say about this particular vessel is true."
"Aye Captain?" The words and the greeting behind them are simple enough, though it is easily noticeable that Aaron is in high enough spirits, probably the result of both his stay in an actual inn of an actual city and the images in his mind having been given proper form if the two curved swords resting in their scabbards are any indication. Looking around and seeing the others also coming to join the halfling captain, all except fro John anyway, there is an expression of mild curiosity and puzzlement on his pale face. "What seems to be the problem?" The question does not remain unanswered for too long though, as his eyes spot the Chelaxian vessel that has Doran so preoccupied. "Ah."
Aaron spends most of his time at the ship, helping out with the repairs and refitting. Although it has been quite some time since he worked as a carpenter on a regular basis, still he welcomes the opportunity to do so, even if it is for only a few days. He has missed working with his hands, using them to handle a hammer instead of wielding a sword. And Hojo is a fine partner, skilled as she is and, unlike him, a more full-time carpenter. If there is one thing he finds she lacks is humor; she is straight and to the point, her tone of voice matter-of-fact. Still, when the subject of conversation is wood-working there is much to discuss and learn. Despite liking working with the ship though, the opportunity to stay in an actual inn and sleep in an actual room is too much for him to ignore, opting to dine and drink and rest at the Eagle's Nest. He was never one for luxury, so the alternative provided by the Grand Augustana hardly tempts him. Between his time in the Chelaxian Navy and then the years on that forsaken island, it has been a long time -relatively speaking, anyway- since he had the opportunity to stretch his legs on land and for more than a couple of days. Of course, not all his time is spent working on the ship or resting at the inn. There are a few things to take care of, first among them having to do with improving his arms and armor. Thankfully it should be a relatively straightforward task, seeing as how Doran has already spoken to him of a blacksmith and armorer who seemed quite capable of taking care of such things. It does take some time for Aaron to describe to him how exactly he wants his blades reforged, but thankfully the memory of the vision remains fresh in his mind. After that, it is a simple matter to also ask him to have both swords and the mithral shirt he already owns enchanted. Nothing too flashy, but a magical strengthening of both weapons and armor will do for the time being. While waiting for his order to be finished, he finally visits Vrunyar. The dwarf had mentioned looking into his... condition and how it would be possible to heal him earlier and it seems he has made some breakthrough or other. Sure enough, though it will cost him some coin for the ingredients, at least he will not have to worry about finding those particular concoctions that may heal him, but would harm anyone else. Aaron smiles at his dwarven friend, quite pleased with the news. "Thank you, this will do nicely," he says with a nod of appreciation. "I will take care of bringing you the necessary ingredients for a few of them of varying potency," he adds before leaving once again to do just that.
With the meeting with Captain Tantrey over, Aaron is free to have a somewhat private talk with Vrunyar about the subject of healing the dwarf had mentioned earlier. "I have given it some thought," the pale Chelaxian says, "and the curse does sound like a plausible excuse. Still, with sailors being... well, superstitious, perhaps a more mundane explanation? An adverse reaction to healing magic of any and all kinds, not necessarily magical, but... eh, I am not sure, like an allergy? A matter of medicine doing more harm than good in my case?" Aaron shrugs; although he does know a few things about patching up wounds and some such, he is hardly a trained physician. Taking then a moment to think, he asks, "But as far as actually healing me goes, can you help with that? Could you make more of the... potions I use? Their magic is the exact opposite of the usual ones, harming instead of healing. Well, people who are not me anyway..."
As the Chelaxian marines search the ship, Aaron keeps mostly to himself and out of sight. Still, he takes note of their movements and words, catching the news of the Hellsmouth's disappearance, a piece of information he plans to share with his comrades as soon as he is given the opportunity.
"My my my...," Aaron mutters, his mind racing back to when he learned of the People's Revolt in Andoran and the country subsequently cutting ties from Cheliax and declaring its independence decades ago. He finds his current circumstances strangely ironic, even amusing if his soft chuckle is any indication. Looking around, he notices his reaction has raised an eyebrow or two, so he stifles his apparent mirth and looks at Captain Tantrey before turning to Doran and then finally to John. His answer is short but to the point and accompanied by a nonchalant shrug. "Sure."
"Well," Aaron acknowledges with a smile, "those of Cheliax certainly love the letter of the law, bereft of kindness and compassion as it is there now. Not even an Admiral could escape it unscathed and even if he could, he would have to put some effort into it. Find allies, buy witnesses, have them speak on his behalf. Even just that would certainly keep him busy." He then mutters softly to himself once again, "Busy as a bee, yes. A fiendish devilish little bee... Heh..." Seeing that his mumbling has attracted a few stares, he simply shrugs and takes a sip of wine. "What...? 'Tis an expression..."
As Aaron partakes of both food and drink, he keeps his eyes on Lady Agasta as she speaks. It is not all that difficult for him to discern that there is more to her story and current circumstances than she lets on, yet he refrains from saying anything, at least for now. After all, almost everyone has a secret or two, a fact he can certainly attest to himself. "I do not know about the whole Chelaxian Navy," Aaron speaks up once John has talked of Barnabas' working with them, "but Admiral Endymion of the Hellsmouth seems to be in... ahem... cahoots with him." Then in a voice a good deal softer, he mutters, "Heh heh heh... Cahoots..."
Aaron moves forward alongside the rest of the senior crew, hands resting comfortably on the pommels of his sheathed twin blades. In rather good spirits if the smile on his face is any indication, he greets the sergeant-at-arms with a little bow of his head. "I am Aaron Ivey, the ship... err... assistant carpenter and engineer...?" He looks incredulously at his hands and where they are before removing them and putting them clasped together behind his back and then directs the same look at Doran and John, his expression accompanied by a slight widening of his smile and a shrug. As Ollivor speaks, the pale Chelaxian turns to the cook with a soft chuckle. "We are all seeing them, Ollivor. There are quite a few on the ship after all and of several siz..." He then seems to realize something and, after a brief pause, winks at the other man. "Oh..."
Erevan spends most of his time getting himself reacquainted with life on a sea-faring vessel. Three years away from it all may not feel all that long to one with his lifespan, but they have proven enough to at the very least dulled his skills somewhat. And he has to admit that a pirate ship functions a little differently when compared to a ship of the Chelaxian Navy. Still the language and terms, the work, the sun and salt and wind, those are things that are more or less the same and it does not take too long for the pale man to not only remember and get used to how things are done, but start to enjoy himself as well. Still, things are hardly perfect, but it is not like he did not expect it, so he is hardly bothered by it. The fact that he retains his fair, or rather pale complexion under all that sun does lead to a bit of talking among the crew, but not as much as the fact he hails from Cheliax, especially considering the fact that a large part of the crew are halfling. Nevertheless, both his help at freeing them and Doran's trust go a long way to reassure the crewmen regardless of their race. He does wander on occasion though if that would hold true if his own true nature was known. His good spirits, however, leave little room for such darker thoughts, thoughts that are chased away with a shrug and a shake of his head. Speaking of the diminutive Captain, a little surprise awaited him one day. Having seen his prowess with a dagger, especially finding and exploiting weaknesses in his foes' defenses, Erevan seeks to add to his own skill-at-arms as he asks Doran to teach him a thing or two about striking where the enemy does not expect. The halfling, despite his initial surprise at being asked by the resident Chelaxian how to basically get better at killing, well, among other things Chelaxians, proves to be a capable teacher, even if now and then their taining sessions are interrupted momentarily by his colorful parrot's squawking.
Aaron takes a moment to appreciate the wind, the sun and his good fortune. His talk with his new companions, perhaps even friends, went much better than he had anticipated and here he is again, aboard a ship sailing the wide blue sea. Certainly a much more preferable alternative to that wretched island and even his last post. Raising his drink alongside the rest of them as the name is decided, he smiles his thin crooked little smile. An honest smile, even if it may pale in comparison to some of the grins others are wearing on their faces. "To the brave then! To us all!"
"Pity," he says softly, his lips moving into a crooked smile as he removes a glove and takes Doran's hand, the handshake strong and firm. His pale skin feels cool to the touch, another trait characteristic of his lineage. "And here I thought Busty Wenches had a ring to it both nice and naughty." Withdrawing his hand, he puts the soft leather glove back on and nods. "Fair enough, Captain Tidewrack. I shall do that." He then seems to notice something. "You know, you have a rather fitting last name for a pirate captain. Catchy."
"Oddly enough I rather like garlic, at least in moderation," Aaron answers Ollivor's not-quite-so-serious question before turning to Thorn. "It... does not quite work that way," the pale Chelaxian replies after a moment's thought. "I do have some of the traits of my father, I admit that, but I do not share all of them. For example, I have no problem entering a temple and holy symbols are certainly not as effective against me as good old-fashioned blades, silver or otherwise. And as for the sun, its light does not burn me. It did bother me once, long ago, but I got used to it little by little to the point that I can now enjoy a warm sunny day for as long as I like." He then chuckles softly as he adds with a look towards Vrunyar, "I do not tan however. Although I am certain you have noticed that by now." "What I am saying is that regardless of the various things people know or think they know about vampires, such knowledge or rumor does not necessarily apply to my... kind. On one hand I have very good eyesight and shadow and darkness pose little to no trouble to me; on the other I will not be turning to mist or various mangy animals any time soon. And I am fairly resistant to disease and to magic that affects the mind or drains the body, but not impervious to them. And finally, although I am not immortal, as far as I can tell, barring violence of course, I will probably outlive every one of you, with the possible exception of the elf."
"Well, this is going much better than the only other time I thought it a good idea to reveal such things, so there is no offense taken," Aaron replies, his grin turning into a smile once again. "Of course, it was about a century ago and I was quite a bit younger and more naive, so when my... friend ran away, but not before first jamming a rather sharp piece of a chair's leg a couple of inches below my heart, I was almost as surprised as I was hurt. Ironically enough, I was a carpenter then..." There is a soft chuckle before he continues. "So, you see, this is already going swimmingly, all things considered." "My mother was human," he goes on, "but my father was that no longer. He was a vampire, but honestly there is not much else I can tell you about him. My mother, as you understand, was not particularly forthcoming with details. All I know is that it was a brief tryst, with the... man vanishing from her life as suddenly as he had appeared in it. What became of him, I do not know." He shrugs. "I suppose what I am is half vampire, though I am much more alive than I am dead, or undead as it were; a... dhampir, I believe we... I am called." "To put your mind at ease, I do not..." Another brief pause in the story as he raises an eyebrow, his voice taking on an exaggerated accent. "I do not feast on the blood of the living, though it does smell quite appetizing to me at times and I do prefer my steaks medium rare. But it provides no nourishment to me as it did -or does- dear old dad." "Oh," he then concludes, "and those spells and potions and other paraphernalia that usually heal the more traditionally alive folk? They tend to more or less hurt or even kill me. Which is why I carry my own potions, made of magic that harms the living but heals the... well." As he speaks the last few words, he turns to look at Thorn, remembering his question about the vials, and shrugs.
Aaron sighs as he turns his golden eyes to regard those who are his new comrades-in-arms and shipmates, his gaze moving from the humans to the elf to the dwarf before finally coming to rest on the halfling, he who was once a slave and who is now one of his two captains. "You distrust and even hate Chelaxians because of what you have suffered at their hands, Doran," he begins and there is an uncharacteristic gravity in his tone. And there is something more than that as well. There is a hint of experience born of a life that cannot possibly have been as brief as what one expects when his race and his appearance are taken into account."But that is the Cheliax you, all of you, know. That is not my Cheliax." A thin, somewhat mirthless smile forms on his lips as he speaks. "I have told you before, have I not? But what you probably thought I was referring to was a difference of ideology, that perhaps I was speaking figuratively." "Make no mistake, Doran. I am Chelaxian, through and through. Just not the kind you are used to." There is a brief pause, the smile still persisting on his face. "My mother was of Cheliax, as was my father. She was noone of importance, but she was honest and hard-working and she loved me dearly, at least as far as I can remember. As for my father, who he was -and perhaps still is- is not quite as important as what he was and perhaps still is." "So," he continues, as his smile widens, "I did promise you all a story, yes? And all good stories have a beginning. Here is mine..." The smile grows wider still, turning into a grin. 'Never grin, never ever grin,' he remembers his mother saying, the woman's kind face a fond memory, if perhaps a little cloudy now. The reason for that piece of advice should be plain for those gathered to see now, as plain as his sharp and pointed canine teeth. "I was born one hundred and forty two years ago in Cheliax, before it was known as Infernal Cheliax..."
With their ship and her crew relatively safe now and with his shift at the crow's nest ended, Aaron excuses himself to the elven archer and climbs down. The pale Chelaxian is uncharacteristically serious, his expression unreadable, as he moves about the ship apparently seeking something, or rather someone. As luck would have it, he finds two of them and sooner rather than later. "Captain, Captain," he greets the Andoran and the halfling with a nod of his head to each. The two men appear to spend this particular lull in the voyage, at least for the moment, to pore over several maps and talk about what lies ahead. As they raise their heads, there is a brief pause as he considers his next words. Then, decision made, he clears his throat and, a thin little smile appearing on his lips, he speaks. "We do not know each other too well, if at all," he begins, "that much is true and easily understandable considering the circumstances of our meeting. Still, I am sure certain... choices and behaviors of mine have probably made you at the very least curious, if not suspicious." His words are accompanied by a pointed look at the wand of healing. "I believe it is time we, or rather I, remedy that, shed some light so to speak. Which is why I have come to you with a request. If you could gather the officers? Vrunyar, Thorn, Ollivor and anyone else you trust with a, shall we say, secret? I would prefer it if the whole crew did not hear what I have to tell you." His smile remains as he adds, "That and a fair bit of privacy is all that I need and a rather interesting conversation, if I do say so myself, is what I offer in return."
"My story is something I do plan to share with you, Thorn," Aaron says with a smile after a moment's thought. "All of you and soon enough, but not now," the pale Chelaxian continues before once again turning his golden eyes towards the horizon and adding, "Now there is work to be done." "And as for my refusal to be healed and my vials, I can tell you this much at the moment: What heals you harms me and the other way around. Though my potions, if you could call them that, heal one such as me, they would harm or even kill one such as you." "Up for me may very well mean down for you," he quips, the words accompanied by his somewhat familiar soft chuckle. "Heh... Heh heh heh..." It would seem his mind is still not quite there yet as far as normalcy is concerned.
Aaron stays towards the back of the group during the exchange, his swords sheathed and his wounds partly healed, but still there. His mind and attention is divided between the present situation and a dilemma of his own; considering that he almost died, perhaps it is time to share his not-so-little secret with his new... friends? Comrades? Time will tell what word will best describe them, but there needs to be trust and trust starts with honesty. And then Captain Tantrey addresses them, posing a question of sorts, and his introspection is cut short. Raising his hooded head to look at the man in charge of the Bonadventure, he nods with a crooked smile. "I am with them and I shall remain with them, wherever the winds may lead them," he says simply, indicating John and Doran and the rest with a nod and a look. Despite keeping his words few, the accent indicating his Chelaxian lineage still bleeds through. He sighs softly; it cannot be helped.
"If they do not see our white flag, perhaps we should first attempt some other non-threatening way of communication," Aaron offers as he turns to look at Thorn. He then proceeds to wink; despite his loss of blood he is in relatively good spirits it seems. "Preferably one that does not include shooting arrows at them. Paragons of virtue and freedom they may be, but people can be trigger-happy without necessarily being nasty old bastards as well."
Despite his wounds, Aaron is not about to let his Captain engage the now enlarged spellcaster alone, especially after the halfling took the time and care to heal him. Moving quickly despite the loss of blood and taking care to be ready to shield himself from incoming blows, the even paler than usual Chelaxian moves close enough to their foe to flank him and strike a telling blow, sliding his blade in the big man's thigh.
Aaron's satisfaction as striking at the frost-wielding mage is quickly replaced by the sharp pain in his stomach as the man's spear runs him through. His eyes move from his foe to the slowly bleeding wound and then back to Markis as he pulls his weapon free, seemingly the only thing that was holding the Chelaxian up as he quickly collapses.
Taking the opportunity to flank the spellcasting owner of the now dead crocodile, Aaron moves quickly, but not recklessly. Assuming and maintaining a defensive stance and focusing a little more on protecting himself, his blade nevertheless strikes true, slashing the other man's side open, blood flowing freely from the wound.
With the frost making his already cool skin colder still, Aaron knows that it will not take much for him to fall if another enemy strikes and does not miss. Thus the decision is hardly a difficult one for him to make. "If I fall, if I am dying," he calls out to Doran, "do not use your potions or the wand on me. Use one of my own vials. But they will only heal me; they will only harm you. Yes?"
Letting out a groan of pain, Aaron turns to look at the one who hurt him, anger clearly evident in his golden eyes. Still, he does not let the rage cloud his judgement as he chooses to ignore the man and instead focus on the beast. With blood dripping ever so slowly from the wound at his side, the pale Chelaxian steps forward and brings both swords to bear against the crocodile. Although his right-hand blade misses, probably a result of the pain and loss of blood, the one in his left hand strikes true and pierces the beast's head, finishing the job Ollivor started and ending its life.
"Man does have a point," Aaron quips as he smiles a thin little smile right before he brings both of his swords to bear, each blade almost dancing in his hands before deftly finding its target, first the one and a mere moment later the other. "No pun intended, I am sure," he adds in the end, his head tilting to the side as he observes the large and loud slavemaster breathing his last.
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