[center][h2]Krunk Fortress, Lobby[/h2]
[sub]Praise be to poor floor planning[/sub][/center]

Zerraf was the embodiment of the shortest path between two points: a straight line. If effort was the enemy, so was surrender. If the rolling ball man came back to fight again, what a bother it'd be. With this in mind, Zerraf unsheathed his rapier and, with a candid toss, balanced the tip on his index finger. He flicked it into the air and it came careening towards the prone General Horns as a buzz saw might. The tip scratched the General's face, but froze just before puncture and remained balanced with handle upward, as if on an invisible string. Zerraf held the sword there. There was no space between the point of the sword and the General. He sauntered slowly forward given the situation. Zerraf rested, cross-legged, in front of the General's feet. He clenched his fist and pressed it against his cheek to rest on, elbow supported on the inner side of his knee. [color=ed1c24]"Ey-ey, Chocolate Man, tell me where Lord Funk keeps pillows. Or you're no use to me,"[/color] Zerraf said. In this case, the shortest path was the tip of the rapier and the General's unarmored face.