For five and a half hours, the bar was busy as a bee-hive: The bartender serving drinks like a madman while they were constantly chugged or gulped down. The entire crowd in the place seemed on edge; each with their own particular anxiousness or nervousness bubbling below the surface, and there was no absence of violence before sundown was finally reached. Several tables had been broken when a drunken spat blew up into a full fledged brawl, but with couple harsh words and a serious threat, the bartender had the thugs out of the bar and into the dusty street beyond. Little outside of the bar existed in the rundown town of Oasis: A once thriving village on the outskirts of the largest kingdom in the lands, but for those who frequented the guttural dive, it was still home. A small metal-shop, and a meager assortment of homes were strewn here and there between the abandoned structures of past residents, but the candy apple red sign of the bar itself was the only sure-fire proof of life in the desolate place.

When darkness finally consumed the nails and timbers of the wooden ramshackle bar, the bartender took on a more serious persona and stopped speaking to the customers sitting in stools. He hurriedly cleaned up the floors and counters; moved debris and other bits of broken furniture back into a storage room, and took a long drink of some dark black liquor. Something was up, and the patrons seemed to feel the same way. One by one those who could walk, made their way out the doors of the saloon, and into the emptiness awaiting beyond the dim light of lanterns and candles. The air seemed to grow still in the establishment; as if waiting in anticipation for something to happen, and Malakii could feel the rapid beating of the bartenders heart. His breathing was fearful and silent, but his heart thudded in his chest like a drum signaling the march of a massive army. 

There was no way of telling what the man feared or what he was on edge about, but Malakii figured it was something worth witnessing firsthand. He had no compulsion to act or to react to what was happening, but his drive for knowledge held him in his stool... Even when the bartender whispered a quiet plea for him to go. 

[indent][i]"Leave now... just get out of here.... Both of you" [/i][/indent]

The aged man appeared a hundred years older as he looked between the two: Malakii and the other at the bar, and his weak voice was far from the threatening and strong tone from before. Whatever had the man so worried, was going to happen soon, and the barkeep was so totally wrapped in fear that he could say little more. His voice quit falling from between parted lips, as the doors to the saloon swung open, and six heavy-set men lumbered in. Each of them wore a casual duster; long trench-coat like jacket with blades hanging limply from their belts, and the leader who moved forward first had eyes as coal black as the night itself. Malakii looked over his shoulder at the men; gripping his prayer beads casually as they moved closer, but his attention wasnt merely on them... He watched for any signs of reaction from the man sitting nearest him at the bar. The only patron still remaining from earlier... 

[indent][i]"What will you do?"[/i] [/indent]
He thought to himself; of the man nearby 

[indent][i]"What will I do?" [/i][/indent]

His thoughts were paced; focused and slow, as he listened to each heartbeat nearby, and felt every breath taken in the now filled bar-room. There was much to take in; much to be ready for, but Malakii found peace in his own breathing and his own heartbeat, as violence loomed on the horizon...