At the sight of the soldiers, Jericho bristled. Though he didn't want to act rashly and possibly worsen the situation, the young man felt his heart pound heavily in his chest as his anger rose. Though he'd compromised his morals in the past, this sort of harassment was completely out of the realm of decency. Jericho knew that the Architect often created circumstances to test his followers, and, though he had not been devout in recent times, he still felt an obligation to do what he was called to do. He knew all too well the sickening regret that came after he let himself and his god down. His deviant behavior came to him more and more frequently. Lust, wrath, pride, greed... He still apologized for his crimes. To himself or to the Architect – it wasn't clear anymore, because he knew that he would only mean it for a moment before temptation called again.

He wouldn't be apologizing this time.

Jericho looked around at his formidable companions, halfling reaching for her axe, dwarf and golem each looking formidable as ever, the monster hunter with his scarred pedigree of a body, and a deep, dangerous chill emanating from the quiet one. Though heavenly Jericho that dying for a good cause was even more meaningful than winning a fight, earthly Jericho had every intention of staying alive. With his fellow Iron Mountain adventurers, the young man's confidence was bolstered, and he felt the blood shoot through his veins with a righteous fury.

With an intentionally clear motion, Jericho reached for Sabine, his cutlass, with his right hand. Intentionally less clear was his left hand which went to his hip, fingers grasping one of the daggers on his belt. This grip was disguised by the heavy – yet not bulky – armguard that sheltered him with heavy, interlocking leather plates from his left clavicle, down his deltoid, and halfway down his forearm where it was met by his gauntlet.

He surveyed the room of the tavern, outlining possible pathways for him to dance in and out of battle through. First the soldiers; they wore full body armor – clearly still on duty – and kept their weapons close, some even in the hands of their masters – a seemingly unnecessary display of power. Though Jericho could see that they were actually a lack of diligence and empty bravado, their actions would provide a challenge for the Iron Mountain adventurers.

The rest of the patrons in the bar were the seedy sort Jericho was used to, but their lack of action in this very situation meant that, in all likelihood, they would similarly sit back if a fight broke out. This would actually benefit Jericho, for his swashbuckling combat style would unravel quickly if he was no longer able to stay out of the reach of his opponent's weapons. Tables, chairs, the strumming bard – all obstacles to be utilized. What Jericho couldn't parry with a glancing blow he would dodge, putting obstacles or free space between cutting swords or jabbing spears, nimble feet carrying him to safety. With his opponent off balance, he would skip back into the fray, stabbing or slashing conservatively until he puts all of the momentum in his 5'7” body behind a guaranteed killing blow.

As he finally approached the table, he was met by one of the Niratremi towards the edge. Jericho boldly stepped up to him, a brutish looking man with a wide, squashed nose, and only one eyebrow that covered his entire sloped brow. As the smaller man looked up at the guard in defiance, the Niratremi's one eyebrow furrowed shock and indignation that he would be challenged, especially by one with such a slight build. Before he could do anything, however, a wet squishing sound followed by a thud shot through the air, and there was a moment of silence. Once they came to their senses, the guards jumped up in aid of their fellow.

An instant later, Sabine was out of her sheath and the young pirate's body was in motion.