[@Zyamasiel]

[i]Perhaps Lysander still had the incorporeal echoes of this realm's timestream in his head, from all that dimension hopping. It'd been about five minutes ago when Gonad had roared his challenge, and present Gonad was merely opening his bag of chips. He glanced up as the doors burst open, a jolly grin creasing his scarred face. Beer had been mentioned. That was all that mattered at the moment.[/i]

*CLOP*

[i]Gonad rolled off the balance plate and landed neatly on both feet, nodding sagely as he spoke.[/i]

[b]"Bwah! Sooner than Gonad thought did Strange Man arrive! Saw note on door, aye? Made note for Gonad did brother of Gonad, Testiculese, for not can Gonad read or write! Drew picture of Gonad did Gonad though. Hruh! Not does Gonad have ale, but potent yak brew, honorable spirit of Village of Gonad! If able to hold liquor is Strange Man, then enjoy he may after we do battle."[/b]

[i]The barbarian's countenance was indeed comparable to that of a child's in at least one way. There was no deceptive cunning at all present. This one was as honest as he was ugly, the only window to his soul forecasting weather as clear and bright as cloudless Texan skies. Gentle, even. Lysander was a being whose experience had been drawn over the course of countless eons, from countless lives lived in the heat of combat. To mere men, the formidable size and musculature of Gonad was as intimidating as the reaper's own visage, his wisdom of slaying beyond them. To Lysander, a creature of this size and power was something he came across as often as a school girl sees dandelions as she skips around at recess, hardly worth a second glance. It was inconceivable to think that this brutish warrior could be called even a pleasant diversion, let alone a challenge. Yet, something wasn't quite normal here...[/i]

*Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe*

[i]His stride was flawlessly balanced, his footing sure yet innately, unconsciously aware. His body moved as neatly as a machine, oiled to perfection, each gear turning in unison, flowing without effort. He'd pause five yards away from Lysander and bow, arms at his sides. As he did so his single eye did not leave Lysander, face remaining raised. He did not look away, did not look down, as they do in the Far East. His gaze was as steady and devoid of unnecessary thought as a carpenter's bubble level, almost eerily so. He took in Lysander's appearance as a whole, sucking in the information without a leak. What were the rough dimensions of Lysander's sword? Its length, width, what mass did it suggest in pounds?[/i]