“I apologize for imploding your moon. I made a logical judgement, and was wrong.” Gaul begins to say that he would have his clothes on if he had had more time to wake up before the barbarians begin streaming through a portal of some kind. Realizing he has no time to grab his axe, he charges headlong into the fray without a second thought, and clotheslines the foremost combatant.

Gaul scoops up the rusty sword from the unconscious man, and swings it in  a wide arc, disembowling three more, and roars his challenge to the horde.