He finishes his survey of the room and nods inside his helmet, satisfied that nothing in here could truly hurt him, barring unseen weaponry and magical enchantments or attacks. The visor depolarizes and then flips up, revealing a grizzled, heavily scarred man's face. He had short-cut hair and a perpetual scowl caused by a deep, marring scar across his face. He speaks in a low voice, though by no means quiet, his ears deafened by decades of unceasing gunfire and artillery.

"Right, I'm guessing this is a tavern, or pub, or whatever the hell you'd like to call it."