Fyr barely had enough time to raise his hands as a protective barrier in front of his face before the blast hit them all. He was partly thrown over the table, partly rolling himself across it in an attempt to build some distance even as disaster already was in progress. The result was a bleeding nose or at least that was what he could diagnose himself given the lack of time -- there was probably more he couldn't feel yet. And of course he picked up plenty of weeks, if not even months old dirt from other people's shoes as he hit the ground hard.

Great! He had hardly been given the opportunity to get rid of demonfolk blood splattered over his chest and now he was already struck by bloody scraps of intestines again! That was not to mention a few pieces of broken glass from the many bottles that had also suffered. Had the greatest pirate off all time's stare just been way too intense and energetic or had that [i]really[/i] been a boob bomb giving everybody goose bumps ? This tavern was a damn booby trap! The sound of more footsteps came closer and a distinct and no less eerie glow could already been seen reflecting slightly from where the floor was actually polished, so quick action was in dire need.

Where had his trusty family heirloom gone ? It was quite the heavy thing, but the explosion had displaced it considerably still. Fyr was on the verge of launching himself towards it, then felt a foreign hand touching his shoulder. He heard Arthur's voice over the chaos around them, some words he couldn't understand at least verbally. Yet the unfamiliar warmth beneath his nose decayed, the bleeding was no more and so some of the other things he hadn't even been aware of yet. A very short appreciative nod was all Fyr could return before the other man's attention was drawn elsewhere again though.

So now to retrieve and use a proper weapon, finally! Only now Fyr's vision skimmed across the remainer of the room: This was not a slaughterhouse, but an extreme caricature of such! He rubbed the axe's handle against the nearest piece of halfway clean cloth he could find. It looked like some now dead man's clothes, but he needed a firm grip not weakened by blood acting as a lubricant. Five hostiles were there, three acting as backup while two apparently thought nobody would stumble across the idea that they might have more than a dagger each at their disposal.

No, certainly not after this overture! It would be them who'd be cleaved in two, not even more innocent patrons!

[hider=Attack roll]1d20+1 Roll => 3[/hider]