[center][color=6ecff6][h3]G A B R I E L[/h3][/color][/center]
Oh that did it, that was the last gods damn straw. He woke up in a cage, trudged through a swamp and hadn't had a single bloody drop or alcohol for what seemed like an eternity and this random old bat had the audacity to ask-no tell them to do some chores? SOME CHORES?! 

"[color=6ecff6]I don’t give a damn about your chores woman, I don’t care about your guest! I HATE THIS PLACE, I HATE YOU I HATE THE FEYWILD! I WANNA GO HOME WOMAN THATS WHAT I WANT! WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN A WIDDERSHINS? WHAT THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? AND ANOTHER THING...[/color]" he kept yelling this and that about how done he was with the singing and the fairytale nonsense, how could anyone even deal with this place sober? Were they trying to make him into an even worse alcoholic?

After his voice grew hoarse and he had to lean over panting for air he quieted for a moment, then sighed shrugging "[color=6ecff6]Ah fuck it, on behalf of the honor of which I put my name upon. You Bavlorna shall taste my steel.[/color]" he drew his weapon. He had made a promise to the tavern owner, he had a date with Bavlorna and she had a sword with her name on it.