Drunken Stupor

As Gohzrik slammed down the last shot and struggled to remain conscious he realized that his adversary had already succumbed to his drinks. He rubbed his bandages face as best he could as he placed Yami’s blade hilt in his adversary’s pack next to an odd bottle of what seemed to be exotic liquor. He stared blankly ahead and blinked his eyes slowly as a strange voice entered his mind...

“How honorable...how noble...how great and mighty. The butcher of the blood soaked seven. You are nothing. Beating a drunk in a drinking match...scared to give up the one part of you that isn't yours. You will never change. You are cursed to bring ruin and woe to everyone around you. Soon the city will see. Soon those nearest you will have their eyes opened...they will see you as you really are-a monster."

Gohzrik picked up one of the empty shot glasses and crushed it in his hand. Mumbling his response out loud but quietly to himself.

“I know more than you that I’m a monster. I know more than you I’m not ready to give up this Sword. My hands stain his sword and the pride of his family even now... but it’s all I have pressing me forward, reminding me to change. He gave this sword to guard from his honorless sons... as long as they don’t prove their honor it’s mine!”

The pub firelight flared brightly for only a moment before returning to normal.

"What exactly is proving your honor going to look like?" An older blue-tinted haired gentleman sitting at the table in a chair that seemed to just appear, asks the kenku. He steepled his fingers together as he adds, "For a warrior as accustomed to fighting as you-is spilled blood truly going to say anything you don't already know?"

Mahlajai gestures to the slumped over son at rest on the table and says, "Seems like he wasn't interested in fighting anyway."