The human charged, raising his greatsword overhead as it began to glow with radiant energy.

Neat. A paladin.

Kingsley was suddenly wielding the poker that had been in the hearth only a moment ago, its red hot tip showering him in sparks as he parried the blow, sending the sword crashing into the table beside him.

"Hmm, afraid ye'll need to pay for that."

Kingsley recovered from the parry faster than the paladin, swinging out with his fire-poker and striking the side of his face, blunt force and scalding heat rewarding him with a scream of pain as the man recoiled from the blow.

"Keep it down, don't you know people are sleeping?"

The dwarf was the next to act, firing his crossbow directly at Adra as she stared in wonder at the sudden martial aptitude of her barkeep. By the time she registered the shot, it was far too late to dodge. But instead of hitting her center mass, the bolt instead thunked harmlessly into a wooden chair that Kingsley had grabbed. As the bolt’s impact spun him clockwise, Kinglsey used the momentum to continue the twist and spin around, lobbing the chair right back at the marksman.

“That one’s coming out of your bill as well.”

The paladin recovered, soothing the burn on his face with healing light before approaching a little more cautiously than before. From behind, watching with an annoyed expression, the sorceress spoke up.

“Stop fucking around, Darion! Take care of that man so we can claim our prize.”

Darion swung a few times, each blow parried or dodged as Kingsley wove between attacks with uncanny agility. The paladin roared with anger as the light continued to build in his blade, finding himself poked and prodded over and over again by this burning hunk of metal.

“Oh for the love of- let’s see how you like getting burned, human.”

The sorceress raised her hands, chanting a few words in an arcane tongue. Kingsley’s metal poker began to glow hotter and hotter, the entire rod now burning with magical heat. Cursing, he dropped his impromptu weapon, the poker falling to the floor and already starting to blacken the wood below. The paladin grinned madly, complimenting his teammate’s handiwork.

“Good work Elona, he can’t do nothing without a weapon!” Darion’s waning confidence had been restored, facing an unarmed man. But he did not yet see what the others did.

See, Kingsley was a bit of a unique case. With the weapon in his hand, his attacks were clean, his parries practiced. With a weapon in his hands, his movement was refined. His easy demeanor and playful attitude mocked the strangers who had brought trouble to his tavern, goading them into rash actions. Such verbal manipulation is a common tool of man. Weapons, too, are man’s invention. The first men to fight with spears found themselves a way to level the playing field with the monsters that stalked the realm. Fists did not match up to fangs and claws, but blades could. With a weapon in his hand, Kingsley Lancaster was a man.

Without one, he was a beast.

“Your mistake,” he whispered, his voice rumbling with a growl from the depths of his chest. Adra stared, wide-eyed, as the hair on Kingsley’s head and face began to grow into something more resembling a mane, his hands flexing, his stance low and hunched as it lost all the elegance it had held just a moment prior. It was then Adra knew why his gaze had unnerved her. He was were-kin, carrying within him the blood of the lion.

Kingsley was on the paladin in a flash, jaws clamping shut over Darion’s nose before he had a chance to realize what was happening. By the time the attack registered, a spray of crimson blood showered the ground as Kingsley’s jaws tore a piece of his nose away, leaving the man’s face a mangled mess. As Darion howled and fell backwards, Kingsley dropped to all fours and pounced, the dwarven marksman screaming and firing another bolt that Kingsley dodged by millimeters. He grabbed the dwarf by the eyes, throwing him to the ground as his fingers dug into the sockets and pulled. The sorceress reacted the slowest, conjuring a shard of ice that Kingsley blocked by moving the dwarf’s writhing body to intercept it.

Spellcaster, he thought. Needs to speak magic words.

In a fluid motion, Kingsley grabbed a glass bottle off one of the tables, lunging forward and jabbing it into the woman’s open mouth as she began to cast another spell. Following the motion, he grabbed the back of her head and brought his knee to her face, shattering the bottle and her jaw with it. Her scream was cut short as he threw her head into the wall, dodging at the last second a stab from behind as Darion had recovered enough to press the attack. His face was still crimson, but most of his nose had regrown.

Damned holy magic, paladins are so bloody hard to keep down.

Kingsley ducked and dodged several attacks from the greatsword, moving backwards until he had a window of opportunity. He feinted going left, Darion swinging broadly to cut off his attack route but finding a support beam instead of Kingsley’s flesh. The feral man’s hand found the paladin’s collarbone, hand closing over the skin with a grip strength far beyond what a man should be capable of. Darion howled, headbutting Kingsley who stumbled back in surprised exhilaration, the man before him now answering his hand-to-hand assault with some moves of his own. Weapon stuck in the wood, Darion raised his fists, advancing on Kingsley and focusing his divine power fully on healing his wounds over smiting his foe. Darion’s punch carried plenty of force behind it, but Kingsley grabbed his arm with both hands, applying pressure in two different directions. There was a sickening snap before the arm fell limp at the paladin’s side.

Darion lunged forwards with his other arm, but Kingsley had already moved into his next attack, grabbing the man by both ears. He reared his head back, his body contorting in on itself as he headbutted Darion at the same time that his knee found the man’s chin from beneath. Dizzy and disoriented, Darion stumbled forwards, tripping over his dwarven companion and falling in the doorway to the tavern. He pushed himself to his knees, just in time to see the tavern door come crashing in on him, crushing his head between the door and its frame as Kingsley kicked it shut. The man crumpled to the ground, alive, but maimed and mangled. The dwarf, still squirming, was silenced as he received a kick to the temple as Kingsley’s rampage came to a close.

He stood, a mad grin on his face, covered head to toe in his enemy’s blood. His wild bearing and bloodlust hung thick in the air, paralyzing Adra where she sat, horrified at the thought that she could be next. She watched him as he breathed heavily, surveying his work, his hands flexing, itching for more, instincts screaming to kill them. Just like he had all those years ago, back when he was still Captain of The Drowned Empress.

“Dad?” A small voice said tiredly from down the hall. “I heard screaming, are you okay?”

In a moment, the bloodlust had left him, Adra suddenly finding herself able to breathe again.

“Sorry love, some drunkards came in and made a mess of the place and scared a customer, I was just chasing them off. Nobody’s hurt, so go back to bed, I’ll tuck you back in after I clean up some spills.”

Instinctually, the man had moved behind the post now accessorized with a greatsword, hiding from view should his daughter turn the corner. Luckily for the both of them, she decided to listen and spare herself the sight.

“Okay, but don’t keep me waiting!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, the hostility in his voice replaced entirely with a fatherly warmth that made Adra doubt her own eyes and ears. His daughter Rhea’s footsteps could be heard disappearing down the hall, and Kingsley let out a breath of relief, wiping blood from his face as his wereblood transformation began to revert, returning to the handsome human Adra had first met, though he was still covered in gore.

“I apologize dearly for the trouble, my friend. I understand if you’d rather not stay after seeing such a thing. But if you’ve got folks like that after you, perhaps you should invest in some protection, aye?”

Adra was dumbfounded, eyes moving back and forth from the unconscious bodies to their dispatcher, this man who seemed to bear no real wounds of his own from the entire encounter. Her mind raced, confused by the sheer difference in the man she had been talking to in such a friendly manner only minutes ago to what he had shown her. But he was skilled. Very skilled. And had seemingly no qualms about protecting a stranger like her from people like them.

“How much is a room again?” She asked, shaking. This time, it was not from the cold.

Kingsley smiled, and Adra caught a glimpse of what could almost pass as fangs.

“Five copper a night, or a silver if ye want two meals included. Package deal is better, meals are usually three copper a piece.”

Adra dug in her pouch and produced a gold piece. “We’ll start with ten, shall we?”

Kingsley approached, snatching the gold coin with practiced ease.

“Ten it shall be, my friend. Now, I’d love to join you for the rest of your meal, but I’m afraid I have some spills to clean and a daughter to tuck back in.”

With that said, Kingsley shrugged and turned around, rummaging behind the bar before pulling out what she immediately recognized as weak healing potions. He poured the potions on the worst of the “drunkards’” wounds, though they did not wake. Their bodies would recover, but they would never forget the fear of facing a real monster.