Atticus had walked since sunrise and the mellow lights from the town that lay before him seemed oddly inviting. He had grown used to odd looks and hateful states in the past weeks. Much had happened, but he was growing used to Abaddon and the rage that grew with him. Thankfully, Atticus hadn't seen the first bandit or theif all day; so that demonic cry that Abaddon was capable of unleashing when Atticus was threatened and lost focus had remained sheltered. Trudging into town on desperately tired feet, Atticus leaned on his quarter-staff as he hobbled towards the door of the tavern. Looking down at the weapon, he thought of how fond he had grown of it. A simple staff that he had seen so many traveling clerics from his hometown train with. But his was different, blessed by the will of his new divine, Nethys. The thought of following a god that truly loved Atticus for what he had become was refreshing, and as he bumped open the door to the tavern he realized that he was staring at a room full of hulking men with his goofy smile. His expression quickly fell blank as he walked to the cornor of the bar. "Hey you watch yourself with that quarterstaff son!!" the bartender shouted, "wouldnt want ya tripping anybody." The entire room of drunken beasts burt into laughter as Atticus nodded and took his seat under the staircase leading to the second level. A small candle flickered on the table, and he soon found himself in deep though, entranced by the candles mellow light. What did they know of quarterstaffs, swinging swords and lobbing maces is great when ur 6'5" and 300 pounds of raw muscle. Atticus began to doubt his simple weapon. "I have trained night and day with this damn stick," he thought,"and what do I have to show for it? Some measly coin from an attacking bandit and a raccoon pelt, nice knock on the head he took." "Dont forget about the bow boy...." a voice said. "Abaddon, now is not the time for conversation, these men ar hostile enough without me talking to myself in the corner," Atticus thought with all the focus he could muster. Talking to Abaddon out loud was easy, it was communication without words that required effort. "Well you have a damn crossbow that could splatter the brain matter of every wrench in this place, and here you are doubting our power. "Abaddon, stay out of my thoughts and quieten yourself so that I may rest, you may have the power to drain the very blood from each of these men's bodies, but I do not have the willpower to do so" "Sure kid, its your funeral...just dont forget about your trusty Dragon's Kiss when the time comes. Being stuck in your body may be worse than all the horrors of Hell, but its nothing compared to the thought of non-existance." What are you even talking about,?" Atticus thought. "Look boy, you die I die. So at least act like you know what your doing." "Abaddon!" Atticus grumbled aloud as 10-20 eyes turned upon him in disgusted confusion. He slunk back down into his ceaking wooden chair and took a breathe as his hands rested back in front of the candle. Staring into its gentle light, Atticus gathered what was left of his responding focus before laying his head down to rest, "We dont even know that there will be a fight."
