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Tancred gazes through the hole in the bar wall, frowning. He has heard of Sigil; the plane-between-planes, the city of doors. He knows of the demons beyond. He sees the gate of Sigil, slowly being torn down by ghastly creatures of shadow and fire.
And he looks at himself. A Paladin of Helm, a warrior of the light. Pledged to defend the weak, to guard against evil and to preserve the balance that is Helm's dictate.
In a moment of unusual, almost inspired realisation, Tancred forms the conclusion that, as the junction point of the planes, Sigil is in some way an intrinsic part of that balance. And, as such, he is pledged to defend it with his life, suicidal or not.
Slowly - as if performing actions long rehearsed - the Paladin stands, taking his sword from the table. Karnas hums appreciatively, glowing with golden fire.
The sword's voice is serious, for once - with perhaps a trace of smugness.
"See what I mean?"
"I see, I see it. Now concentrate. We have work to do."
With a prayer on his lips and his blade in his hands, Tancred strides forth, aiming for the gate - as Karnas yells with glee at the prospect of a mighty fight indeed.
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