People that carried around swords in the age of the sidearm were insane.
"Because I've got this," he motioned to the rather large hand cannon that hung openly from his hip. The weapon was big enough to serve as a carbine, yet it was clearly a pistol of sorts. Sylvanan regarded it with something of a paternal pride as he presented the weapon to the woman.
Then came the thugs and the chaos they wrought. Sylvanan watched in silence as they harrassed the woman; he could only guess that she had crossed them at one point or another in the past. With a furrowed brow, the Echani leaned back in his chair and flipped the safety on his weapon. The S-5 made a low thrumming noise as it came to life in Sylvanan's hands.
"Friends of yours?" He asked as the man reached for her. The S-5 cleared the holster in a fraction of a second, and the bulky weapon's weighted barrel was pointed square at the chest of one of the hooligans shortly thereafter. The Echani cracked a thin smile.
"I still think it's a bit much," he gave Saine's sword a quick nod. "But I suppose it works."
The weapon was lowered as silence fell over the cantina. Sylvanan cast the bartender an apologetic smile. "I take it you'll forget this so long as I don't report you for letting it happen?" A brow was lofted toward the bartender. The man grumbled and nodded as he moved to clean up the vomit.
Sylvanan turned toward Saine. "Who were they?"
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