Donovan enjoyed the silence of the walk at first, but as the trek grew longer his nerves began to unwind. Those eyes darted between each of the robed freaks with a certain yet-to-be-earned hate.
"We almost there or what!?" he finally broke, pushing a few of the members aside in a tantrum. Those on the side of his metal arm were unfortunate, to say the least.
Luckily, as he asked the question there they were. The center room. It held a level of regalia the rest of the torn structure did not. Banners of various colors and insignia hung from the walls, and the room was brightly lit with wall mounted torches, chandeliers, and of course the candles being held by the cultists. And still there was a shadowy eeriness to the environment.
"So we're here, but where's the rel-" A pinch assaulted his cheek, stopping the sentence in it's tracks. His eyes glide to his right to see one of the freaks grabbing at his face, and another reaching for his hair... and on the left one was about to grab his coat.
In one quick motion, and a spark, his cutlass was unsheathed and pointed square at one of the cultists face. "Back off the coat ya little fucker" then using the hilt to back them all away with a quick, and commanding, bash.