'cause it's only knock and know-all, but i like it

He is quick with his weapons, "psycho launchers" that suggest a tremendous chaos of the mind.

And he is, indeed, chaotic. Laughter and a droll cynicism draped in a fool's frippery; yes, fascinating, and a warrior only in an alternative sense.

He strikes at the Saltat and it crumbles, less crystalline than a Liceor but still just as fallible to primal rents of a shield through its bony bird's flesh.

Over and over and over, the shield smashes. The opposition are continually broken into brittle bits.

Ga Jiarg sees wounds, wounds, wounds. He wonders if L'cirufe is, truly, wholly open.