Maybe this strange warrior-woman was right. Maybe he had felt sorry for himself and stewed his problems in alcohol long enough. Maybe he had marinated long enough- not only tonight, but for the past several, several years. It made him a little ashamed. But then, every time he hid behind a bottle of whisky or rye he felt a bit ashamed. And then he felt sorry for himself. And then he decided to drown those feelings in more whisky. Yes, he could definitely use a drink right now.
Strynn blinked his bleary eyes and shook his head to clear his mind. Now was not the time and place for self-discovery. Now was time to focus, to fight and kill and win. He chuckled at Tiraris' words.
"My my, aren't we bleak this evening? You seem to be awfully accepting of the idea of fate." The creatures outside rammed the door again, knocking pieces from the door and forcing it open slightly. He coolly brought his crossbow to bear, aimed carefully down the body, and shot. The bolt glanced off the edge of the door and sped into a scaly face as one of them tried to get a good look into the church. Grunting at his shoddy aim, he quickly set his foot in the loop built at the end of his bow, yanking back the arm until it clicked into place. "As for these "favors" you mention, you've already done me one. You've taken up arms at my side, and that makes us comrades." He informed her. "The way I see it, we-"
Strynn broke off suddenly as he aimed his crossbow, suddenly hearing the scrabbling of claw on stone. "They're coming in through the windows!" He barked, whirling and sending a bolt into the one who sat screeching in the high opening. He heard a crash and the grinding of stone on stone as they at last threw the door open and shoved the benches inward. "Get ready!" He shouted, setting the arm of his crossbow and nocking a bolt with blurring speed.