'Perhaps it would be best if someone sensible would go next?' Gwyn sighed. 'Like, Nito?'

The giant mound of skeletons with the pimp-ass cloak stood slowly, his joints creaking like an old chair that had seen many years of use.

'Fo sho.' The Gravelord said, a million voices speaking at once. 'See here, this little punk ass human walks in like he's a boss, so I shove a sword up his ass to prove his point is irrelevant. And THEN I send my little skellie buddies to go in and fuck him up like no tomorrow.'

'And?' Gwyn asked him.

'Well, when I get off my fine toned ass, I try to beat the crap out of him, but the little bitch is too fast, so I grabs him instead.' Nito continued. 'But Miyazaki and his little bitch ass human slaves made sure you can get out of it by mashing yo triggers.'

'And then he kicks your many behinds?'

Nito nodded and sat down seemingly depressed, but the skeleton faces gave no sort expression.

'On the subject of The Catacombs, Patches…?'

The aforementioned bastard-for-all-eternity stood and cleared his throat.

'Yeah bruv, our plans failed. He knows what dialogue options to say now, so no Sparta-style kickin' anymore for me.' The Hyena moaned.

'Oi, Patches?' Phil began. 'Ya know how you're a merchant yeah?'

'Hmm?'

'Well, have any dags?' The cockney goat demon asked.

'Well, I'm bloody glad ya asked! In my very own trove of treasures, I have many a dog! What tickles ya fancy?'

'Hrm, well bruv, I need me dags to guard the den, know what I'm sayin'? Plus Shank's corpse smells a bit.'

'Well, I have three-headed dogs, little demon Chihuahuas…' The bald man listed. The rest of the table shook their heads and ignored the two making the deal.

'Say Smough, what are you drawing?' Ornstein asked while looking over the fat knight's shoulder.

'Oh well, I thought it would be nice to discuss tactics and what not.' Smough answered. The other members of the table nodded, albeit with somewhat confused looks on their faces.

'Wait, Smough is smart?' Shiva said while cocking his armoured head to the side.

Smough snorted. 'Yes, I harbour a degree of intelligence.'

Ornstein shook his head. 'So, what are you drawing again?'

'The Chosen' his partner answered. 'And what he normally equips himself with.'

The rest of table finally agreed with the fat knight.

'I think that would actually be a better idea.' Ciaran piped up. 'You know, actually move the talk along.'

'Hah, you that excited for afterwards?' Artorias laughed while nudged her in the side, which was countered by a far sharper elbow in his kidney.

'Artorias' hoe has the right of it!' Gwyn agreed while bolting up. 'We shall come to an agreement.'

'I am not his-'

'Now, if you want to kill that backstabbing, party-poopin', katana spamming, filthy scrubbing bastard, raise your left hand in agreement!' Gwyn commanded.

The entire table raised their hand (or many left hands) in agreement, but still Lord Gwyn sighed in disappointment.

'Artorias, you side with the Chosen Asshole?' Gwyn asked.

'Oh no, I'm with yas.' Artorias corrected.

'Then why are you raising your right hand?'

'Because, you know, my other is busted…' The fallen knight answered sheepishly.

'What are the rules?' Gwyn said, unmoved by the last statement.

'I know but…'

'Raise it.' Gwyn interrupted while shaking his fist angrily, forcing Artorias to pick up his left arm with his working one.

'Ah good, we are all in agreement.' Gwyn said happily while smiling. 'Now then, Smough, what have you devised so far?'

The executioner nodded, and placed the drawing pad on the table, and Lord Gwyn reached out and…

'What the flying-fuck is this!?'