Damaris blinks at the mermaid, bemused.
"...You haven't been on land very long, have you? People will trade anything for everything around here."
He waves his hand absently and pauses, remembering some of the demon cults that spring up from time to time. Now they were some class-acts: they worked in soul trade, sure, but usually it was your soul they were trading, not theirs. Then it settles in that his manhood has been questioned. He lowers his head and rises from the table, slowly.
"You question my manhood, Lady Lamére?"
In one smooth and fluid move, Damaris stands tall with one leg astride the seat of his chair, knee crooked like a sailor. Chest raised, stomach sucked in, left fist struck against left hip. His righthand index finger lifted defiantly, arm straight as an arrow pointed to the sky. Well, the ceiling, anyway. He shouts from his chest:
"I am DAMARIS PALES, as young and virile as they come! Mine is the blade that shall pierce the heavens! I meet all challenges, martial or menial, mild or menacing! I call no man, woman, child, dragon, or lich 'liege!'"
He points to the mermaid, eyes full of passion.
"I draw my blade in only a single circumstance: to cut down that which threatens innocent lives. Is there dishonor in that, m'lady? Is it dishonorable to take payment for such an action? Then I'd gladly give it away! What need for such a thing if evil may threaten the weak?"
The ronin makes a wide swing for his ale and downs the rest of it in a single gulp, slamming the flagon on the table. A few moments of silence follow, then a burp to ruin all of the bravado and drama.