Tycondrius glanced over at the long curved blade that once belonged to Champion Narkissa. It was lodged firmly in the lower abdomen of the Snake Cult's recently deceased Warlord-- whatever her name was.
Tossing the waraxe aside, he grabbed the sword's hilt and wrenched it out of the body, casually splashing a bit of blood and viscera onto his sandals. The long weapon would probably be better at cutting down swaths of cultists, Unranked and Bronze as they were.
"Good afternoon," He waved. "You must all be very curious as to why I've gathered you all here."
"YOU!! YOU!!!!! You'll PAY for this, NONBELIEVER!!" One of the cultists shouted. He was frothing at the mouth, pointing threateningly with a hatchet, slick with blood...
"Ah, about that..." Tycon nodded in thought, "Might I interest you all in a civilized discussion about tolerance and acceptance of other peoples' beliefs?"
