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[Amsterdam goes to wipe blood off razor
] Priest Vallon
: No son, never. The blood stays on the blade. One day you'll understand.
: At my challenge, by the ancient laws of combat, we are met at this chosen ground, to settle for good and all who holds sway over the five points: us natives, born rightwise to this fine land, or the foreign hordes defiling it. Crowd
: Yeah. Priest Vallon
: By the ancient laws of combat, I accept the challenge of the so called "natives." They plague our people at every turn, but from this day out, they shall plague us no more. For let it be known, that the hand that tries to strike us from this land shall be swiftly cut down. Crowd
: Is this it priest, the Pope's new army, a few crusty bitches and a hand full of rag tags? Priest Vallon
: Now, now, Bill, you swore this was a battle between warriors, not a bunch of miss nancies, so warriors is what I brought.
[various Irish Gangs proceed to appear
: Prepare to meet the true lord.
: Now, son, who's that? Young Amsterdam Vallon
: Saint Michael. Priest Vallon
: Who's that? Young Amsterdam Vallon
: Saint Michael! Priest Vallon
: And what did he do? Young Amsterdam Vallon
: He cast Satan out of Paradise. Priest Vallon
: Good boy!
: Well well, Monk. Are you with us or not? Walter 'Monk' McGinn
: For the last time Vallon, I'm with you if the money's right. Priest Vallon
: I'll give you ten per notch. Walter 'Monk' McGinn
: Ten? Priest Vallon
: You have my word. Walter 'Monk' McGinn
: [Picks up his shillelagh
] Ten per notch? Priest Vallon
: Per *new* notch. Walter 'Monk' McGinn
: [Looks at the notches already there, and loops his weapon around his wrist
] Then I'm your man.
[Turns around and kicks the door open
: Don't never look away.