The dull metal of the knuckle dusters flickered in the low light of the seedy tavern as the fist of Grugg rocketed towards Frank. To his credit, he did live up to his pseudonym, as he managed to deftly dodge sideways from the attack, rolling to the side of the table. The goon standing behind him was not so fast though, his view somewhat obstructed by his leader, and he took the blow straight to the chest. Luckily for the stocky, bald man, it was only the tail end of the lunge, and the massive fist of the cyclops just knocked the man back a few feet.

As one, the rest of the group drew their blades - an assortment of shortswords and daggers with black and opal detailing on the handles. The Shadow himself rolled up onto his feet, drawing dual swords in a well-practised fluid motion.

[Well, we have done it now. Let’s get out of this space; we are cornered in this booth.]

Grugg glanced towards the ratman, but he was no longer there, having scrabbled away some place in the surprise of the cyclops’ attack. No matter, taking on four humans should be no issue for him, even if they were experienced and well-armed. It had been too long since he had gotten to fight anything, although, on reflection, it was really only a few days. Time had undoubtedly moved slower now that there was so much mystery and adventure in his life.

The man with the eyepatch lunged at him from the left side with a dagger, slightly disadvantaged by the wooden wall of the booth; it narrowly missed meeting the left arm of the cyclops. Grugg kicked out at the shins of the man, who quickly backed away from it, ducking the follow-up left hook. The man stood with his fists up like a boxer but holding downward-facing daggers in each hand.

Blood ran down Grugg’s arm as he withdrew it; he had received a few cuts as the man had dodged away. It was impressive how quick the thug had been able to land some attacks even on the defensive. The cuts stung, but were mostly superficial. His tough skin resisting what may otherwise be a debilitating crosshatch of lacerations had he been a human on the receiving end.

“Lars, find the rat,” Frank spat, twirling his swords in his grip. An unnecessary flourish, but one to intimidate potential victims. Grugg was too busy wishing he had Thud around to notice.

[Use the table as a shield.]

The two henchmen started to box the cyclops in, allowing their leader to have the next strike. More than likely, he would get pretty upset if one of them were the ones to dispatch Grugg, which could be a dangerous predicament if the frothing man already had his swords out. However, they would be standing ready to intervene should he fall into difficulty, too.

It was enough momentary pause to allow Grugg to squat and lift up the table from the booth, grasping the dust-encrusted supportive beams of the underside and hauling it with his left hand to wield like a tower shield. As the hefty bit of furniture rose from the floor, it revealed the prone Gregor. The ratman quickly lept to his feet and quickly lashed out with a concealed whip, the edge cracking out at Lars. The man yelped, dropping his sword as he gripped his forearm in pain.

There was a crunch as the end of the table splintered against the hard floor, as Grugg placed it down against the wall of the booth, ready to defend. Now, with this in the way, it had cut off most of the access to the pair of them. Sure, they were even more boxed in, but now the assailants only had about a two foot gap between the table and the other side wall of the booth.

By this time, most of the other patrons had decided that whatever problems they had been trying to drown away would certainly get a lot worse if they stuck around and got involved in this brawl - and had started leaving as quickly as they were able. The barkeep himself had sunk down behind the bar, too invested to abandon the place but wanting no part of the violence.

Grugg leaned his head out from behind the table to grin at their attackers as the whip of Gregor again cracked past the gap, striking nobody but keeping them further at bay. The frustration on the face of Frank was readily apparent; having burst out in rage, he would lose face if things simmered down, and the initiative was lost.

[They may be losing steam, but we’ll not leave here until they give up fully. So try to talk them out of it.]

“Uh…” In truth, he was enjoying this. He knew it was unbecoming of a soon-to-be detective, but there was something about a brawl that just felt right at home. Still, the wizard was usually right.

“What’s the matter, ser Grugg? Not afraid of a little tavern scuffle, are you?” The ratman looked almost demonic in this low light, the reds of his eyes gleaming as he readied his whip again.

“No. Haven’t had good fight since Hakran and the yeti, but Hat says that-”

“Did you just say Hakran?” Reggie blurted out, still rubbing his chest, before going pale at the sight of Frank, who started staring daggers of bloody murder at the eyepatched man.

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The booming command of the wizard’s voice stunned everyone. Even Grugg and Gregor paused in momentary confusion. Frank’s face, previously contorted with anger, cracked and revealed a hint of uncertainty. But, with the group now wavering, Grugg didn’t need telling that this was the best chance they had at moving out of their corner.

With a surge of strength, he lifted and thrust the shoddy table forwards at the man who had cut up his arm. It caught him off guard, and with enough force to knock him stumbling backwards, the table collapsed on top of him with a dull thud. Gregor followed up his lead by whipping out at the unarmed Lars, the long whip wrapping around his lower leg and pinning him in place, allowing the cyclops to land an unavoidable body shot with the knuckle dusters. The crack of broken ribs and the wheeze of air being knocked out of the man’s lung preceded him collapsing back to the floor, curling up.

The Shadow used this opportunity to slide past the blow against his comrade, jumping over the now limp whip to slash down at Grugg’s right arm with both swords. Both of them connected, gashing along his forearm. He tried to back away and swing with his left hand, but the Shadow had already moved to the side and away himself.

[Don’t attack unless you are sure you can hit. He moves too fast, and you’ll be wide open.]

Easy enough to say when you aren’t the one getting cut up, he thought. That was a bit bitter of him; the wizard was only trying to help. It just sounded like nagging in the heat of the moment, when he was already incensed and in pain. Still, Bart had been right before, when…

“Stinky Frank,” he called out through gritted teeth, “Gonna break little neck, jus’ like Grugg did to Stinky Hakran.” Whatever poker face Reggie usually held dear had gone clear out the window now, as his face paled further and he stared open-mouthed at his boss, trying to gauge what reaction the bandit leader would have.

Frank ‘Shadow of Helpart’ was looking noticeably off-kilter. Whilst he didn’t have the bare-faced shock of his underling, there was a definite increase in the amount of sweat, and the fury previously in his eyes had simmered down. He would deny until his grave that he was shaking, but there was indeed a wavering in the tips of his twin swords.

Reggie bolted for the door. Clearly, this was the last straw; fighting a cyclops was one thing, but the ominous loud voice, and if they had really killed Hakran… Frank turned to chastise his underling from fleeing, and halfway through barking an expletive, he felt something strike his forearm and there was resistance. Looking down, the end of the whip had wrapped itself around his arm - and before he could attempt to free himself, the looming shadow of the cyclops appeared over him, grabbing his other arm with immense strength.

“Drop swords,” he stated, his blue eye burning as he towered over the man. “Or go snap.”

Frank gulped and weighed up his options. One of his men had run off, curse him. Another lay on the floor, still sucking air and having difficulty doing it. The third was still crawling from out of the table wreckage and had a bloodied face at the least of it. He still had some tricks up his sleeves, but did he really want a broken arm for the attempt? Trying to guess any sort of plan of action from the one bright eye of the cyclops was difficult. He gritted his teeth and dropped the swords to the floor with a dull clang.

“Now you could easily get revenge for what he did to your arm, ser Grugg,” the ratman offered helpfully as he began to circle the Shadow to tie him up with the whip.

Grugg grinned maliciously at the man, a look that would strike fear into any with a weak constitution. Frank didn’t baulk at the look, but he did seem to be getting slightly more uncomfortable. With a knot in the whip to tie his foot up to his waist and arm, he was in no danger of running away, so the cyclops sat him down on a nearby stool.

[Very nicely handled; I’d say that was quite some teamwork. We solved that with some clever use of dialogue instead of just brute force.]

He kept to himself that he was pretty close to snapping the man’s arm anyway, as Gregor had suggested. The cuts on his right forearm were pretty long and stung; he could feel the warm blood dripping down to his hand. At least he didn’t get stabbed in the chest again. What the wizard said did cheer him up. He did use some clever words to gain the advantage in the fight. Maybe there could be room for a brawling detective if he could keep a cool mind in the heat of battle. The thought of it sent butterflies through his stomach, a feeling he did not often get.

[We will need to get you patched up as soon as possible; I won’t be able to heal you until later - using Voice has worn down my… we can call it mana? I’m still working on reducing how much mana it takes to use it.]

“Here, ser, I have these,” Gregor appeared at his side and brought out some simple linen bandages. “It’s not much, but they are clean and will stop the bleeding for now.”

Grugg nodded his thanks and began winding some of the white linen around his worst wounds as the ratman walked past Frank and the injured men towards the bar. The greased and sweaty leader spat at him as he went by.

“Filthy creatures, torture me all you want. I won’t tell you anything.”

Grugg shrugged as he continued to tend to his injuries. “Okay.”

The clink of metal echoed through the now empty tavern as Gregor flipped the barkeep another gold coin. “Thank you, ser barkeep.”

“Why Gregor thanking him?” Grugg called out, more eager to start prying information from their captive.

“Oh, because I paid him to instigate that fight.”