A quick flash of panic passed over the face of Frank, ‘Shadow of Helpart’, as his eyes darted between the group of his men and the calmly disappointed cyclops was all he managed before the fight began. Roaring in camaraderie, the large group of men from the Nightshade group charged, clambering over the furniture - eager to be the ones to save their boss.
Gregor took a few steps back, coiling up his whip and muttering. A scuffle was one thing, but taking on a full-on gang of hardened ex-bandits was not his cup of tea. Still, as the investigative assistant, it was his duty to help the cyclops in any matters related to the case. He spat on the floor in disgust; he had been the one to get them into this mess, after all. As the first of the group approached, he couldn’t wait to be scurrying around and doing the spying part once more.
Grugg held the look of dismay over Frank for as long as he could before the first bandit in the pack got to him. Eager to be the first to draw blood, he had rushed a good few feet ahead of the others and leaped into the air, intending to plunge two daggers into the cyclops. He landed atop the large form of Grugg and drove the sharp weapons into his left shoulder, clinging on like a baby animal.
“Is this really what you want?” He shook his head at the Shadow, eye still focused on the man who had now turned a slightly paler shade.
A second bandit ran in and swept with his shortsword, attempting to slice at Grugg’s exposed stomach and gut him. A crack as the ratman’s whip caught the ankle of the attacker, sending him head first into the floor at the cyclops's feet with a crunch as his teeth exited his mouth upon greeting the hard tavern floor. The bandit attached to Grugg’s side, trying to further needle him with the sharp blades, was unceremoniously launched with a quick throw, knocking several other approaching men over into a pile of greased anger and dark leather.
Grugg picked up the nearest wooden stool to hand and shattered it over the next bandit, old wooden splinters covering the area as the prone form of the recipient flopped to the floor out cold. A short sword sliced at his thigh, unable to dodge in time, and another crossbow bolt whizzed past him - this one not so inexpertly aimed. A crack of the whip and a scream as another man approaching dropped to the floor, clutching at his face, blood starting to run through his fingers.
Still, the wave of sweaty, bladed bandits all dressed in black was not abated. They were trying to surround Grugg and eliminate his advantage in range and strength. He swung wide with his right fist but caught nothing but air, only receiving a few viper-like slashes in reward, his bandages fraying and splitting from the sharp blades. Sweat was starting to run down his back as he sought a change in the flow of battle.
[Duck.]
He did so immediately, with the sound of a passing bolt barely missing the top of the wizard’s hat. They could have hurt Bart… this was the final straw for the agitated cyclops. With a tremendous roar, he leaped forward and started barreling through the grouped thugs, taking them by surprise. He did receive some minor cuts for his efforts, but their unprepared stances took the weight out of any attack they could bear. The men in his way crumbled, knocked down or aside by the sheer mass of Grugg, like a runaway wagon through town market.
After several of the Nighshade footsoldiers were sent tumbling to the floor, colliding with each other and the floor, the rocketing cyclops reached his target; the pale and panic-stricken Reggie, eye bulging at the approach of the large, unstoppable bulk. He dropped the crossbow to the floor as he trembled but was otherwise frozen and unable to move. Grugg slid to a stop as he struck the shocked man with full force, sending Reggie several feet backwards heavily into the back wall of the tavern. Chips of wood and whatever passed as masonry in this run-down place cracked and fell to the floor at the impact of his body, knocking the wind out of the bandit.
Grugg took two large steps over to the man as the rest of the still-standing reinforcement party enclosed behind him in the gap he had forced with his charge. With one massive hand, he grabbed Reggie around the throat. With a shredded bandage dangling bloody and loose from his arm, his other hand grabbed the man’s legs. He lifted the stunned figure over his head, threatening to snap him like a twig. Grugg turned towards Frank, his eye arcing with electric blue fury towards the Nightshade boss.
“No! Stop!” the Shadow cried out. “Lay down your arms, men.”. A pained look covered his face. There was still a shade of anger to him, but he knew that this would not be an easily won battle. They were a rough bunch, but just as they had loyalty to him, he couldn’t see them come to any unnecessary harm. Not until he could chew them out himself.
The group of men exchanged glances and murmurs, but knew better than to question their boss. Slowly, they began to sheathe their weapons, helping up their fallen or injured comrades. Grugg lowered Reggie back to his feet and gave him a pat on the back. Gregor looked on edge. Still, the ratman stood atop a chair with whip ready, just in case there was a further complication to the ceasefire.
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“Things are pretty scuffed here now, lads.” Frank paced and ran his fingers through his slick hair. “We need to leave the town, go back to how things were. Might have to travel a bit further afield this time, get outside the reach of the Don and the other ‘shade bastards.” His men seemed at odds at how to take this information, some with trepidation, others with a gleam of opportunity.
Grugg sat down on the floor and tried to fix his bandages. He could get it to stick to his arm with the fresh blood soaking into it and drying, but any time he flexed his arm it would just fall back open. Opting to take the whole thing off seemed like the least annoying thing to do for now. His right forearm still had two nasty-looking gashes, and both arms had a criss-cross hatching of more minor, lighter cuts. A couple of similar ones on his torso and legs; they itched and stung mostly, but were ignorable. His shoulder had bled a lot where he had let the man stab him, and two streams of dark red had worked their way down his upper arm and dripped to the floor.
[I can give you a little healing now, but I will be drained for a while. So, no more big surprises today?]
“Grugg be okay.” In truth, he felt a little light-headed. Perhaps it was just a need for a good lunch; he had been spoiled by the large breakfast the ratman had brought him. He was in a town and had barely scratched all the culinary splendor it had to offer. Oh, he should find a bakery next! The thoughts of freshly baked bread and pastries filled him with warmth; it even made the pain of his injuries dull slightly.
“…and then we’ll get what we can from the storehouse. Travel east, I think? There’s a Nightshade boss in Noavalley, but as long as we don’t step on any toes, we should be okay.” Frank had been laying out the plan for his men and their attempts to return to banditry. “Should take us a day, two at most, if we leave post haste. Any objections?” It had intended to be more of a rhetorical question.
“I have one,” a stern and commanding voice resonated, accompanied by the pained creaking of the damaged door hinges of the tavern door as it swung open once again.
A prominent figure in metal armor stood silhouetted in the door. The sun, eager to display its dramatic timing, had broken through the rain clouds to illuminate the entrance of this new figure, casting a long shadow across the dingy tavern. He strode inwards, metal boots clacking against the floor, and his appearance became more apparent without the glare of the celestial back-light. A middle-aged half-orc with a chin full of gray beard and piercing ice-blue eyes. Small tusks protruded out from his lower mouth, his dull green skin contrasting with the reflective silver plate armor with amber trim.
“I heard there was a commotion, so I thought who better to make the arrests than the steward of the town himself?” He beamed with a cold, mirthless smile. Bright eyes scoured the room slowly whilst the bandits stood motionless, fearing what to do next.
“Piss off, Wanu - you and what army?” Frank sauntered over to the armored half-orc with an air of familiarity and contempt.
“Why, this army.” He gestured behind him to the doorway. “Thirty of the King’s men just happened to be passing through, and they were more than happy to assist in capturing one of the Nightshade dogs.” Behind the half-orc, fully armored knights strode into the tavern, one after another. The Shadow of Helpart’s face dropped, all remaining color vanishing along with his smug grin.
Each pair of knights took one of the bandits and bound their hands with manacles behind them before leading them out of the building. Frank had a glimmer of resistance, wanting to see what luck he could steal, but in the end thought better of it and complied. As each Nightshade soldier was taken away, the half-orc turned to Grugg.
“You are new here. Let me introduce myself. I am Wanu Greybreach, the Town Captain and top man for any matter of security or law when it comes to Helpart.”
“Grugg. Criminal instigator… no - investigator.”
“Sometimes tongues tell more truth than intended. And you were here alone?” Wanu eyed the destruction of the tavern and the remaining participants of the brawl.
The cyclops looked over to where Gregor had been, but the ratman was no longer there. Bart was also sleeping, or at least whatever he did while recovering mana. So, he supposed the honest answer was indeed 'yes'. He nodded his affirmation to the Captain.
“Interesting. I would very much like you to accompany me to the Guardhouse, Grugg, so that we may have a conversation.”
Although it was a request, it didn’t sound like the type that had the option of being declined. Grugg met the eyes of the half-orc, and they were unwavering, as if trying to pierce into him and read his thoughts. Good luck on that, he thought; most of his idle thoughts were about those little buns they bake with fruit in them. He had tried to recreate them back on the mountain, but he found he lacked most of the ingredients and just ended up with some thick mashed berries.
He stood and dusted off his kilt—still, another delay in trying on the clothes from the nice lady. But the Captain might offer him some food to be a good guest. A conversation never killed anyone, he hoped. Bet that there is a spell that could do that, though; he would have to ask Bart about it once he had woken up. With a sigh and a shrug, he made to follow the half-orc out of the building.
Gregor, perched up in the rafters, watched the cyclops leave. Part of him was elated, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Look at all the criminals that were just arrested that he had helped apprehend. It had been his crowning achievement as an assistant investigator, and he had only just begun. Yet, there was another reason why he couldn’t help but grip tightly to the dust-laden rafter, a reason why his heart continued to race and his fur stood on end.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.