“I don’t know about this, Kesla.” Krakka’s cradling Bloodmoon like a baby as he looks at the tavern, and while he’s hiding it well I can see he’s nervous. I’m used to him being wary, a little caution’s a healthy thing, ‘specially in a merc, but he’s genuinely worried. That always makes me uncomfortable.
We’re not in great shape right now, as a group. Art’s mostly back to his normal self again, but it’s taken two solid days of Minerva’s clerics working healing spells on his shattered bones and a lot of bedrest to get there. He was still a little unsteady on his feet this morning so I insisted he stay behind to take a little more time. Krakka’s still not too convinced he’s really right either, and I definitely had to defer to him there, but I reckon the damage to our prowler’s a little in his head too, to be honest. He seems … haunted right now, if I’m honest, just not really himself.
Thel’s friend Dumoli got cut up some while he was helping Yeslee up on the second level in the abandoned stables. Like Art it took some work to get him back on his feet again, but in his case it was as much blood loss as anything else, and he’s still a bit weak, so we left him behind too. Yeslee … it’s interesting, she spent that first day after the fight camped out in his recovery room, refused to leave his side, just settled in the corner and spent the whole time watching him sleep. She’s really connected with the dwarf, which really surprised me, to be honest. I think she feels a tad indebted to him for … whatever it was he did up there backing her up managed to land him in a hospice bed in Minerva’s temple. She ain’t been forthcoming, and I know better than to press her.
It was Shay got the worst of it, though. It was just that one stab wound, to the casual eye it might not have seemed like much really, but it was a bad one, and she was really sick when we finally made it back to the temple again. The healers … I’m told it was a tricky wound, even with the full focus and goddess magic of three of the temple’s resident clerics tending to her, that knife tore her up bad inside, and there was an infection starting to take root. Left to its own devices, even if there’d been a talented surgeon on hand to sew up the damage she’d have died all the same from it, but instead their blessed hands knitted the wound and the torn intestines back together, then set to work battling the growing fever. She was touch and go for two whole days, and I spent the whole time scared to death for her, but last night the fever finally broke and … well, ‘least she was on her way back to us again.
Gael barely left her room once the whole time, mind. They wouldn’t even break away to go visit Art, which I know bugged him some, but he’s been understanding enough about it. Gael’s been worried about her much as I have, more even, they just bonded so quick, but I guess in their case there’s a certain personal obligation that strengthens the concern, given what Shay did for them back in the mountains. But mostly it’s just friendship, of course. Still means we’re down a wizard right now.
Tulen’s got plenty talent of her own, of course, she proved that much the other night when she held her own in what I’ve now learned was the first time they ever used their magic in a real battle. They can definitely handle themselves, so we got backup if we need it, but … she’s still awful green, if I’m honest. I like her, she’s a sweetheart and she’s definitely real smart, but she ain’t Gael. We just don’t have that rapport me an’ Gael got. Truth is I feel naked without it …
Tell the truth, I don’t really know if I’m running at my best right now either. Krakka did his best to stabilise me on the ground after the battle, but he’s had to come back to me since a couple times just to keep working on my ribs, make sure they knitted right. Bones are tricky, he tells me, and I gotta agree with him, first two days I was still feeling sore when I breathed. This morning was the first one since I woke up and not wanting to die for the first half hour … I got my full range of motions back now, at least, but I’ll admit to still feeling a little stiff in my back, which makes me worry a little at how well I’ll really be able to perform if anything actually kicks off while we’re here.
‘Least the others … well, they seem to be good. We don’t have Big Man with us, but mainly cuz I suggested he stay back at the temple this time, today’s likely gonna involve a little delicacy and discretion, and a nine foot golem would kind of undermine our efforts there. I managed to coax Yes out of Dumoli’s room, mostly since he’s finally up and moving round again, but she still didn’t seem particularly inclined to leave his side, so I didn’t push. Now I’m starting to regret the decision to leave without her.
Thel, Krakka, Darwyn, Zuldrad and Tulen all recovered from the hit they took that night well enough, by the next day they were at least mostly back to their original selves again, but I guess everybody was worn out as much as anything else. Brung’s the only one, other than Yes, who looked like it hadn’t even had any effect on him, but I doubt it would’ve shown on this particularly tough goblin anyway. I’ll admit, I’m actually pretty impressed with him.
It's just … gods, we’re all of us just beat, I guess. We fought off the threat in that ruin, and we’re all still alive, but … well, we went in there with a particular objective, and instead those fuckers got away from us. It wasn’t a win, and we’re all kinda beating ourselves up some about it. I’ve tried my best to perk ‘em all up since, but in truth reckon my own heart ain’t quite in it either, cuz it clearly ain’t worked. The general mood has, at best, been somewhat fractious since.
They’re here with me now, at least. I still trust they’ve all got my back. I just don’t feel as confident about our chances right now as I’d like. So I really consider my friend’s statement before I answer it.
“Me neither.” In the end, I decide honesty’s probably best under the circumstances.
“Then what are we doing?” He looks up at me now.
Letting out a deep sigh, I check my gear over for what might be the tenth time since we headed out today. I’ve left my duster with the rest in Yeslee’s bag, instead swapping it for one of my lighter, shorter jerkins, but kept my jack on underneath because after what went down the other night I’m painfully mindful that we’re playing for high stakes right now. It was a mess after the battle, muddy beyond belief, but the temple surprised me there too – turned out they got one hell of a laundry, they got all the stains out the linen, fact it’s the cleanest it’s been since I first bought it from Murphin’s. Unfortunately, my shirt was a lost cause, I had to say goodbye to it, so I settled for a new one.
“Our jobs, Krakka.” I finally breathe. “We’re here for a reason, remember?”
“You don’t think it’d be better if we waited another day, at least until Shay’s back on her feet again? Gael might be willing to come with us then, and I imagine Art and Dumoli would finally be well enough by then too.” He looks back at the others. “We’re not at full strength. It doesn’t sit well with me.”
Nor with me, but I refuse to go over this again. We’ve been hiding for three days, essentially. I don’t like to think about what could’ve happened in that time, while we’ve essentially been out the loop. These bastards know who we are now, and they been given a stupid amount of time to act on it since …
“You with me or not?”
Krakka narrows his eyes now, gives me a proper look. “You know the answer to that well enough already, Kesla.”
“Just watch my back, then.” I say it a little more forcefully than intended, so I let another sigh go before adding. “Please.”
Cocking his head, he watches me for a moment, and his expression softens a little, at least. “You know you don’t have to ask that either.”
That makes me smile, and I have to resist the urge to put my hand on his shoulder, give it a reassuring squeeze. Instead I check my gear yet again, finally testing the fit of my sword in its scabbard, as if I didn’t already know it well as my own skin.
The Late Bone is, much as I would’ve expected given its location, a bit of a dive. Then again, it’s a dockside tavern in Untermer, and in one of the shadier stretches too, so I don’t really know what else I would’ve expected. In truth it’s nowhere near as bad as The Rare Lady, but then the crappiness of that place was fully intentional – The Late Bone is a lot bigger, two storeys from the look of it and a good deal broader along the wharf-front, and from what I can hear through the open doors it’s also a good deal livelier, especially for the a weekday late morning. I suspect the latest arrivals from whatever merchantman or smuggler barge have just arrived ahead of us.
This place has actual glass windows, I notice, but they’re pretty filthy, largely opaque from smoke and grime, looks like, and while it looks in reasonable repair the wood’s definitely pretty old and worn, the stone age-darkened and cracked. The only thing about the façade that looks like it’s had any recent attention paid to it is the sign itself, hung high over the entrance, which looks like it’s been painted pretty recently. There’s an intriguing scene on one side, looks to be a decidedly bawdy cartoon of a particularly well-endowed woman who’s clearly just jumped out of a bath and into a robe, chasing a scruffy looking dog down the street with a meaty bone in its mouth. On the other side the bar’s name’s inscribed in a pretty striking legend, whoever did the sign clearly displaying an impressive amount of talent, I must admit. I’ve seen much worse in my time.
‘Least there’s nobody lying in a pool o’ their own blood in the gutter outside, but I suspect that might just be cuz it’s still too early in the day. The smell of the place, the noise, the neighbourhood … this is exactly what I expected, really. Truth be told it almost feels like home, gods know I spent enough of my time in places like this during the rebellion, and then again after when I was just turning my hand to the mercenary game. Part o’ me’s almost looking forward to stepping inside …
I turn back to look the others over. Thel looks pretty chill actually, she’s regarding the place with the same kind of cool dispassion I’m trying to affect, while Brung’s like an oyster again, thoroughly unfathomable like always. Tulen, on the other hand, seems as wary as Krakka, gripping the hilt of her sword tight like she’s anticipating trouble, and if she had a staff of her own I suspect she might be squeezing it very much like Gael does. She catches my eye as I look her over, and I see her nerves clear enough in her eyes. She can’t hold my gaze for long.
Darwyn’s just standing by with narrowed eyes, watching the doorway, but I don’t think it’s nerves in her case. A certain wariness, yes, but she seems calm enough all the same, more just a healthy respect for the possibilities she can’t quite resolve since we ain’t gone in yet. Zuldrad seems more stoic, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from him.
Without Big Man or Yes, the only senses amongst us that are sharp enough to catch a threat before it arrives are Zuldrad and Brung. They know the score already, when I look to them they’re starting to scan our surroundings. Nothing looks off, far as I can tell this is just a busy working port with folk up to whatever they need to be right now, but I’ll still have to trust ain’t nothing amiss here I ain’t spotting. Still, when I think about it I’m really missing Yes right now …
All right then, no use faffing about any more … I give the others one last look, then point to Thel. “I know you won’t let me leave you outside, so you might as well come.”
Thel grins a little as she steps up to my side now. “Damn straight.”
Now I point to Darwyn. “You too. Just watch my back while we’re in there, yeah?”
Frowning, Darwyn almost seems a little affronted. “Course.
Finally I turn to Krakka, and I don’t have to say anything to him, I already know he won’t let me bench him now. Not after what’s happened lately. Besides, if anything did go particularly bad in there, might help to have something magic to back us up. “Yeah.” I finally breathe, nodding my affirmation, and he mirrors it.
Tulen’s already watching me when I look up at her, still nervous but starting to get a handle on it now since it’s clear to her that we’re making a move. “Keep an ear out for …” I pause, thinking about it for a moment as I remember that Gael’s essentially benched herself right now. “Just whatever. Y’know, magic stuff. Yeah?”
Frowning, she looks round for a moment, seeming to draw up to her very full height again, which I don’t reckon is even intentional. “Um … yes. Of course. I understand.”
“Good girl.” It’s out before I quite think about what I’m saying, and I notice Tulen’s cheeks quickly darkening as she looks down again, but there’s the start of a smile to her lips too, so I hold onto the apology I was debating on to begin with.
Well … might as well get on with it. Not wanting to start talking myself out of this now I know I ain’t the only one doubting this plan, I just turn and walk for the door, laying my hand on Hefdred’s hilt as a decidedly conscious act this time, needing the reassurance of its familiar touch. Plastering on the most careless face I can muster, I trust the others are following as I step inside.
The Late Bone’s about as rowdy as expected given how it looked from the outside, certainly for what’s still a weekday morning. There’s a band struck up in the corner, and their playing is … admirable, ‘least given the shitty quality of their instruments and a clear lack of real talent, but given the clientele I doubt it’s ever a problem. Besides, there’s plenty of overlapping conversation to soften its impact, several voices raised in levels of drunken boisterousness that only surprises me a little for the time given where we are, and the company. There’s plenty of laughter, the mood comfortable enough, and every once in a while a few folk even try singing along with whatever it is the band’s trying to saw out, but they clearly don’t know the words.
Mostly it’s the atmosphere that takes me back, walking in. The air’s thick with haze, smoky from dozens of different pipes, roll-ups and cigars, only some of which are packed with simple tobacco, but there’s plenty dust in the air too. I get the feeling I’m gonna be feeling light-headed before I get out of here, so I try my best not to breathe too deep. Gotta keep my head clear as I can.
Then again, smell’s strong enough it don’t make much of a difference. The whole place stinks of old spirits, unwashed bodies and more than a little blood, maybe decades of it. I get the impression cleaning’s a low priority of current management, and likely that ain’t been much of a change from the past …
“Fucking hell …” Krakka mutters on my left, and I can tell he’s picked up on the smell well as I did. ‘Course he ain’t so used to places like this, so it’s hitting him already. Giving Thel a good sidelong glance, I notice she’s dealing with it with considerably more grace.
I wonder what Shay might make of this place, and once again I feel the deep regret that she’s not at my side right now. Part of it’s not having her backing me up too, which makes me feel a little naked now, and I’m surprised enough to realise it given how recently she joined our crew … but it’s more just I reckon she’d mostly just be entertained by this. I’m starting to get that coming with us was as much about living her life as getting away from what happened in the mountains, and unpleasant as this might seem it’d probably be another adventure for her to experience.
Interestingly, there’s no sudden dip in the volume of the conversations around us as we enter, nor do we draw anything more than the usual scattering of mildly curious looks from the patrons. That’s telling in itself, if we really were expected I’d imagine there would likely be more of an effort to appear indifferent than any serious, overt curiosity. Part of me starts to relax, but I work hard not to let it get too comfortable. Right now a little paranoia might actually be useful.
The bare boards underfoot creak and shift subtly as we move deeper in, and it almost feels a little like being on the deck of a ship. I suspect that’s somewhat intentional, to put some of the less regular customers at ease. I head for the bar, which isn’t completely blocked by bustling masses yet, so I suspect happy hour’s still a few hours off.
There are two bar-staff bustling away behind it, one a pretty classic curvy human barmaid who’s balancing a tray one-handed as she transfers empties to the washbasin in the corner. She’s very easy on the eyes, actually, I find myself a little struck by her rosy, freckled cheeks and tousled auburn curls, and as we draw close I can’t help checking her out with a more critical eye. Damn … she really is my type. This could be a problem for me …
Clearing his throat, Krakka gives me a subtle nudge, having picked up on my predicament. He knows me too well. Taking a deep breath, I brush my hair from my face, using the momentary block to my vision to tear my eyes away so I can focus on the barman instead.
A half-orc, grown a bit fat now as he’s growing old, his black hair and beard generously streaked with silver now, but he still looks formidable enough. His arms are still thick with muscle, shoulders still broad, and the generous collection of scars that somewhat twist his face certainly add to his dangerous air. Never mind the fact he’s wearing a sword on his hip, clear as day. Guess what I heard about this place was right, they really don’t fuck around with troublemakers here.
He doesn’t look up as we reach the bar, Thel spreading out to stand on my right while Krakka steps aside to let Darwyn in on my other side, even though she definitely can’t see over the bar from where she is. Our cleric’s taking up a position behind me now, I’m sure, turning so he can take in the room around us, and when I hear a little thump behind me I know he’s lowered Bloodmoon to the floor so he can lean on it. More to make a point, mind. I can’t help the slightest tick of a smile at the thought.
“So …” the half-orc drawls in what turns out to be a particularly thick Abharet accent, might be Todahl, as he leans forward onto the bar with both hands, his thick arms flexing impressively as I’m sure they’re intended to. Now he looks up, fixing me with his amber eyes. “What’s your poison?”
“Reckon I’ll take a pint o’ your best ale.” I look to Thel. “You?”
“Same.” She gives her short chin whiskers a little scratch. “The stuff at the temple’s fine, but it’s getting a little old, if y’know what I mean.”
“Thorin yes, you’re right about that.” I look back to the barman, who’s not moved yet, just stood observing our conversation with a quirked brow. “Yup, two please. Darwyn, luv?”
“I’m fine, actually.” she pipes up from below the top of the bar, prompting a slightly higher twitch to that brow as he focuses on me now.
“How ‘bout your other friend?” He rumbles as he steps back enough to reach under the bar and select two fresh wooden tankards. “The beaky one.”
I don’t turn to check on Krakka, I know he heard that and he’s likely bristling a little, but he’s committed to watch out now, so I doubt he’s turned. Instead I maintain my cool focus on the barman. “Nope, he’s good too. Not really here to drink anyways, to be honest.”
“Just ordering to be polite then, then.” He watches me for a moment longer before turning to the various barrels and racks of bottles stacked against the back wall. He goes to one and sets the mug in his left down on one of the shelves, then holds the other under the relevant tap as he twists the spigot. The spume is surprisingly dark, the foam that forms in the head as he tops it off quite thick and heavy, so I imagine this is gonna be some strong, malty beer. Finishing this one, he sets it aside and collects the other mug, repeating the process with a deft hand that speaks of years of practice.
“There you go.” He sets to tankards down in front of us and leans across the bar again, his face not changing a jot. “Be a copper mark each. Whatever you wanna ask’s gonna cost you ‘least a gold’s worth.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Cocking my own brow, I fish in my jacket pocket for a moment before producing a gold mark. Then I look to Thel, who frowns immediately. “Your round.”
“Course it is.” she hisses under a low breath as she starts rummaging through her own pockets. “Sorry I even opened my stupid bloody mouth.”
The barman steps back and folds his arms as he waits on her, but his gaze never leaves me. It’s clear he clocked me as the boss here soon as we stepped in, so he’s decided he’s dealing just with me.
Thel finally finds two copper coins and flicks ‘em onto the bar with a look of cool frustration I don’t find entirely convincing. Looking back to the barman, I hold onto the mark. “We’re looking for an orc. Or a wizard.”
This prompts another eyebrow raise. “Round here? This is a city. The docks, in fact. How you gonna find either o’ those here?”
“Easier than you might think, actually. Orc’s a big fucker, proper huge. Dresses all in black. Be pretty hard to miss. Wizard’s a woman, on the older side, but still spry, looks pretty good for her age. Human, curly hair, going to grey, I reckon. Couldn’t really tell, to be honest. Was pretty dark.”
He don’t answer me, instead reaches out and picks up one of the tankards, then empties the contents right into the slops bucket. He turns back, gives me a look, then does the same with the other one before turning back again. At the same time one of the drunks slumped nearby at the bar suddenly straightens up, turning our way, and now he looks a whole lot more steady on his feet. Human, a few inches taller than me, and a good deal broader, thick in the middle and thinning on top, but he’s clearly still built, looks like he can handle himself. He doesn’t carry any obvious weapons, but he’s already stretching his fingers preparing to ball them into fists, and as he steps forward he gives his neck a little roll, to the left and then the right, like he’s limbering. Mostly, though, he’s making a show of it.
“Looks like you wanna be getting your pretty arse outta here, maybe.” He juts his chin out with a look probably intended to look tough, but I don’t buy it.
I just turn back to the barman, cocking my own brow. “Guess that was a two gold mark question then? You gimme a moment I might have another one on me.”
“Yeah, no. Don’t reckon we got a deal on that one, luv.” The half-orc reaches under the bar now, and when he brings his hand back up he’s got a thick baton of hard, dark wood clutched in it. Not the sword, then. That’s interesting. “Like Teg says, might wanna get gone while you still can.”
More of the customers at the bar move now, but most are just clearing room, moving away from us with varying degrees of clumsiness from more genuine inebriation. Two more step up round us, though, another human man and a young male half-orc, both as big as the first one. Not so sober looking, these two, but I reckon they seem steady enough on their feet.
Taking a step back, I turn so I can take a slow, careful look around the room. Everyone’s watching now, and I’m a moment realising the band seems to have stopped playing too now as the mood starts to spread. Some are just curious, maybe a bit nervous, wondering how this is gonna turn out, but as I look I see a few more shifting about, getting into more subtle flanking positions among the light crowd, more than one readying weapons, it looks like. Hmmm … this is starting to get complicated.
I turn back to the first one to stand, Teg I guess he’s called, and give him another look up and down. He’s pretty easy to size up – he’s big and clearly strong, and he definitely fancies himself a tough bastard, but mostly he looks like a slob, past his prime now. He might’ve been a bankable fighter once, but what’s stood in front of me now don’t really impress. So I smile, one of my special cat’s smiles, like I know something he don’t. “Darwyn, luv? Reckon you might wanna step out the way now.”
“Oh … yeah, ‘course.” I’m keeping my eyes trained on Teg’s and I don’t hear her move away, but I don’t doubt she does it all the same, seeing my would-be opponent look down to watch her progress is indicator enough. “Gotcha.”
Teg looks back up at me again, and he cocks his head a little, still jutting his chin. “You don’t scare me, Butch. Don’t reckon you’re half so tough as you look.”
Someone snorts behind me, stifling a laugh, and I figure it’s Thel. Through the corner of my eye I see the barman narrow his eyes, growing a little more critical as he watches me now, and I see he’s still holding his truncheon casually at his side, not worrying about getting in the middle of anything yet. So far Teg’s not catching any hints, though.
“Last chance.” he rasps as he plants his feet, now finally balling his fists but not yet raising them.
“For you, yeah.” I shift my own footing subtly, giving my own fingers a little stretch but still leaving my hands loose for now. “Thel, might be smart if you cleared out from behind me too.”
I don’t hear a reply, but her steel-shod boots are far too loud on this wooden floor to miss as she moves away. She don’t go far though, taking up a comfortably close position beside Krakka, who I can just see watching all of this with cool anticipation. He’s got his hands on the Bloodmoon’s shaft now, but isn’t raising it yet. He’s letting me take this, knowing I can handle this threat.
The punch comes with surprising speed, but he gives it away all the same. I barely even need to dodge, just deftly sidestep and let him stumble past me when his fist don’t catch anything but air. He staggers for a beat before turning, still clumsy as he rights himself and raises both his fists. “Fucking bitch.” he growls, low and angry as his face darkens, a lot of blood clearly going to his head now. He takes two weaving steps toward me as he squares up.
I turn the first punch away with my open palm, then block the second with the hard ridge of my other wrist, letting his knuckles grind the steel reinforcements woven onto my bracer. He snarls with anger as he skins ‘em, drawing back for a moment as he ponders the blood starting to well, while I just step back and beckon with my own open hands. He narrows his eyes again and comes right for me, not even thinking before he just bites right down on the bait.
Letting the punch streak close to my face, I twist at the last and snake my left hand up, turning it away before snaking my right up, over and around his trailing arm and turning. I give him a good twist and let his own momentum do most of the work for me, sending him sprawling across the floor in a tangled flop as Krakka steps aside to let him pass. He hits the floor and bounces, much as I expected.
The half-orc’s first to move, but I expected that, he’s likely to be the more sober of the two. Now I square up, seeing a potentially more competent fighter moving up on me this time, and I loosen my footing now, ready to dance if I have to. Da always taught me, footwork’s half the game when you’re fighting hand-to-hand.
Yeah, this one’s definitely looser on his feet too, knows how to move as he approaches me. He switches stances as he sees me shift my weight, and while he’s keeping his own guard up he’s not bunching his fists. He won’t ball until he’s ready to throw, but by then he’s already be moving. Don’t watch his hands, Kesla. Watch his shoulders, that’s where the punch is coming from.
When he twitches I’m ready for it, so I block the punch and turn is aside while I’m twisting, already ducking out of the way when he follows up with a nonetheless surprisingly precise left hook that I have no doubt would’ve floored me if he’d made contact. By then I’m already moving, and as I surge up under his arm I don’t bother with a punch, instead swinging up my left elbow to clip him hard across his nose. He grunts as he stumbles back, blood already spurting before he can reach up to stem the flow, and by then I’m already following through. Nothing fancy, I just wind up a hard front kick and drive it into his sternum. He goes flying and several of the onlookers behind have to scramble out of their seats to avoid getting taken out too as he lands.
By this point the human’s got his blood up too, and if he was a little quicker on the uptake he could have wiped me out before I had time to react. Instead I’m already starting to turn as he rushes me, and this time all I have to do is jump aside, grabbing his arm before he can even start flailing while he tries to correct and simply slamming him hard into the bar. I grab the back of his head at the last with my free hand while I’m doing it, so as I pound him down I drive his face hard into the wood top, then just let go as soon as he makes contact, stepping back quick so he just bounces off after braining himself. He flops back like a boneless fish, dropping without so much as a sound, his flattened nose leaving a whole lot of blood on the bar top. I take a second step back, tensing a little as I turn back to the barman, just in case he decided to split my skull with his truncheon while I was still engaged.
Instead he’s just stood like he was before, don’t reckon he’s even moved, just watching me as I square up, and I’m a moment realising I’m still not even breathing hard yet. He watches me for a moment longer, then looks past me and I remember the other two.
As I turn I take very quick note of the fact the half-orc’s still reeling from the elbow-shot to the face, struggling to get up from where he’s tangled with a newly-evacuated chair while his nose continues to gush all over the place. Teg’s back on his feet, though, and while he’s a little unsteady on ‘em now he’s still moving forward again, giving his head a good shake as he starts to square up again. This time as his head clears looks like he’s intending on coming with more caution.
Loosening up my fist now, I take a step towards him before planting my feet and this time I just wait. He sees I’m not gonna initiate and this seems to stump him for a few beats as he stops where he is and takes a look round, but I reckon seeing the whole pub looking right at him now is enough to spur him into moving again. He grimaces as he closes the distance between us now, and as he finally steps up I loosen my footing up at the last, ready to respond.
So it actually takes me a little by surprise when he just rushes me, not even going for a hit but just trying to bull into me as he twists so he can throw his shoulder forward. I barely react in time to avoid getting ploughed down, and I’m sure he aims to either smash me back against the bar and maybe try and break my back, or just knock me down so he can jump on top of me and start pouring punches down on me. Instead I’m just able to weave aside so as he starts to stumble I simply reach out and give him a strong shove, and the barman realises what I’m doing just in time to jump aside while I hurl Teg bodily at the bar.
Turning arse over tip as he flies right over the bar top, when Teg smashes into the bottle rack he does it backwards and upside down. I see the barman gaping at the wreckage as everything behind him is just ploughed off the shelves, dozens of bottles of hard liquor smashing as they come crashing down, and it’s noisy enough I almost miss the sound of scuffing feet on floorboards. Thankfully I’m already starting to turn, mindful enough that there was one still enough in the fight to pose a potential threat, so I catch up on the younger half-orc as he finally makes it to his feet and starts coming for me again.
That hit he took in the face definitely ain’t doing him any favours, but he’s not swaying on his feet now, his eyes starting to turn red as the blood streaking his face and the front of his shirt as he squares up again. Okay … I widen my stance a bit and plant my feet again as I prepare myself for his next attack.
It’s a kick, which takes me a little by surprise, but he’s not quite quick enough as he attempts to whip the roundhouse up around my left ear and potentially snap my head hard down into the bar beside me. I bring my arm up in time to catch the kick and before he can wind it back I trap it with the other, twisting my blocking hand now to take a firm grip on his ankle and giving the leg a good sharp twist while I lunge hard to the left. He hoots as I drag him off his remaining foot and before he can move in time to save himself I smash him down on his back, prompting a heavy wheeze as all the air’s driven out of him. Then, instead of letting go of his ankle, I shift the grip of my right hand to further up his shin, planting my foot against his raised hip as I start to stoop, and give his leg a good, sharp twist.
His knee bends sharp at an angle it definitely ain’t meant to bend at, and the howl he responds with is a good deal louder than the already substantial sinewy crack from the shattering joint. Now I let go, allowing his now useless leg to flop away as he rolls onto his side and curls into a ball, grasping his ruined knee and starting to rock down there on the floor, whimpering like a scolded child. He won’t be kicking anybody else in the foreseeable future, then.
When I turn back I find Teg’s already getting back to his feet. He’s clearly worse off for the landing, I can see plenty of cuts and scrapes from the broken bottles all over his arms and more’n a few on his face too, he’s a bloody mess, but still steady enough on his feet as he jumps up onto the bar, tensing as he prepares to launch himself at me. So I show everyone what a properly executed roundhouse kick’s supposed to look like.
Teg has no chance. I sweep his feet out from under him before he can spring and for a beat it’s almost like he just hangs in the air, turning a quick little cartwheel before he takes a plunge back behind the bar. He manages to muster a scream as he realises just how fucked he is, but by then it’s too late, his scream cut short as he crashes down with the sound of further smashing glass.
For a long moment nothing happens, the place suddenly dead quiet except for a low, somewhat wet choking sound from somewhere down below the bar, accompanied by the odd clink and clatter of more broken glass. Right now it don’t look like anybody’s too worked up about trying to finish what these three idiots planned on starting. Even the barman’s stood by now, watching me with a slightly shocked look on his face, clearly re-evaluating me now. Then he finally grips the baton in his hand a little tighter and his face sets again, growing darker now as he takes a step towards the bar divider. “Why you –”
“Hoten, stand down!” The voice that checks the barman as he sets his free hand on the trap, preparing to flip it over and set about braining me with his big truncheon, is so full of authority there’s no surprise he’s so quickly stilled. I feel a current run up my spine, my nerves set on edge, but not in an unpleasant way, it’s a strangely warm, tingling crackle through me. I turn to follow it and find the source easy enough, because they’re the only person moving forward while everybody else seems frozen in place.
A man’s moving through the gathered crowd from somewhere in one of the backrooms, and those round him are stepping aside without being bid, some almost without even seeming to know he’s there. It’s a surprising, somewhat uncanny ability, I reckon, makes we wonder if there’s something a bit more going on here, really. I mean sure, the guy’s impressive to look at, but … he doesn’t seem so very impressive that he should produce this kind of effect …
He's not an old man, for a human, anyway, but he’s clearly seen a fair few years, and a lot of ‘em are writ large across him. He’s tall, well over six feet and broad shouldered but not over muscled, ‘least I don’t reckon he is under the long, somewhat battered quilted leather coat he wears. He’s very handsome too, what look like decades of living out in the open seeming to have given him a permanent natural tan without making his skin too leathery, and while he wears a trio of white claw scars across his right eye they don’t detract from his looks at all. Mostly they just make him look even more dashing. He wears his grey-streaked dark hair bound back in a loose, somewhat sloppy ponytail, and his thick, salt-and-pepper beard’s a little scruffy, but not so much as to make him seem slovenly. In fact, while his dress seems somewhat casual, there’s a rakish ease to him that manages to carry it off with suitable aplomb. The man is, indeed, very striking.
As he steps forward he moves with a somewhat swaying gait that could appear drunk, but there’s too much deliberation in it, and I recognise it from my time on a ship when I was first starting in the mercenary game. Here’s a man who spent most of his life on a rolling deck in the high seas, so much so he no longer walks right when he’s on dry land. As he stops several paces short of us, he lets his left hand rest on the dull, dark-grey iron hilt of the sabre strapped at his hip, and I’m a little surprised to notice it seems to be made of metal, at least passingly similar to the replacement limb of Master Hurrig Stormshield. Granted it’s more rudimentary, but still moves like a real hand, and I’m a little taken aback seeing it.
It's very strange, there’s nothing about this man that actually suggests he’s a mage, that there’s anything inherently magical about him, really, he’s just … there’s something about him that holds the eye, beyond his simply striking appearance. I can’t put my finger on it … ‘least until I see a figure moving behind him, following more cautiously, like they’re unsure they should really be there. After a moment I recognise who they are – it’s that wizard woman from the other night. Just the one we been looking for, indeed.
She’s not wearing her robe-coat now, or carrying her staff, so it takes me a moment to recognise her, but I got a good enough look in the end to know it’s her now. Her skin’s darker than I thought it was, ‘least seen through the colour-deadening lenses of my goggles, something of the olive-shaded tone of somewhat from northern Abharet, while I can now categorically conclude her greying curls are a very dark brown. She’s still pretty, but in this light I can see her age more clearly, the lining in her face, mostly round her eyes and mouth. Her eyes are her most striking feature, though, now I can actually see ‘em, the colour of warm honey and very sharp, full of what I’m sure’s a real shrewd intelligence.
When she meets my eyes her own widens considerably, and she seems to shrink somewhat, dropping into her taller companion’s shadow as much as she can. I don’t think she intended to be so readily recognised, or maybe she just didn’t expect us. Either way she looks pretty shocked, and as she attempts to withdraw I feel some of that … effect seem to dissipate, and to be honest I don’t know why I was surprised.
For a few beats everything’s quiet, but I feel the tension creeping back now as her influence starts to lose its grip. I straighten up from my defensive stance now, but when I lay my hand on Hefdred’s hilt this time it’s as much warning as reassurance.
Then the barman, Hoten, I suppose, finally finds his voice again, and he still sounds pissed. “But … Cap’n sir, she … this woman … you seen what she did. This ain’t right. Teg’s pretty fucked up back here.”
The man looks his way and his incredibly dark eyes narrow a fraction, his jaw setting, and the effect, even without the magical influence now, is still pretty impressive. Certainly that’s a look which brooks no argument. “She start it, perchance?”
“Well I … no boss. She didn’t.” Suddenly he sounds so small, and I really gotta resist the urge to turn to see how much he’s just deflated. “It was Teg –”
“Did she draw that impressive looking sword o’ hers?”
I definitely remember the words of warning offered up about this place. They don’t have many real hard-and-fast rules, but the one nobody breaks is about no drawn blades on the premises. To be honest I never even thought about it while I was fighting, but it’s come right back to me now.
“No … she didn’t. She used her hands …” I hear him trail off, and I know that’s it. No more threat there now.
That makes the man raise his brows some, and he looks at me now. I can really feel the weight in that gaze, reckon there really is something in it, actually. Clearly not all of this is down to his pet wizard, there’s something special about this man, but I can’t think what it could be. “That’s some impressive work, young miss. You’re special as I heard you are, definitely. Don’t s’pose you’d be interested in furnishing me with a name, mayhap?”
“Depends. You got a gold mark? I’m told that’s the going rate for information in here.”
This time when he cocks his brow he looks back at Hoten again. “Is it, now?” He smiles now, and there’s something a little dangerous in it. Reckon I know who this is now, the way everyone in here’s so cowed around him. This has to be the current owner of The Late Bone, Orric Jammund. Reputedly a former smuggler and man of adventure. Looking at him, he certainly lives up to his fierce reputation. “That’s a shame, then. I don’t tend to carry cash on me these days.”
“No, I daresay when you own the place you drink for free, right?”
His smile becomes more shrewd now. “Hmm … aye, I’d say that’s one o’ the perks. You’re a sharp one, I’ll give you that.” He cocks his head a touch. “There’s something ‘bout you, too. Not just the company you keep.” He looks past me now, on the other side, and I suspect he’s checking Thel out. “One or more o’ your group we likely had dealings with already, I suspect.”
“No, I daresay that’s all of us now, Master Jammund.” I slowly shift my hand to the scabbard now, stretching the fingers on my right. The itch to draw’s growing now.
“Indeed?” He looks at me again. “How’re you figuring that?”
“Well I ain’t the only one keeping some recognisable company right now.” I look past him, fixing his companion with my stare. “Mainly just wondered where your other friend was. Awful hard to miss, he is. Really stands out in a crowd, ‘specially round here.”
Jammund’s smile fades now, his eyes narrowing. “Ain’t sure I know what you’re talking about. Ain’t nobody here besides me an’ mine. Can’t see why you’d have any business here.”
There’s definite warning in the way he says that, ‘much as in his look now. A real edge to his tone. It’s good as confirmation to my ears, but also tells me pressing any further will only wind up pushing my luck. I get the impression this is about as pleasant as he’s willing to make it right now.
“Right …” I mostly just breathe the word, more to myself than him now. Taking a step away, I turn just enough to cast a sidelong glance at Thel, finding her eyes locked on the man who’s clearly in charge here. There’s something like open hostility in her eyes now, her own hands laid on both her axes on either hip, and I wonder how close she actually is to just snapping right now. Yeah … I can see she ain’t the only one bristling either, Krakka ready to charge too.
Now I’m looking I can see there’s a good deal more surrounding us who are prepared to back this man up if it suddenly turns to real violence, I can see a lot of weapons close enough to hands that clearly ain’t too unsteady from drink yet. Some seem less enthusiastic than others, but none so much they wouldn’t still jump if it came to it. I made pretty short work o’ the first three, didn’t even get outta breath doing it, but I can’t say I like our chances with the rest.
“Yeah … might be time to head out.” I turn back to Jammund again, give him my deepest dead stare. The one I reserve for those I really want to unnerve with just how indifferent I can seem when I want to.
Not sure how big an effect it has on him, mind. “Not gonna give me that name, then?”
I start moving towards the door, turning as I take each slow, careful step so I can keep him in sight. I hear the others moving for the door too, though I suspect Darwyn’s still stepping quiet as she’s always done in the past. Reckon she don’t have much control over that, seems like it’s been pretty well drilled into her like it was with Art. “Why bother? Reckon you’ll find out soon enough.”
That brings another smile to his face, and it’s no warmer than the previous ones have been. Yeah, he’s a dangerous one all right. Reckon I got his number already. This is definitely the place. As he watches us retreat he subtly shifts his footing so he can keep me in sight as well, gently fingering his own sword with those weird metal fingers.
The wizard shrinks a little further behind him now, but she’s not avoiding my gaze anymore. She’s watching me with a more critical eye now, getting my measure probably, so I keep my façade solid as I can the whole way. I don’t start breathing easy again until I finally cleared the doorway and I can turn away at last. I let a big, deep sigh go as I finally relax my shoulders and take my hand off my sword, finding it’s shaking a little.
“So … what now, then?” Darwyn says as we back away from the tavern, Tulen and Zuldrad stepping up to us now, while Brung just hovers a little way off, still scanning.
“Nothing. Not right now.” I give her a look, then take the others in. “We move. Fast. Just cuz they let us leave don’t mean we ain’t in deep shit right now.”
“What happened in there?” Tulen’s looking at the open entrance of the tavern, wide-eyed as she grips her own sword, but when I look back there still ain’t been nobody else come out.
I gotta sigh again, I can’t help it. That was … yeah, didn’t go the way I’d hoped. “Nothing good.”