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Companions of the Vale encounter the Red Hand of Doom
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<blockquote data-quote="dungeon blaster" data-source="post: 3991006" data-attributes="member: 30575"><p><strong>Chapter 6: The Thirsty Zombie</strong></p><p></p><p>Chapter 6: The Thirsty Zombie</p><p></p><p>Later that evening:</p><p></p><p>"Here we are. The Thirsty Zombie", Talara notified the group as they walked up to a ramshackle building with a sign depicting a zombie drinking from a mug, ale spilling from numerous holes in its body, and six drunken rats cavorting in the ale-puddles.</p><p></p><p>Caetal grinned wickedly. "My kind of place".</p><p></p><p>They entered the tavern, which was empty except for a large, mean-looking half-orc behind the counter spit-polishing a mug. A smoky haze filled the air, and a chill breeze wafted in through cracks in the shuttered windows.</p><p></p><p>Tarquin walked up to the barkeep, a friendly grin on his face, and plunked a silver onto the bar. "Mug o' yer finest my good barkeep!"</p><p></p><p>The half-orc scowled, filled the mug he had been polishing with a thick, dark brew, and placed it on the bar. He pocketed the silver coin.</p><p></p><p>Tarquin waited for the half-orc to make change. He didn't. "Um...keep the change", Tarquin muttered.</p><p></p><p>"We're here for the fight", Talara said to the barkeep. The barkeep nodded, pointed towards the wall.</p><p></p><p>"Ah, so that's where all the classy patrons must be" Tarquin grinned. "'Cuz this place is emptier than one of your performances, Talara".</p><p></p><p>It was Talara's turn to scowl. She stepped over to the wall, pushed, and the wall swung open, revealing a wooden staircase leading down. The smoke was even thicker down here, and the muted sounds of shouting could be heard. The group began to walk down the stairs when the barkeep growled, "Hey! Smiley! No Weapons!". The group turned to look at Tarquin, who was carrying his long sword. The others had left their weapons at the inn.</p><p></p><p>"Whoops." Tarquin saddled over to the barkeep, unbuckled his sword and laid it on the bar. "I want you to take real special care of this. It's a family heirloom." The barkeep's dark, piggy eyes gleamed with greed, and Tarquin noticed the look crossing the barkeeps face. He took out a small handful of gold coins. "This is my payment for entrusting you with the guardianship of my blade. Okay?"</p><p></p><p>The half-orc formed his mouth into a shape that could have been a grin. "I'll take real good care of it".</p><p></p><p>"Thanks." Tarquin walked towards the door, stopped and turned. "One other thing. I can't leave here empty-handed -- so I'll either be leaving tonight with my sword, or your head. You do not want to mess with us."</p><p></p><p>The half-orc growled in anger, but he knew that he wouldn't have a chance against five tough-looking adventurers. Survival came before greed, after all. He nodded.</p><p></p><p>---------</p><p></p><p>The stairs led down to a large, square basement 40' on a side, ringed with tiered benches -- a small, underground gladiatorial arena. Already, throngs of disreputable looking people occupied the benches, drinking, cursing, waving coins in the air, and calling out their bets to a gray-haired bet-taker in the center of the room, who collected their money and scribbled in a notebook. While the rest of the Companions took their seats on one of the benches, Tarqiun walked up to the bet-taker.</p><p></p><p>"So how does one get in on the fight?", he asked the harried-looking man.</p><p></p><p>"What? You want to bet?"</p><p></p><p>"No. I want to fight."</p><p></p><p>"Oh! Just give me your name. You've never fought before, right?"</p><p></p><p>"Not here. Who would I fight?"</p><p></p><p>"It's random. So do you want to do it or not? You'll get 20% of the cut if you win"</p><p></p><p>Tarquin thought for a moment. The bet-taker glared impatiently. "Ok.", he said.</p><p></p><p>"What's your name?"</p><p></p><p>"Caetal."</p><p></p><p>The bet-taker took out a piece of parchment and wrote "Caetal" on it. The list already contained a dozen names. "Alright, You'll be called down when it's your turn to fight."</p><p></p><p>"Thanks", Tarquin smiled, and trotted back up to join his friends.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="dungeon blaster, post: 3991006, member: 30575"] [b]Chapter 6: The Thirsty Zombie[/b] Chapter 6: The Thirsty Zombie Later that evening: "Here we are. The Thirsty Zombie", Talara notified the group as they walked up to a ramshackle building with a sign depicting a zombie drinking from a mug, ale spilling from numerous holes in its body, and six drunken rats cavorting in the ale-puddles. Caetal grinned wickedly. "My kind of place". They entered the tavern, which was empty except for a large, mean-looking half-orc behind the counter spit-polishing a mug. A smoky haze filled the air, and a chill breeze wafted in through cracks in the shuttered windows. Tarquin walked up to the barkeep, a friendly grin on his face, and plunked a silver onto the bar. "Mug o' yer finest my good barkeep!" The half-orc scowled, filled the mug he had been polishing with a thick, dark brew, and placed it on the bar. He pocketed the silver coin. Tarquin waited for the half-orc to make change. He didn't. "Um...keep the change", Tarquin muttered. "We're here for the fight", Talara said to the barkeep. The barkeep nodded, pointed towards the wall. "Ah, so that's where all the classy patrons must be" Tarquin grinned. "'Cuz this place is emptier than one of your performances, Talara". It was Talara's turn to scowl. She stepped over to the wall, pushed, and the wall swung open, revealing a wooden staircase leading down. The smoke was even thicker down here, and the muted sounds of shouting could be heard. The group began to walk down the stairs when the barkeep growled, "Hey! Smiley! No Weapons!". The group turned to look at Tarquin, who was carrying his long sword. The others had left their weapons at the inn. "Whoops." Tarquin saddled over to the barkeep, unbuckled his sword and laid it on the bar. "I want you to take real special care of this. It's a family heirloom." The barkeep's dark, piggy eyes gleamed with greed, and Tarquin noticed the look crossing the barkeeps face. He took out a small handful of gold coins. "This is my payment for entrusting you with the guardianship of my blade. Okay?" The half-orc formed his mouth into a shape that could have been a grin. "I'll take real good care of it". "Thanks." Tarquin walked towards the door, stopped and turned. "One other thing. I can't leave here empty-handed -- so I'll either be leaving tonight with my sword, or your head. You do not want to mess with us." The half-orc growled in anger, but he knew that he wouldn't have a chance against five tough-looking adventurers. Survival came before greed, after all. He nodded. --------- The stairs led down to a large, square basement 40' on a side, ringed with tiered benches -- a small, underground gladiatorial arena. Already, throngs of disreputable looking people occupied the benches, drinking, cursing, waving coins in the air, and calling out their bets to a gray-haired bet-taker in the center of the room, who collected their money and scribbled in a notebook. While the rest of the Companions took their seats on one of the benches, Tarqiun walked up to the bet-taker. "So how does one get in on the fight?", he asked the harried-looking man. "What? You want to bet?" "No. I want to fight." "Oh! Just give me your name. You've never fought before, right?" "Not here. Who would I fight?" "It's random. So do you want to do it or not? You'll get 20% of the cut if you win" Tarquin thought for a moment. The bet-taker glared impatiently. "Ok.", he said. "What's your name?" "Caetal." The bet-taker took out a piece of parchment and wrote "Caetal" on it. The list already contained a dozen names. "Alright, You'll be called down when it's your turn to fight." "Thanks", Tarquin smiled, and trotted back up to join his friends. [/QUOTE]
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