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Oscar stands and extends his hand in greeting. "I am Oscar De Reign. We are indeed the men and women you have heard of." He says with a smile. "And I have heard of the exploits of the Bremen as well. How may we be of service?"
Just as he's saying this he realises he should have let Corp. Cromwell do the talking. He averts his eyes to Cromwell and blushes slightly.
"Oh! Sorry. I didn't want to bother you. I was just lost in my thoughts. You're doing a great job with him. You are doing a great job, I wouldn't fear to let you take care of any animals."
On that Hewik leaves the stable to go back to the Inn, but just as he leaves, he say to the man.
Cromwell shrugs away Oscar's unspoken apology, and also stands and extends his hand. "I am Corporal Cromwell, of the malitia of Seven." He waves his hand in the direction of those present, introducing each in turn. "Several more of the squad," continues Cromwell, deciding squad is a good a name as any for the group "are elsewhere at the moment. So," says Cromwell, introductions complete, "what can I do for you..." Cromwell, hesitates, unsure if Ubersaxe is a name or a title, and generally unsure of how to address the man, "Ubersaxe Rothweil." He settles on the safest course; the Bremen can always tell him to say less.
"I am Oscar De Reign. We are indeed the men and women you have heard of." He says with a smile. "And I have heard of the exploits of the Bremen as well. How ..."
From the other table there is a thunderous crash as mugs, fists and knives are slammed down onto the tabletop. "Bremen!" comes the chorus from the men sitting there. "Bremen! Bremen! Bremen!" The chant rises in volume and speed until speach is impossible and then, silence.
" ... dy savages should be run out .. of ....town." The voice of the craftsman carries across the room as clear as a bell.
The Ubersaxe flicks his head in the direction of the three before returning his attention to you.
"Of course you have heard of us my friend. Only the newborn and the dead don't know of us. Although many of the latter did, at least briefly. We are the monsters mothers use to frighten their children into obedience. ..." His voice is low and quiet and commanding, and a faint smile plays on his lips.
As the ubersaxe talks, four of the Bremen rise and move over to the third table. One of the craftsmen makes to get up but a firm hand guides him back down.
"We are the winnowers of the chaff," continues the Ubersaxe. "We are Deaths Handmaidens. We are the Bremen."
The Ubersaxe speaks calmly and without heat, but his voice seems to fill the room. Words are being exchanged at the other table, but too quiet for you to make them out from where you sit. Mugs are taken from the craftmen's hands and they are lifted to their feet.
re whats happening at the other table:
sense motive 5:
the bremen are going to beat up the craftsmen
sense motive 10:
ignore the above + they are going to throw the craftsmen out of the tavern.
sense motive 15:
as above + the Bremen move calmly, like people doing their shopping at the market.
sense motive 20:
as above + the bremen are enjoying themselves. There seems to be little heat in their actions, like this is a game they play.
spot 10:
the halfling remains sitting on the Bremen's table.
spot 15:
The Bremen carry no weapons other than knives.
"Its a pleasure to meet you Oscar De Reign."
ooc; TH, I loved your post. Particularly Cromwell's hesitation and uncertainty with 'Ubersaxe'. But I couldn't resist. Feel free to edit your post to reflect the Ubersaxe's responce to Oscar's comment etc.
Cromwell eyes narrow slightly and his hackles rise as his gaze flicks from the crafters being shown the door by the Bremen. He rises and extends his hand to the Bremen, wondering if he is doing something stupid. In his own way, he can be as foolish as Oscar.
"Corporal Cromwell," he says curtly, the introduction of the others at his table temporarily forgotten. He proceeds in a businesslike manner, and his hands are folded, at-ease style, behind his back. "Ubersaxe Rothweil, your men appear to be laying hands on some other members of this establishment. Were they causing trouble? Did the barkeep express some desire that they be removed?" His continues looking the Ubersaxe in the eye, and without waiting for an answer he continues in a voice pitched only to carry to the Ubersaxe. "Leave the regulars alone, Rothweil, or Death's handmaidens spend the night in the goal for assault.* Back off, and we can all go out tomorrow and kill some Goblins." Cromwell bares his teeth a little, relying on the common conceptions of his ancestry to lend it a little savagery.
He just hopes he hasn't just set a ball in motion that will result in a tavern knife-fight with hardened mercenaries.
Oscar sees what is happening (Sense motive 20+7=27/ Spot 16-1=15) and instantly looks to the bremen leader.
"I would suggest you not allow your men to harrass the locals. We would not allow you to mistreat them." He says a bit louder than he needs to. "I'm sure there is a better way to solve this issue, one without bloodshed."
OOC: I'm going to introduce my character here, if that's alright. If not, disregard this post.
The door opens for a moment and a man stoops slightly to enter through it. He is large, easily topping everyone else in the tavern, with a breadth to match. In one hand he carries a thick staff. For a moment he sizes up the scene before him before walking slowly over to the bar, deliberately ignoring the rest of the room.
A grin flashes across Rothweil's face at this. But he says nothing until Cromwell, and then Oscar have finished.
At that moment, the door opens and a tall well built man enters the tavern. He pauses for the briefest moment before continuing across the room to the counter and ordering an ale.
ooc: welcome aboard Nac Mac.
The Ubersaxe's gaze flickers over to the stranger, but then back to you as soon as the stranger reaches the counter and orders his ale. Rothweil angles his head a little in the direction of the Bremen behind him.
"What seems to be happening over there Gunthos?"
"These men were just leaving Ubersaxe! We thought that we would help them on their way as they have had a few and are a little unsteady on their feet."
On of the craftsmen says something that sounds suspiciously like something Morrus' grannie wouldn't appreiciate. There is a suddened surge of movement and one of the craftsmen and a Bremen stagger back a few steps and crash into another table before the craftsman crashes to the floor.
"See what I mean. Can't hold their ale, these local boys." Gunthos turns to a Bremen beside him. "Well, help him up and lets get him home to his wife and brats."
"You're not planning any bloodshead are you?" asks the Ubersaxe.
"Not tonight Ubersaxe. Just had me first bath in two weeks, i did."
The Ubersaxe turns back to you and shrugs as if to say See, no harassment here.
Cromwell lets out a barely perceptible snarl as the craftsman hits the floor. Cross a goddamned line why don't you. Those who know him will see the lines between iron self-control, religious fervor, and ancestral rage blend into a terrifying mix on Cromwell's face. His voice is iron and his eyes promise violence.
"Ubersaxe, I'm placing you and your men under arrest for assault. Justice demands it." He pulls a set of manacles from his belt with deliberate slowness. "And so it shall be." His body language is clear. Come quietly. Or not. Guess which one I'd prefer?
"Son, a word of advice, never fight mad. But if you think that you can put those on me, your welcome to try."
ooc: you are currently at a long table. Long enough for 3 a side, with a equally long bench on each side. The Ubersaxe stands about 5' from one end of the table. Something like this:
--ABCDEFGH
1 ........
2 ...AL...
3 U.
TTT
S..
4 ...CO...
5 ........
There is about 5' clear space between the tables in the room. Enough room for two people to pass move past each other in normal conditions.
