Six From Gate Pass - Chapter 3: Shelter From The Storm

[Gregor]

The bar goes quiet as the challenge is issued. Sargeant Smythe turns from his spot at the bar, clearly not fazed by the threat and says: "Listen ere Elf. I may be drunker than a sailor in port but even I ain't dumb enough to call out a soldier in a room full o' soldiers. You draw a weapon in ere and you n' yer friends are lookin' at a long night on the cold stones of the Keep's dungeons."

About 25 soldiers stand up from their various tables and put hands on the hilts of their weapons. Towards the back of the room, Brondwyn throws down an axe in frustration and cries out: "Smythe! If ya wanna bloody up yer knuckles with this ere traveller, then yer takin' it outside. By Moradin's hammer yer spoilin' my fine game!"

 

[digimattic]

Arnir looks around the room with narrowed eyes "Is one little Elf mageling enough to scare you, Sergeant? Perhaps you're smarter than I thought." Arnir glances over at Bannock to get his read on the situation, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

 

[Bannock]

Bannock is squinting at the bullseye about to make his next throw in the game of Axe-or-a-dram when he notices he can hear the whistle in his nose as he breathes, which strikes him as a bit odd. Then he hears Sargeant Smythe's words, so he turns around. He sees that half the bar is standing with their hands on their swords, and they're all giving a dirty look to one poor lanky sod holding a bow.

He gives Alric a punch and says, "Whoa ho! Looks like a fight's brewin'! I wouldn't want to be that bloke."

It takes him another moment or two, in the obscured firelight of the bar, to realize that the lone figure standing in opposition to everyone else is in fact Arnir.

"Oh. Great."

Despite losing, he was enjoying his little game with the dwarves. He sees Arnir's look, and while he's typically inclined to let two men fight it out, it's not typical that the result determines whether or not he gets to spend the night in a dungeon, and he doesn't fancy Arnir's chances.

He grabs a shot of dram and walks over beside the Sargeant.

"Elves, right? Always full of fancy talk and thinkin' they's superior and such! Listen Sargeant, this one I know. I've had to drag him all the way from Gate Pass and lemme tell you more than once I came about as close as you are now to cavin' his fast-talking head in. Don't know how I lasted. But I did last, and this is me and me friends' first night in with a warm roof over our 'eads in weeks. I can't say I want to have to end such celebratory occasion on the floor of the basement in your master's keep. I'd be much obliged to you and your men, skillful guardsmen all no doubt, if you'd let this slide, chalk it up to the elf being a little addled from the road, and let us handle him. You boys should be free to get drunk and go home with some fair lasses. No point in ruining the evening having to drag a bunch of tired travelers to jail. How about it? Have a drink on me."

As he finishes he places the shot of dram in the drunken Sargeant's hand and closes the man's fingers around the cup for him.

 

[Adjuntive]

After being nearly bowled over and recovering from Bannocks friendly jab, Alric looks around to come to grips with what's going on in the tavern. Following suit with Bannock to diffuse the situation, Alric strides over to Arnir with a grim look on his face.

"Arnir, this sodding idiot is not worth your ire. I know I'm not one to talk, that if I were in your position I would be ready to pull my sword and defend my pride. But he's backed down and you have the choice of going to the town's jail, possibly the gallows if things really go wrong, or spend the rest of the evening with a charming lass." He hands Arnir's wench a gold piece and says, "Be a good lass and get my friend here another drink." Turning back to Arnir, "Relax, enjoy yourself. And know if you start something that wasn't coming, the only support you'll get from me is picking up your bloody carcass from the gutter once they're finished with you."

 

[Gregor]

Smythe looks the very large Bannock up and down, blinking slightly through his drunken vision. He lets out sigh and takes the offered dram. After throwing it back, he smacks the empty cup down on the table and mutters: "Soddin' adventurers..." He and his cronies then stumble out of the tavern and into the cool night air.

The other soldiers all seem to relax and go back to their drinks and company. The hum of social enjoyment returns and Brondwyn hollers from the back of the tavern: "Oy! Dis' ere game ain't over till ya reach fit-teen!"

GM: For simplicity, I'm assuming Alric's comment takes place after the Sargaent leaves the bar.

 

[Adjuntive]

Thinking his duty done in helping to diffuse the situation and giving Arnir a much harder pat on the back than necessary, Alric eagerly wanders back over to the game of Axe or Dram.

Win or lose, Alric is enjoying the distraction and friendly competition and he exemplifies this with a friendly pat on Brondwyn and Bannock's back.

"I believe it's your shot Bannock."

 

[funkmamagoat]

Kirio has been steadily drinking and eating, focusing mainly on determinately ignoring his companions as they throw axes, talk poetry, wench around, and almost get thrown into a keep dungeon because of Arnir's pride... He does snicker a bit at the last though.

He particularly enjoys the dwarven ale, savoring every sip, letting it sit a moment on his tongue, inhaling deeply and enjoying its complexity... if he's not mistaken, three different types of hops, two different malted barleys (one deeply roasted, the other quite light), and maybe just a hint of caramel for the obvious extra kick...

			There are times when I love dwarves, beautiful little crazy bastards...

After satiating himself, he sits back, hums his cape into a brightest emerald green he can conjure, winks over at Bannock, brings out his flute and begins to play...

OOC: Kirio is playing inspire courage for Bannock and Alric, +1 on their attack rolls against the bulls-eye

 

[digimattic]

Arnir glares at Bannock spitefully, not really caring that he has been saved a night in the keep. Instead he feels twice humiliated and betrayed. Nodding curtly to the remaining members of his party, he inquires about a private room from the innkeeper and casts a glance behind him to see if the girl has inclination to follow.

 

[Bannock]

Bannock returns Arnir's stare but shrugs his shoulders and puts on an expression as if to say 'What was I supposed to do?' He's not surprised Arnir's angry. After all, he just needs some time to cool off and realize that he was about to deny himself the pleasurable company of his new lady, or any ladies, for many more nights. He returns to his game.

"Now where were we lads? Hiho! Three points for Bannock!"

 

[fromage67]

In his room upstairs, Lars holds his hand up a moment, "Hold." He listens carefully, feeling a sense of foreboding at the sudden silence downstairs. Starting to worry, even through the pleasant haze of a cider intoxication, he thinks about getting out of the bath. Suddenly, the sound of conversation, laughter and bad singing resumes in the common room. Lars relaxes and lowers his hand with a plop in the warm sudsy water. "Never mind, carry on."