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Message: <blockquote data-quote="mistersolve" data-source="post: 5143033" data-attributes="member: 89121">Gavin's Wall O' Text 2: Electric BugalooWith the ale and spirits flowing freely and the savory scent of smoked meats wafting through the air, the evening began splendidly.  Before long, Gavin and company were well into their cups.  And, full of inebriated enthusiasm, the idea had somehow sprung from somewhere within the group that it was time to take the celebration on the road...after one more round, of course!  As it was Gavin's turn to fetch the drinks, he staggered happily across the Gith's planked floor to refresh the beverages.  And so it was that on his way back, burdened with a tray crammed with so many heaping tankards that he had resorted to stacking them upon themselves like blocks, Gavin first happened upon the curious strangers.  Have you ever laid eyes upon a man and simply been struck by an odd, gestalt feeling, somewhere deep in your gut, that he is somehow subtly yet markedly extraordinary?  That somewhere just below the surface of this apparently normal being lies the capacity for greatness?  Perhaps you have not, which is understandable; such a rare creation would surely be among the most valued prizes in any menagerie, were it constructed sturdily enough to hold its powerful captive.  But if you have      ever felt this strange sensation, chances are that you've seen what they call an adventurer.  And if you have been fortunate enough to behold this sight, you can only imagine how you would feel in Gavin's shoes as he half-tripped over several of them, sitting together at the same table.           Now Gavin, being rather obtuse even at his most sober, hadn't the slightest inkling of any odd sensations, save for perhaps the drunken tingling of the spirits in his extremities.  But being an altogether polite fellow, he proceded to engage the strangers and offer them some of the fermented bounty he had gathered.  After introducing himself, Gavin stumbled over to an open seat and squinted at them smilingly through the wondrous haze of drink addled eyes, a ridiculously large tankard balanced gently upon one knee like a favorite nephew.  On the surface, they seemed a friendly lot, salt of the earth fellows dealing with the vexations of everyday life.  And like many of the militiamen assembled tonight in the Gith, they had clearly dedicated themselves to disciplines of war in one form or another.  But signs of their exemplary prowess were evident in their own insidious ways: in a brief glimpse of rippling muscle, a preternaturally easy agility, or a shrewd glance that constantly scanned the premises, registering every detail.  The group exuded an air of dangerous competence.  Despite his drunken state, or maybe because of it, Gavin decided that these were some truly interesting people.  He'd just resolved to really make an effort to get to know them, when suddenly The Limping Gith turned into a pitched battlefield.  To poor Gavin, the whole affair became rather a blur, a runaway carousel of screams, loud clangs, and the unmistakable scent of blood as those gathered closed ranks to repel their assailants.  When the shouting finally subsided, Gavin found himself beside his deadly new acquaintances.  They were standing over a small pile of dead goblins.  And although he was uncertain of precisely what had occurred, Gavin could not suppress a grin.  No matter what happened next, he could at least content himself in the knowledge that the events would be a far cry from the doldrums of rote daily routine.</blockquote>

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