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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Whizbang Dustyboots" data-source="post: 3415903" data-attributes="member: 11760">"Wuh?"Over at the bar, Emus somehow instinctively knows Renraw's outburst refers to dwarves. Looking to see if he knows the Haurdir in question, he quickly sizes up the situation. He's drunk and he's not too bright, but he's been in enough bar brawls to know what some Farrin lowlifes and that Chandler loudmouth are brewing.He stalks over to Emmerson's table and hoists Reed out from under Skeeter and onto his chair. He hands Reed his greatclub, and as an afterthought, his half-finished drink.He points at Reed."Skeeter, guard."While enjoying watching the dwarves argue in the corner, a slight man notices the drunken, frantic man in the scholar's robes stumbling through the crowd for the door. Never one to miss an opportunity, Stotch moves to intercept him; drunk and frantic are the best things for a man to be, if you're looking for an easy mark."Hold, brother! Are those robes not the colors of St. Feldin's College? I have a cousin attending that fine institution. It's amazing to see a man of obvious learning in orchard country!""WHAT ARE YOU?" Renraw explodes in a panic. "Aside with you, boob!"Renraw swings a fist at the stranger, and shoves his way toward the tavern door."Kran's teats!" Stotch easily dodges Renraw's blow. His dark eyes take in Katadid at the bar, Khenemet-Apep watching from his seat and the worried expression of Bufer. Curious, he decides to follow Renraw outside.Back at Khenemet-Apep's table, Bufer can't hear what's being said at the bar, but even so, watching things unfold, he has a sinking feeling about what's going to happen next. It's not unlike watching one of his idiot brothers' sheep-shearing machines blow itself to pieces, but in slow motion."Ugh, everywhere we go ..." Shaking his head, Bufer turns to the dark-skinned man sitting behind him, still calmly drinking his strange tea as he watches the developing hostilities with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mister Wizard, sir, but I think it might be prudent if we presently vacated these here premises. Things look like they're bound to get rowdy. I'd be happy to show you the back way out, if ye like."With that, he turns and calls to his friends still seated on the other side of the room."EMMERSON! HAZEL! GRAB THE MUD DEMON! WE'RE LEAVING!"The Wizard of Green Mountain scowls and snaps something in a language that Bufer doesn't recognize. The mangy black cat leaps onto his shoulder, and then leaps, all four paws spiky with exposed claws, toward the doorway. By the time the cat lands, the doorway has been cleared in a panic."After you," Khenemet-Apep says to Bufer, slouching out after him.Emmerson hears Bufer's scream over the din of the tavern and stands up to scan the place. He stands up and looks at the source of the commotion."Hazel, take Reed outside. Notify the Constable and Tucker, if you'd be so kind."Hazel grabs Reed by the hand and starts threading her way through the crowd away from the Cat & Fiddle. The errand is about as successful as walking directly into the wind during a storm. For every two steps she takes, the crowd pushes her back a step as heads turn to see what's going on inside the tavern. She barely takes notice of Skeeter trotting purposefully alongside Reed until the hound wiggles its way forward and begins nosing legs out of their path.As she pushes her way out of the Cat & the Fiddle, she can't help but notice Tosh's cousins pushing their way, grinning at the confusion and mayhem to come. One of them winks at Reed.Emmerson approaches Tock and he can see him speak to them in words he can't hear, but he can definitely guess their meaning."Hail, gentlemen," he says, addressing the dwarves. "I just came to tell you all that I have crossed words with Tock Chandler and, without a doubt, they are responsible for his soured disposition tonight. I may have angered him enough so he's taking it out on you. Leave him be tonight with my compliments and a few tankards of The Cat & The Fiddle's finest."The dwarves look from Tock to Emmerson to Tock to Emmerson, weighing their choices."How many drinks, exactly?" Erilon finally asks.</blockquote>

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