Skølrykk fills his horn and drains it again, showing nothing on his face though his head has begun to swim.
Aye!
Kevkul gulps down his 3rd horn, contented at the warm feeling emanating from his belly. Truly he feels blessed by the Lucky Drunkard.
Glancing at the Irrisenians, he assesses the their fortitude to drink on.
After Kev downs another, Luke throws back his head in laughter at the Northmen and slaps a Gold Mark on the table.
AHA! A gold mark on my dwarven friend here that the two of you fall long before he is done with his drinkin'! Any takers?
Not taking his intense stare from Ragnar, Black Halvr growls a reply at Luke in gutteral Auld Iobarian;
"Feh... Just one mark little wóriend? Min 50 markku say your dweorg will wane like a Linnwormer's pintel in wintertid! HAR-HAR-HAR!"
The brute Irrisenr matches Skølrykk's horn with one of his own, then once again doubles up with a second to match Kevkul. The final draught empties the jug and, timely is the arrival of two more jugs at the hands of the innkeeps child...
The fiery dweorg medu courses through your system and you feel its full effect [ooc]Consider yourself as having the Sickened condition for one hour... To drink on will require a DC 13 Fortitude Save...
Truly you indeed feel the Splendig Wesa's honeyed embracing of his faithful. The divine thirst rises within you...
Kevkul's seasoned eyes sees the Black Halvr has but sipped at a horn while egging on his grey giant of a companion. As for the jotunn sized Irrisenr, Kevkul gauges that he too is a seasoned medu-haller who shows little ill effect... as yet...
Luke stares down Black Halvr...
Aye, æhtspédig man, are ya? I dinna want to take all yer markku. What say 35 on me dweorg?
Skølrykk fills another horn and drinks it down quickly, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand as he finds his second wind.
Fortitude:
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Calling upon the stories of his homeland and the tales of the bastard sons of the North that dwell in the frozen Eastern wasteland, Ragnar turns his sombre voice to an ode...
The story tells of the Blackravens of Hagsreach sworn defenders of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings and their constant defense against the degenerates from Irrisen. Verses of their strength of arm and then also of how upon their raids they find the men of Irrisen subjected to buggery and worse at the hands of the ice trolls.
Aid another to stir Skolrykk's patriotic loins:
Happiness wells within the dweog's chest as he senses his god is with him. Beaming, he seizes the jug and bellows out loud, Skål !! before drowning himself in the jug's contents.
The assembled patrons of the medu-hus grow silent at the stirring tale of Ragnar's homelanders and the brave struggle against Baba Yaga's foul dohtor's...
The assembled women and children giggle and gasp at Ragnar's grim descriptions of the Iss Trow's tupping habits... While the men-folk noticeably shift on their stools and grimace...
Black Halvr acknowledges Luke's drop in bet with a wolfish grin... "Aye! Rich indeed from THAT one's (tilts shaggy head towards Ragnar) hórcwene bearncennioge paying me to spear her! HAR!"
The brute continues with a gutteral chuckle;"Heh nei geléaffulnes in the dweorg eh? Fair enough wóriend 35 markku it is..."
However Halvr's smirk is soon stolen by Ragnar's saga... as the tale clearly cuts deep...
Amid the shouts and rhythmic thumping of cups, horns and tankards from the patrons at Kevkul's display of medu-drinking, the grey giant roars and downs once more two horns of the potent brew.
His braids soaked with medu he answers Kevkul's toast with one of his own: "Se Heoruwearg!
Your head swims and stomach begins to lurch as the dweorg brew bites hard, but Ragnar's tale girds your loins and pride as you down another horn. Still Sickened but as your aided its still a DC 13 Fort Save to drink on... For the North!
You drain a jug dry, the medu warming your heart and soul Truly the Spendig Wesa sups with you tonight! (No ill effects as yet...)
Amid the chaos and drunkeness, Muli feels a light but persistant tugging at his furs... It is the innkeeps child, who points nervously at the Iss Trow's head sat upon the table. Drawing Muli close he whispers;
"Is that a real really dead EÓTEN? Can I touch it sire? Won't bite me will it? My friend Sallur says trow can bite even when worulddéad..."
Ragnar takes grim satisfaction in wiping the grin from Halvr's face, but his mind is on the future affray.
Skølrykk fills his horn, bolstered by Ragnar's tales of glorious adventure, and drinks again.
Fort:
Muli pats the Trow head. "Oh, aye, he's worulddéad. This Trow spent so much time stretching his mouth while yelling at Muli and his friends, Ragnar, here, jumped down his throat and burst out of its stomach. BOOM! This head was all that was left. Muli says 'Roar!' ". Muli picks up the head and rocks it back and forth in a playful threatening way in front of his own face.
The lad's eyes grow ever wider at Muli's tale and he jumps backwards with a jolt when the trow heid roars and moves...
Finding the lad more enjoyable than the drinking contest, Muli tells more old tales of Trow and Cyclops, using the Trow head like a ventriloquist's dummy to act out the scary bits and the stuffed Ice Toad as a fill in for the heroes, with each prop often interrupting to add certain missed details in each story to the delight of the child.
<squeaking>"This is the part where I trick him into bathing in the boiling cauldron."
Revelling in the sweet golden warmth of the medu, Kevkul eyes the jotun sized Irrisenr, before lifting a second jug and smacking his lips, daring them to follow suit. Kevkul's neck knot down the gulps of medu as he drains the second jug.
Getting tired of the barbs from the second ice man and the time it is taking for the drinking competition to play out, Ragnar sidles closer to him counting aloud "En... två..."
Seems its not just the innkeeps child whose drawn in by Muli's theatrical meat puppetry
As well as the child, several of the other patrons and the waitress have become enthralled by the wild ventriloquist.
The inn-keep himself stays far more focussed on the drinking contest, shooing a frustrated look at his distracted staff as he bangs two more jugs of medu before the drunkers;
As Ragnar moves toward Black Halvr, the drinking contest audience's smattering of chants drifts with the air of impending confrontation.
Despite being deep in his cups Skølrykk continues to do his ancestors proud and keeps pace with the dweorg and veteran Issernr.
Kevkul drains the remaining jug soaking his beard with the golden liquid.
As fresh medu arrives the huge Irrisenr drains a horn for each of his opponents.
Fort Save DC13:
As he finishes the last drop of his second horn, he sways a little at the table but with a snarl shakes off the helm of drunkenness...
Your heads swims with the strong dweorg medu, but you swear your ancestors drink with you at the table.
The warm embrace of the Spendig Wesa is clear, although draining a second jug tests even your dweorg spirit... Yet still the thirst is there!
Ragnar's intentions do not go unnoticed as several patrons shift their postions at seats and benches for a better view.
Black Halvr bellows in thick Skaldic;
"þrír!
and adopts a fighting stance with a grim smile...
Round 1:
Ragnar doesn't finish his count, instead leading with a right hook straight at Halvr's kidney...
Punch - Power attack (non-lethal): for
Round 1 o' The Rammie
Black Halvr sways to avoid Ragnar's haymaker hook, leaving the vikingr swiping air.
With a wolfish grin he counters with a clubbing arm smashing down upon Ragnar's broad shoulder;
Clubbing Arm (non lethal):
Damage - NL:
Several patrons scatter as the simmering fight erupts, the serving boy places more jugs of medu on the nearby table, then shadow boxes in excitement as Ragnar squares up to the Irrensenr...
The companions continue to account themselves well, young Skølrykk keeping pace with the dweorg priest well. With a grip like treacle he reaches for and downs another horn of strong medu;
This may well be one draught too many...
Kevkul clearly is revelling the contest, and his thirst has yet to be slaked...
While now you still are easily standing as more potent medu soaks your beard and warms your belly!
Grunting at his companions temper, the giant grabs a horn, salutes Skølrykk in a mocking salute and drains the vessel dry...
DC15 Fort Save
...and roars in seeming triumph as he downs another whilst nodding towards Kevkul;
DC15 Fort Save
... before his eyes roll in his skull and he totters...
You notice a chill wind enter the ale-hus, as the door to the outside swings open... heralding the sound of mail and booted feet...
Round 2:
Ragnar accepts the blow and lets it drive him down to absorb some of the impact. However he straightens explosively soon after sending an uppercut into the Irrisinier's gut...
Punch - Power attack (non-lethal): for
Fort:
Skølrykk raises his tankard of mead and drains it, letting out a mighty belch afterwards! He does not seem to notice the fight at all...
Everything seems to happen at once;
A roar from the crowd as Ragnar and Black Halvr engage in their brawl, a gasp as the mighty Irrensenr staggers backward, shaggy head lolling as the dweorg medu takes his legs from him...
And a shout from the door as Gréata the tall guard serjeant and half a score of armoured guardsmen enter the langhus; Slochich, a young recruit from Brevoy.
Gréata's voice cuts through the throng and din, clear and sharp:
"Norðerne! Streppen your ungeþwærnes! All féðegest ábídan... This is but a sámbryce... do nei make it onwendan!"
Behind her, guardsmen nervously level spears towards the brawlers...
Ragnar does not take his eyes off the Irrisiner at the arrival of the watch. Speech slipping into the Skaldic dialect of his homelund he growls "Tillbaka bort guardsmanen är detta en blodsfejd ..." keeping his fists clenched and spitting at the inbred get of an ice troll's feet. "Jag betalar weregild till dynghög när jag tar tänderna."
The guards resolve wavers in the face of a Vikingr with his blod up.
However their serjeant remains resolute and takes in the scene with a hard set to her jaw;
She addresses Luke and Muli
"Dræfend! Wilde-Meduwyrhta! Tell your Norðerne ealdgenéat to begíemung! We behéfþ nei mare demm!"
Black Halvr smiles wolfishly at Ragnar, whilst his companion groans drunkenly upon the ale-hus floor.
The folk of Gannawear who crowded round the drinkers, now have moved back, giving would be combatants (and the guardsmen) room...
Round 3:
Ragnar blocks out the words of the guardsmen, focused solely on his opponent. Breaking the seal on the source of the blod rage within he lets it's ferocity floor through him as he cuts a killer's grin. Launching at the Irrisiner with a howl he throws a wild haymaker...
Raging Punch - Power attack (non-lethal): for
...that misses by a wide margin, but should be enough to convey intent at the least.
Luke stands and addressed the leader of the guards.
You ágælest yer men back! This is between the two of them to settle with their fýste.
Diplomacy:
Heeding Luke's words and knowing his character to be true Gréata reluctantly nods at the group and bids her men lower their spears;
Black Halvr barks a laugh at Ragnar's wild flailing, mocking the vikingr...
"Har! Þú blakt þinn vopn eins og a hræddur móðir gæs Linnormer!"
... before planting a meaty elbow into Ragnar's jaw...
:
:
Meanwhile as the rammy ebbs and flows, Black Halvr's massive companion snores loudly - deep in his cups upon the ale-hus floor.
You notice the jotunn sized Irresenr has a heavy purse at his belt and a ring upon his finger...
Luke laughs and pats Kevkul on the back.
It appears that I am owed 35 Gold, no?
Round 4:
Ragnar takes the elbow to his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of his own blod and using it to further fuel his might. He turns back at the Irrisiner and spits "Bättre det än att hanrej av en is troll." as he faints a left hook before driving forward with a shoulder charge at Halvr's gut...
Raging Shoulder Charge - Power attack (non-lethal): for
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Skølrykk hiccups.
Har! The Lucky Drunkard drinks too at this table!
The dwarf peers on to the form of the sleeping giant before Luke pats him on the back and Kevkul pats Skolrykk in a gesture that would be noted as pride.
Ye drink like a dwarf! Let us watch the brawl and invite the law for a round of medu on the house.
Kevkul fills up a horn and pulls a chair, gesturing the guards to help themselves to the medu jugs while he looks on the vikingr trade blows.
Muli gathers his props at the outburst of the fight and tries to get out of the way.
He stumbles and falls upon the drunken giant. There is a noticeable clink of coins as to comes to a rest. hmmm...lucky this bag of coins broke Muli's fall.
The guard look to their serjeant, who gives a slight shake of the head, then a nod of thanks to Kevkul before returning her gaze to the combatants;
Round 4 o' the Rammy
Ragnar's shoulder charge lifts the Irrenser clean off the ground as he grunts in pain.
"Urggh! Linnormer skita!"
Scrabbling to keep his feet Black Halvr attempts to grapple the vikingr;
:
Despite Muli landing on the other Irrenser, he does not stur...
The way the giants eyes roll in his skull, the medu has taken him for a long time... perhaps til the morn...
Round 5:
Ragnar lets him come, using the momentary opening to draw back his head before slamming his temple forward aiming at Black Halvr's nose...
AoO Raging Headbutt - Power attack (non-lethal): for
...though his aim is spoiled. Felling the Irrisiner's arms get a solid grip he lets fly with a hearty and unworried laugh making no attempt to free himself... before dropping his weight entirely on his right and driving his knee at Black Halvr's right leg...
Grappled Raging Knee - Power attack (non-lethal): for
Muli pulls his pack close. He stuffs his props, one dead, the other dangerous, back into pack. They provide a muffle as a third item, a bag of coins, quickly follows into the pack. He comes back out with his pipe and a content look to watch the fight, safely behind his giant pack.
Ragnar's attack causes the Irrenser's knee to buckle momentarily with a grunt.
The black haired wildman's grip slackens but does not release...
Perception
As Black Halvr struggles with Ragnar, he clearly is far too distracted to notice any of Muli's lightfingered actions. (So too are the patrons and the guardsmen...)
The bag of coins was particularly heavy... boding well for when you count the contents...
As the brawl continues some of the guard sneak a sip of medu with the dweorg and his comrades.
As you view the scrap, you notice Petrik in the background determinedly siphoning a jug of medu into a waterskin
So where are my winnings? 35 Gold, I believe.
Rammy Round 5
:
The Irresenr's grip tightens once again...
Kevkul looks on to the brawling Northerners with a warm feeling in his gut. Noticing what his new disciple is up to, Kevkul fishes out his tankard within his pouch and gives it a good slide up on the table towards Petrik.
Yar! Fill it up and drink! 'Tis mead to be savored now and we'll haul all the drink we can later.
Luke reaches over to the slumbering giant, and without trying to hide his actions, pulls the ring off of his finger. He speaks to the slumbering form.
Since ya cannot pay me in gold, I'll be takin' this friend.
Round 6:
Ragnar does not relent in his brutal assault on Halvr's leg kicking and driving his knee repeatedly into it and punctuating each violent thrust with a growl of brutal intent...
Grappled Raging Knee - Power attack (non-lethal): for
Petrik nods at his mentor dutifully and fills the dweorg's stein to the brim with golden medu. Dodging the brawl, the acolyte brings Kevkul his tankard with reverence and glowing pride;
If any of the guard disapprove of Luke's actions, non voice it. He slips the ring off the giants finger with ease;
The ring is a simple silver band lined with some kind of animal fur... perhaps wolf. It gives the trinket an appearance of elegent savagery.
... its giant former owner's response... a deep snort as he continues his drunken slumber.
Meanwhile the business at hand (to hand) continues;
Rammy Round 6
Balck Halvr reels at Ragnar's onslaught, and he releases his grip as his leg buckles and he staggers backward into the crowd...
Gasp and shouts mix with the sound of spilt horns as the brutish Irrenser grips a table for stability.
Then just as it looks the Vikingr has the advantage Halvr's broad back flexes and he utters a gutteral roar as he grips, then rips the heavy wood table and hefts it skyward.
Luke sits next to Kevkul, and he shows him the ring.
Any magic in this loot?
Hey! I was using that! Skolrykk says, grabbing for his drink as the table is pulled away from him.
Reflex:
Oh well, nevermind...
Rammy Round 7:
Halvr doesn't buy himself much time or space by stepping away, as just after he has time enough to heft the table he's assaulted by a raging Northman with his wind up. Coming from the side with less table obscuring the Irrisiner, Ragnar delivers a wild and fierce haymaker to'wards the jaw...
Raging Haymaker - Power attack (non-lethal): for
As violently as the brawl began, so too does it end.
Ragnar's raging haymaker connects brutally with the Irresenr's square jaw. Black Halvr's head is whipped backwards and as the brute staggers spitting blod, the heavy table becomes the vikingr's ally as it slips from Halvr's grasp and crashes down upon him with a sickening thud.
With a grunt, the Irresenr collapses, the table burying him as both drop, sundered upon the medu-hus floor...
Glinting in the candlelight you see a bloody tooth skip across the floor and stop at Muli's boot
The shouts and cheers that accompanied the rammy die on the lips of the watching throng. Before them two fell Northmen lie, one battered by the hands of a true Vikingr... the other by the iron stomachs(and wills) of a dweorg and another vikingr...
"A niht for se ealdgesegena..." you hear whispered by one patron
"Náwa ácostnian a dwoerg! Har!" is anothers drunked shout as he slaps Kevkul's shoulder, eliciting ripples of laughter from the other patrons.
Har! That was just a warmer! The faith of the Lucky Druncan gives me fortitude when mead's a plenty. He welcomes all that would listen and heed.
The skittering of the loose tooth comes to rest at the foot of the alchemist. Pointing at the tooth Kevkul hollers out to Ragnar.
A trophy worthy for yer taking eh brawler?
Something hits Muli's foot. He pick's it up, examines it and slips it into a pouch. "The Cold Tooth of a Brute. Surely Muli can find a use for this."
He re-rights his knocked over chair, then takes a seat at the table, kicking the arm of the Issen out of the way underneath his feet. He slaps a newly acquired gold coin on the wood. "Muli thinks drinking horns needs refilling, ours and these good soldiers." A wave of his hand indicates his companions and the town guards.