With a whoop from the crowd the big warrior lands on the floor.
an unconscious, dead, or de-tabled contestant is automatically the loser.
Pagrip looks momentarily surprised that he actually managed to knock the man over. He grabs for some more gold () and then tries to shove Bob out of the area.
As Bob gets up from the floor his hand snakes out and deftly flicks a coin straight at Pagrip's eyes. It's only by a chance heartbeat that the edge of the coin hits a scant bit next to the eye. Although it isn't enough to deal serious damage, there's a trickle of blood that slides down Pagrip's face. It looks remarkably like a crimson tear.
Caught up in the moment Esme lets out an encouraging shout "Go Pagrip! You almost got him!"
Pagrip wipes away the bit of blood, while bending down to collect some coins (). He then tries to make it look as if he's going to lunge from that position.
Bob - completely taken in by Pagrip's feint - pre-emptively leaps into the air and tries to deliver a punishing thrust with the knee. When he realizes that he's been duped he has enough presence of mind to extend his leg: the flying sweep connects solidly against the side of the dwarf's face, severely jolting the jaw; but when Bob lands he's noticeably off-balance.
The crowd clearly is warming up to the match more and more - shouts of encouragement go out to both contestants. Even Devargo cringes when Bob's foot meets Pagrip's face - smudging the blood tear. "That's it! Don't get fooled! Watch out!"
Pagrip reels momentarily from the blow, but then launches at the Mwangi, trying to shove him clear of the "table".
Years of fighting experience show their mark on Bob as his elbow strikes Pagrip just below the eye. The impact is just enough to lessen the headlong bullrush of the dwarf leaving Bob reeling at the very edge of the demarked area.
"C'mon Pagrip! I have seen children scrappier than that. But your back into it."
Bob rocks back on his haunches a bit, letting the momentum slide down his legs and into the floor til it is settled. He bends to the beat that is reverberating in the room, then suddenly rushes for Pagrip, stretching his arm to try and sink his elbow underneath Pagrip's chin - possibly to set up a choke of some kind. Fortunately the dwarf's jaw is as unforgiving as anything and the attempt fails.
Pagrip bends back as he avoids Bob's latest attack and tries to give the impression that he has unbalanced himself and almost lost his footing in the process.
Bob's quick to take advantage of a perceived weakness in a foe. He spins low in an attempt to sweep Pagrip's legs out from under him. The leg connects solidly - and would fell most men, but to a dwarf the effort is meaningless.
"Push him out like a little t...uh...piglet!" Esme shouts at Pagrip, once again.
Pagrip tries once more to shove the big man off the edge.
Bob's somewhat ready for Pagrip, as the dwarf connects shoulder first with the Mwangi's hips, so does Bob's right elbow deliver a crushing blow on the back of Pagrip's neck. The face of the dwarf is distorted in anguish, the trickling blood by now making the vision indistinct and he blinks furiously to try and keep sight of the tall black man. Pagrip sees Bob fall backwards, his vision grows black and blacker.
The crowd collectively holds its breath as Bob precariously balances on the very edge of the fighting area. His back bends outside more and more as he tries to maintain his footing without stepping outside the ring. A moment passes... then Bob is forced to step outside the ring. There's a hint of disbelief, but he's grinning nonetheless.
Pagrip lies motionlessly inside the area. Smears of blood and bludgeoning damage mark his face. His breathing is regular, but he's unconscious.
The crowd is flummoxed for a moment, then general cheers break out - even though it isn't clear who the winner is. Devargo claps his hands enthusiastically, even though his champion didn't emerge as the clear victor, the show was more than enough to put a satisfied grin on his face. "Splendid! Bloody and skillful!" He nods to Caulder, "I think this is a rare case of a tie, do you agree? If so, I'm willing to balance the cost of the wager: instead of 400 or 800gold depending on victory or loss... say 600 gold and you have your information. Agreed?"
"You have yourself a deal, sir." Caulder steps up eagerly to shake the Spiderking's hand, having gotten off easier than he had expected. Once the deal has been made and witnessed by Barvasi's men, he'll turn his attention to reviving Pagrip. "Pay the man, Darkbane."
Ignoring the ignoramus , Esmerelda barely prevents herself from finish Bobu off with a gauntleted fist. Instead she rushes over to Pagrip and lays her hands on him. "Well, at least you decreased the cost by 200 gold. Abadar must be smiling on you. Or at least grinning a little bit."
"Pagrip? Are you awake?"
Pagrip opens his eyes and squints as he tries to focus. "Did I win?" he asks feebly.
"Well," Caulder hems cheerfully, "despite the fact that you look like you just lost a bar brawl and the other guy doesn't have a mark on him, you somehow managed a tie. More than I expected you to accomplish; I thought we were going to be humiliated."
Pagrip pulls himself groggily to his feet. "Heh. That was just what I wanted you to think. I had to go easy on him so as not to humiliate him." He laughs, then clutches his head and groans. "Okay, so no joking around for a little while," he mutters.
The bout is suitably celebrated, with additional alcohol being leveraged by the Spiderking. The room is fairly crowded and the banter is quite excited, as discussions grow more and more lively about alternate outcomes on the match. Bob comes grinning to Pagrip and taps him on his swollen cheek. "Vita ngoma!" he proclaims with respect and a wink.
Vita is the Mwangi term for battle, and ngoma is the term for dance.
Giving Pagrip a slap on the back, she turns to the rest of the group "I suppose we should pay up now, so that's 15 platinum each." She holds out her hand expectantly.
Caulder frowns and motions the group to the side of the room with a jerk of his head. "Not a good idea for them to see how much we brought with us; he'll start thinking of things to charge extra for," he mutters, positioning himself next to Ten so their backs shield the other two and the coin-counting-out from the rest of the room.
The observant may notice that Devargo is absent from the celebrations, at least for a quarter of an hour. He's back then though, and motions to Caulder - subtly indicating a package of documents that he's holding in his hands.
Still on duty, Caulder hasn't participated in the general celebration, instead standing near Esmerelda to keep an eye on her and the agreed-upon fee. When he is gestured closer to Barvasi, he responds eagerly, nodding to the paladin to follow him and bring the money.
Esme rolls her eyes and follows Caulder. With the money.
"A pleasure," Devargo grins fiendishly as he accepts the money and hands over the documents. "Don't hesitate to visit Eel's End again - no matter your poison or vice of choice; here you can find it." He describes briefly the content of the documents: "These here are some of the correspondence between Ambassador Amprei and his affair with a married woman back in Cheliax. The wife to a very important man of high nobility. You'll find Amprei very pliable with these."
"Above my paygrade, Mr. Barvasi," Caulder replies politely, handing the packet to Esmerelda for safekeeping. "I'm just the messenger. But the information you've just given us will help us all. Korvosa thanks you."
"This whole affair is leaving a bad taste in my mouth." Esme grumbles "First we solicit an alleged criminal then attend and take part in a not-quite-above-board underground brawl. What's next? Blackmail? What happened to slaying evil doers and saving innocents? I tell you, Caulder. A bad taste."
"Korvosa looking a bit different from down here, Esmerelda?" Ten asked.
"Pagrip, you look as if you need a drink. Let's see if we can find you something on the way back."
"Heh. There's a reason they keep you idealists in reserve, away from the everyday business of the Bank. The idea that the cogs of civilization can be turned with sweetness and light is a pretty one, but eventually you end up down on the killing floor discovering how sausages are really made," Caulder tells Esmerelda, mangling his metaphors badly. "Most of the people who keep Korvosa humming aren't very nice, but they get the job done. Take our host the Spiderking. If he were selling platitudes and choir books, he wouldn't be making near the profit he is -- or paying near the taxes."
The bout is suitably celebrated, with additional alcohol being leveraged by the Spiderking. The room is fairly crowded and the banter is quite excited, as discussions grow more and more lively about alternate outcomes on the match. Bob comes grinning to Pagrip and taps him on his swollen cheek. "Vita ngoma!" he proclaims with respect and a wink.
Pagrip grins back at the man. "A good match!" he says. "It was an honour competing...er...dancing with you." He offers Bob his hand.
"Pagrip, you look as if you need a drink. Let's see if we can find you something on the way back."
Pagrip nods. "A drink would be a fine thing indeed, my friend," he says. "Anything to numb the pounding in my head."
Caulder claps the dwarf on the shoulder once they are away from Eel's End. "You saved the city 200 gold, friend. That will pay for a bit of healing."
Caulder claps the dwarf on the shoulder once they are away from Eel's End. "You saved the city 200 gold, friend. That will pay for a bit of healing."
Pagrip breathes a sigh of contentment. "That feels much better," he says. "The throbbing in my head is mostly gone. Thanks."
"Well? What are we waiting for? Let's head back and report." To Pagrip she adds "I don't think replacing a throbbing headache from a beating with a throbbing headache from bad ale is as wise as you may think."
Esmerelda struts away from Eels End, leaving the others to follow
"Bad ale? No, that would not do for a dwarf of Pagrip's caliber. I was hoping to brew something up. I know a few recipes - it's not too different from alchemical formulae. As an added benefit, my recipes are cheaper and have more kick than most ales available around town," Ten replied to Esmerelda. "But, it can wait until after we report back to the Marshal."
"I said I wouldn't mind a drink. That's A drink," he calls after Esmerelda. "Meaning one! I'm hardly going to get drunk off of that. But no, because I'm a dwarf, you automatically assume I'm going to go drink until I pass out." He shakes his head, half sighing, half laughing.
On the walk back to the Field Marshal's, he says to Ten, "So these drinks of yours, my friend, what goes in them? I'm intrigued."
"Wouldn't touch 'em," Caulder growls to Pagrip in a cautionary tone, "unless you want parts of your body detaching and crawling around where they don't belong." He shudders at the memory of Reginald.
When the four finally get forwarded to the Field Marshall, Cressida looks slightly more flushed and healthier than she had been in the last few days. The documents that pile her desk have at least somewhat cleared.
"Ah! Very well! I was hoping that you'd come back in one piece." She momentarily glances at some papers before her, then adds, "No major disturbances over at Eel's End have been reported to me, I trust that you can corroborate this? What of Devargo and Amprei?"
"No trouble, ma'am. I think you could say we parted as friends ... on Barvasi's side, at least. Darkbane got a little worked up over an ill-treated pet he had, but she contained herself brilliantly, put the good of the City before her personal feelings," he reports. "As for the information on the ambassador...," he motions to the paladin to produce the packet of information the Spiderking provided.
Dutifully Esmerelda produces the package and presents it to the Marshal "I hope this will be adequate. Will you be needing us for another task? The dwarf wants to go have a drink and emphatically not get drunk. The Varsian wants to brew it and the Chelaxian wants to complain about it." Esme intones drolly under her breath.
The Field Marshal seems a little disappointed that Devargo is still around. But she makes effort to not let it be obvious.
"...these..." The usually stern features of Field Marshal Cressida flush a bright red for a moment, before she abruptly stops reading one of the letters. "These will do very well indeed. Korvosa owes you a debt." A good-natured smile appears on her face, "These troubled times are looking to clear; and that is not in small part your doing as well. I'm pleased to offer you this gratitude on behalf of Korvosa." She hands Esmerelda a fat pouch of coin. "Korvosa can sleep well tonight, thanks to the efforts of you four. You've earned a rest. More than that, I've no trouble that the guard cannot handle, so enjoy the next few days. I'm sure I'll have something for a competent party such as yourself sooner or later, so I will let you know. Thank you, again."
"Very well, then I take my leave." Esme gives a curt nod to the Marshal and leaves the office.
Once outside she hands out 125 gold coins to each of the party and inquires "Does anyone have any plans for what they want to do next? I think the evidence we have gathered against the now deceased Lamm will do more good being shared out amongst the fighters of evil. To that end I will head to an appraiser and get a fair price. Course it would be seen in a positive light if some of your share was donated to the church."
"A donation, eh?" Pagrip says. He looks down at the coins in his hand. "Well, I, uh... I don't want to appear greedy and ungenerous, but... Caulder, stop glaring at me like that."