"The white cloaks watch all of us. They have their fair share of informants for the Serpents as well."
This man will be a problem.
"Innkeeper Jaware, Ares' popularity with the women-folk of your city has reached such a proportion that it is an inconvenience to travel to private meetings without taking precautions. I am sure you appreciate Master Dalton's desire for privacy."
Toramin will walk next to Dalton and whisper quietly.
"Master Dalton, do you think it wise to begin becoming acquainted with the other slavers in this city? On a different matter, it might be helpful to further secure independent lodgings for our stay in this city. I believe that Ninnec is capable of finding us both a house and staff that will be effective and discreet. I no longer trust in our current lodgings. Give me the word and some gold and Ninnec and I will resolve this minor issue."
"I don't care about you having somebody here, but you need to tell me about it first."
"Of course, I'll make sure that you are informed."
Bjorkus feels like a fool, wearing a pound of foundation and several puttied fake scars, but there was no denying the disguise was a success. Between the makeup, braiding his typically unruly mane, and a layer charcoal dulling his usually pristine horns, he looks like a new bull - or rather an especially brawny demon-blooded tiefling.
After an uneventful trip, Bjorkus, Dalton, Toramin, and Ninnec, arrive at the Spider.
Rilka gives a slight nod of agreement with Toramin’s suggestion of finding more independent lodgings. She walks behind the others, paying attention to anyone following them. She respected the Aussirian Legion and expected them to be using multiple people following their movements, taking turns so one person wasn’t following them all the way to their destination. Outside the Spider, ”So does this place spin webs to trap the unwary?”
"Oh, certainly. I'd completely forgotten, but I don't much like the man myself. I understand Jaware - and don't hate him - but he's not what we need right now. Getting close to the other slavers can be a dangerous game though - they know how to assess their own kind; they would know straight away there was something amiss about me."
"Potentially, but it is also suspicious that you only keep company with slaves and do not socialize with your ostensible equals. But, you are the best assessor of what you feel comfortable doing. Ninnec and I will secure lodging and a staff as quickly as possible."
Dalton shakes his head in frustration. "To be honest, this whole job is wearing on me. Being a taskmaster isn't much my calling." Toramin had a good head on his shoulders for those interpersonal assessments, it seemed. For Dalton, acting like someone he would hate was tough enough - being friendly with them as well would take a measure of doing.
Toramin nods his head in a sympathetic fashion. "I hate this place. There is no true life here -- just fear and degradation. Nevertheless perhaps we may yet profit."
The dwarf tried to convey his message without specifics. Who knew what ears were listening? Ninnec's certainly. Although he liked the ratfolk guide, he suspected that he would betray them if sufficiently threatened. Dalton and Bjorkus are terrible at being spies. My own abilities shame me. Sometimes good strategy necessitates such things.
The party save Lindale arrives at the Green Spider where Ithel and three other tough looking individuals are mulling about the front of the building. Ithel gives the others a nod, then stands and gives Bjorkus a handshake. "Glad you could make it, but excuse my terrible memory. What was your name again?"
Bjorkus snorts and gives the elf a conspiratorial nod. "The name's Asterion."
The bullish 'tiefling' pauses to look over the crowd. "This a typical showin'?"
Dalton rolls his eyes at the ruse within a ruse. "Nothing interesting in your library today?" Dalton offers, curious to see if the man spent his free time on more than researching tactics.
"Crowd is a little hyped with the upcoming festivities. Blood is boiling so we get a few newcomers, most of them are trash but there's always a gem or two. You're fighting second and you'll be fighting whoever wins the first match."
Ithel directs Bjorkus to a backroom where a pug nosed gnome with fuzzy white hair awaits. He gives Bjorkus a quick search, grunting that he's making sure there's no lethal weapons being snuck in. After that he takes out a length of rope that's been soaking in a barrel full of some odorless liquid, wrapping them around Bjorkus's hands and wrists. "These will keep you from breaking the bones in your hand, and it will protect your hands from any stray broken bones in your opponents face." After that he gives Bjorkus a slap on the ass, declaring him ready to fight.
Downstairs is a crowded, stuffy, loud room full of drunken men with their blood boiling. Their cheering and jeering can be heard the instant the door to the lower floor is opened. There is plenty of aggressive shoulder checking as the party crosses the floor as well as a share of cursing. At the center is a red circle drawn on the dirt floor where there are the two current contestants surrounded by a ring of spectators. A short oread with a shaved head stands across from an scarred half-orc with several tattoos across his body.
Both are bearing several bruises already. The half-orc roars his fury and charges the oread, but the short man drifts around the blow and pushes him, using his momentum and making him fall over a table. The half-orc lands with a loud grunt, then grabs a chair and whips it across the circle. It connects with the oread and sends him to the ground where the half-orc viciously falls on him, punching his face and torso and shoving aside his arms. A nearby suli who has been closely watching the fight begins to step forward at the ground fighting, but Ithel puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head.
After a good twenty seconds of this the oread wraps a leg around the half-orcs torso and twists himself over, kicking off the half-orc and regaining his feet. His face is puffy and several teeth look crooked, but he looks very calm. The half-orc stands and turns to continue the beating, but when he charges the oread plants one foot in the dirt, then does a complete three-sixty with one foot in the air and whips it into the chest of the half-orc, kicking him several feet back and over several unsuspecting spectators.
The jeers and cheers escalate as the half-orc grumbles, staying on the ground. The oread takes out a rag and calmly wipes away his sweat, walking over to where a healer sits in wait.
The charade was taking its toll on Dalton. While he was somewhat acclimated to violence now, the casual nature of it here took him by surprise. While he was relieved they had healers - which he saw at the end - he felt bad for dragging Bjorkus here. "Any second thoughts?" he asked the incognito Minotaur. I know I've had my share.
As the fight goes on, Bjorkus watches the more cerebral of the two fighters closely. The orc's methods were clear - brute strength - something he could match. The oread was different. He was strong and methodical. What was his weakness?
Asterion (previously Ares but really Bjorkus) snorts and shakes his horned head sending his braided mane whipping. "They look like good strong fighters, just the kinda workout I need. The stone-man is clever and tough. He'll try to drag our fight on like he did with the orc. I can beat him - I don't tire easily", he rumbles.
"What do you make of the elf runnin' the show? The way he tangled me up durin' our brawl - those weren't the moves of a grunt. He's gotta have training. Military maybe."
It's easy to tell that the oread is a monk. Bjorkus is guessing from the multitude of bruises on both fighters and how colored they are as well as his calm attitude that the oread is probably used to fighting berserkers and purposely draws out the fight to wear them down.
The half-elf Ithel leans against the bar in the basement, talking to two men. One appears to be the bartender and mostly just nods while wiping the table, while the other has what appears to be the roster for the night. He looks over at Bjorkus, pointing at the oread and giving him a thumbs up.
The man holding the roster stands, clearing his throat. "We'll take a short break to allow the fighters to heal before the next round. Make sure to piss out your old drink before buying a new one!" There's some laughs and cheers to that as the crowd takes the man's advice, several heading outside and most of he others heading to the bar.
Lindale makes sure to commit as much of the picture to memory before folding the paper inside his clothes.
One of earth's children . . . Toramin was pleased that the oread monk had defeated his opponent. Some small traitorous part of him hoped he would make a good showing against Bjorkus.
During intermission, Toramin whispers to Ninnec. "We need to rent or purchase a home or villa suitable for Master Dalton. It should be private, defensible, fashionable enough to command respect, and also a good place for a . . . distribution center. Do you have any ideas where we could secure such a place in Akropash?"
'Asterion' nods in understanding and flexes his massive fists to test the rope bindings on them before pounding them together. The 'tiefling' makes his way toward the space cleared for the brawl, making eye contact with the Oread along the way. Gotta get in his head - knock him off-balance. He snorts, eager for a chance to release some steam and make up for the frustration that came with meeting with Heff earlier that morning.
The oread stands back up after some glowing from the healing man, rolling his shoulders and stepping back into the circle. He looks Bjorkus in the eye, but his gaze starts roaming over each piece of his body, as if he's assessing the threat.
Ithel steps up, banging the hilt of a dagger against a mug to get the crowd to quiet down. "Match two, Asterion the horned devil versus Ternesj the Rock!" The crowd gets loud again, cheering and jeering on each side. A sizable amount of betting is heard in the crowd, seeming to be slightly leaned in favor of the oread.
The oread steps forward quickly when Ithel calls to begin, but stands in a defensive pose, gently rocking left and right and waiting for Bjorkus to attack.
Asterion beats his chest and raises his massive arms high, working the already rowdy crowd. "You wanna see a brawl or you wanna see some fool dance?!" Once the noise reaches a crescendo, he stares his opponent down in a battle of wills.
Dalton listens to where the bets seem to be originating in the greatest amounts; he hoped to place one of his own. Toramin said I should mingle. What mingles better than the jungle of coin?
Ternesj shifts his feet a little, face staying as stone but a bead of sweat appears on his forehead. "Brawls are a dance. But I would rather come to see a dance than to see an airhead talk big about himself." He crowd laughs at both Bjorkus and Ternesj's jabs, egging them on to start throwing punches.
Dalton finds a man with a jacket full of jingling pockets who seems to be managing five conversations at once. "Three five on the tiefling, I got two two on the stone, big four-o on the stone, come place your bets here..." He spares some glances at Dalton, letting him know he's listening for a bet. On his jacket are the words 3:2 odds for Ternesj the Rock, max bet is 50 gold.
Asterion answers the stone-man's reply with a roaring laugh. "Let's dance then!" He gestures for the crowd to keep their clamor going before bellowing a warcry and stepping forward to throw a whistling haymaker.
"The stone, hmm?" Dalton fished the 50 coins out of his pocket - his sensitive fingers used to doing the job quickly. "I prefer the rock of meat against him. Top me out."
The gambling man swiftly takes Dalton's money, giving him a slip of paper with his bet listed on it.
Bjorkus's fist connects solidly, causing the oread to step back and spit out some blood. He gives two quick jabs back at Bjorkus, still keeping his arms raised up defensively. The jabs are fast, but Bjorkus slides around them.
With his big fists held high, Bjorkus advances and keeps the pressure on. When he thinks he's spotted an opening, the 'tiefling' brawler throws another meaty hook.
The oread takes the next hit to the side, although it looks like that one barely landed. He goes for two quick jabs again, the first one landing a glancing blow on Bjorkus's ribs.
He regains his composure and starts balancing on his toes, his rocking motion starting again.
Asterion grunts in surprise when the stone-man's fist nails him in the ribs. It was a glancing blow but hints at the potential power behind his blows. The massive tiefling resumes his brawling stance and throws another big punch.
Suddenly the oread shifts to the right, and when Bjorkus extends his fist the oread catches it between his arm and body. He then wraps both legs around Bjorkus, spinning around the bigger opponent in a brilliant display of acrobatics before planting him on the ground. However once on the ground Bjorkus arcs his back to prevent the sudden grapple from getting any worse.
Asterion grunts in surprise when the stone-man lures him into over-extending and wraps him up. The tiefling quickly gets his bearings and slams his fist into his opponent's kidney. The oread wasn't the only one with tricks.
Bjorkus's kidney punch just misses.
Bjorkus bucks to toss the oread.
Bjorkus throws the oread off who begins launching blows at Bjorkus.
The first hit connects, although only so hard.
Wincing in pain from another blow to the ribs. Bjorkus turns that pain into fury and pounds the oread again.
The oread takes the hit, clearly not in good shape from all of the blows. He rocks back and digs his heel in like he did when fighting the half-orc, then delivers a powerful roundabout kick that knocks Bjorkus back five feet. But instead of coming to an end he oread then jumps forward with both feet forward, kicking him again and knocking over half a dozen drunk spectators. The surrounding (standing) spectators cheer, shoving Bjorkus back into the ring.
Despite the pain shooting up his side from what must be a broken ribs, Bjorkus laughs. The gesture makes it hard to breath but the bull admires his opponent's fighting spirit. He balls his ham-sized fists together and, with another roar, charges forward with a double axe-handle uppercut.
The roaring of the crowd seems to fade as Bjorkus rights himself, breathing heavily from a broken rib. But he roars and charges, sending the spent oread a good five feet off the ground from a hit square to the jaw before he lands heavily.
Ithel steps forward quickly, placing himself between Bjorkus and the fallen monk. "The match is over, Asterion is the victor!" There are cheers and groans a plenty as 'Asterion' gathers a few fans and the money from bets are dolled out .
A big man picks up the oread, gesturing for Bjorkus to follow where the healer lies in wait. To his surprise it's another masked man, similar to the one that healed him after his fights in the arena. He motions for Bjorkus to sit, taking care of the more injured monk first. He uses a wand.