The rookery man asks for one hundred gold bits.
He rolls up the strip of paper, but waits for payment before ascending the stairs to the ravens. There, the floor and overhead rafters are coated in years of bird waste. A draft breezes through the openings in the roof. Fjorheim indicates that Logan need not follow him up there. Producing a pinch of birdfeed, a handful of ravens alight on nearby surfaces, though one perches onto his arm. Snapping at the treat, the bird holds still as the dwarf wraps the message around its leg, sealing it with a dab of liquid wax from a nearby candle. Fjorheim strokes the bird and mutters a magic word, and the raven spirits away through the one of the many slats under the conical ceiling.
With their business concluded, the frizzy-haired, one-eyed dwarf shoos Logan toward the door.
"Well, since only two can enter, I'm just going to.... work on my spells for a bit, commune with Porkchop and all that..." Aladdin said as he slowly wandered off in the direction that Coral had gone.
Coral gives Aladdin a sideways look, unsure if he refers to her as a piece of meat. But the moment passes and she seems to notice something away from the rookery tower, deeper into the city. She skips along the road in that direction.
She whirls to a stop after traveling a city block, and ducks into a tavern.
Aladdin follows Coral into the tavern. "Coral, would you like a drink?"
Logan pays and thanks the dwarf for his services. Opening the door to the rookery, "Alright, where to..." he realizes no one is there. "Next? Huh... " he walks around the building, finds Bolgrith and Tynn talking with no sign of Aladdin or Coral. Logan walks up to the two dwarves and says "Well, the message has been sent, ideally it's not too late. Do you know where Aladdin and Coral got off to?"
Coral nods enthusiastically, though when she gets her strongwine, the girl wastes no time gulping down the potent beverage in an unlady-like manner. After finishing three drinks at a surprising speed, it becomes clear to Aladdin that Coral is motivated to get drunk for a reason. She orders a dish of pork-chops for her stormborn friend.
A runner discretely enters the dining hall of the palace where the dwarf enjoys his oats and marmalade. His eyes sweep over the others in the hall, not noticing Tolsbaer at first due to the humble dwarf’s unobtrusive nature. After a moment or two of searching, the runner spots the eater of simple oats.
He bows slightly as he approaches the young noble, extending an arm to leave a clean, crisply-folded square of parchment on the wooden table. He steps back and seems to wait for a response from Tolsbaer. The message is sealed in gold wax bearing the Stormcall family crest. Inside, it reads:
Young nephew,
I understand you wish to see more of this wide world, and learn more of its peoples. I had hoped for a grander opportunity to present to you, but necessity requires a somewhat mundane task to someone I trust.
Four people of interest held court with myself and my peers, and I wish to know more of their doings: two men, a woman, and one dwarf. The bald, thick-bearded dwarf carries a shield displaying an open blue hand. Another possession of note is his staff topped with a jagged purple crystal. He is a priest of Irori, The Perfect Man. With him travel two tall men. One of the men bears the markings and stature of the noble Stonebit line, undoubtedly related to their head of house. The green cloak of the Borderguard hangs from his shoulders, and on his back hangs a great curved blade. The taller of the two men is Aladdin, a mage of some kind. He carries a mace and longspear, but does not walk like a trained warrior. I judge him to be the type with an unquiet mind. Aladdin keeps company with a redhaired common woman, called Coral. She may also be a mage, but she said nothing in my presence and unadorned in finery like the others. These four, plus another that is no longer with them, managed to procure an Irkei Stone to see our thrones immediately. I am curious how this was done.
I need you to follow them and inform me of their whereabouts and activities to determine their purpose, if any. Either in boldness or in stealth, how you do so is up to you; their knowledge of my interest matters little. This is not an assignment to capture or assassinate, and I would advise against lethal force unless attacked first. Keep tabs on these people of interest for at least one week. A raven will suffice if the report cannot be made in person.
From your loving uncle,
~Holy King Stormcall
Bolgrith looks at the odd little wizened dwarf before nodding contemplatively. "Aye, that we might. But I'll have to consult my traveling companions before committing to any course of action."
Seeing Logan approach, the Priest nods absentmindedly. "Good. My prayers go with it. As for our ne're-do-well traveling companion, I believe he and his lady have made for a pub down the way." He indicates the direction that Aladdin had left.
Tolsbaer nods to the messenger to show he is through reading the letter, but holds up a hand for him to wait as the young noble finishes chewing.
After swallowing, "Thank you for this message. Tell my Uncle to consider the task done. I am but his humble servant after all. Please, see the bursar on your way out. Your diligence deserves a reward, eh?"
Baer wipes his beard with his napkin, then produces a small bone comb and neatly brushes it out. He stands and walks briskly to his quarters where he changes his clothes and packs a small bag in case his task leads him away overnight.
At the gates, he inquires of the butler, "Tell me. Have we heard anything of a bald dwarf newly come to the isles bearing the blue hand of the perfect man? With him travel a tall, addled man, his woman, and a Stonebit from the borderguard. I must find them with all haste."
The butler's brow creases in thought for a moment, before his face changes to an apologetic expression. "I am sorry, Lord Tolsbaer, I do not know. Much of my work today has kept me on the grounds, and I have not heard the comings and goings of late.
"Shall I summon runners to find these people for you? Or guards, perhaps?"
The old bent dwarf nods at Bolgrith's discretion, and remains silent during the exchange between the two traveling companions.
"Well, a pub is a good place to gather, and consult," Hiloxiet adds, smiling. He turns a hobbling gait toward the tavern that serves Aladdin and Coral. "I'll answer as many questions as I can, Master Bolgrith, from you and your friends... just know that I will expect some answers in return. Or a warm meal..." By the look of him, the studious dwarf has probably not had a full belly in years.
His stooped and narrow frame struggles down the road.
Tolsbaer smiles with understanding. "Do not be troubled, Brynjolf. I was only asking. Please do send four runners. Their task is to find whereabouts only. Do not engage them in anyway. If they are found, the information is to be brought back here. I may come back tonight or I could be...longer." He claps the butler on the shoulder. "Thank you, faithful friend."
Tolsbaer strides out, ear to the ground for these foreigners.
Logan sighs and gives a smile "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to head to the tavern. I mean, odds are good that we'll have some time to kill." he gives a grin, "First round's on me."
Bolgrith nods in agreement and pats both Logan and Tynn heartily on the shoulder. "In that case, let us away!" He shows a friendly smile and leads the way to the pub Aladdin disappeared into.
Tolsbaer notices a handful of humans here and there, but there were always wealthy merchants and men of importance who met with their dwarven counterparts here in, arguably, the most powerful city of the Hammertides. None of these men or their entourage match the descriptions provided by his uncle.
But he overhears a committee of dwarves grumbling about the early closure of the thrice throned hall, and suspects that whatever news was borne by Irkei Stone might have resulted in the dwarf kings being needed elsewhere. Ever polite, what the son of Stormcall learns from the grumblers confirms his suspicion, and moreover, the Stonebit and his companions were last seen about an hour ago, heading to the edge of the city but not toward the docks.
After talking with dwarf residents in that direction, Tolsbaer hears that the man in a Borderguard cloak was asking for directions to the rookery. Since there was but one rookery (save for the royal ravens used between kings), the humble dwarf makes his way to Fjorheim’s smelly ramshackle tower. Like the last time the young dwarf visited, a sign instructs to chime the tuning fork rather than knock, and limits the visitors to pairs.
The rest of the group enters the tavern to find Aladdin and Coral seated at the bar, just as a steaming dish of pork chops are laid in front of the mage. The tavern itself is mostly full, but not packed with patrons just yet. Given how busy it is at this dinner hour, this alehouse probably becomes full to bursting in the drinking hours.
Coral turns an annoyed look to Aladdin’s companions as they approach. There isn’t enough room at the bar for Bolgrith, Logan, and Tynn to join alongside the two lovebirds, but there is an empty table in the corner furthest from the hearth that could seat everyone. A barmaid stops at the table to take orders.
The old, destitute dwarf smiles widely as he hobbles into the establishment and the smell of warm food washes over him.
When asked what he will have for food and drink, Tynn glances uncertainly at Logan, who offered to pay for the first round, and then requests a hot spiced tea with some bread. As the barmaid takes orders from the others, he glances around at the other patrons, but keeps his thoughts to himself.
Tolsbaer wrinkles his nose at the mention of and again at the stench of the dilapidated rookery. The immaculate dwarf lets loose a resigned sigh and raps the chime with a calloused knuckle.
Logan, not wanting to draw undue attention to the dwarf, asks the maid to bring the table a pint of whatever ale suits each person's desire and a platter of meat large enough to be split 3 ways. "With my ale, I would prefer something dark and strong."
AFter scarfing a few bites, Aladdin seems to materialize gold coins from his hand and puts them on the counter. "Barkeep, can we get a room, please!"
The old dwarf asks for a cider, and smiles appreciatively at Logan. The barmaid looks to Bolgrith.
The barman's hands are quick, and Aladdin's coins rest on the counter for a moment. In the blink of an eye they are replaced by an iron key. "Upstairs, second door on the left," he adds impassively, preoccupied with his other duties.
"A brown ale, my dear." Bolgrith says to the girl. "And heavy bread as well for me and my friends." He waves an armored hand to indicate the others seated with him.
Smiling apologetically to Tynn, he shrugs as Aladdin disappears further into the inn. "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to postpone talks of importance until later." The Priest leans back into his chair, getting comfortable. "So what do you say we learn a little more about each other, master Hiloxiet?"
The ancient dwarf nods with a small smile. "Fair. I suppose there is little you know of me..."
He pauses when he sees the barmaid return with drinks and a basket of bread. She says the meat will be along in a few minutes. Before Tynn takes puts the cider to his mouth, he leers one eye down the mouth of the glass. Satisfied at whatever he was inspecting, Tynn drinks deep of the golden, apple beverage and sighs heavily afterward. The glass rests on the table as he raises a look to Logan. "Thank you. One forgets how fine the finer things can be when subsisting on water for years." He turns to his fellow dwarf. "I enjoy books, always have. Heh, it is possible that I've read every book in the Hammertide Isles," he smiles half-jokingly, "That is one thing that has remained constant since my youth: I love learning. Not all knowledge is found in books, though, and I am fascinated by the secrets locked in the past and future. That is why I poke around the carved stone left by those who lived on these islands before we dwarves came to these lands." He reaches and pulls a handful of bread from the basket, and takes a big bite. Tynn raises his bushy eyebrows as he chews, indicating that he wants to hear Bolgrith or Logan to tell more about themselves.
"Well it would seem we share some things in common then!" Bolgrith says, smiling. Placing a hand on his chest he continues. "My companion, Aladdin and I are from a continent to the West known as Hamonreld, far across the ocean." He takes a sip of his drink. "I am a follower of Irori, the Perfect Man." He points to his shield. "He teaches that there are many paths to self-perfection. Most take the path of the physical." He flexes a bicep and pats it, with a little less modesty than perhaps is becoming of a Priest. "Which is well and good, but I've always had a thirst for the natural world. Any occasion for learning is to be sought diligently." He nods knowingly at Tynn before rummaging in his haversack.
"And since you mentioned books..." He pulls forth a large tome, well worn with study and stained by travel. "Here's one you may not have read." The Priest, lovingly, pushes the book across the table. The cover is unmarked by a title, but turning past the flyleaf shows that the book is called Unbinding the Fetters. "A holy text, containing the wisdom of my faith." Bolgirth explains quietly.
Logan takes a swallow of his ale and smiles "Absolutely! It's important to remind oneself from time to time of the nicer things in life." As Bolgrith finishes, Logan looks at the him says "Remind me at some point to ask you about The Perfect Man. I know surprisingly little and would like to learn more." he turns his attention to Hiloxiet "As for me, I've been a soldier since I was old enough to enlist. I am currently a lieutenant of the Borderguard and ideally will promote up as far as they'll have me. My father was a captain of the Borderguard , but fell in battle." his countenance becomes a bit somber as his eyes begin to gaze into the distance. He takes another drink, "In any event, I haven't had much time for books, but I do enjoy learning what I can." he says the last with a smile.
"Oh..." The bibliophile leafs through the pages of Bolgrith's holy text as he listens to Logan.
Then he is quiet for several more minutes, bent over the thick tome.
At last, he looks up, seeming to just now realize he was ignoring those around the table. "Apologies. This is an interesting read! Reminds me of someone I happened across in the wilds of Ytramond, decades ago..." He gestures dismissively before reaching for his glass. Before taking a sip, he swirls it and then stares into the bottom again. After a few moments he shrugs and swigs, leaving just a sip in the cup on the table. "I'll have to read more of this later, if you do not mind, Bolgrith the Faithful."
He looks over his bifocals across the table to the soldier. "A Borderguard lieutenant?" Tynn's gaze narrows in calculation. Then a small smile breaks over his face. "No doubt you are in a constant hustle; surely much of your learning takes place on the field, starting with the practical application. And I'm sure such busyness might be a frenzy now, with the threat of invasion at hand."
At that moment, a steaming dish of beef, shredded into a mound and seasoned wonderfully, is set at the table. Tynn takes a piece of bread and parts it to fill with meat, but indicates that Logan should get first pick of the beef.
"Go ahead, lad. You're paying, after all." A sideways look goes to Bolgrith. "I don't like to make assumptions about the future, but I think you and I are going to get along quite well. I've read of Hamonreld, though it was some work to decipher the fact from fiction. Peoples and customs strange to these islands. 'Orcs', for example, I understand to be as savage as goblins, as tall as men, and strong as bulls?"
Logan nods "Aye, things in the Borderguard have a way of keeping you busy. Truthfully, you have to find the small moments in the midst of the business to relax or unwind, otherwise you can't be as alert in the field. Sometimes I think the mental or emotional exhaustion can kill just as quickly as a sword, it just happens to wield your opponent instead of a blade."
Logan's eyes widen with a hungry joy at the tray of meat and thanks the dwarf for his kindness and similarly fashions his bread and fills it with the tasty meat, leaving more than enough for both dwarves to have their fill. Strong as bulls? Certainly sounds like an interesting opponent...
Bolgrith takes a bite of roast while tearing at a chunk of the heavy loaf. Nodding thoughtfully he offers, "Aye, I suppose there could be orcs who posses the strength of bulls. But then I could say the same of certain men." He smiles up at Logan. "But in honesty, they are a savage race. Tall and strong and given to slaughter. I haven't personally met any orcs in my travels, but I've seen them from time to time." He thinks a moment. "I suppose it's unfair to call them savage as a race. The orcs I've encountered have all kept to themselves for the most part."
He gestures to their newest companion. "But tell us more about your studies. How did you come to recognize the staff?" He indicates the magical artifact that is never out of his sight.
The rooker Fjorheim jerks the door open and angles a furtive look to the humble young dwarf. In this particular moment, the keeper of ravens looks very much like a raven himself, but nonetheless waits patiently for the Stormcall to speak.
As the evening hours draw nearer, more dwarves wander into the tavern where Bolgrith, Logan, and Tynn feast. Aladdin likewise satisfies an appetite, but upstairs in a rented room.
The traveled and learned dwarf listens to the man and kinsman. The Faithful’s question prompts a subtle point to the jagged purple crystal that tops the magical staff. “Firstly, that form of crystal is quite rare, and is known to grow in but one place in the Sunderlands. It was first discovered in an iron mine on Anvil, one hundred thirty-five years… no, apologies, one hundred fifty-three years ago. Geomancers have since searched for more deposits throughout the Hammertide Isles, to find none. Moreover...” he frowns uncomfortably as the tavern fills with more patrons. He leans in so his tablemates can hear his soft voice. “Moreover, the clues I gathered in my research suggested that a specific possession of the Oldkeep’s masters would open a disguised keyhole. These clues also hinted that this ‘key’ could ‘keep stride with Honfogalas’.”
He pauses to take his cup that still holds a sip of cider. Tynn swills it in a circle once but does not drink it, and then stares at the ounce of drink until it calms. After a single blink he smiles up at Bolgrith. “So I did not know that it was a staff, until the answer was right in front of my failing eyes.”
Hiloxiet adjusts his eyeglasses and peers at a group of dwarves just entering the tavern. They appear to be looking for some of their associates, though nothing about their common dress stands out to Bolgrith and Logan. Tynn sighs and a rueful smiles takes his ancient face. “Goodness me…”
Draining his cup, he leans in again to the pair and whispers. “Things might get a bit rowdy in the next few moments…”
“There,” a common-looking dwarf points at Logan Stonebit. The other three among him turn to where he indicates and in a few steps are standing around the table where the man and two dwarves eat and drink.
The pointer stands at eye-level with the sitting Logan with a hard look. “Word is, you’ve got yourself an Irkei Stone,” he says, “If you don’t mind sharing, we can stop bothering you during dinner…”
The unspoken “or else” of his demand is palpable when two of those with him crack their knuckles. All four of the dwarves wear dark looks, their stances tense and ready at the slightest provocation.
So far, none of the nearby tables seem to notice this exchange. That, or they are pointedly not noticing, either.
Logan sighs inwardly at Tynn's warning and finishes his bite of dinner. As they surround the table, Logan weighs his options. Hmm... I suppose there's no reasoning with this group... his mind wanders back to when they were trying to think of how to get the Irkei stone as well. Like street youths with a point to prove. Just when I thought I'd have a night off. His mind then begins to go back over everything he's encountered over the last few weeks.
Logan maintains a calm expression at their demand. He then looks each one in the eye with a long, cold look, as if to peer into their souls. "A wise man once told me that a person should never fight for something that they don't intend to die for during the fight. In the last week, I have seen things that would turn a person's bones into water. Just this morning, I witnessed a sea beast as large as this tavern kill and eat a dwarf as if he were nothing more than the shredded meat on this plate." he looks at the leader. "I have no doubt you'd be willing to kill for this Irkei stone, a stone we no longer have but because 'word' says we do, you'd be willing to hunt down a stranger to try and get it, but are you willing to die for it? If not," he looks at each dwarf surrounding them as he stands to his full height."I highly suggest that you leave."
"I am looking for a group of foreigners, most notably, a Stonebit soldier. I need any information you have."
Staying seated Bolgrith looks on as his table is accosted by the strangers. "Surely, friends, my companion speaks true. We no longer have the stone. But you are welcome to join us for a drink if you would like." He waves a hand, still glowing blue from the words he just prayed.
The twitchy dwarf nods. “A Stonebit did stop by here, with three others. But not did I see, where they went after…” An odd smile grows over Fjorheim’s face.
He whirls inside, leaving the door open behind him. “Come! We will find him…”
Stormcall can see dirty, wood panels floors lead to a dirty, spiraled staircase that creaks as the dirty, strange dwarf ascends.
At the second floor, the clean dwarf sees Fjorheim picking up empty glass bottle after glass bottle, each one not containing whatever he is looking for. By the smell, Tolsbaer thinks that most of these bottles once contained wine. At last, he exclaims in success and haphazardly empties water into a wood basin scarcely in his grip.
He takes a few deep breaths, and whispers a name over the settling surface of water. “Logaaaaan Stonebiiiiiiit…”
The demanding dwarf seems undaunted as the Stonebit towers over him. He is about to spew out something truly spiteful when Bolgrith derails his train of thought. Though the priest’s attempts to defuse the situation are not altogether successful. The upstart sneers at Logan. “Two of you, and the oldest dwarf I’ve ever seen, against the four of us? For an item worth thousands in gold?”
The speaker for the four looks to his fellows, and then to the crowded bar. Seeming to change his mind, he turns his back to Logan as though leaving. But then he suddenly whips around with his fist aimed at the tall lieutenant's crotch! “I’ll take my chances!”
The underhanded attack clocks Logan right in the gonads! The other scoundrel dwarves spring into action!
One tries to back up his friend and punches Logan in the side.
Or tries to, at least. His fist glances off the heavy armor.
Another leaps to Bolgrith who remains seated and poises his fist to strike. “We know you’re lying! You’ve got that blasted stone hidden away somewhere! Give it up or else!”
The fourth ruffian sees that his friends have come to blows, but the crowd is begun to agitate and move away at the scuffle and he cannot join in the melee just yet.
"Well? Where is he?"
Logan snarls and swings at the dwarf who punched him in the groin
Bolgrith downs the last of his ale in one long draw, the beverage partially pouring out and soaking the clerics beard. Well, it has been a while since the last proper bar brawl. he thinks to himself before slamming the now empty tankard over the head of the nearest near'do'well.
Tynn’s expression does not change at the sudden violence. Rather, aside from the tired sigh he lets out, the very old dwarf scarcely moves at all as his eyes slowly scan the sudden movements around him. Still seated, a subtle gesture of his hand and strange word easily lost in the noisy scuffle, he slowly blinks rheumy eyes at Bolgrith.
“What’s going on?” he asks cluelessly. It seems a sudden and horribly-timed moment of senility has set in on old Hiloxiet.
The cluelessness is a ruse, to discourage the ruffians from attacking a feeble old man.
Fjorheim suddenly starts shaking quietly, and a moment later, a high cackle escapes his lips. “He’s in a tavern. A local just knuckle-bonked his tookus! Go! He can’t be far, and if you hurry, the sounds of a bar fight will lead you to him. I will send a bill for my services to the royal treasurer.”
Logan’s armored fist bashes the dwarf across the jaw, who grunts at the blow. He retaliates!
The dwarf beside the nut-puncher tries to pull, then kick Logan’s foot out from under him. Neither attempts even budge the lieutenant’s armored boot.
Bolgrith’s tankard whiffs the air as the one before him jerks back, clear of the swing. “Why, you…” he growls, throwing his fists at the priestly dwarf.
One fist clocks The Faithful square in the nose, while the other gets momentarily entangled in his prodigious beard.
The fourth hooligan adds to the chaos by grabbing an empty wooden chair and hurling it over his friends, aimed at the tall, armored man. “Huah!”
The canny Stonebit ducks and the wooden chair crashes against the wall behind him. One of the legs breaks off, but the chair otherwise remains intact.
bellows many of the patrons, and soon the wait staff and barkeep are powerless to keep the brawling crowd under control.
Reeling from the blow, Bolgrith drops the empty flagon on the floor before coming back and swinging with a heavy right hook!
A grin spreads across Logan's face as the dwarf's attempts to trip him fail. "Coward." he laughs as he swings to deter him. he then swings at the dwarf who punched what ought not be punched.
Without a backward glance, Tolsbaer tears out of the room and back to the street. He pauses, taking a deep breath and allows his centered mind to reach out to the surrounding area for sounds of a tussle.
BAARRRR FFFIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!! drifts upon the wind, reaching Tolsbaer's ear. His eyes snap open and he's running...
The old dwarf sputters at the violence, and as quickly as his achy joints would allow, he gets out of his chair and holds up his arms to defend himself, even though no one attacks him at the moment. “Stop this fighting, ruffians! We have not what you are looking for!”
Logan delivers the ol’ one-two for the dwarves in front of him, and Bolgrith’s right hook likewise finds his opponent’s jaw. The groin-puncher is looking a little worse for the wear.
“You’re turn!” he pulls his chair-tossing friend between himself and Logan, and steps back as he rubs his head. Snatching up a full tankard at the table, he tries to throw the ale at Logan’s face.
Logan again ducks, this time under the soaring slosh of brown booze, which splats the wall behind him. A few drops get onto Tynn, who flinches but is otherwise undisturbed.
“Together!” the leg-puller calls to the chair-tosser. They nod and stoop down to bring the tall soldier low.
"I said together!" cries the leg-puller, though it is clear that he is not putting a lot of effort into it himself.
Bolgrith’s opponent reels from the punch, and comes back with an open hand at the priest’s face.
His hard fingertips poke at the eyes of the Faithful!
“Greybeard’s right! Let’s get outta here!”
“Not til we git somethin’ for our trouble!” growls the beer-thrower, a dark bruise already forming on his face. He glowers up at the Stonebit.
Scarcely anyone notices a newcomer to the chaotic scene: a pristinely groomed, young dwarf clad in orange takes in a mess of dwarven fists and tankards from where he stands in the open doorway. Bellows, insults, and harsh laughter collide with the rumble of overturning wooden furniture and meaty smacks of knuckles against muscles.
Logan laughs as the nad-puncher retreats "You're all cowards! You'll get nothing more from us than what you've already received!" he swings at the first tripper. he then swings at the chair thrower in his way "Get out of my way!" he bellows, focused on the dwarf behind him.
Tolsbaer gently raps the door post and primly clears his throat.
"Excuse me, but this will not do at all. In the name of High King Stormcall, I command you all to stand fast." The newcomer holds his necklace forth for all to see the family crest of House Stormcall. "Warrants shall be issued against any who attempt to flee or continue to fight, but leniency and mercy shown to all who cooperate."
Bolgrith pauses, fist mid-swing, to glance at the newcomer and their proffered mark of sovereignty.
Logan, his guard still up, looks not at the newcomer, but watches the thugs to see how they respond to the dwarf's authority. "If you represent High King Stormcall, you have my cooperation."
Logan drops a fist on top of the heads of the two dwarves in front of him, and they reel backward, out cold from the hard blows.
The medallion certainly displays the royal crest of the Stormcall clan. But the bearer of the crest is very young, and not within the immediate royal family -that much Bolgrith is certain. After a quick moment of age estimation, the priest guesses this to be Tolsbaer Stormcall, nephew to the holy priest-king Stormcall.
All of the brawlers pause in the uproar, and all eyes turn as one to the presented family crest. With no a small amount of grumbling, they stop fighting to upright chairs and tables. Some of them even go so far as to start picking up the tankards and dishes thrown to the floor. Two dwarves in common clothing lay unconscious on the floor of the tavern. The adversaries of Bolgrith and Logan are lost in the commotion.
Two of the four brawlers sit inconspicuously at a table, plainly trying to avoid the eyes of Bolgrith and Logan.