"So, what'd you need? I hear you askin' the barkeep 'bout me. Or rather, your... less homely acquaintance." He leans out from behind Ahto and Zeph, looking at Kierana. "Point being, you're here for something, and you won me a bit of coin, so I'm in a helping mood. What is it?"
Kierana lets out a well-practiced girlish giggle at Sven's compliment. You're too kind, she responds coyly. It was curiosity that brought us, to tell you the truth. Heard your name connected to some shared business of ours, and we were wondering about you, so we wanted to come find out what we could. And I must say, I'm liking what I'm finding out so far.
She slips her hand into his elbow, attempting to lay on her charm. Clearly you're a fine gambler, but I have to wonder - is betting the only thing you use that luck for? Or is there another profession you turn your good fortune toward?
Seeing Sven is in hand, for the moment, Ahto looks back towards the other patrons in the tavern.
"Anyone else wanna try me at wrestling arms, or some other game you've got going? I'm not picky when it comes to making wagers!"
"You hintin' at something, miss? I'm a businessman by trade, but I don't deal in anything... irreputable. I work the books for a small mercenary company based here in Absalom, but they're small potatoes. Would that perhaps be the 'business' you were talking about? We don't do much work here in Absalom, but there's always something that needs doing." Sven takes a seat at the bar, nodding the bartender and tapping his hand twice on the table. Understanding, the bartender begins to pour him a drink and fetch him a plate of bread and cheese. Sven slides a few silver onto the table, and looks again to Kierana and the group.
"You've got quite a motley group, here. What shared business do we seem to have, by your understanding? Care to fill me in?"
-----
"Yeah, I'll give ya a game," comes a voice from behind Ahto. The sailor, a grimace on his face, gestures over to the fighting pit. "Dumb luck, newcomer. Gimme another shot, in the ring. Wager's double or nothin', savvy?" He cracks his knuckles, then his neck, and leans against one of the posts of the currently empty ring. "Or are ya afraid yer luck ran out?"
Oh, certainly I accuse you of no ill will or disreputable activities, good sir. I understand that even the most perceptive can be caught in happenings bigger than they realize, and after all, everyone must put food on the table. She gestures to the bread, cheese, and ale in front of him. I was given your name by an associate of ours, an information broker who had been tasked with retrieving some sensitive information that aligned with the interests of my friends and I. He said his employer requested that he send that information to your care, here at the Crow's Nest. The name Johnny Sixfingers sound familiar? She watches intently for any sort of reaction the name may draw out.
"Gladly," Ahto replies with a crooked smile. "Am I correct in assuming that this is a boxing match - no armor or weapons?"
He begins unfastening his weapons belt, and removing his lamellar. He removes his shirt as well, standing in his breeches and boots.
Assuming the sailor does the same, Ahto waits for the man to enter the ring first.
"Yeah, bub. Fisticuffs, nothin' more." He lumbers into the ring himself, stretching his limbs as he waits for Ahto to enter himself. A couple of the same man from the betting pool gather around, placing bets again on the sailor, clearly a fan favorite. "Y'ready t'get yer ass kicked, boy?"
-----
"Johnny... maybe? I don't know that I've ever met him, and I don't know him personally. Is this... why don't you stop beating around the bush here, and tell me what's happened. I really can't help you if I don't know what it is you're talkin' about, miss." While he seems sincere in his attempt to help, you can't help but notice it seems like he's holding something back when you ask about Johnny. While it's obvious he's never met the man, it seems he's likely a bit more familiar with him than he would have you believe.
You don't know how much I wish I could be clear, Kierana responds with a huff. But clarity is what we're seeking...that's why we're here. And it seems I'm not the only one holding back - I think you're more familiar with Mr. Sixfingers than you'd have me believe. She glances around to her companions, then begins to speak in a low voice. But I do believe you wish to help. Let's see if you can.
We were attacked last night by a band of thugs, and again this morning, for reasons we don't fully understand - that's what we're trying to find out. There was one among our number that seemed to have some understanding, but he was even more tight-lipped than you or I concerning what he may have known. So we went to Johnny; his business is knowledge, after all. And when we went to Johnny, he said that someone had tried to engage him to find out more about us, and he'd been told to send the information along to someone by your name at this place.
So now you're the next stepping stone along our path. What is it you're holding back about Mr. Sixfingers, and what sort of information were you expecting to receive here?
Bluff DC12: She's trying her hardest to avoid mentioning precisely who among them is the center of all the attention, attempting to keep focus on the group as a whole rather than individuals.
"Pyrrha, would please make sure my personal affects are left undisturbed while I take care of a bit of business?"
Ahto steps into the circle, guard up and ready to fight.
He flexes and shakes the muscles in his arms and shoulders, and looks the sailor in the eye.
"Prepare to have your hull scuttled, Skipper."
Zeph keeps an eye on Kierana's conversation with Sven, ready to step in if it looks needed, but knowing she is better at delicate matters.
And of course, he can't help but cheer on Ahto, "Show this sailor what it feels like to fight a warrior!"
Pyrrha seems to be caught off guard as she makes a sudden disdainful face as if tending to Ahto's things is offensive but she doesn't verbally protest taking them.
Zeph nudges Pyrrha with an elbow, "See, he likes you!" he grins deviously.
"He likes his stuff not stolen," Korihor says matter-of-factly.
As Ahto and the sailor square off, it becomes increasingly obvious that despite his size, the man has always relied more on brawn than any sort of training. Instead of sizing Ahto up, he moves in quickly with a vicious haymaker thrown for Ahto's gut; while powerful, it lacks the precision or speed of someone learned in unarmed combat. His wind-up for the punch leaves Ahto with plenty of time to come in for a counter-attack before the sailor even gets off his first punch.
-----
"Look, I really never met 'im. One of the boys said he was gonna have a chat with him the other day, sure. But we don't have any contracts in the city and he never told me to expect anything to come across my desk." Sven looks uneasy now, but Kierana can tell he seems to now be telling the whole truth. "I'd love to tell you why someone was causin' you trouble, but I don't have any idea. I'm not party to whatever's going on, if it's really happened the way you believe."
Of course you aren't involved, she responds soothingly. And who could fault a man for simply doing his job? One more thing, though - you say one of your men was going to speak with him. Would you mind sending us his way? I'd like to speak with him as well, see if perhaps he is privy to our concerns and could give us some more information. Or describe him, perhaps, and I'll consider if he could be the one Johnny spoke with.
Thank you ever so much for your truthfulness, good sir. Fare you well now, and may your foes always receive their due. With a congenial bow, Kierana rises and hands another coin to the bartender, glancing coyly backward over her shoulder. Let me buy the rest of his drinks; gambling can be thirsty work.
Ahto reacts a moment too slow to intercept the man's blow. He tries not to wince and a fist meets his ribs.
"Nice hit," he says, trying to sound casual.
Ahto responds with a heavy swing that connects solidly with the thicket part of the man's abdomen.
The sailor stumbles backward, clearly not expecting the vicious counter-attack from Ahto. He brings his fist around again, taking a swing for his jaw. The blow sails past Ahto, the sailor's swing wild and undisciplined. "I ain't losin' this, too! I'm gonna put'cha in yer f*ckin' place, y'hear me?"
-----
"Yeah, my nephew sent him. He's kind of a brute, truth be told. Tall, kinda oily blonde hair? Wears it real long, and he's kinda scruffy. He's not the brightest, but he's got a good sword arm I've been told." Sven pauses for a moment, taking a drink and a bite of his food. "If I don't mistake myself, he goes by Eran. Pretty sure he lives in the Puddles, if I remember correctly. If that's who you're looking for, you could start there." From the description, you'd guess this is likely the man Johnny was describing himself; he also seems to at least partially match the description of one of the men who attacked your group in the Naughty Nymph."
"And your's too, miss. And thanks for the drink, but your friend's already paid for my fair share tonight. And he'd probably do the same over again, if I'd bet on the match he's in now. Poor sodding fool doesn't know a warrior when he sees one. You don't move like that from working on a ship."
Eran, in the Puddles. Thank you. At Sven's concern over Ahto, Kierana turns her attention to the match, hoping Ahto doesn't manage to get too roughed up. After all, there was more investigation that needed doing today, and the day was young. Perhaps more assassins were headed their way, too.
In the commotion, Kierana heads over to confer with the others. We're headed to the Puddles next, to look for a man called Eran. It sounds as if he's one of the men that tried to set Johnny on our trail, and possibly one of the men that attacked us at the Nymph last night as well.
Korihor taps the glass twice on the table, and throws the water back like a shot. Swallowing, she knuckles her forehead, and grimaces. "Gods."
Ahto throws another counter punch as the man lunges.
He steps back, then winds up again for a large, powerful knockout blow:
Ahto catches the man in the chest now, surprised by Ahto's quick reactions. He takes the blow hard to the chest, and stumbles backwards as Ahto's heavier blow catches him in the ribs, and he collapses backwards into the wall, breathing heavily. "You... you sonuva b*tch!" he grunts, trying to haul himself to his feet. "Who the f*ck d'you think y'are, mate? Comin' in here like some gods damned big shot." He coughs once or twice, slowly rising to his feet. "Y'must think you're a tough mother f*cker, huh? I'm gonna cut you down a peg, y'hear me Scarface?"
He stumbles towards Ahto, grabbing a heavy cleaver off of his own belt lying beside the ring. "C'mere, you little gutter rat. I'm gonna teach'ya a f*ckin' lesson, y'hear me?" While he growls, a few of the other men seem to murmur in agreement, drawing knives or other small weapons as they begin to grow louder and more rowdy. "Not so f*ckin' tough now, eh? C'mon, you bastard! Do yer worst!" Another man hands the sailor a vial of bright red liquid, and as he downs it the already forming bruises begin to fade. The crowd, now nearly frothing, begins to advance towards Ahto, as well as Sven and the rest of the party.
Initiative Order!
Korihor groans as the crowd gets ruffled, picks up the glass, and holds it out the the bartender. "Quick like a hare, now, give me a shot of Perry if you've got one. It's about to become another dog's dinner in here, and I'm not about to do this with water in my belly, unless you want my sick all over."
Ahto brings both his fists up, and his body compresses like a spring.
"Well, boys, this was a friendly boxing match. Now, you've gone and drawn steel...."
Ahto lays into the first thugs to get within reach:
Zeph grimaces as a mob forms. Do these idiots not realize we are all trained and they are not? He sighs, but doesn't hesitate to launch a burst of electricity at the man standing nearest him.
Pyrhha leaps into action with an outstretched hand as a mileu of colors pour from her hand a split moment before the men even know they were going to attack.
Aemon gapes at the sudden outburst of violence before drawing his rapier and taking a few steps toward the fight, placing himself between Korihor and the brawl.
"Does this have anything to do with the attack from yesterday, do you think?" Not waiting for an answer, he closes his eyes for a moment, focusing his energy.
"How would I know!" Korihor hisses, diving over the counter to take cover.
While angry, the mob itself doesn't seem to be very hardy; as Ahto throws two punches, one manages to connect with the sailor's jaw despite the poor form of the blow. Zephyrion's own burst of lightning catches another man in the chest, knocking him backwards. Both of the men before Pyrrha fall unconscious as they're hit by the myriad display of color. However, the rest of the men appear to only be angrier than before. One takes a swing at Pyrrha, while another brings his long knife around for a blow at Zephyrion. However, neither of them manage to hit the party, their knives slicing through nothing but air.
The bartender screeches as the fighting erupts, ducking behind the counter without a thought as to Korihor's request. Sven too ducks behind the bar, not wanting to be caught in the middle.
Excellent. As if we didn't have enough trouble already. Kierana rushed forward to join the others in the midst of the melee, drawing her long curved sword with a rasp.
Acharn flies forward along with Kierana, taking up position opposite Zephyrion and jabbing forward with her stinger.
Pyrrha's scimitar crackles as it slides from the sheathe dangling from her side. "You'll need a bigger knife than that you worm!" She barks as she steps out of the way of the knife and answers with a her own blade.
Melee Scimitar 2-handed / magic:
Korihor peaks up over the bar. "Why are we killing them?!"
"I'm gonna stick that knife in your bilge hatch!" Ahto roars at the sailor, as he throws his weight into his punches. Ribs, teeth, or jaw; bones are going to get broken.
As Acharn flies towards one of the men, her stinger slamming into his chest with tremendous force. He stumbles backwards, the barbs along the edge dragging through his flesh as the giant wasp hums menacingly next to him in the air.
-----
As the first of the two men misses with his attack on Zephyrion, the other comes in with a knife as well, but also fails to even graze the kineticist with his long knife. Meanwhile, one of the men moves into the ring with Ahto and the sailor, coming up behind Ahto as the sailor tries to press him against the ropes. While the ruffian's knife misses Ahto, the sailor's cleaver chops into his shoulder. Blood flies from his blade, seeping down onto the brawler's chest. The rest of the men stare nervously at their compatriots knocked out by Pyrrha's spell, but otherwise continue to fight.
"Don't ask me," Aemon shouts back to Korihor, "I'm just trying to keep someone from sticking a knife in me!"
Aemon hesitates momentarily, unsure whether to join the fight, until he sees one of the thugs cut into Ahto.
"Damn. This is madness. No, we need to end this, now. Stay down, I'll be back shortly!"
He moves around Pyrrha's left, lashing out at the thug she's fighting with the pommel of his rapier. "Mind if I cut in?"
Zeph attempts to save face and take out one of the mob, but misses terribly.
Ahto's off-hand catches the sailor's cleaver as he brings it around for another swing, just as his other fist catches him in the ribs. With the audible crack of broken bones, the sailor drops to the floor in a heap, his cleaver clanging onto the hardwood a moment or two afterward. Meanwhile, Pyrrha's cut across her own adversary's chest sends him stumbling backward, right into the pommel of Aemon's rapier. With a thud, the man's eyes roll back into his head and he hits the floor. Another blast of lightning crackles past one of the men next to Zeph, but it misses him by an inch, scorching his shoulder a bit as the harsh stench of ozone permeates the air.
-----
As the sailor falls before Ahto, the man behind him brings his long fishing knife down into Ahto's back, leaving a vicious wound behind as the serrated edge drags through flesh. Near Zeph, one of the other men, taking advantage of his missed attack, stabs upwards into Zeph's gut and drags the blade, spilling blood along the wooden floors. The man glares at Zeph as he withdraws the knife, spins the knife around into an ice-pick grip as he prepares for a counterattack.
"Aemon!" Korihor yells as he wades into battle. "We have to get out of here, guys!"
She finds a sharp knife behind the bar, and starts moving towards the door, making sure the way is clear.
Like hell we do! Kierana shouts in response to Korihor. These bastards started it - they'll get what's coming! Seeing the dire straits Ahto is in, she ducks toward him, bringing her sword down on the man threatening him with righteous fury.
As Korihor moves towards the door, Kierana deftly ducks behind the man as he spins his knife. She brings her sword up and around, and blood spills onto the floor as the ruffian collapses, a massive wound through his abdomen. He groans for a moment, reaching for one of the ropes on the edge of the ring before rolling over and lying still.
-----
While Kierana moves to attack the other man, one of the other men brings his knife up into Zeph's gut as well, leaving another bloody gash as Zeph's lifeblood seeps from his wound, leaving bloody splotches on the floor at his feet. While still standing, Zeph can already feel the wooziness of blood loss as he clutches at his stab wounds; as he reaches for a table to lean on he tumbles to the ground unconscious. "Not so tough, eh?" the man mumbles, flicking the blood off onto the ground. "I'm gonna sink it in the boxer next," says the other one, grinning, "Come'ere, you little gutter sh*te!"
Pyrrha quickly steps over Zephyrion to guard his fallen body from the deadly assault and repays the owed debt to the wounded assailant.
Scimitar w/arcane strike:
Crit confirmation:
Ahto moves towards the remaining standing combatants.
He takes a swing at the nearest one, wincing as his wound burns with the open air.
Aemon looks in disbelief at the continuing fight and the blood on the ground. He closes his eyes and gathers his will, and when it unleashes he suddenly swells in size, power crackling around him until he towers over the other combatants.
Aemon roars. He levels his rapier, now nearly six feet long, at the remaining two thugs.
The last two men, startled both by Aemon's size and his rapier now pointed towards their faces. "Y'think we're s-scared o'you, ya old f*ckin' c*nt?" one of them shouts, fear in his voice. "Your friend's damn near b-bleedin' out on the floor, and your boxer friend is--" he turns, watching his friend fall dead to the ground. "I... sh*t, he's got us. I... f*ck." After a moment, both men drop their knives, raising their hands above their heads as Aemon backs them away from Zephyrion. "You win, y'understand? We put up t'weapons, we'll wait for the guard... just don' kill me, please."