"I have no idea. This isn't an... official work visit. Let's just say I'm a firm believer in not having all my eggs in one basket." The tiefling comes in with another two jabs, both deflecting off of Ahto's raised forearms. Afterwards he goes for a low sweep at the legs with his tail, dragging one of Ahto's legs outwards, weakening his defensive stance.
"There is more to this than she has let on to you, Ahto. And more importantly, that girl?" He gives a quick jerk of his head towards Korihor. "I don't know why, but she's trouble. Somebody wants her. Maybe dead, maybe working for them." He shrugs nonchalantly, made normal for the scenario by rolling his shoulder, trying to look limber. "Point is, expect trouble." With that, the tiefling grins.
"Now that that's out of the way, I really have been dying to fight you. Heard good things." The tiefling finally goes in for a real hit, swinging his foot towards Ahto's ribs. He deflects off one of Ahto's arms, but for the first time there is real power behind the blow. "Looks like the theatrics have me a little rusty. Gimme you best, Crack Jaw."
Ahto lashes out with a hay-maker that the tiefling evades easily.
"Looks like you're on your game."
Zeph thanks Groff for what little information he could give, he isn't exactly surprised by the mystery of the Tiefling, such folk were often mysterious. Still, something seemed off here.
As he takes a bite of cheese and a sip of his drink he glances back and forth between Ahto, Malon and Korihor, his gaze studying and worried. He can't help but feel he may have gotten in over his head. He whispers to Kierana as much "Am I the only one that feels the webs of intrigue starting to entangle us here? I mean, doesn't it seem Ahto and the Tiefling are doing more talking than fighting? And how does he know Korihor?" His boot bounces against the well worn floorboards in a rhythmic nervous twitch.
"What?" Korihor says, leaning forward and looking at Zeph and Kierana. She holds her drink partway to her lips. "Did you say something?"
A jest of ours. Zeph and I have a...quite interesting professional relationship. Kierana leans over toward Zeph, sliding a hand onto his shoulder and pretending to flirt playfully with him.
She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and straightens slightly, letting out a high, clear laugh. Isn't that right, darling?
"You seem to have 'interesting' professional relationships with many of the men."
And what else would you expect, for one of my profession? Kierana replies coyly. But when she sees Korihor's expression, she knows the woman is not fooled by the act.
All right. We were discussing Ahto and the tiefling in the ring. They purportedly box, yet they seem to throw more words than punches. It seems strange, especially for one as...direct as Ahto. We did not wish to concern you further over nothing; Zeph was just wondering who the tiefling might be to Ahto. Have you seen him before, perchance? Do you know anything of him?
Korihor gazes out at the fighters. "I've never seen him before, no."
"I suppose we both are, aren't we?" The tiefling takes a moment, ducking under Ahto's swing, to look for weaknesses. Grinning when he sees an opening, he slams his fist into Ahto's gut. While it barely sneaks past his defenses, the jab hits home. "Good punch, too. As tough as they say, aren't you?"
Zeph silently agrees with Kierana's evaluation of the situation.
He sighs and reassures Korihor of their intentions, "Don't worry, I certainly don't plan on allowing anything to happen to you. We did help you out with those guards didn't we? But if you know something that could be of use in protecting you and ourselves it would be most appreciated."
His gaze goes back to the fighters as Korihor contemplates his words. Speaking to the whole table he says, "Otherwise we will just wait and see what Ahto has to say after his fight. From the way it is going, hopefully he won't be out cold."
"But why?" Korihor asks, leaning forward a bit to peer around Kierana. "Why did you bother to...'help me out'? There were at least half a dozen people wounded or being arrested, if not more. You didn't blink at helping them."
The wounded were being treated, and healing is not where my skill lies. The others being arrested were not being handled so roughly. Kierana shrugs. You did not seem the type that is usually involved in these scuffles, so I doubted you were being fairly held. Ahto took an interest in you, and I wished to ensure one of my best clients wasn't taken in as well. A thousand reasons. But mostly, I greatly mislike seeing others treated harshly - unless they've asked me for it, of course. She gives a sly wink.
"I didn't seem the type? You mean I'm not a half-orc? Or some fundamentalist elf?" Korihor says, close to seething, looking at Pyrhha. "I'm a human. We never cause trouble, or attack anyone. Like say, that Priest of Iomadae - wait. He was human too." Her voice drips with sarcasm.
Korihor finishes her drink in one, her glass slamming back down on the counter. She seems to have forgotten the fight is going on. "There is no type for violence. For fundamentalism. For Extremism. Men, women. Humans, elves, orcs. Even halflings." she smiles, stealing a somewhat softer glare at Brand. "There is no type, because the only thing they are, you can't see - close-minded." She stares at her empty glass and mumbles something.
Suddenly she turns in her stool. "But Ahto took an interest. In me." Korihor touches her freshly cut lips, still red and angry. "And you all just followed. And Ahto knew that bloke was looking at me. And he's 'fighting' him now..."
If you'd prefer to be back under that Grey Guard's knee, or in a prison cell, say the word. I'm sure it can be arranged. But I happen to agree with you. No being should seek to shove another under their thumb - and that's why I helped you in the first place. I saw the Grey Guard being just as fanatical, just as oppressive, just as violent as that Iomedaen, and I wished to help put an end to it.
If Ahto has ulterior motives, I'm not aware of them, and should he for some foolish reason turn on you, you need only ask for my aid. I can speak for no other, but as for myself, my motives are genuine. By the end of her diatribe, Kierana is seething behind a thin veil of courtesy at Korihor's implications. She mirrors the other woman's actions, draining the last of her drink. Barkeeper, another for me and for my companions, she shouts, slamming more coin on the bar top.
At Kierana's words, Korihor seems to realize all she's said. "I'm sorry. I'm suspicious by nature. And you did help me. I just don't trust pure intentions. I've never met any."
Oh, I can understand that. Ask me sometime and I can tell some quite harrowing stories of mine own. She smirks.
And I can sympathize with the desire to pour every thought in your head out of your mouth, too - otherwise it feels as if the head must explode with the pressure of them all, yes? It's only long years of training that has forced the tendency from me. You seem less inclined to develop the ability, she jibes with a smile.
Zeph stares on in bewilderment at the back and forth between Korihor and Kierana. "I can't speak for Ahto, but I think other among us would have done what we had done whether he had spoken up or not. I knowingly stepped in despite having issues with the guards in the past. You were certainly being treated most roughly by them, possibly specifically because you did not fit in. I know exactly how it feels to be preyed upon for not 'fitting in'."
He takes another sip of his drink, still far from finishing it. "And I can vouch well enough for Kierana, she took me in as something of a surrogate sibling and sparring partner after a tragedy left me lost and adrift. While Ahto and Brand quite possibly saved my life when they found me wounded after said tragedy. You are among good company."
Korihor smirks. "Sparring partner?"
Surely you did not think an acolyte of the goddess of vengeance would leave herself defenceless? I am as able with a sword as I am with my wits, and have been granted quite the defender by the Savored Sting as well. Perhaps you saw Acharn when we first met? The wasp the size of a black bear that followed at my side? He has been my steady companion for years, and a shepherd of the Salon's swarm as well.
Zephyrion came to me during a difficult time. He sought vengeance for a great wrong done him, and I offered my services to train him, so he could enact that vengeance. My calling goes far beyond the bedsheets - helping to satisfy lust for revenge is as much my domain as helping to satisfy lust for sexual pleasure.
That hurt! One more hit like that, and I'm done! Time to roll the dice...
Ahto hurls a roundhouse right, using the momentum of his swing to follow through with a spinning heel-kick.
"And his...sparring...fulfills which lust? Korihor says, chuckling.
"I have nothing to protect me. No training, no weapons. My mum used to say my tongue was like a crossbow bolt. Fast, harsh, and piercing." She winces as Ahto throws the heel-kick.
The tiefling comes in for another jab as Ahto's kick catches him in the chest. Recoiling backwards, he very nearly falls backwards, although he balances himself with his tail, keeping his feet. "Excellent, excellent!" He spins around, his hands coming up in front again to guard from another attack.
-----
"Ahto's doin' well, ain't he? I was half expectin' him to go down with that first punch. Glad I put my money on him. Always do." Groffin looks back to the rest of the party. "Any more drinks for ya, folks?" He looks specifically to Korihor as he says it. "Other than you, Miss. I'll have your's right out. What seems to be the issue?"
"Do you have any Scotch? And maybe a cigar from Jalmaray?" Korihor asks, blowing her breath out slowly. "Both with a little spice?"
"No more for me Groff, I'm a light weight. Zeph's smile seems to say a sincere apology for not allowing Groff to take more of his cash.
I believe I've had enough, thank you, Kierana responds with a smile, still subtly surveying the scene.
Ahto grits his teeth against the pain, and advances on the tiefling, putting everything into his punches.
Keeping swinging. Just keep swinging. Maybe you'll connect...
Brand relaxed quietly, calmly, trading his attention between his ale and cheese, the boxing match, his companions, and the onlookers who have gathered. Hearing Zeph, Kierana, and the new lass, Korihor was it? debate over the day's events, his mind also wanders back to the incident in the street. Why had my attention been drawn to her? Was it chance... circumstance... or something less natural... a spell perhaps? and if so, who is toying with me?
The questions bounced about his psyche even as he realizes his mug of ale has gone dry. Holding he empty mug aloft, "Another pint of ale, good sir!" Turning to his comrades, both old and new, he finally offers a few words, "Korihor, I understand your suspicions, and in the City at the Center of the World it is wise to keep your guard up. That said, it is perhaps even more important to have friends to rely on. And as with extremists... with friends there is likewise no type. Whether man or woman, tall or short, old or young, wise or foolish, one who would stand beside you against ill is someone to keep close. So please, feel safe in this company. We are a band of misbegotten souls, all lost, plagued, and tortured in our own way. Yet together, we find strength and unity amidst the storm. So, m'lady, I bid ye welcome."
Korihor nods a little nervously at Brand.
"Badly conceived, misguided, plagued, and tortured people are not things one finds in search of safety. Quite the opposite. Danger finds such people, at every dark ally and every blind corner, and should it fail to discover a band of such people, they will seek it out in turn. They are lost so they only know to follow the path into darkness, they are plagued with stress and insanity thinking they can overcome their shattered minds or past. Their torture binds them as one, and if there is any irony to be had, they find their insanity is reflected by those around them, and they feel like things are finally normal. But nothing lasts." Pyrrha takes a long last swig of her mead and pushes the bar's empty bowl to the far end and stands looking hard at the others with her, before turning and joining the crowd of onlookers watching the fight between the tiefling and Ahto.
Priming for another attack, the tiefling moves in to grapple Ahto yet again. His tail flicks around Ahto's upheld arms, dragging him close to the tiefling. "Something isn't right... I don't know what it is. This next punch would have knocked you out, be a sport and play along?" With that, he swings a wild haymaker towards Ahto's jaw, expertly pulling the punch to not give Ahto so much as a tap. Still held in his grip, he follows the "haymaker" up with a quick jab to the chest, then pulls Ahto in close with his tail and sweeps the back of his leg, attempting to give Ahto an easy fall to the mat.
"Can't have you dreaming if this all goes to Hell, now can we?" Afterward, he raises his arms above his head, faking a victory shout as the crowd around the two begins to howl. Lost in the shuffle, the tiefling's tail snakes to his belt, then drops a small potion vial next to Ahto.
-----
Among the group at the bar, only Zephyrion begins to develop any sense of unease. The rest, concerned enough with their drink and conversation, have failed to notice the two men who've managed to enter the tavern, looking well-armed and dangerous. One sits down at the bar, several stools over from the group, and the other ordered a drink and moved to the wall, leaning against it near the door. The two men seem to be watching your group intently, although casual observation wouldn't have caught them.
Korihor looks at Pyrrha and almost smiles. "See? You get it."
Ahto gives an almost imperceptible nod to the tiefling, as he rolls over on top of the vial, palming it as he feigns groggy defeat.
He glances at the vial quickly, trying to determine its contents.
He pulls himself gingerly up to his knees, and then slowly to his feet. He staggers back to the group, head down. When he resumes his seat, he whispers to them:
"These fellas that just walked in could be trouble. Be ready to fight or to run."
He gingerly, but casually, begins to put his lamellar back on, and then refastens his weapon belt.
"I'm sorry, what? Who?" Korihor says, leaning forward.
"One is a few stools down and the other is leaning against the wall. They've both been staring at us for a while. They are armed and I don't think they are here just to look. Be discrete if you look back." Zephyrion whispers this information before faking a laugh. "Should we make a break for it or give them the fight they want?"
Ahto resumes his seat, keeping the vial in his palm. "Don't go looking for a fight like this, if you don't have to. If there are witnesses, we want them to testify that we were defending ourselves. Just don't get caught flat-footed when steel gets drawn."
"I agree. Fight them? They shouldn't want anything from us. It's all likely a misunderstanding."
Of course, a misunderstanding. Despite the confidence in Kierana's words, her hand strays to rest on her shoulder, next to the ornate curved hilt protruding from an elegant curved scabbard on her back. It's unfortunate I sent Acharn back to her children at the Salon. I didn't expect trouble. Ah, but this is Absalom...
Zephyrion nods at their reasoning. Though he disagrees with Korihor's insistence of a misunderstanding, the two who had entered looked much to confident and professional. Thankfully, he has no need to prepare, he is always armed. He takes a deep, steadying breath and his hair seems to flutter in a anomalous breeze.
As the group takes notice of the men who seem to have taken an interest in them, their attempts to pick them out among the crowd seem to have gone unnoticed. They both seem to be wearing heavy mail, and each wears a sword and shield at his back. They make great pains to blend in, each trying not to look towards the other.
Groffin looks to Ahto as he walks up to the group. "You seemed to have gone down a bit easy there at the end, lad... what's goin' on? There be trouble brewin'?" As Groffin speaks, his generally jovial face forms into a grimace. "Don't need trouble in here." He takes a moment to eye the greataxe hanging behind him on the wall.
"Let's just say that our tiefling friend decided that if things get nasty, I'd be more use if I wasn't sleeping off a concussion. If things go south with these two, he won't be siding with them. Hand me a shot glass, will ya Groff? An empty one, but put it in front of me like it's full."
Once the dwarf complies, Ahto tips the contents of the vial into the glass, then drinks it with a deep quaff.
As the others become ill at ease, Brand stays calm and collected. Hmm, this could either get very entertaining, or most unfortunate... we shall see he ponders to himself while taking a large drink from his new ale. "Ahh, thank ye Groffin, a pint of ale always warms the spirits."
Taking another drink, he discreetly glances around the room to try and spot any other allies of their two watchers.
Sudddenly standing up, he approaches his friend a bit too loudly calls out, "But come, the mighty Crack-Jawed Ahto, defeated so easily by this new whelp of a challenger? Were ye not the man that knocked out a pair o' bugbears each wit a single punch?! Will ye not fight 'im again, best o' three p'rhaps?! Who wants to see another 'ound? Oh, I know, how 'bout a street fight?!" as he points toward the door, whilst trying to get the crowd riled up and moving outside.
The crowd grumbles and groans, but as Brand continues they seem to be rather interested in the idea of watching the two bludgeon each other into unconsciousness again. "C'mon Ahto, ye cost me ma last silver!" shouts a man from a table, and a few others begin to get a bit riled up as well. Those around Twist begin to push him towards the door, and Groffin shrugs. "Long as it don't break my bar, have your damned street fight, Ahto. But watch yerself."
Twist himself shrugs as he looks at Ahto, grinning as he sees the man down the potion. Instantly, Ahto's welling bruises and aches melt away, replaced by a calming warmth. "Smart friends you have there," he manages to say before being pushed out into the street. The two men, surprised by this turn of events, begin to move outside as well.
Korihor narrows her eyes at Ahto as he downs his shot.
She watches as everyone starts to leave, but stays seated.
As the crowd makes their way out, Kierana watches the two mystery men closely, analyzing their movements, as she sips at the remainder of her drink to disguise her delay. As the majority of the patrons pass through the exits, Kierana joins the group's flow, keeping herself at the edge of the group, but within sight of the suspicious pair. A potential foe in sight is better than a potential foe unseen.
Zeph follows Kierana's leads attempting to keep an eye on the two men as he slips outside with the rest of the crowd. Good job Brand!
Ahto stands in the circle of on-lookers, facing Twist.
"So what'll it be this time? Another round of fists and feet, or are we moving onto to rougher games?" He rests his hand on the darkwood cudgel at his belt.
As the crowd moves toward the door, Brand slips amidst the bodies in an effort to disappear into the mass. Pulling up alongside one of their armored watchers, he figures its time to force them to react. Slipping the iron ring off his finger, he deftly tucks it into the man's belt pouch.
As they get outside and the crowd opens up, he calls out, "Bloody 'ell, someone just stole me ring?! Me ma gave it to me, b'fore she passed." Starting to get emotional and tear up, he turns toward the armored man, "YEH! I saw yer mailed hand right against me arm. You stole it!"
Korihor picks up the nearest abandoned mug with a drink in it.