Jordon is a bit disappointed that the commotion only turned out to be some two-bit thugs, but he does enjoy a good ass-whoopin'. He moves to get a front row seat of the action, and impersonates a sports announcer, shouting with a ridiculous accent, "Alright, 'e gave 'im the left hook. Looks like he ain't takin' that one sittin'. Oh, and 'ere comes a piece! Looks like we have a dirty fighter in the ring!"
"...My baby."
Rekkstuff VanHalen looks at his beautiful, scratched guitar. They had scratched his baby. The fact that it was the guy's armor doing it and not them didn't matter. They had scratched his baby. He feels himself move out of the way of one of their stabs, and he moved a little to the side. Then, he takes the initiative to brain the one that was still standing with his guitar. "You scratched my baby! I am going to end you, you dirty son of a !"
Rekkstuff strikes true, and the thug collapses to the ground, out cold and still bleeding slowly from his nose.
"Oh, and 'e's out cold! Would ya look at that, folks! A real haymaker, that was!" Jordon stops the announcing after that and moves over to the thug on the ground, standing over him with his arms crossed. He puts on the meanest look he can and waits for the guy to recover from the spell (assuming no one kills him before that), at which point he says rather crossly, "And what the Abyss are YOU laughing at? Get outta here, you stupid lout!"
Victor spits a little blood in the direction of his now-fallen adversary, mumbling something about "...at least I didn't need a stick to do it."
Seeing that this fight is in the bag, he hops over to the thugs' victim to see if he's alright.
Roger slowly walks over to the one he cast against. He squats down, waiting for him to recover. Once he does, he's going to say: "Do you see the mistake you've made? Now I want you to get up, run away, and be sure that if I ever see you do anything like this again, it won't end so well for you. Now go home, and get yourself out of this whole gang business."
The punk on the ground continues laughing, but gradually phases into halting sobs. He staggers to his feet and stammers, "Y-yes sir." In a flash, he darts out of the alleyway and into the shadows.
The lump on the ground stands up. It's a gnomish man in well tailored merchant's clothes, though they've been torn and stained by the beating.
"You saved my life!" he cries, then his eyes grow even wider. "You're Squealy Nord! I saw your show, and it was fantastic!" He shakes everyone's hand in turn, introducing himself separately each time. "Vingimon L. Barrigan, but you can call me Vinny."
When he finishes making the rounds through the band, he exclaims. "I owe you my life. I promise I'll make this up to you!"
Before anyone can reply, he runs off, laughing and jumping down the alleyway until he rounds a corner and disappears.
Jordon stares after the gnome, taken by surprise by his spunk. However, he runs off before Jordon can say anything in response. A few seconds after the gnome is gone, Jordon says, "Ahhh, so no drummer? Bummer." He seems genuinely disappointed.
*raises one eyebrow*
"...Dangit. Scratched my guitar and halfway to killed a guy and we didn't even get a drummer out of it. Still, it's good to save a fan. I guess." Rekkstuff VanHalen summarizes while seeming almost disappointed. He takes a deep breath or six as he recovers from his outburst. He then casts Prestidigitation to clean the blood off of his guitar prior to looking over the downed man to figure out if he's dead or just seriously injured. Also to see if he is carrying anything.
Jordon will also go to the downed guy afterward. If he's bleeding out, Jordon will use heal to stabilize him.
Seeing that the man will live through his injuries, Jordon stands and, after Rekkstuff takes the guy's stuff, says, "Well, guess we're done here. What do you guys think about having an audition for a new drummer?" As he starts to head off.
"I've got it, Tobar. But hey, this lout's got ten gold on him. I say tonight's drinks are on him! Also, his leather's pretty nice. If no one else wants it...?"
Also, his leather's pretty nice. If no one else wants it...?"
"Roshambo you for it."
"Er... You know what? You can have it, Rekkstuff. Compensation for the scratch on your baby and all that."
"Thanks, man. I owe ya'." Rekkstuff replies gratefully. He takes the armor with him, and will be donning it as soon as is convenient. He will also be casting mending on his guitar as soon as is convenient as well.
"So. We gettin' drunk?"
"So. We gettin' drunk?"
"Aye, and it's about time, too."
Jordon pumps his fist and gives an enthusiastic "Huzzah!" before departing with the others.
The Gluttonous Gorgon will be open for a couple more hours, if you'd like to drown your sorrows over your dear departed drummer.
"Let us be off, then, to the Gluttonous Gorgon. it should still be open at this hour."
"Sounds good. Hopefully these guys won't toss us out like that one time at the Busty Buffalo. The owner's daughter was definitely some kind of gnoll in a really bad disguise."
"If I remember correctly, though, Rekkstuff, you didn't mind that so much once you'd gotten a few drinks into you."
"Everyone knows you don't have to look at her for that sort of thing. ' Sides, girl that ah... what's the word... talented? Shame not to break 'em in."
Jordon gives a knowing smile at the banter of the other two, but doesn't add anything, simply chuckling to himself as they group strolls along.
"Booze, ho!" Victor shouts as he heads toward the GG, jangling the recently-acquired stupid tax in his hands.
When you step into the tavern, you find it mostly full with villagers trying to stretch out the celebration as long as they can. Burly men chat amiably at the bar, while young couples laugh and shout at the dimly lit tables in the center of the room.
In the far corner of the dining area, a diverse group of young men stands up: a human, dwarf, gnome, and half-orc, along with a beautiful elven girl. Their clothing is as stylishly eccentric as your own. The human steps forward, dyed black hair covering one eye, and begins clapping. Very. Slowly. When the rest of the bar is quiet, he calls out to you.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Mealy Gourds. I have to congratulate you; I always knew your music was painful to listen to, but you really took it to new levels tonight. Actually killing a bandmate with your second-rate piano playing is quite the accomplishment."
"Is that your way of volunteering to be our next drummer, then? Because I'm sure we could muster an encore if that's the case."
"Man, can't we get someone outside of emo flip here? Guy probably can't drum to save his life. Literally."
Jordon wants to deny that his piano was so terrible tonight, but he knows that it's true, so he stays quiet, gritting his teeth and eying the emo punk angrily.
"Come on guys," Victor says to his agitated bandmates, "Let's not waste anymore time on these losers. We had a casualty mid-performance and STILL won the gold instead of Aqua Teen Fuzzy-Lip Force here. They're worth less of our time than the sponsors of tonight's drinks."
With that, Victor saunters over to the bar and orders drinks for himself, his bandmates, and whoever randomly happens to be on his right and left at the bar.
The leader of the Stained Mustache Experiment flicks his hair out of his eyes and points accusingly at all of you.
"That prize money belonged to us! Our performance was clearly superior to your uninspired, shallow, corporate sell-out drivel. You only won because you played along with the system. The System. You disgust us!"
"Because clearly the system is all about decapitating your bandmate on stage with a piano, right?"
Crickets creak in the silence, while someone off to the side mumbles, "Too soon..."
"Tch....Whatever!" Rekkstuff yelled, annoyed at his flop. "The point is we don't follow any system but ours!" it appeared his old standby of 'talk first, never think' was in full force.
Jordon steps up and imitates the way the moustacheless singer is talking, flicking an imaginary emover as he stands in a girly pose and says, "That prize money belonged to us! Our performance was clearly superior to your whiny, emo, wrist-cutting cryfest. You only lost because no one likes your terrible hair. Your terrible hair. You disgust us!"
Ignoring the irrelevant bleating of Captain Emo, Victor looks in the direction of the rival band's elf girl and gestures to the empty seat next to him at the bar.
"Got a drink here with your name on it, little lady." he says with a smile. "It's on me - or rather, it's on the street thug I took out with my bare hands." Victor winks and flexes a bit, then continues: "Come on, a girl like you should be hanging with the winners."
Phillip sits up at the bar, just watching the back and forth between the others.