Petronia makes a mental note of The Horned Helm knowing that that would be their next stop.
She smiles at Ner's comment about the raisins, "My thoughts exactly, Ner."
The brawler finishes her watered-down beer and waits somewhat impatiently until Matheus and Ner are ready to go. The heel of her boot drums the floor as her leg fidgets with impatient energy.
After a bit she asks, "So we're getting ready to go, then?"
"Never keep a lady waiting," Matheus agreed, as he finished licking his spoon clean. All in all, the gruel had left several things to be desired, but food was food. "Thank you for the directions and the company, friend," he went on, smiling at the gnome and nodding his head. "I think we can take it from here." The druid handed him a few more coppers. "Drink a pint to our health before braving the cold again, will you?"
The unnamed gnome thanks them profusely, and promises that he would be at their disposal any time they needed help or a guide for the rest of their trip.
The cold, dry air feels sharp on their skin when they head back out into the street. They ask directions to the Horned Helm, and were pointed across the market.
As they walked through the market, Matheus and Ner notice an awful lot of interest in their passage. Vendors and shoppers, urchins and passers-by - many of the people in the Charcoal Valley Market were surreptitiously watching them make their way through.
The Horned Helm is a low-slung, two-story building of questionable construction leaning heavily over a shoddy corner of mud and brick in the dankest, filthiest parcel of land in all of the market. It has no windows, as they’ve all been broken and boarded over; its only door looks like a simple plank of wood covered in scratches, burns, and probably blood stains. Noise, heat, and smoke pour out from under that door and rise to a staggering crescendo of laughter as the door swings lazily open and two bodies are unceremoniously dumped into the rutted, frozen mud streets outside. A battered sign hangs above the door, swinging on two chains, one shorter than the other. It bears the faded image of an Ulfen helm with two ridiculously large horns.
Petronia's gaze slides over the bodies piled by the door. Whether they're unconscious or dead she figured the patrons didn't really care. She shrugs and shoulders the door open. Over her shoulder she says to Ner and Matheus, "Now this place looks interesting. I think Kazmir would have enjoyed himself here too." She grins, "I'll have to rub it in later when we get back to the inn."
Inside the Horned Helm, you'd never know it was nearly midday. It is dim and smokey and stifling hot - easily over 35 degrees, and steamy. A row of sodden cloaks and parkas are lined up on hooks near the door, and the wave of heat is so intense that you immediately start sweating. This is because of two enormous iron furnaces crammed full of coal, wood, and anything else flammable that radiate the scorching fires of Hell themselves. Most of the crowd are sweating excessively, which only adds to the room’s dank stench.
The crowd is large, unfriendly, and already (or still) drunk. Immediately insults and catcalls start up, as the locals realize that you aren't a regular. The bartender is the worst. This enormous, bearded man - wearing leather armour and conspicuously missing his right arm - is the loudest and most vile—every insult he slings is met with raucous laughter from the crowd, who in turn insult the bartender’s insults and then hurl more at the PCs. The insults run the gamut from insulting their appearance, heritage, parentage, sexual habits, etc.
As they pass through the streets, Ner tugs on Petronia's coat gently and whispers loudly, "Every body's starring. What do they got to stare about?" He keeps taking quick, badly disguised, glances to see if people keep starring until two bodies are thrown into the street directly in front of him.
He watches as Petronia steps over them but is too curious himself and takes a bit of snow, balls it up, and throws it at them to see if they are alive. A kind of winter version of poking them with a stick. Then he gets closer and checks them out.
Ner looks up and Petronia is missing. He rushes to the door and enters feeling the hot blast of air on him. He takes the time to take his cloak off and stuff it into his already crammed pack. All the time flinching as insults are flung at him. Like a mutt in a sleet storm, he acts like he is simply walking through bad weather. Instinctively, he looks no one in the eye and prepares himself to come to Petronia's aid,cIF she finds herself outnumbered.
Matheus blinked his eyes in the sweltering heat, wiping sweat and condensation from his brow, but wasn’t discouraged by the rough crowd, merely grinning at the insults thrown their way, since to him they sounded more routine than anything personal. This was, quite likely, just that sort of a place.
”Hot as in Asmodeus’s armpit in here,” he druid said to Pertonia, leaning in to almost shout in her ear to be heard over the clamor. ”Kinda makes a man thirsty, eh? Let’s head for the bar!” Taking his own advice, Matheus began wading towards the bartender, lips briefly pursed in thought as he took in the man’s appearance. ’Could this be… well, only one way to find out’, he thought, grinning widely at the man’s latest insult.
”My, aren’t you an ugly bastard,” Matheus grunted as they came within earshot of the man. ”But then again, even in the icy north, you can find a woman sharing her bed with a bear in the winter months, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. T’would account for all the hair, at least. Anyway, three ales, by Erastil, and may the eagle fly free.”
Matheus moved towards the bar, having to step over a passed-out patron, and had a vile insult involving a yak and Matheus's sexual appetite literally spat into his face. Good naturedly, Matheus approved the insult, and reached the bar.
The bartender looked visibly startled at Matheus's words, and his words trailed off, mid-insult. A moment later he found his voice, and said, "Truly, even with a belly full of ale, we may wish to fly, but the eagle soars above us all." He grabbed three grubby tankards from under the counter, and poured ale from an aged barrel. Matheus could tell by the rich foam that it was a better quality than what they'd had at the Ice Swan.
Meanwhile, as the others approached behind, a table of men leered at Petronia. They said a few things in Ulfen, and Petronia was glad she couldn't understand the words. She probably would have punched somebody if she had. One of the men reached out to grab Ner's shirt, but the halfling wiggled out of reach before he got a grasp.
"Every body's starring. What do they got to stare about?"
Petronia shrugs having been oblivious to the extra attention until Ner mentions it. "Probably because we're obviously not locals. People like to stare at things that are different."
The brawler strips off her coat and hangs it on an empty hook. Instead of being bothered by the insults and catcalls, she actually grins in anticipation of getting a few punches in. ”Cowardly to be using a language I don’t understand. Even drunk you have to see I’m not from around here.” Luckily for the Ulfen, she doesn’t see him grab at Ner or else things would have gone sideways before Matheus had a chance to speak.
She nods at Matheus and pushes her way up beside him, clearing a path for Ner in her wake. She rolls her eyes when she gets to the bar and sees the hulking one-armed man, "You call these ramblings insults? I've heard worse from the young girl who sells eggs in my village than any man, and I use that term very loosely, here.”
Glad to see Petronia just inside the door and feeling good about his company - Matheus had a way of making strange, even hostile, place seem seem like they were exactly what they were supposed to be - he made sure to follow closely in her wake. As an arm reached for him he took his left heel and shot behind his right. It spun him and he was suddenly behind Petronia and to her right ... and his sap was strangely and suddenly, tucked in his sleeve, ready to surprise any future attempt with a bruise just above the elbow.
His eyes never left the floor ... until he got to the bar. He tried a little wave, "Excuse me ugly bastard? Can I have a half." He was trying to play along but didn't understand the rules.
Matheus accepted the tankard and drank deep, gulping down the ale and slamming the now-empty tankard on the bar, let out an impressive belch and smacked his lips. ”That’s some good rotgut you got there; that’ll put hair on my warts,” he roared, grinning widely. He fished for a handful of coppers from his shoulderback, taking a certain sealed and folded letter with the coins, hidden in his ham-sized fist and slammed his hand over the tankard, depositing the coins – and the piece of paper – into it, then handed it over to the bartender for a refill, tilting it enough that the man would note the letter in it.
”Another, if you would,” he said, pointedly looking at the other barrels behind the bar – it wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the gesture, but the druid thought it might be better for the bartender’s cover if he wasn’t serving his best to first-time customers. Besides, Matheus believed his stomach could take whatever swill a bar like this normally served. Long enough to make it out of the door, at the very least.
"You call these ramblings insults? I've heard worse from the young girl who sells eggs in my village than any man, and I use that term very loosely, here.”
With a new tankard of ale raised to his lips, Matheus paused as he considered the situation. The way he saw it, going with the flow was the right move, but the look on Petrinoa’s face when she retorted… it looked too angry to Matheus’s liking, and it wouldn’t do much to turn a crowd like this from words to actions, and starting a free-for-all wouldn’t serve their purposes.
Ner watches from the corner of his eye, then leaps up on his stool eager to get his drink and spills it ... accidentally. He grabs a rag and wipes the bar knocking the coppers and the note behind the bar. "Um, sorry." He scrubs away a bit more for show and pays for his spilt drink.
The barkeep reaches for the note, then jumps back when Ner "helps". By the time the kerfuffle has been cleaned up, the note has been tucked away out of sight.
They receive another round, of inferior but not bad beer. The room around them is still hostile, but after all, it's that kind of place. About half the people are too drunk to care much about the foreigners, but many of the men and women are clearly itching for a fight.
In one corner is a red-haired man with an angry looking scar on his face - he's keeping his face down and ignoring the three Pathfinders. He stands out because he's the only one studiously doing so.
Petronia catches a few warning glances from Matheus between swigs of beer and figures that she better at least try to be non-confrontational. She decides to make a point not to intentionally start any fights. But that didn't mean she wouldn't finish one if it was started for her.
She follows the druid's gaze to the corner where the scarred, red-haired man was painstakingly ignoring them. Recognizing who it was from the description they'd received, she jerks her head in Hjort's direction, "Shall we go say hello?"
She follows the druid's gaze to the corner where the scarred, red-haired man was painstakingly ignoring them. Recognizing who it was from the description they'd received, she jerks her head in Hjort's direction, "Shall we go say hello?"
"Either that, or wait until he leaves and follow him home," Matheus said, keeping the man at the very edge of his vision while returning the courtesy of apparently ignoring him. "Or see who comes to meet him - he's obviously in no hurry, and he's not really drinking. He's not even paying much attention to the other entertainment in here," he went on, gesturing at all the barely-contained belligerence in the room. "My money's he's here waiting for someone, and it might be interesting to see who."
"On the other other hand, he's so obviously not looking in our direction he's likely to have spotted we don't belong, and those survivors from our first little bit of trouble here in the town will likely have reported to him, so even if he doesn't think we are his favorite pet enemies, he could know we are trouble. I don't think we should provoke him here - the mood's like a grain silo waiting for a spark. The next punch or spilled drink might start a brawl, and he has to know it. It wouldn't d take much to cause such a chaos he could slip away from us."
"But if it's just talking with him you wanted," the druid gave the brawler a somewhat suspicious look, as if wondering if she had meant a "talk" using her fists after all, "we might as well."
Petronia gets to her feet with a look of innocence on her face. "My intention is to talk. But who knows about him. One always needs to be ready to defend themselves. But the fact that he's trying a little too hard to ignore us tells me that we need to have a conversation. I don't think he'll let us follow him anywhere."
The brawler signals for two drinks and then starts walking over to Hjort's table. Over her shoulder she says at Matheus, "Of course, you can do the talking."
Getting to the man's table, she pushes one of the drinks toweards him and sits down. "You're Hjort, right? I'm Petronia.". She motions at the others following her, "We thought we should introduce ourselves."
The man looked up, startled when Petronia joins him at the table. As Matheus arrives, looming over him, the man gets a look of pure panic on his face. "No! I'm not Hjort! Please don't kill me!"
Ner goes around the edge of the room and makes sure the man of interest is between Petronia and himself stands against the wall five or so feet away and listens.
The man looked up, startled when Petronia joins him at the table. As Matheus arrives, looming over him, the man gets a look of pure panic on his face. "No! I'm not Hjort! Please don't kill me!"
Matheus frowned. This was one reaction he hadn't expected. Granted, the description they had could fit many men, but it had seemed so fitting... "Perhaps you aren't him, but it sounds like you know of him. Do tell," the druid said, his voice light and jovial, to balance the steel in Petronia's tone.
The man seems desperate; he's practically sobbing. "Hjort hired me, he wanted me to sit here, cuz I look like him. This scar's not even real!" He rubbed at the scar on his face, which smeared. "You guys should go, it's a tra.."
Before he was able to finish his sentence, there's a shout from the bar. "Stand and fight, you filthy foreigners!"
They turn to see two huge men, bare-chested and sweating, kick their chairs over and make their way towards the Pathfinders. Their challenge kicks off the already-charged atmosphere of the Horned Helm, and a full-scale brawl immediately starts. Within seconds several patrons either hit the floor or scuttle for the doors; within moments the room is half-emptied of drunk patrons, leaving about 5 or six angry Ulfens looking to fight.
Petronia turns to Matheus and grins, "I didn't start it." She cracks her knuckles in anticipation, "But I will gladly finish it."
Turning to the group of men she opens her arms wide and calls, "You want me? Come get me! Let's dance."
Ner skirted the room as best he could looking for a way into the fight. He knew, as always, the best way for him to fight was to get opposite Petronia.
We waited too long though, as if an oportunity might present itself instead of forcing himself into whatever crack there was.
'Ah, so this was their game,' Matheus thought as the two bruisers waded through the crowd in their direction. The druid now thought they had been ordered to wait and see if someone approached the fake Hjort and deal with them.
The two Ulfen moved quickly through the dispersing crowd. Each held an empty bottle, which they threw to the floor with a smash. Each wore a cestus on one hand, and around the room a few other patrons were tightening the wraps on their own cestuses (cestusi? cestus's?).
Against one wall, a tall, powerfully built man began to chant, and when he finished his spell a dark feeling fell over the group. He then drew a greatsword and prepared to enter battle.
The two initiators moved from the bar towards the party, fists swinging. They swung at Matheus and Petronia at the same time, sweat flying as they did so. Both fists connected, the iron plating hidden within the cestus binding adding extra weight to the punches.
HIT
HIT
Ner rushes just past Petronia so that he has one of the Ulfen (B1) trapped between Matheus and himself. He does a little low skid at the end hoping to make himself harder to hit.
He lets the sap slide out of his sleeve into his hand and swings as hard as he can for the inside of the thug's knee ... but something is strange, like an unseen hand is trying to pull at his wrist.
Petronia's grin turned into a snarl which turned into a growl as she unleashed the beast inside her. Her nose and mouth elongated into a bestial snout and her teeth grew at least a couple inches. Her fingers grew claws and her muscles strained beneath her clothing as she seemed to increase in bulk.
The shape-changed brawler continued to growl as she spoke, "My turn." Brandishing teeth and claws, she threw back her head and howled.
Matheus groaned and stumbled back from the brute of a man who had just slugged him, spitting blood from a split lip. "Now that isn't sporty of you - why bring weapons to a perfectly good brawl?" he grunted, falling back as Ner and Pertonia joined the battle. "I guess that means I can play as well?"
The druid touched a finger on the wound on his lips, used his own blood to draw a quick sigil on the palm of his left hand and muttered an incantation, raising the blood-marked hand towards the heavens. Brilliant light flashed in the shadowy room and the druid was suddenly holding a 4-foot-long, blazing, coiling, forked bolt of electricity.
"Wanna find out where this goes? Stick around to find out," Matheus growled, shifting his grip to hold the lighting trident in both hands.
The man facing Petronia visibly recoiled when her face suddenly changed. "Hjort never said nothin' about a Torag-damned werewolf!" He began to steel himself to attack the beast-girl, then was nearly felled by a brutal attack from behind. Shaken and bewildered, he lashed out nearly blindly at Ner, but swung much too high and missed completely.
Matheus's opponent also looked uncertain about the sudden appearance of a lightning weapon in Matheus's hands. He glanced quickly around him, and was reassured by the sight of more fighters moving to back him up. He jabbed with his right hand, connecting with Matheus's left bicep, and the blow rocked the druid.
Two of the other patrons arrived at the scene, both swinging as they approached Matheus and Petronia. Petronia slid sideways with animal grace, avoiding the blow, but Matheus's solid bulk provided an excellent target for the hard blow to his ribs.
The fifth bar brawler leapt onto a table and hurled a chair at Petronia, yelling insults in Ulfen. The wooden chair hit the table behind her, the back breaking off and splinters of wood spreading around them. The battle priest moved carefully through the melee towards Ner, clearly judging him to be the most dangerous combatant.
MISS
HIT
HIT
MISS
MISS
Petronia growls a bunch of words but this time they're directed at Matheus, "You should get behind me."
She then lashes out with tooth and claw in a snarling whirlwind of attacks.
She practically rends all of the Ulfen flesh she can reach, spraying blood around the already filthy tavern.
Seeing the panicked look on the Druid's face, Ner does a cartwheel towards him dropping his sap on the way.
He draws his short sword, once the property of the Church of Erastil and now somehow his, and slashes at the hamstring of another Ulfen
Since Petronia has told you to get behind her, I don't see why you can't slip in behind her. Using withdraw, you can squeeze in behind her and use her as cover.
Reeling under the repeated blows, Matheus was all too glad to accept Petronia's offer and dock unceremoniously aside and let the formidable brawler take center stage in the melee.
Petronia's claws tore out the throat of her opponent, so she grabbed the next closest thug with her other hand and bit the side of his face. Her fangs tore into cheek and ear, exposing bone and spraying blood. Screaming incoherently, he swung wildly, managing to connect with a glancing blow across her jaw.
Howling in pain and surprise, Ner's opponent spun around, swinging wildly at the small man. It was luck more than skill that allowed his cestused fist to connect with Ner's head, ringing it like a bell. A sturdy woman, her eyes slightly wild, also lashed out at Ner, screaming an insult that he didn't understand. The blow caught him on the shoulder, rocking him.
The man standing on the table eyed Matheus's glowing trident with suspicion, and opted for throwing another chair, this time at the druid. The wooden chair crashed into the floor behind him, cluttering up the space directly behind Matheus.
With a bellowing roar, the battle priest joined the fray, his greatsword swinging. Petronia dodged his blow with ease, ready to tear more flesh with her teeth and claws.
Ner reeled with the punches flung at him. He tried to focus as he crouched deeply sending his left leg far back. When he stood up he pulled back onto it and moved away from his attackers. The he turned 'round counter-clockwise sending his shortsword towards the priests kidney from the back, 'bewildering' the Ulfen.
Definitely
Ripping out the throat of one of the thugs stoked the desire to do it again. Petronia reaches out to rend whatever flesh she can get at.
Making contact, she shreds flesh and splatters them all with warm blood.
"Oh, no you don't," Matheus muttered as the cleric wielding the massive sword joined the melee. "Now who brings two yards of steel into a bar brawl? Shame on you." The druid muttered words of power, invoking the heat of the merciless sun into the blade the enemy was holding, turning it hot enough to sear flesh at the merest touch.
The battle priest stared, wide eyed, as the hilt of his sword became red and glowing. The leather wrapping on the hilt did nothing to protect the palm of his hand, as it ignited almost immediately. Yelping he dropped the sword, but not before sustaining a crippling burn to his right hand. He immediately began a chant, clearly intending to heal his injury. However, at that moment a tiny blade entered his spinal column, severing it neatly. The priest collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.
Petronia continued to savage the man in front of her, failing to realize that after a few seconds it was only the ferocity of her attack that was keeping the man uprights. Spitting out his face, she finally allowed him to collapse in a bloody heap atop the dead cleric.
"Get the little one!" the female brawler shouted, recognizing the lethality of Ner's strikes. She leapt at the halfling, landing a cruel right hook to his temple, nearly knocking him out. Her companion also leapt at the halfling, trying to wrap Ner in his arms to pin him, but the halfling, even half-dazed, was too slippery to be grappled.
The man standing on the table jumped back down behind it, then flipped the table onto its side. Putting his shoulder to it, he slid the heavy oak table straight into where Matheus and Petronia were standing. Petronia was near the front of her table, and was able to jump aside before the table collided with her. Matheus, however, had nowhere to go, and was crunched between the table at his back and the table being used as a battering ram.
From under the table, the fake-scarred decoy was whimpering like a puppy. Behind the bar, the one armed bartended watched with an expression of amusement. The few patrons remaining in the bar were either passed out, or backed up against the far wall, watching from what they hoped was a safe distance. The two fireplaces continued to pump out way too much heat, turning the bar into a sauna. A very smelly, bloody sauna.
Petronia growled at the two ganging up on Ner, "You've just sealed your fate with those words." As she spoke, she spat bits of flesh at the closest thug.
She lashes out with her claws intent on dragging them towards her razor-sharp teeth.
One of her claws couldn't find purchase but the other managed to grab on to and bring the screaming thug towards her to bite a piece out of them.
In the midst of the bar brawl, two things happened at once. Two more Ulfen arrived on the scene, via the kitchen door. Seeing the brawl, they shouted their approval and joined enthusiastically in. One leapt over the bar, landing near to Ner and his two opponents. The other ran around the end of the bar.
Simultaneously, the outside door banged open, heralding the arrival of a newcomer. As she adjusted to the noise and the stifling heat of the bar, one of the new men picked up the nearest chair and heaved at her. Clearly the brief glimpse he caught was enough to know that she was unknown, and that was enough to make her an enemy.
The chair caught the unsuspecting woman full in the face, bloodying her nose.
"Get the little one!" the female brawler shouted, recognizing the lethality of Ner's strikes. She leapt at the halfling, landing a cruel right hook to his temple, nearly knocking him out. Her companion also leapt at the halfling, trying to wrap Ner in his arms to pin him, but the halfling, even half-dazed, was too slippery to be grappled.
Ner looked obviously battered ... he was pretty much down to 'quarter'ling now ... but at the woman's outcry to swarm him he giggled. It was a little disturbing, a child's giggle not suited to the situation as he realized the Ulfen's mistake. She was underestimating Pertonia. She was gonna lose. Yes, yes, look at little Ner. He would bob and zag to keep them occupied as he waited for his friend to clean up.
He was, however, a bit distracted when the front door blew open and a strange figure walked in.
Oksana had not even crossed into the tavern before the heat of the place made her feel uncomfortable...which was probably why she did not see the chair as it sailed across the room and right into her!
"Ow!!
She takes a few seconds to regain her balance and try to understand what is happening.
Bar fight! Why can I not arrive in one of these savage little villages without these animals attacking each other! she thought as the words to a spell lept to her lips.
Matheus grunted as the makeshift battering ram hit him solidly in the gut, the force of the charge pushing him against the wall. Luckily his hands didn't get trapped, and a quick jab with the crackling, shining bolt of lightning in his hands caused the Ulfen to back off enough to give the druid some breathing room.
Only the enemies were going down, but there were more where they came from, it'd seem, and Matheus himself wasn't far from light's out. Clearly something had to be done in a hurry. Spotting a tempting grouping of enemies just beyond Petronia, the druid muttered another incantation and waved his trident in the enemies' general direction. A moment later, the gloomy tavern was filled with a blinding burst of holy light, forcing both friends and foes inside to squeeze their eyes shut to protect their vision.
As the bright flash of magic subsides, Oksana sees that none of the barbarians fell. She targets the one that threw the chair at her and calls upon the power of her Patron as she shapes a spell to put the berzerker asleep.