Broccan steps up into Kullen's face. "Yer gonn'eh'hafta'it me'ard'r'that!"
Kullen reels back from the one-two Broccan offers, his nose bloodied. His eyes gleam with uncontrolled rage.
It’s not something she even thinks about – as Broccan sees something coming and he and Kullen start swinging at each other, Alaïs saves one of the drinks on the table, with shameless disregard for whose she grabs as she steps hastily back.
“Out of the night that covers me,” Despite the frivolous ease with which she reaches for the cup, the improbable aristocrat backs up Kata in full earnest, joining her in improvised counterpoint on the unfamiliar song.
"Hey!" Venelle calls at Kullen, pressing herself up against the back wall with the owletcub safely tucked behind her back. "... you, uhh, better stop it!"
Nobody hears her.
Kullen snarls and wrenches up a chair, wielding it as an improvised weapon. Broccan nimbly dodges the clumsy blow.
Meanwhile, Merovinn jumps back, finally appearing to realize what Kata is doing. He races around and claps his hands loudly, and a blast of brilliant lights erupts from them, catching a random patron directly as well as Edrukk and Kata. The bargoer collapses in a heap on the floor. "Sorry, nuncle, missus, this in't musical theater!"
”That’s a pretty show, lad! Now’s not th’ time!”
Edrukk gets up from his chair, slides through Broccan’s space after the bull rush, to stand south of the caster.
The chair shoots under Edrukk's feet, finally arriving to trip up the startled dwarf!
Todrik grins as Edrukk topples and has to struggle back up. He takes out a potion from his belt and quaffs it, and his muscles seem to swell in size.
Meanwhile, Rastophan races past the crew to swing the larger bottle in a wide underhanded motion to catch Alais in the gut. The elf gracefully dodges the swing.
Edrukk climbs to his feet, taking the offending chair in hand as he moves toward the spellcaster.
Kata's eyes roll up and her eyelids flutter. Wobbling, she crashes into a nearby table, upending its contents. Glass crashes to the floor alongside the comatose elegist; cheap ale soaks her cloak. One last thought drifts through Kata's mind as she tumbles, earthbound: this is exactly why you avoid the Feral Dog...
Briar weaves healing energy around her hand and touches Broccan. ”Let’s get you healed up, luv.”
Seeing area effects going off, some in the crowd surge for the door. Others get disoriented in the commotion, and parallel fights start up around the tavern. For now, nothing touches the main event.
Broccan continues his barrage of fists upon the pale half-orc.
Merovinn’s spell catches Alaïs’ eye, and she instinctively tries to place it just before she sees Kata swoon under it. Oh, of course. It is quite a useful little illusion, isn't it? I hope the poor thing's alright.
Without the elegist’s lead, the elf lady falls back on simply vocalizing Kata’s melody and tapping out the rhythm with her boots for a second before briskly segueing back into the tune she sang before herself.
“Oh, poor show!” she interrupts herself briefly as she dodges Rastophan’s swing, seemingly more concerned with the way the … ale, looks like – spills onto her hand than the attempted blow. She takes another moment to pour her drink down her throat with what should probably be concerning alacrity before resuming her song.
And with that, she directs her cup almost reluctantly at Rastophan’s head in retaliation.
...It goes about as well as one might expect. That it should come to this.
Both of Broccan's punches connect, and Kullen rears back and spits out a tooth... and laughs.
Apparently recovering from her nerves, Venelle races up to the wizard, grabbing a stool as she goes, and raises it to swing. "Go ahead and cast another one of those!" she snaps.
Kullen swings the barstool again, and this time the half-orc's blow connects dead on, catching the brawler right upside the jaw with a sickening crack.
Merovinn looks nervously between Edrukk and Venelle. Apparently, he decides he can risk Venelle's blow, because he steps back and begins casting again. He catches Edrukk's eye. "Hey, nuncle, you in't gonna let her whallop your old pal Merovinn, are you?"
Venelle swings, but too slowly, as Bask's magic encircles Edrukk's head with a potent enchantment.
Trying to keep an eye on as much of what’s going on as she can, Alaïs wonders if she can spare a moment to try to get everyone who’s not part of Kullen’s lot to settle down. (His too, one way or another, but that’s probably a harder sell, unless they can be stared down one at a time, possibly with judicious applications of bottles, cups, and chairs to various heads, as appropriate.) Regardless, Merovinn’s new spell catches her eye and ear.
A wistful look crosses her face for a moment, followed by a determined frown, all while she keeps up making her own fuss. The aristocrat finds herself wishing her common-born sweetheart were here: not because she would fit in (perish the thought! Hyalinnea is a perfect gentlewoman by temperament and inclination, if not by birth), but because she has even more of a knack for illusions and enchantments than Alaïs herself does, and has somewhere acquired a talent for weaponizing the most improbable objects.
Such skills would probably be particularly helpful in dealing with a mage like Merovinn and the brawl she finds herself embroiled in, in which Alaïs feels she has not acquitted herself very gloriously at all so far. The problem is, it would probably take a blade in her hand to make her feel happiest in this fight, but outside of a duel, and in a place like this, that’s probably a very dangerous escalation.
She resigns herself to a right mess, and not in a fun way.
The old dwarf shakes his head as his eye go unfocused for a moment. ”Aye, not yer uncle, ye whelp. Lassie, jus’ grab ‘im good, keep ‘im ‘n ‘is magic outta trouble, aye? Not s’ rough, aye?”
Edrukk shakes his chair at Venelle and Merovinn and says, "Th' two o' ye behave, y'hear me? We dinna come 'ere t' fight, but if'n we must..."
He turns away and moves toward the nearest Kullen thug, intent on making use of his improved weapon.
"Bask, dumbass, have your thrall hit the elf!" Todrik shouts, springing up onto the table.
"Not how my magic works, a#~&$*!!" Merovinn Bask retorts.
Todrik ignores him. His boots thud briefly against the wooden table as he races across it to leap down at Briar, trying to knock her to the ground from behind. But his foot caught on Kata's outstretched leg at the start of his journey, and this put him off-balance right up into the end...
... leading him to instead fall right on his face.
Rastophan rolls his eyes and lashes out with his bottles at Briar, trying to knock the wind out of her with short jabs and swings.
”That’s not very nice a’ you two, you know.” She steps back and throws Rastophan a sharp glance. ”Hit your buddy on the ground for me, and I may forgive ya.”
Chaos continues to reign, but most in the Feral Dog have either fled or are brawling on the other side of the common room.
Broccan absorbs the blow of the chair with a noticeable wince and gritting of his teeth, but doesn't back down. He continues to rain blows on Kullen.
Alaïs raises a quizzical brow at Briar’s demand of Rastophan. The goddess works in mysterious ways, and she can only hope Calistria smiles on the young woman’s spell.
For her part, with something like a drumbeat flourish, Alaïs lifts up her shield – briefly moving through a pose that offers an incongruous and implausible parody of a tavern server’s – and settles it in front of her in full expectation of needing something to duck behind soon, if this works out as she’s … fair enough, planning would be far too generous a word right now.
“Venelle! Duck!” she calls into the fray.
Hefting the cup she swung at Rastophan just a few moments prior, the elf waits for Venelle to get clear before trying her luck bouncing the vessel off one of the thugs’ heads instead.
It looks like her song from earlier was well-chosen, and she stamps out the rhythm and sings out the end of the chorus again with a laugh, "And that gave thee thy jolly red nose!"
Broccan delivers a devastating punch to the cut, and Kullen is cut off mid-snarl, doubling over and gasping. He glares up defiantly at Broccan, who follows up with a plain and simple sock in the nose.
The half-orc hits the floor.
Simultaneously Venelle ducks just in time as the mug flies over her head and smashes into Merovinn's ugly, well, mug. The wizard is sent reeling back, and then he hits the floor, too.
Venelle swipes clumsily at Todrik's head with the stool, aiming less to injure him and more to distract him
Edrukk had turned away from his new friend after admonishing him and the lady archer to cool it, so he doesn't see him hit the ground. He doesn't like the look of the mouthy fellow that just fell down, though, and Broccan looks like he's gotten the better of his opponent. Edrukk decides not to ruin the chair and puts his weight behind a gauntleted punch into the distracted Todrik.
As Todrik fights to rise, Edrukk punches him in the face, knocking him back. Todrik snarls. "You stunted little troll. I'm gonna beat you blue and shave your beard. I'm gonna send a piece of you to every continent. I'm gonna..." He looks around, and his face pales as he sees Merovinn fallen. His eyes widen as he spots Kullen on the ground. He gulps.
His grip on the stool he was about to swing at Edrukk's stomach loosens. He gives Edrukk a weak smile. "Say, uh, no hard feelings about the 'stunted little troll' comment."
Rastophan, meanwhile, has dropped his bottles and rushed to check on Kullen. His brow furrows, and he gives Broccan a tiny nod.
Edrukk's eyes narrow. "Call me what ye like, muttonhead, but if'n ye ever try t' lay a finger 'n me beard, we'll 'ave more'n words t' share. Fair 'nuff?" The dwarf nods firmly and offers the man a hand up.
"s'more like't," Broccan says, noting the gang members still standing have lowered their guard in defeat. "You boyz'v got'eh few thins'to answer for, such's why you dug'up bodies at th' Land's place, n' what y'did with'm." He pauses a moment, then adds, "we know y' had'eh run'in with' th' bear-owl beast an' that't ate ol' Skutch, so no poin' deny'n it all."
"That's more like it. You boys have got a few things to answer for, such as why you dug up bodies at the Land's place and what you did with them. We know you had a run-in with the bear-owl beast, and that it ate old Skutch, so there's no point in denying it all."
As the fight goes out of the thugs, Alaïs stops her bibulously martial dance. She goes pale for a long moment before shaking it off, moving over to be ready to help Kata up when the colour spray wears off. It’s only polite, after all.
Her coda to Broccan’s reproach to the upright men of Kullen’s entourage as she offers a hand to her musical compeer is barely that.
“Mm-hm,” she nods. “Your pet mage dabbling in unholy rites? Or turning to practical anatomy, having exhausted the available textbooks? Unless he’s not that kind of wizard.”
She keeps her tone upbeat, but the look she turns in Merovinn’s direction is rather like that of a deeply disappointed librarian or schoolteacher. There’s a certain insinuation of doubt as to the fellow’s literacy, as if Alaïs is weighing the possibility that there might be books that need to be taken into protective custody.
“Do tell,” she flutters sweetly, returning her attention to Todrik, who seems to have stepped up for his group while Kullen is indisposed.
Todrik lets Edrukk help him up, blinking in confusion. When Broccan and Alais start bringing up the Land Cemetery, his eyes bulge. "That's what this is about?" he snarls. "That f@@+ing creep up the hill? Oh, for f*++'s sake."
Rastophan looks at the still-raging barfight on the left side of the room, then thumbs towards the door as he starts to heft Kullen up in a fireman's carry.
"Good idee. Mayhap ye wanna pick up yer mage. Ah'll take care o' me girl Kata. C'mon, lassie, le's be leavin'."
Edrukk will get the elegist in his arms and carry her in front of him. He has way too much hardware on his back to carry her over a shoulder.
Broccan nods in acknowledgment, then raises his fists in guard position, warding off any errant tavern brawlers who come their direction looking for likely targets. He interposes himself between the general fracas and his friends and Kullen's gang as they retreat to the back room.
Todrik lets Edrukk help him up, blinking in confusion. When Broccan and Alais start bringing up the Land Cemetery, his eyes bulge. "That's what this is about?" he snarls. "That f!~+ing creep up the hill? Oh, for f@#!'s sake."
Rastophan looks at the still-raging barfight on the left side of the room, then thumbs towards the door as he starts to heft Kullen up in a fireman's carry.
“Probably,” Alaïs agrees mildly, wondering what the story is. So, not Mr. Enchantment-and-illusion here. Someone else? A local ogre looking for bones to make his bread? Maybe one of the others will know? Anyway, this ought to be good.
The last thought brings her up short on the way out with the others, as she considers the desultory fisticuffs still being exchanged across the room, in the wake of the confrontation between adventurers and goons. She draws herself up to her full height and raps loudly on an intervening table, calling up her illuminating cantrip to get the last brawlers’ attention.
“Excuse me, everyone? Thank you for a fabulously entertaining evening, but the show’s over now. Be sure to be kind to the maids and knaves at the taps – let’s not make any more of a mess for them to clean up than we have to! – and I’d be happy to sing for you again.”
It's very definitely presumptuous of her - who does this fancy elf think she is? - and her slightly strained smile shows that she has some awareness of how little she fits in around the place, but for all that, the confidence honed by years of practice at showing her family and her talents to best advantage goes surprisingly far.
Having said her piece towards getting the last of the excitement to settle down, Alaïs follows to see what Todrik and Rastophan have to say for themselves and their friends.
Todrik rolls his eyes, seeming affronted at the idea he should have to carry anyone, but hefts the wizard and follows after. The crowd does seem to calm down a little from Alais's curtain call, and the fight abates, everyone looking rather embarrassed. The only pair that weren't fighting are the two dogs, who, glad that everyone decided to take a break from shouting at them, took the chance to get some rest and eat some scraps that fell into the pen.
When the group reaches the back room, Rastophan sets Kullen down in a chair, while Todrik tosses Rastophan on the floor. They fold their arms and silently wait, volunteering nothing unprompted.
Once everyone’s settled in the back room, Alaïs considers the truculent thugs with as much patience as she can muster. As an elf, that would ordinarily be quite a bit, but the brawl, the missing bodies, and the promise owed to Caith take their toll.
“Right,” she sighs, working her way to the vernacular. “So, who’s your freaky friend up the hill? Anyone we should know?”
Her glance flickers to the Diamond Lake natives, in case she’s missed a local character that everyone in town knows to avoid and not talk about, so as not to scandalize visitors.
“What do they want with the Lands? Have you delivered them already? Look,” she says, “it’s a sorry business, but I guess you’ve learned your lesson even before tonight. Handing you over to whoever’s in charge of bodysnatchers and the like won’t get the Lands back to where they can rest easy, which is our main concern right now.”
“Although, speaking of the powers that be, approaching the executioner would have served you better, now that I think of it, if you couldn’t cut a deathbed deal with some desperate soul whose family could use the going rate for a cadaver. Easier than grappling with owlbears, though I guess at this rate you’ll be able to throw even more than – Skutch, was it? into the bargain to sweeten the pot for your mysterious hill patron.”
“If that doesn’t sound ideal, maybe leave the dead alone?” For a ghastly moment, Alaïs grins, before shaking her head as if to clear it. It’s been a long day, and these men are nasty pieces of work, but that was frightfully morbid. As a show of clemency and good faith, she reaches into one of her pouches for her enspelled berries. She hands one over to Edrukk and to Broccan, before offering the last to Rastophan with a toss of her head in Merovinn’s direction, where the dazed mage lolls against the wall. “Here - the big one’s probably down too deep for now, but this might just get your wizard back on his feet. Or stop the nosebleed, at least.”
Todrik glowers. "What am I, his nurse?"
Rastophan takes the berry and somewhat roughly administers it to Merovinn Bask. As the magic takes effect, the wizard's eyes open.
They listen to Alais's explanation, Merovinn becoming increasingly irritated. "He in't our 'friend'," he snaps. "We're just doin' a job for the boss. Told us we'd be running errands for some necromancer in his employ." He pronounces 'employ' to rhyme with 'envoy'.
"And he wanted bodies," Todrik mutters. "Told us to fetch him some. Didn't even give us any coin to see if we could buy 'em, not that that would work, you scant elf. But we can't very well rob the Boneyard, could we?" He spits at Kata's feet. "Shoulda known we'd get the grays on our tracks anyways."
"We're no'Grays," Broccan replies, "an' we won'turn y'ov'r to'em, either, 's long as y' tell'us what'ya did wi'the bodies y' took from th' Land's place."
He points to Kullen's battered face. "I'm ask'n, but'I'm no'ta'gainst beat'n ya 'ntil y'tell us!"
"We're not Grays, and we won'g turn you over to them, either, as long as you tell us what you did with the bodies you took from the Land's place. I'm asking, but I'm not against beating you until you tell us!"
Edrukk looks at the ground where Todrik spit, then back the man. "Ye got nuthin' t' prove 'ere, lad. N' need t' be rude t' show yer tough. We need t' get th' bodies back they belong, fer a friend. Simple 's that."
Rastophan gives a hoarse laugh. "Guy on the hill. Name o' Filge--wizard wi' a face only 'is rat mother could love. Said he needed 'servants'." He rolls his eyes. "Not like anyone was usin' 'em. What were you doing pokin' about there? Did we beat ya to it?"
Edrukk fixes him with a steady gaze before replying, "We were payin' 'r respects, a favor fer a friend."
"Yeah? Just our luck." Todrik spits on the floor. "What else did you wanna know? How to get rogue stains outta the carpet?"
Broccan loses his patience and takes a swing a Todrick.
"Qui' danc'n'bou'th' ans'r!" Broccan snarls, clearly annoyed. "Whas's name?! Where's' 'e stay'n?!"
"Quit dancing about the answer! What's his name?! Where's he staying?!"
Edrukk tsks and shakes his head. "Nah. If'n yer no' house-broke by now, ye 'ave t' clean up after yerself."
"Ow! F%+~!" Todrik reels back from the blow, clutching a bloody nose. "His name was Bilge, or Fitch, or something like that! I told you, he's in the observatory on the hill! F~*&ing coalmuncher!"
Kata winces as Broccan puts another fist into Todrick. How did it come to this? Weren't we the heroes?
She was still a bit woozy on the details. One minute, a brightly colored - if paralyzing rainbow light show, and the next a backroom beatdown. But whatever had happened, Todrick had spilled a name. Filge, rat-faced wizard on the hill. Kata thought of what - if anything - she knew of the man, trying to recall if he were a local.
"Ow! F*+!!" Todrik reels back from the blow, clutching a bloody nose. "His name was Bilge, or Fitch, or something like that! I told you, he's in the observatory on the hill! F*$+ing coalmuncher!"
"Thas wha' we need'd t' know." Broccan nods in acknowledgement of the answer. "But one las' warn'n, Todrick," Broccan growls, fist raised. "M'next punch'll be t'yer gut'n leave y' wi' bloody s~$!e'n yer breeches. Fr'n now on, y' call me by m' name, 'r y' keep yer mouth shut. We clear?" He looks at the other gang members to make it clear that they are all included in his warning.
"That's what we needed to know. But one last warning, Todrick. My next punch will be to your gut, and leave you with bloody s$*$ in your breeches. From now on, you will call me by my name, or you will keep your mouth shut. Are we clear?"
... Merovinn becoming increasingly irritated. "He in't our 'friend'," he snaps. "We're just doin' a job for the boss. Told us we'd be running errands for some necromancer in his employ." He pronounces 'employ' to rhyme with 'envoy'.
"And he wanted bodies," Todrik mutters. "Told us to fetch him some. Didn't even give us any coin to see if we could buy 'em, not that that would work, you scant elf. But we can't very well rob the Boneyard, could we?" He spits at Kata's feet. "Shoulda known we'd get the grays on our tracks anyways."
Alaïs isn’t quite sure she’s following. It is a relief that, as desperate as Diamond Lake looks by her standards, either there aren’t any poor souls desperate enough to barter their deathbed corses for a few coins for their families, or, perhaps, that these thugs haven’t thought of the expedient.
She has no idea what the scantiness is about: if anything, she defies anyone to find someone in this town who exhibits a greater degree of elfishness than she does. Her own cup, at least, is overflowing. Unlike that Moonmeadow creature. Oh. Well, that wasn’t very nice. In fact- Before that thought goes any further, Broccan launches himself at Todrik.
"Ow! F*+!!" Todrik reels back from the blow, clutching a bloody nose. "His name was Bilge, or Fitch, or something like that! I told you, he's in the observatory on the hill! F*$+ing coalmuncher!""Thas wha' we need'd t' know." Broccan nods in acknowledgement of the answer. "But one las' warn'n, Todrick," Broccan growls, fist raised. "M'next punch'll be t'yer gut'n leave y' wi' bloody s+@%e'n yer breeches. Fr'n now on, y' call me by m' name, 'r y' keep yer mouth shut. We clear?" He looks at the other gang members to make it clear that they are all included in his warning.
** spoiler omitted **
Stunned by shock, Alaïs only registers that she’s shot to her feet as Broccan delivers his threat to his vulgar counterpart.
“Mr. Dunchad!” the lady protests, her voice pitching up in scandal, as she reaches out a tentative arm to separate the disputants. She had her own worries during the previous brawl, so she can’t swear to the idea that Kullen might have landed a blow to rattle Broccan’s brains dangerously, but she supposes it’s possible. She faces the half-orc’s minions as she speculates, “It looks like your friend is a bit too good with his head shots. As Edrukk here said, we were paying our respects. Finally found what was left of the young Land that you would have discovered was missing, if you must know, so you can understand how upsetting it was when we couldn’t lay her to rest alongside her kin.”
She gets back to the matter at hand.
“Right. So, Filge. At the observatory. Got it.” Alaïs’ eyes flicker back to Kata, as she struggles to place the site in question among the hills surrounding the town. She hasn’t rambled all that extensively yet, and there are a lot of hills and cairns about. But there was also, what was it Kata said about Kullen’s affiliations? “And the boss. This would be your … Swank, is it? I don’t suppose he’d have been careless enough to put it in writing for you? We’d be much obliged, but under the circumstances, I think it might be best if we part ways for the evening.”
Her gaze moves over all the inmates of the room, settling more or less on asking politely (rather than either pleading or demanding), silently, for everyone to back down.
Todrik nods sullenly at Broccan, nursing his nose. Merovinn watches, but doesn't say anything. Rastophan, though, meets Broccan's gaze. The lanky swamp man raises a hand and gives several fluid gestures.
”Broc, dear, I think you’ve made your point. Don’t think any a’ ‘em will be causing you trouble no more.”
She pretends to not understand the Varisian Sign Language, hoping she can pick out more information if he thinks none of them can understand it.