He quickly glances over at the counter, looking for Delma to see how she is reacting to this.
Perception(sense motive): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Finoan notices that Delma looks rather exasperated, but otherwise unruffled by the situation. She sets down the mug she was cleaning, looks at Amora and says something to her before dashing out the front door. Amora looks as annoyed as Delma did, stepping back into the kitchen and peeking out at the ongoing violence. It seems that this might be something that happens often enough that they have a plan in place to handle it.
Drake moves forward carefully and manages to handily grapple Drunk 2, holding the wiggly, angry man still.
Drunk 8 attempts to hurl a mug at Drunk 5 and misses, the mug slamming into Tiffani’s head. Tiffani yelps, holding her head in her hands, and bolts out the back way into the stables, sobbing. Amora looks furious. Drunks 6 and 7 are throwing punches at the people near them.
Bort attempts to soothe Drunks 2 and 4, but ends up getting hit in the head by a barstool that Drunk 2 is swinging at Drunk 4.
"Yes, Fin, do that! Good idea! I'm gonna try and contain the drunk if I can!"
"Hmm... Contain isn't a bad idea. Maybe we can herd them all into the far corner of the room. Let them brawl it out among themselves without hurting anyone else."
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Baradim seems less than pleased as the table gets more and more crowded, the outside seat he had been sitting in now pressed more towards the middle. The orc doesn't speak up when asked about where he was going; his eyes are instead focused on the man who wore similar armor to him and was deep into his cups. Did he still bear insignias of where he was before heading this way? Unsure of himself, the orc decided not to bother the man but he did eye him over purposefully.
When Bort turned and asked him what he was doing, he shared a glance over at Finoan. He threw back the mug of ale and wiped the froth from his lip as he spoke, low enough to not unsettle the crowd but loud enough for those around to clearly hear him.
"I have left what remains of Lastwall; the Gravelands are what the Ustalavics call it now. I head to Almas to get as much distance between me and the Whispering Tyrant. The further away I am, the better. You should do the same." The orc's somber words hung heavily and for a moment, it seemed the gregarious dwarf wasn't sure exactly what to say. Thankfully, the bar burst into activity soon after.
Baradim snorted for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm pass the point of bar fights. I d-" Whatever word was going to be said was instead interrupted by a bowl of creamy soup that slapped against his face from across the way. It dripped down his face and onto the ground with an audible plop. Black sclera and yellow eyes glared death at the drunk across the way as Baradim unsheathed his shield and cracked his neck. "Exceptions can be made."
Baradim moves up as Drake wrestles with the man and rears back with his left hand. The drunk turns his head into the blow, the sound quite familiar to that of a wet towel being snapped against a wood post emanating from the man's face.
Despite the severity of the hit, Drunk 2 is still standing, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. The drunk snarls at Baradim, emboldened by liquid courage, and attempts to wriggle out of Drake’s grasp.
Olf, Ulf, and Gregor manage to restrain Farmer Eollam; meanwhile, Tamli drags Kolnral out the front door and to safety. The drunken knight from earlier is suddenly pelted with a mug by Drunk 10 and decides to flee, stumbling away from the brawl unsteadily. Phinick screeches in fear, and, trembling like a chihuahua, bolts out of the back door where Tiffani ran.
The rest of the drunks are simply brawling with each other. Most notably, Hallod stands up slowly, a vicious grin spreading across his face, and he knocks out Drunk 9 with one well-placed blow.
-------Brain Talk--------
Niss wondered if Drake realized how odd it looked to others, shrugging and sighing and grinning seemingly to himself, since no one else heard the conversation. She found it rather endearing.
He left town fleeing a sadistic woman. Well, we have that in common.
She smiled reassuringly when he was done. "Thank you. For telling me. I feel comfortable around you, too. I--" her thoughts were cut short by the sudden eruption of violence.
-------FIGHT!----------
"Excuse me, sweetheart," he says thoughtlessly and starts to walk away before doing a quick U-turn. Looking very embarrassed and with his hands out, "Oh gods I'm sorry! Sorry, Niss. I, I don't know where that came from. Sorry. Um... sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" she asked with confusion. She had never seen a brawl before, but guessed it wasn't much to worry about, as far as lethality. "Good luck! Try not to get punched too much!"
She glanced at Finoan. "We should help them, right?" Baradim practically knocked a man into last year. "Not that they need help…but you know. Principle of the thing and all."
She rose to her feet and found the world a bit topsy turvy, having had enough to drink to trouble her balance. One hand held onto the table for stability. She was NOT about to run into the fracas. But she didn't have to.
Not wanting the random drunk fellow next to the one being beaten by her friends to get the drop on them, she held it her hand toward him, and pushed.
Her aim was garbage, though, on account of the drinking, and the ghostly hands meant to grab the man and hold him to the wall did not find purchase.
She glanced at Finoan. "We should help them, right?"
"Might as well," he replies with a shrug. "Worst case we all get beaten to a pulp and arrested. But look on the bright side - that would at least settle the question of whether we continue with the caravan or not."
Finoan watches carefully to the movements of that second farmer.
Seeing Niss casting something that makes him fight off invisible attackers, he sees his opportunity. He moves forward, on top of the table and clocks the guy.
Niss' overindulgence spilled over into her power, and her mage hand shoves ineffectually at the drunk.
Finoan, however, lands a hard strike against Drunk 1 and a tooth goes flying out of his mouth and clattering across the bar top.
Drunks 5, 6, 7, and 8 remain engaged with each other. Several of them are looking rough.
Baradim sees that the man before him is still up and standing, a scowl going across his face. "Go to sleep!" The orc growled as he swung another hard strike at the man held back.
A mean grin had spread across Baradim's face, even as the soup stained it. There was an enjoyment in an open brawl, one that he couldn't deny savoring at the moment. His attention turned towards the free drunk next to him. A tooth clattered across the table as Finoan joined in, catching the man off-guard.
"Welcome to the fight!" Baradim shouted over to roar of the drunken brawl, trying to drive his fist deep into the man's belly.
Idiot, Niss berates herself. You know there are dangerous things afoot in this town. You KNOW those aren't the only things you should be on guard for. And you drink yourself useless. She watches the fight progress, ready to try again if an opportunity presents itself, her mood souring.
Baradim's first punch knocks the man Drake is grappling out cold, and he collapses to the ground in a heap. Unfortunately, the other man, who Finoan had hit (Drunk 1), dodged out of the way of the second hit, surprisingly nimble for a man 4 cups deep into turnip ale.
Letting go of the now unconscious drunk, "Nice one, Baradim. Glad you could make it to the party," he winks.
"Might as well," he replies with a shrug. "Worst case we all get beaten to a pulp and arrested. But look on the bright side - that would at least settle the question of whether we continue with the caravan or not."
Smiling and letting out a huff, "Cat's got a point." Drake then notices Bort's having to deal with a pair of drunks by himself and heads his way. "I see you two have got that one! I'm gonna go help Bort!"
Drake takes off, leaping over the knocked-out drunk, jumping and sliding smoothly over a table that's somehow found its way into the middle of everything, does a quick hop upon the seat of a chair with one foot while using the other to step on the back of it, tipping it over until it slams on the floor in which he then parkours between two tables that have managed to tangle themselves up strangely before landing right behind Bort. "Hey, Bort, how's it going?" The ranger then throws a right cross at the closest drunk.
Bort looks up at the ranger with mild appreciation, having watched Drake's whole performance on the way over. "Not too shabby, now!" he replies with a grin, holding a chair in front of himself for protection.
Drake's swing just barely misses the drunk, who sways unsteadily at just the right time to miss the man's fist.
Niss took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. Ignore the distractions. She saw Drake's impressive move across the room and took careful aim at one of the two drunks near him. She lifted her half filled mug into the air with her mind. She wasn't drinking anymore, anyway.
She flung it across the room at the man near Bort , hoping the alcohol would not thwart her again.
That's more like it.
Catching sight of the mug that came flying out of nowhere and catching the drunk right in the face, he cuts his attention, while sporting a furrowed brow, over at Inniska before giving her a great big smile. He points at her, winks, and gives her a nod that clearly says: 'Nice shot'!
Niss's throw strikes true, slamming into the skull of the drunkard in front of Bort. The man reels, but somehow manages to stay standing. He looks pretty beat up.
The rioter () left near Finoan and Baradim swings his fists three times at Baradim, but only the first one connects with the warrior. The force of the first hit seems to have knocked the drunk man off balance.
The drunk man that Niss pelted with a mug snarls and then decides he better handle the two in front of him, throwing three clumsy punches at Drake.
The last drunk attempts swing a chair from the bar at Drake’s head several times, missing each one. The drunk throws down the chair and yells something nonsensical, frustrated.
Finoan watches a bit apprehensively as Inniska launches a mug across the room. When the mug hits the drunkard without even enough force to shatter the mug he breathes a small sigh of relief. "Well, at least she isn't an angry drunk."
He takes a moment to watch the movements of the guy in front of him.
His random flailing is hard to predict though. He instead tries to grab hold of him and attempts to hold him still enough for him to be an easy target to Baradim.
Finoan manages to grapple the drunk, just barely holding onto the flailing man.
Drake takes aim at the drunk to his right, focusing himself as he does. Swinging with his left and only managing to graze a piece of his ear, the ranger uses the momentum of his miss by bringing his right leg back in a roundhouse that manages to connect right in the drunk's midsection.
Catching sight of the mug that came flying out of nowhere and catching the drunk right in the face, he cuts his attention, while sporting a furrowed brow, over at Inniska before giving her a great big smile. He points at her, winks, and gives her a nod that clearly says: 'Nice shot'!
Niss grins like an idiot. Stop liking him! You'll just get him killed. If you really like him, you'll keep him at arm's length. Her smile faded, and she sat down heavily in her seat to watch the rest of the fight unfold. An eventful day indeed.
The man's fist connects with Baradim's face, knocking spittle and the remaining soup free from it. The orc turns around to face him, growling low before rearing back with all of his might.
At the same moment that Baradim’s fist connects with the drunkard’s face, Delma comes barrelling back into the Feedmill with a large, gray-haired, stern-looking man in tow. Several of the drunken brawlers near the door freeze on his entrance, looking at him with no small amount of fear.
The man brings his fingers up to his mouth and blows an ear-splitting whistle. In response, the noise and chaos quickly die down, and the farmers who aren’t knocked out have the grace to look a little guilty at all the chaos they’ve caused. Several of the farmers start pulling up the others who were knocked out, and, at Bort’s direction, Gregor goes to those farmers to help administer some first aid.
“This again?!” The man bellows at the farmers, crossing his arms over his chest. ”Didn’t you get enough of this crap last week? You all can’t afford to keep paying Delma for damages, so get your s+!* together and start cleaning up.” The man walks over to Delma and confers with her and Amora for a moment. If you’re paying attention, you may notice Amora indicating Bort’s caravan group, you all included. Fortunately (perhaps), it seems that nobody from that group is aiming grumpy looks your way.
Delma and Amora go to supervise the clean-up, and the loud man comes over to greet Bort and you all. ”Amora says you all helped wrangle some of the brawlers. Thank you for handling that, Bort.” The man sighs, rubbing his temples with both hands.
”Anytime, Rolth. I know you’ve got your hands full here.” Bort replies, grinning. ”Need anything from us? We’re going to sit down and eat our dessert while things wind down.”
The large man, who you now know as Rolth, shakes his head. You assume that he’s probably some kind of town sheriff or at least some kind of respected authority. ”No, Delma and Amora are punishing the farmers by making them clean up. I think they’ll have it covered.” He smiles wryly, glancing behind him towards where Delma and Amora are standing over a group, telling them where to place the chairs properly and where to throw away any debris.
Rolth looks around at the four of you, an eyebrow raised. ”Amora says you all handled a good chunk of them without seriously harming them. Thank you for that. This town’s had it rough for long enough that tensions are just…permanently high.”
"Maybe you should set up a boxing ring," Finoan suggests as he looks around.
Fin is about to head back to his previous spot to continue his nap, when he gets a sudden thought that he doesn't like. He instead meanders casually to the doorway of the tavern to take a peek at the caravan cargo - attempting to be subtle about it, but not succeeding very well.
”Amora says you all handled a good chunk of them without seriously harming them. Thank you for that. This town’s had it rough for long enough that tensions are just…permanently high.”
"Really? Why do you think --" Niss trailed off. Oh no. As the adrenaline from the fight faded, a new feeling replaced it. She leapt from her chair and pushed past Finoan, managed to make it juuust outside the tavern before sinking to her knees and upending the contents of her stomach all over the ground.
"Gah," Finoan yelps in protest as Niss pushes past.
He quickly realizes what is going on. "Yeah, definitely not used to alcohol." Fin comes over and helps hold her hair out of her face as she does her business out the wrong end.
Once finished, Niss wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, spitting the foul taste out. "Gods, I am embarrassed. Thank you, Fin. I'm not sure I'll ever touch the stuff again."
"Maybe you should set up a boxing ring," Finoan suggests as he looks around.
Fin is about to head back to his previous spot to continue his nap, when he gets a sudden thought that he doesn't like. He instead meanders casually to the doorway of the tavern to take a peek at the caravan cargo - attempting to be subtle about it, but not succeeding very well.
Rolth looks thoughtful for a moment at the suggestion, genuinely considering it. ”Honestly, wouldn’t be a bad thought…” Rolth says, raising his eyebrows. ”I’ll have to run that by Delma.”
"Really? Why do you think --" Niss trailed off. Oh no. As the adrenaline from the fight faded, a new feeling replaced it. She leapt from her chair and pushed past Finoan, managed to make it juuust outside the tavern before sinking to her knees and upending the contents of her stomach all over the ground.
When Niss tries to ask Rolth a question and then immediately runs off, he looks briefly confused, but Finoan’s remark clues him in. The man looks sympathetically after them but then turns his attention back to Bort and the rest of you.
”Well, Bort. Enjoy your dessert. We’ll all try to keep things calm.” he gestures at the bowls of the still-warm cinnamony turnip porridge, and Bort’s face lights up. The fight hadn’t lasted long enough for the dessert to get cold.
”Ahhhh, yes!” Bort enthusiastically takes a seat again, gesturing at the caravaners and the remaining half of The Princess Guard to take their seats and enjoy their food. ”Please, sit with me for this dessert, then we can all head to some rest.” He pleads with you all, grinning widely still. ”Amora’s dessert is my favorite. The beauty always gives me a little extra.” He winks over at Amora, who takes a moment to connect the dots before smiling warmly in his direction and nodding.
He turns his attention to Baradim, raising a spoonful of the porridge to the orc as a gesture of respect before shoveling a large bite into his mouth. Bort, blessedly, swallows his food before speaking again. ”You got a few good hits in there, my friend!” He nods at Drake, as well: ”And you, too!”
"You should probably come back in, princess, and get some dessert. Or better, something healthier to eat."
"Seriously, you really haven't been around an actual princess if you think that royalty don't ever get puking drunk."
Niss nodded to Finoan and smoothed out her dress, which thankfully did not bear any stains. She hesitated to go right back in after her awkward departure, and looked to Fin instead. "How many actual princesses have you been around?" she asked with a small smile.
"A few every now and then," he says somewhat enigmatically.
Seeing Niss still looking at him curiously rather than heading back in, he decides to elaborate a bit.
"The thing is, I'm not entirely sure. I'm quite certain that humans were meant to live this long. I probably would have gone insane millennia ago if I hadn't learned how to ... well, there really isn't a word for it. Hibernate, I guess would be the best word. I find somewhere safe and secluded and go into a bit of a powered down state... for a few decades or so. When I come back out of that, my memories are a bit softer and less intense. More like a dream or memories of a play that I watched. Though that does have some drawbacks, of course. I'm rather rusty on the skills I had previously too."
He looks back at the tavern. "Well, you want to head back. I promise, you won't be the strangest person in there."
Catching sight of Inniska quickly making her way outside, he just about starts that way until he sees Fin follow her out. Probably a good thing she rid herself of that 'poison' she drank. It'll help her feel better.
But as the moments tick by and she has yet to return, Drake makes his way outside. Catching sight of the two, "Niss? Everything okay?" he asks, cutting a glance to Fin as he walks up to her. "You alright?"
Niss listened to Fin's story with fascination. What would it be like to live so long? Surely he had a point about sanity fraying eventually. Seeing the people you cared about aging and dying while you remained the same? It seemed tragic. The fuzzy memories were likely a blessing, as he said.
She nodded at Fin's suggestion to go back in, realizing she'd been musing quietly after his tale. "Thank you for sharing that, Fin. You're right, we should head back in.".
She proceeded to collide with Drake right as he came through the door. "Oh! Sorry!"
Instinctively reaching out and grabbing her shoulders, "Whoa! Sorry about that, Niss. I noticed you've been out here a bit was just coming to check on you. Everything okay?" he asks, looking into her eyes and completely forgetting to remove his hands.
She looked back at him, getting lost in his gaze for a moment. Distance. You'll get him killed. .
"Fine! I'm fine. Sorry for worrying you. Shall we?" She flashed a quick smile and reluctantly pulled free and slipped past him back into the Feedbag.
Baradim stops as soon as the whistle breaks through the air, the excited look of a brawl disappearing as order is resumed. He does take a moment to flex at the man who was about to be pummeled by him and Drake, making the farmer flinch. The reaction brough the tiniest bit of a grin to come to the orc's face as he returns back to the table and wipes his face down. He sits in his seat, arms folding as he listened in quietly to the conversation. Niss began to speak but he saw her throat tense for a moment before her gut rolled inwards. "There we go." He thinks to him, snickering quietly as the poor girl ran out to enjoy her first time dealing with a belly too full of light poison. The dwarf mentions his prowess and he gives a light shrug for a moment but the faint smile won't leave his lips.
"Back in the Hold, scraps were common. In the barracks, they were less often but less friendly. I got good with my hands." Baradim remarked nonchalantly. He waited for Drake to add in his bit before the ranger got up and left, following after Niss and Finoan outside of the tavern. Baradim chuckled for a moment before shaking his head. "He is infatuated with her. Here is hoping she is too." Baradim explained to the dwarf before looking over the man's shoulder for the knight that had been drinking. Rising from his seat, he murmured. "I'll be back."
If the knight was still there, Baradim would cautiously approach the man before sitting down at the table with him with a mug in hand. Dark eyes studied the man, looking over his heraldry and insignias to place where he would've been in the fall of Lastwall.
"We've come a long way from Vigil." Baradim would start, showing his wooden shield that beared the shield marking of Lastwall upon it. "May I drink with you?" If the man was not in the tavern, Baradim would search for him before returning back to his sit absently.
Niss returns to her seat, cursing her conflicting brain and heart. She sees Baradim walking to another table, but sits with Bort anyway, hoping the dessert will settle her stomach some. She doubts it will settle her mind.
Finoan follows behind Inniska back to Bort's table and sits down. "Well, that was certainly some lively dinner entertainment. A musician or comedian is more traditional. And a bit less damaging to the scenery. But from the sound of it, that is just how things roll here."
If the knight was still there, Baradim would cautiously approach the man before sitting down at the table with him with a mug in hand. Dark eyes studied the man, looking over his heraldry and insignias to place where he would've been in the fall of Lastwall.
"We've come a long way from Vigil." Baradim would start, showing his wooden shield that beared the shield marking of Lastwall upon it. "May I drink with you?" If the man was not in the tavern, Baradim would search for him before returning back to his sit absently.
-- Back at Bort’s Table --
As you all begin to return to the table, Bort grins at all of you, his bowl of porridge halfway gone. ”Wel…welcome back!” He stutters briefly, and puts a hand over his stomach, furrowing his eyebrows with confusion. ”Hmm…seems this isn’t sitting well.” He opens his mouth to try to speak again and starts to cough, and cough, and cough…until the dwarf begins to turn purple and foam rapidly builds around the corners of his mouth. He starts grabbing at his neck, gargling and staring at you all in panic.
"Bort? Are you okay?" He clearly was not, but she had no idea what was wrong. She rose from the table hurriedly, and unleashed her psyche, wielding her worry for the man as a tool. "You're going to be okay, Bort. It will be alright." "Someone do something!"
"Things like this make me glad I don't eat."
"Foam like that indicates poison, not just choking," he says as he quickly pulls out some supplies from a pouch at his waist.
Niss's eyes widen and her eyes dart to her own bowl, having just been eating the same thing Bort was.
Finoan's efforts go unrewarded: Bort is still struggling with his airway, clawing at his neck. The poison slams his airway shut permanently, and Bort suffocates to death in front of you, his mouth frothing violently and his skin turning purple. He collapses, his face just missing the bowl of porridge as it slams into the table.
For a moment, nobody seemed to react. A few townsfolk look over and one gasps, pointing. Tamli turns around sharply, a slow expression of panic forming on her face. She shouts, scrambling out of her seat in a panic, kneeling down by the dwarf.
Finoan barely manages to stop hinself from making a comment about how this will also be effective at solving the dilemma of if they stay in Plaguestone or continue on with the caravan. But he does catch himself and says nothing of the sort.
Instead he politely steps back as those who knew and were close to Bort come over. Finoan himself keeps watchful to make sure that nothing important goes missing in the commotion.
Raising a hand and calling out, "But Ni...!" he stops as she's already made her way inside. Lowering his hand and sighing deeply, he scratches the back of his head as he chews on the inside of his lip. "I really need to talk to you," he mutters to no one. Taking a deep breath as he crosses his arms, Can you hear me, Niss? I want to tell you that I'm not that bumbling idiot that I appear to be. I'm actually a guy who 'typically' has it together and is very attracted to you. You have that... 'safe' feeling. You bring me a sense of peace. I've never felt that before. With anyone. I wish I could explain it but I can't. With Lydia, there was no 'safe' feeling. It was more of a 'wrong' feeling. With you, it's absolutely 'right'. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. And I understand if you don't feel the same. It's okay. Huffing at his own thought, he shakes his head and says, "Liar." The ranger then makes his way back inside with the others.
Niss suffered the headache that followed right after unleashing her full powers stoically, fingertips to her mouth. She'd feel it, if the entire batch had been poisoned, wouldn't she? As the moments passed, she began to relax somewhat.
"Amora. He said she made it, and always gave him extra," she said quietly. There had been many introductions, and she had been all sorts of distracted. She could not recall who Amora was.
She heard none of Drake's inner thoughts, of course.
Walking in at apparently the wrong time, Drake's eyes go wide as he sees Bort's face plummet into the table. Running over to the scene and seeing Tamli with the dwarf, "What happened here?!" Taken aback, he looks up at the others. "Did someone just kill Bort?! Are you kidding me?!"
"Fin said he was poisoned. I think it was only his bowl, or else I'd.." she gestured to her own half-eaten dish.
"Well, f$&@." Rolth says, moving over to the scene quickly and sighing heavily. Delma moves up beside him, looking grim.
"If the rest of you aren't sick by now, it wasn't in everyone's." She snaps at the crowd, clearly upset. Tamli is staring down at the body of Bort, eyes wide with shock, unmoving. Gregor, Ulf, and Olf move to pull her back and away from the scene, all as shocked as Tamli is.
"He was definitely murdered," Rolth says, rubbing his temples. His face is drawn with worry and stress. You get the sense that the man hasn't really ever had to deal with murder or investigations on this level...not with the town being as small as it is. "Someone grab a tablecloth or something...cover this up." He starts shooing people away from the table.
"Nobody leaves for now - we need to figure out how this happened." He looks around the room, getting a bead on who is there and who isn't. "Is this everyone who was here before the brawl began?"
"Fin said he was poisoned. I think it was only his bowl, or else I'd.." she gestured to her own half-eaten dish.
"Poisoned? And you ate some too?!" he asks, the concern quite obvious. Looking over at her bowl before turning back to her, "How do you feel? I mean, are you okay? Should we check you? You don't feel sick, do you? Anything? Anything at all?"
He was making it really hard to keep him at arm's length. "It's okay, Drake. I'm fine. I'd have swollen up and keeled over by now if if been poisoned, too."
Wait, were they implementing a lockdown? She'd been nervous enough about delaying to investigate the whole experimenting on animals thing. But if she couldn't leave this tavern, she'd be a sitting duck if they sent someone after her. She gravitated closer to Drake without meaning to, standing beside him.