Robin shakes his head, but leaves chastising Omast to Vethorm. He instead responds to Rabus "Did Urnsul say anything else? Because while she may not have anything directly to do with his death, we do think she might know something." He chooses his words carefully not to further inflame Omast. "What did she say about the Hopeknife?"
Seeing his... friend? Was Vethorm a friend? Close enough. Seeing his friend come out of the loud drinking place, Purg leaves the wall behind and tries to keep pace. "Vethorm okay? Purg understand. As wise ones say, it not easy be green." Purg tries a smile, but between his soggy face and the fact that goblin smiles tend to be unnerving, it wasn't feeling right on his face for this particular time. "What we do now? Purg sleepy, but can keep going if we need to."
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Rabus ignores Omast for the moment and scratches his scruffy neck. ”Well, she didn’t say anything about the Hopeknife ceremony specifically, but I took what she said about missing the festivities to mean that event.” He pauses for a moment to pour a drink for another patron before returning to the point. ”Now that I think on it, she did say something else odd, when she was a few mugs in. “That pretty-boy Grath should keep an eye open. He’ll eventually poke his head where it don’t belong, maybe catch a plague if he’s not careful.” No idea what she meant, but people say odd things when in their cups.”
Omast looks sideways at the barkeep before waving him off and then stumbling towards the door. ”’Thorm and Kratz!” The drunk guard shouts to no one and everyone. ”The l’t a ya can gre’ the Dark Prinz an’ ta town be all’t bett’r f’r’t.” He then lurches out the open door into the fading light of the evening.
Outside, Purg and Vethorm can see Omast heading towards the lower gates, away from the Longhouse where he would normally stay.
"That is a strange thing to say..." Robin leans against the bar. "And the rest of what she shared sure feels more menacing in retrospect. Knowing about Rodrick and all." Robin looks like he's about to ask another question when Omast suddenly surges out of the bar "Agh, we should probably go after him before he pitches into a hole somewhere or stumbles upon another batch of wolves."
Seeing his... friend? Was Vethorm a friend? Close enough. Seeing his friend come out of the loud drinking place, Purg leaves the wall behind and tries to keep pace. "Vethorm okay? Purg understand. As wise ones say, it not easy be green." Purg tries a smile, but between his soggy face and the fact that goblin smiles tend to be unnerving, it wasn't feeling right on his face for this particular time. "What we do now? Purg sleepy, but can keep going if we need to."
"No, Purg. Vethorm very much NOT okay," Vethorm replies, wiping tears from his face with the back of his gauntlet. Then he sees Omast barge past them and in what's clearly the wrong direction. "I guess what we do now is go after that a&*~*$&."
He begins marching after Omast.
"OI! OMAST! THE LONGHOUSE IS THAT WAY!" he calls.
Rabus checks on Wild. "You know," he says to the strange gnome. "In your excitement, your wound seems to have opened. You're bleeding."
Wild stares intensely at Rabus for a moment then down at his wound and cackles loudly. He suddenly splashes the entire mug of ale all over his bitten flesh, making a crimson-tinted pool of alcohol on the floor.
" Now there's blood on the ground!"
Mere seconds later, Wild jumps off the stool and bolts for the door.
"VETHORM! WAIT FOR ME! The signs have spoken! We still have revenge to do!"
"Oh dear. Well uh, hopefully we can convince him to come back afterward and clean that. Sorry Rabus." Robin hops up and heads for the door as well.
Vethorm glowers as Wild calls after him, but says nothing.
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Wild lives up to his name as he runs out into the evening air, followed shortly by Robin, Hilde, and Ranhild. Vethorm and Purg are just heading off to catch up with Omast when suddenly they hear a shout as he is approaching an alley.
One second Omast is about to lean on a nearby wall, then suddenly he is gone, presumably around the corner. "Arh," the old drunk shouts. "Wat's da mennin?"
Then a woman's voice can be heard from the same direction. "Quiet old man."
For the second time in a day, Purg sees and hears things he doesn't quite believe, and is very sad to have to pull out his trusty companion and load it. He approaches where Omast disappeared, though not quite ready to go around the corner himself lest he wind up harmed.
Looking up at the sudden commotion, Ranhild slips her shield onto her arm, drawing her hammer as she moves toward the end of the alley.
Seeing Omast disappear and Purg spring into action, Vethorm's brow furrows and he draws his shortsword, creeping forward to see who's apparently accosted the man.
His attempt is stymied by the gravel under his feet, and he gives an annoyed sigh, figuring going loud would at least give Purg cover.
"HEY!" he calls, breaking into a rush to round the bend before they can drag Omast off.
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Purg moves forward towards the assailant who seems intent on taking Omast. He takes cover against the wall and loads his crossbow, preparing to fight. Verthorm takes the lead, showing his respect for the old guard, even though he rarely receives the same. He barrels forward, focused on the thug who had grabbed Omast, nearly missing the ambush before it was too late.
Verthorm takes a quick count. One, two, three… six! Six thugs are lying in wait. One has hands on Omast but the others seem prepared to attack. Each of the remaining thugs begins turning over a small tube of green liquid, which quickly turns solid into a blade-like form. Some kind of alchemical blade.
Multiple thugs approach Verthorm, now with these unusual blades in hand. The original thug that grabbed Omast pushes him deeper into the alley and draws an actual shortsword. He waves the blade in front of Vethorm and speaks with a voice dripping with poison. ”When I spill your innards, what color will they be half-blood?”
Wild comes barreling around the corner after Vethorm, into combat. He draws his ripsaw glaive with smooth instinct and charges at the nearest thug, yelling as he runs.
"F***," Vethorm swears under his breath as the ambush emerges, until he sees Wild join the fray.
"Red. Like yours will be when we're done with you," he replies to the thug as he takes a glancing slice at the thug passing him by.
"Oh no... Who are you all? Don't tell me..." Robin moves up to stand with Wild and draws a dagger from his belt.
Sizing up the opposition, Hilde considers and then casts shield of faith on Ranhild. Then she readies her own mace and shield.
Giving Hilde a nod of thanks as she feels the protective magic settle on her, Ranhild calls upon her own magic as glowing golden runes flare to life on both her hammer and shield. Ready to engage, the shieldmaiden makes her way forward, pushing past her smaller allies to move toward the front, offering herself up as a target for the advancing thugs.
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Ranhild channels her magic into her shield and hammer, then closes to the enemies past Wild and Robin. At the same time another thug closes with Vethorm, armed with the familiar crystalline blade as well. They are shocked to note that Ranhild is directly beyond the corner, but quickly adjusts to defend themselves from multiple enemies. ”A naked dwarf?” The thugs words drip with malice. ”I always thought they were born in steel. Ha!”
Purg steps out from behind the wall, now that he's not alone for the fight. He takes cover instead behind Wild, and uses the new vantage point to fire his crossbow at one of the enemies not currently entangled with his friends.
Unfortunately, perhaps due to the fear of their numbers or simply being tired, Purg's shot goes extremely wide. Thankfully he does not shoot Wild or any of his allies in his haste.
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Vethorm pauses to assess the situation more while Purg fires at one of the thugs. The thugs respond by pressing the attack. One thug moves forward, trying to slide past Ranhild but stumbles upon their ally. Without Ranhild in reach they attack and hit Vethorm with the crystal-like blade, which weeps a greenish fluid as though it was melting.
A second thug attempts to move around and between Vethorm and Ranhild, their movements graceful and hard to follow. Then they attack Ranhild, but the young dwarf manages to avoid the blow as well. ”Orcs and dwarves together. Madness!”
The original thug that grabbed Omast turns to Vethorm and attacks him with the shortsword they drew instead of the alchemical blade. The swing is wide, catching the nearby wall and leaving more of the weeping liquid behind.
Trusting the others to handle the thug that slips past her, Ranhild focuses on the enemy directly in front of her, lashing out with a powerful hammer strike.
Vethorm yelps as he's nicked by the blade and realizes he's largely surrounded.
He focuses on the thug before Ranhild, hoping their attention was divided enough not to protect themselves efficiently from his own attack.
"Madness? Maybe. Strong? HELL YEAH!"
Wild continues yelling and begins to laugh maniacally.
"Madness! The fools bring green blades to a red fight and they call us mads!?"
He yanks the cord on his weapon, causing the serrated blade to sing a rusty melody. Then launches a reckless spinning attack on the thug who slipped by Ranhild, narrowly avoiding his adjacent allies.
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Ranhild and Vethorm both attack the thug focused on her. Ranhild's hammer crashes down on their arm, causing them to drop his blade, and the Vethorm drives the point of his own blade into the thugs neck. The blade strike bone, stopping the blade. The thug falls clutching at their neck with one remaining good hand.
Wild gleefully, or maddeningly, launches an attack at the thug who proceeded around Ranhild. With the spinning blade of his weapon producing a buzzing sound he brings it down on the thug's shoulder. The blade cuts deep, into their chest and they fall.
A dangerous look comes over the gnome as his laughter carries into the night.
With Vethorn and Ranhild now maintaining a solid front line against the mysterious thugs, Robin steps up and places a gentle hand on Ranhild's shoulder "You've got this, no problem."
Hilde advances into the fray, her slow (albeit steady) pace keeping her from where she could actually attack but putting her in position to support or strike next round.
Purg tries to shoot at the foe that his mind dubs as "Green", hoping that he can get the bolt through the narrow crack between his allies and not hit any of them in the process.
Purg shoots perfectly, threading the proverbial needle and ruining Green's day, hopefully. The bolt sinks in fabulously, contrasting very well with his previous efforts to stop the people attacking his new friends.
Vethorm sighs.
"Didn't even have the decency to bloody die when bloody shot like that. Rude!" he says as he stabs at the thug, hoping to finish them off!
The swing goes wide. Vethorm swears in Orcish.
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Purg considers telling Vethorm that it works better when you put the pointy bit in them, but then remembers that moments ago he shot a wall. He decides not to tell Vethorm that.
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Vethrom’s blade rests uncomfortably in his hand and he attempts to adjust things mid-thrust. Unfortunately the adjustment makes the strike slower and the thug easily turns the blade aside. Vethrom curses and the thug smiles. ”A shovel works better for that type of thing, green-blood.” The thug says as they back away in retreat.
The other thug next to Vethrom thrusts with his shortsword. Vethrom's adjustment worked in his favor now as the thug's strike misses the erratic movement. He steps back around the corner, closing ranks with him companions. "Drop the old man and get up here."
Wild hops up and down hooting and hollering nonsense, even more profoundly than usual. It quickly becomes clear that he has lost control of himself completely. He pounds his chest violently with the business end of his cestus while howling in the orcish tongue.
As suddenly as the madness erupted, Wild then stands silent. He gazes blankly forward without noticing the flood of crimson pouring from his freshly opened wounds.
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Wild turns the buzzing blade on himself but manages to not cut too deeply. In his mad state, he rants in orcish at no one in particular. The pain he inflicts causes him to shake off the blinding rage he has succumbed to and he slumps forward slightly as the exhaustion sets in.
From around the corner the thugs can be heard questioning their senses. ”Is that haiku?” One asks and is answered by another. ”It must be some kind of gnomish blood magic because he turned that spinning blade on himself as he said it.” Vethorm notices a hint of fear in the thug’s voice from just around the corner but doesn’t have a chance to register this before he finds another thug has appeared in front of him.
The last thug who was restraining and bludgeoning Omast steps out from the corner and thrusts their crystal blade at Vethorm. The uncertainties of Wild’s actions has them distracted and Vethorm easily dodges the inaccurate blow.
Robin calls out "What did Omast do to deserve this?" as he steps past Ranhild to engage the purple thug. He attempts to step evasively past to avoid any sudden jabs of the foe's dagger, and then strikes in with his own rather paltry knife.
Ranhild advances, stepping over the body of one of the fallen thugs and getting into a better position to flank with Vethorm, though her attack is barely better than the last.