That should do it… What in the Nine Hells was that anyway? As Berzeral flops and gasps, Othos deftly casts his Charm person spell as quietly and unobtrusively as he can at the receptionist. He then staps towards her with an apologetic expression. "Pardon our loud entrance, Miss. We are looking for our friend Morn the blade-merchant. Perhaps you could tell us which room he is in?".
Kaja quirks a brow at the group as they enter, sighing at Berzeral's overeager distraction. When approached by Othos, she responds.
"Let me check the register," she sets her first book on the table, reaches down beside her chair and produces a large bound tome from a leather sack which she opens and scans through several pages before replying. "Looks like room fourteen, but he's likely sleeping. I will let him know when he comes down in the morning that you were looking for him if you'd like. Which rooms will you all be staying in tonight?"
All the while, Kaja keeps her eyes trained on the group, watching for any sudden movements or obvious attempts at deception. As you get closer, you can see a finely honed scimitar resting beside her and a small hand crossbow, loaded, in her lap.
"Thank you ever so much, Miss. However, I do not think we will be needing a room - as you have no doubt surmised yourself already, Morn has been quite the naughty boy lately. He has been engaged in unauthorised economic activities, as well as romantic dalliances of the rather sordid type. Mrs. Morn is most unhappy. We are here to give him a stern talking-to and encourage him to change his ways. It should not take very long. Surely you do not disapprove of that?".
Othos glances down at Kaja's arsenal. "Now, that looks rather intimidating. Do you find that you need to use those anymore, now that the Shadow Thieves are gone?". He gives her a knowing wink. "Or are things less tranquil than they might seem?".
Kaja levels her gaze at Othos, raising an eyebrow and putting herself in a somewhat more defensive stance. After an moment's silence, she narrows her eyes.
"I think you should leave. I'll let Morn know someone was looking for him in the morning. You should really come back during our normal business hours if you mean to speak with our patrons."
Her voice has a hostile edge to it, and her hand rests comfortably on the hilt of her scimitar while the other clutches the grip of the crossbow in her lap.
Shador's eyes go wide as the decomposing hands come loose from Berzeral's clothing and land with a thumping squelch on the floor. But Kaja's tone and her steady motion toward her weapons snaps Shador from his disgust and his faces darkens with a scowl. "There is no need for bloodshed, particularly yours. Certainly you can see that not only are you outnumbered but my companion here is of a particularly violent bent. Why not let us visit Morn and be done with our task? And before you refuse, ask yourself this: what is it worth to you to keep your hands?"
After Shador speaks, Kaja casts her glance to the others in the room and finally realizes what had fallen from Berzeral's neck. While she does an admirable job of maintaining her steely composure, the fear in her eyes is noticable.
She sneers at Shador and eases her grip on her weapons slightly, still not willing to disarm completely.
"I will bring him down for you, but I will not have you disturbing the other guests. We have made enough noise already."
She lets her statement settle as she looks again to the severed hands. Berzeral picks them up and restores them to their rightful place around his neck. Kaja swallows hard and nervously awaits a reply from the group, her eyes darting in the direction of possible escape routes. The room is briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning in the distance, casting myriad shadows all over the tavern hall.
"Excellent. No need to be unreasonable", Othos says cheerfully to Kaja after giving Shador an appreciative nod. "And he is right - we have no quarrel whatsoever with you. While your loyalty to the establishment is both commendable and impressive, it is poorly placed - considering the little incident here earlier tonight, I rather doubt that the reputation of this place would change measurably if further bad things were to take place". He makes a grand gesture towards the staircase. "After you, miss. Kindly leave the blade down here, though - after all, you will not be needing it now, will you? We will be coming right up with you". Othos steps away from the girl and passes his hand across his chest, muttering an arcane formula, momentarily becoming encased in a ghostly aura that quickly sparkles and then dissipates; he then unsheathes his sword. He looks over to Gimble. "Watch the door.".
Gimble nods and takes his place by the door, hiding close to the inside wall and becoming utterly consumed by the shadows there. Kaja stares intently at Othos as he makes his request.
"I'll keep my blade, thank you. No sense in escorting a group of armed men while unarmed. Besides, what do you have to fear? You do outnumber me, after all." A tiny smirk starts at the corner of her mouth, but it goes no further than that.
The woman has a point, thought Shador. I wouldn't lead this bunch into a darkened hallway without a length of steel in my hand. "Alright, now that we are all in agreement with one another, let's get this business underway." Shador moves his pelleren aside to expose the handle of his rapier. "After you, lass."
Kaja nods curtly to Shador and leads the group upstairs to where the tavern's patrons are resting for the night. The hallway is faintly lit by a lantern hanging at the top of the stairwell and another at the far end of the hall. It is apparent that the hallway makes a 90-degree turn towards the front of the building and, judging from the illumination provided by a flash of lightning outside, that leg of the hallway ends in a window of some sort. The hallway is 10 feet wide with numerous doors on either side and extends for 60 feet from the stairwell before making the 90-degree left turn. Based on the size and shape of the building, one could assume that the other leg of the hallway is likely 40 feet long before reaching the window at the end.
Kaja glances over her shoulder to keep tabs on the group's position as she leads them past several rooms before finally arriving at a door marked '14' only 10 feet from the hallway's left turn. On the other side, the faint sound of someone snoring can be heard along with the even fainter sounds of two other sleepers' breathing. Kaja glances at Othos, raising her eyebrows and sighing, before rapping on the door with the pommel of her sword.
The snoring stops almost immediately and quiet stirring can be heard within the room. The two other sleepers continue their rhythmic breathing, apparently unawakened.
Berzeral affixes the clasp behind his neck, the necklace reverting to its former shape. His eyes shift about warily, but the nonchalance of his associates seems to settle him. He steps aside to let the woman pass. For one slight as she to put up such a ferocious display is engratiating as well as effective--he finds himself wary of her in a way that he has seldom encountered during his time in the city. Her desire to retain her weapon bestows her another positive mark--if for no other reason than that she resists bullying well with strength and composure. He follows her toward the stairs, keeping close enough to her to remain inside her sword arc--to limit the leverage and utility of her blade while maximizing the effectiveness of his beast claws. He struggles to avoid an overt sign of fear or submission, standing upright and looming, with his shoulders set forward ominously, yet there is something to the confidence of her last statement that chills him--forcing him to try to harden his eyes, to turn his thoughts to rage and bloodshed, to wash them of the fear that creeps in his heart.
As they approach the door he takes an ambush position a little further down the hall and away from the tight cluster of his fellows around the door, to give him room to charge if someone unexpectedly goes to flee. He looks to Othos, eyes narrowing and then glancing past the door into the room. Slowly and decisively he silently mouths the word
"Window?"
"Hmmmm...." Something was fishy here. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, Othos was having a rather bad feeling about the semi-cooperative receptionist. As the others wait for Morn to get dressed, he takes two steps further back from the party and mutters another incantation.
"Wench!" Shador hisses toward Kaja. "You alerted them!" He slips his rapier free and steps to the side of the door opposite the handle. "Our escort has given the sign to Morn to come to the door armed. Prepare yourselves!" Shador whispers to his companions. Returning his attention to Kaja he says "Open this door immediately! Do it now."
Kaja's eyes go wide. She had certainly not expected the dwarf to have such knowledge of their ways. Perhaps she had underestimated this group. Regardless, she sneers at the dwarf and readies her weapon just as the door opens to reveal Morn, awake and alert, wielding a pair of kukri and clearly ready for battle (though he is unarmored).
The dark-skinned human woman turns as if beginning to flee when her material form suddenly shimmers and disappears, leaving Shador and Othos completely perplexed for an instant. Only a split-second later, the woman materializes behind Othos and sinks the blade into his shoulder, biting through his magical armor and digging into the flesh beneath.
Morn casually steps forward to square off against the dwarf, a wicked grin on his face. He appears to show little fear in exposing his back to Othos as he deftly makes two slashes at Shador with his kukris. The first slash cuts into Shador's magically enhanced armor but does not penetrate and the other slash is easily turned aside by a timely parry from Shador's rapier, sending the weapon into a wide arc.
...never...feet...alerted...
His restless dreams violently interrupted, Torbjorn's eyes snapped open Gods, NOW what?? he thought leaping to his feet with a mighty thud. Never a moment's rest for the wicked, he though, grabbing his massive hammer and taking one long stride to the door.
Pausing the briefest instant to listen, he clearly heard the sounds of combat mere feet away. Throwing the door wide, Torbjorn took two steps into the hall, hammer at the ready...and as buck naked as the day he was born.
"Foolish, foolish girl", Othos snarls as he wipes blood spatter off his face. "We wanted to resolve this peacably, but you give us no choice. You brought your own doom upon yourself! Now kneel"
Berzeral lets forth a blood curtling yowl, his form swelling and ripping forth in a flash into a massively muscled fur covered form, wolf headed and claws outstretched--his clothes reduced to tattered shreds in the transformation. He surges forward in a whirl of motion, charging into the woman who attacked Othos with a roar ending in an upswing with his clawed gauntlets, trying to rip up and take her kidney straight through the hip--a calculated hit to not only terrify and incapacitate, but to hurt in such a way as to put his disguise at least risk.
Approaching from behind in his monstrous form, Berzeral rakes his claws across Kaja's exposed flesh. She cries out in pain, whipping around to face him with a look of utter horror in her eyes as her own blood spatters upon the floorboards.
Othos assumes a defensive posture as he looses the will of Shar upon Kaja's fragile mind, forcing her to the ground with a look of helplessness in her eyes.
With Kaja momentarily out of the fight, a triumphant grin splits Othos' gory face. Hands whipping about in another arcane gesture, he turns towards Morn, casting another spell.
"Impressive but futile, Morn," quips Shador as he flashes his rapier in and out of Morn's defenses. "Let us see how I fare!". He then lunges at Morn, the tip of his rapier sinking deceptively lower as he executes the thrust.
Shador's deceptive blade thrusts in towards Morn's midsection but Morn quickly crosses his twin blades just above the rapier's point and pushes the blow further down than the dwarf intended, sending the weapon's tip harmlessly into the floorboards. Shador recovers quickly, and Morn's face resumes his cocky smirk as he prepares his next attack.
"So a test of blades it will be, eh? Very well, but I have the advantage; it is only a matter of time before you fall!" Shador srtikes an en garde pose and squares off aganst Morn, looking for an opening and striking when he can.
They've come for me at last, by the gods it's true, Torbjorn though, seeing the battle before him. Without a second's hesitation he bounded forward, warhammer held high in both hands, his manhood flopping beneath him. Letting out a mighty roar, he swung downward onto the back of the nearest head, a slight man weilding two small weapons...
Torbjorn thunders up to the melee, warhammer held high as he charges. Morn is distracted from his battle with Shador for only an instant and, in that instant, the mighty skald lands a crushing blow on Morn's shoulder, missing his head by mere inches. The force of the blow causes him to cry out in pain, nearly falling to one knee from the impact. The sickening crunch of bone gives testament to the big man's power.
Meanwhile, Kaja feels the crushing will of Shar forcing her to the floor. She goes prone, still facing Berzeral's relentless fury and feebly attempts to defend herself as best she can.
Morn's cocky attitude melts away after realizing that he now faces two opponents instead of one and is currently injured. Ferociously, he attempts to even the score by catching Shador's blade in a scissors-grip with his kukris and forcing it from his hand.
He pays the price for his hubris, however, as the experienced dwarf simply drives the blade foward into his gut through the scissored blades and slips it back out just as easily.
Shador sneers at the boy's lack of control and, with a deft strike, drives the blade once again through his feeble defenses and runs the length of steel into his solar plexus up to the hilt. Morn gasps for an instant, blood pooling at the corners of his mouth.
"Torbjørn! Collect your wits! 'Tis I and Berzeral, and the dwarf is one of us as well!! We are not your enemies - she is!" Othos waves his empty hand at Torbjørn while pointing his sword at the kneeling Kaja. As enjoyable as it had been to see Morn get battered around like a pugilist's training dummy, the realisation that in his current semi-awake state the howling Norseman might strike him or Shador next fills Othos with cold dread. "Control yourself!"
Othos cries out to the skald in order to focus his senses and takes a stab at Kaja's prone form in the process. With no other means of escape, she waves her sword around in wild panic and successfully parries the blow as it draws near. Cursing his poor aim, Othos steps back and allows the more experienced fighters room to maneuver.
The werewolf backs off suddenly, leaving the desparate, injured woman kneeling on the floor. Its movements are smooth and cautious, shining yellow eyes fixed on the northman. As it receeds back it's coloration seems to darken as though stepping into deepining darkness, before crouching down on the balls of its feet, its heavy blooded foreclaws in front of it. It opens its mouth and lags a tongue hungrily, but remains still there, watching warily and ready to spring--eyes shining demonically in the darkness.
Shador slips his blade free of Morn's corpse and spins to face the bellowing attacker behind him. Seeing Torbjørn's naked form leaves him flabbergasted and halts him in mid motion, his rapier dangling senselessly down by his side. "Ach! Cover yourself man!" he manages to spit out, averting his eyes as he does so. Shador involuntarily moves back from the human and stumbles over Morn's body and into his room.
For the briefest of seconds, the only thought on Torbjørn's mind was killing every living being before him. For what possible purpose could so many armed attackers have but to come for me and deliver unto me that which is my due? It is the natural course of things when one angers the goddess of the seas...
His mouth agape, frozen mid-howl at the mention of his name, his hammer raised again on high...the hulking northman stopped. His eyes, wide with fear and the adrenal rush, quickly jumped from face to face and downward to the dwarf, who was even now averting his eyes from some horror even Torbjørn could not fathom.
Slowly, he lowered the mallet to the ground with a gentle clunk. His arms hung loosely at his sides, as he continued to gape in awe at the scene unfolding in front of him. They...they aren't coming...for me,he thought, ...but if not for me...for what purpose?
Torbjørn's reddened brow crinkled in confusion. Through the haze of one practically sleepwalking, he whispered "Who ARE you people?"
Kaja's fighting instincts reassert themselves as she appears to gain conviction even in the face of insurmountable odds. Using the commotion caused by Torbjorn's approach, she draws her blade close to her body and vanishes again in the blink of an eye. The sound of her footsteps can be heard softly upon the floorboards headed down the hallway in the direction of the large window at the end but there is no visible sign of her passage...
Shador involuntarily moves back from the human and stumbles over Morn's body and into his room.
Within Morn's small room, Shador sees two human women cowering in the corner and clutching blankets to cover their obviously naked bodies. They squeal quietly in fright as Shador stumbles in through the doorway but neither of them seem to have the presence of mind to interfere in any way. The room is otherwise unremarkable, containing a simple chair, a wide bed with pillows, a woven rug, and a leather backpack resting on the floor. In the corner rests a wash basin on top of a stool. The room lacks windows (since the back of the building serves as the wall of the establishment behind it).
A furious snarl disfigures Othos' face. "She did it again!!" He lashes out against where he thinks she might be, more in frustration than hope. His brow then furrows in though. "Not so fast, little girl", he whispers softly, digging into his belt pouch and pulling out a grenade-loke object.
Othos takes a futile swat at the air with his weapon and begins to rummage through his pack before producing a tiny brown bag with a smirk.