"You're such a softy," Ahto says to Pyrrha with a wink and crooked smile.
"So, now that you're on your feet, what say we make our introductions more formal?" he says to the Chelaxian woman. "My name's Ahto, known to some as Crack-jawed Ahto, on account of my boyish good looks," he says holding a hand up to the the web of scars on his face and jaw. "Your hand of mercy here is Pyrrha. This fine little chap is Brand. Over here is Callistria's finest, Kierana. And our other gentleman is Zeph."
"Don't push it Ahto," Pyrrha winces. Looking back to the woman, "Don't get the wrong idea and knowing your name wont change anything other than what to curse when we regret helping you. Or at least I assume that's what the big lummox was trying to do when he was beating his chest at the guards."
You've found such a charmer in this one, Ahto! Kierana flashes Pyrrha a mildly sarcastic smile. Well, darlings, I heard some expressing the desire for sustenance? I happen to know several fine establishments in the Court - if you're not getting stingy in your wages again. She playfully bats at Ahto's arm.
"At this point, I've got few wages left. I just bought drinks for our two fine law enforcement agents over there, and the rest went in your, heh, collection plate...not that I'm complaining, mind you - well worth the price of admission - just noting that if I'm going to buy something to eat tonight, it's going to be bread and cheese, most like."
He fishes around in his pouch and produces his last two coins, one gold and one silver - holding them out as an illustration of his point.
"Of course, if this fine eatery happens to have gambling, or better yet, a space for fisticuffs, I could make enough for a fine meal in no time at all!" His eyes flash with a gleam of mischief.
Ah, a more adventurous establishment, then. Lead the way; I'm sure your knowledge outstrips mine on this matter, although I'm of a mind to re-acquaint myself with some of the rougher houses.
Zeph considers the offer of a meal. The packages he was carrying for his mother would keep, but a more 'adventurous' establishment would mean keeping a close eye on them. They would be a group not easily trifled with though, and it had been a while since he had spent time in the company of friends. With a nod confirming his own thoughts he nods to Ahto, "Yes, lead the way. It would be nice to catch up properly, and we can make sure this poor girl isn't caught in anything untoward again."
After chatting with the guards for several minutes, the group follows Ahto to an appropriately... adventurous establishment. The sign hanging above the tavern reads "The Naughty Nymph", with said nymph seated atop the words alluringly. The place is well-lit from windows and lanterns, the stained glass sending streams of colored light across the floor. Dice rattle across the tables at the back of the room, and bets are being placed on two men that look about ready to bludgeon the piss out of each other.
"Ahto, my boy! Glad to see you. What'll it be?" The dwarf stands on the raised platform behind the bar, his smile flashing like the battleaxe hanging above the drinks. "Oh, and ye brought friends, aye? Name's Groffin, what can I do you fine lot for today?"
"The usual for me." Pyrrha sighs as she sets herself down at the bar and tosses three silvers onto the counter.
"...What? Their Ahto's friends."
"Aye, Groff. I've brought my friends for The Nymph's elegant ambiance, wide array of vintages, and fine cuisine," he says in a playfully mocking tone with a half-bow and a crooked smile. "I, of course, will be having my usual 'last coins' meal of bread, cheese and watered ale, my good fellow."
He looks around the tavern at the on-going action.
"How's business tonight? Any likely takers?" he asks the dwarf in his usual manner when he's looking for someone willing to take a friendly eager. "Those two over there, they about to box?"
Brand chuckles to himself as they head to one of Ahto's many 'favorite' watering holes. It's a favorite if they have ale... makes it pretty easy... but could be fun start to the rest of the day...
Brand listens to the others as they cross the neighborhood, leaving the Ascendant Court for more... comfortable surroundings. Noting the fey temptress dangling from the sign as they round the corner. "Ahto, let's not have you gettin' tossed out like last time, okay? I know they started it... and you ended it... but then it ended our fun. Besides, Groffin will only give you sooo many barfights before its banned for good!"
----
Seeing Groffin behind the bar, Brand hops up on the first stool, "Ah, noble Groffin, keeper of the grog, might I have a pint of yer finest dark ale... on Ahto of course! An' if there's any sittin' about, p'rhaps a loaf of bread an' a hard cheese? Thank ye good man!" As though to counter his words, he happily places a few silver the the bar before Groffin.
"Welcome, ya little gutter rat. I'll get you the usual, Brand." After a moment, he claps a mug down on the counter in front of the halfling, swiping the silver from the counter in the same movement. "I'll have your food for ya in a minute. Lana! Get me a loaf and some cheddar!"
"They're about to box, alright." The dwarf turns to Ahto, a grin on his face. "Amateurs, really. Easy coin for you, I'd bet." At Ahto's mention of takers, his visage quickly grows more serious. "There's some new hot-shot who's been winning bouts left and right. He'd fight ya. But he's good, Ahto. Real good." He cracks his knuckles, then pushes a plate towards Brand with his bread and cheese as the waitress brings them out. "Not sayin' I'd bet against you, lad, but I wouldn't go bettin' my night's profit on ya, neither."
Zeph is always conflicted when in such establishments. He had liked to frequent such places a few years ago as a cocky teenager, but now he finds himself weary of whom may be looking for some extra coin and willing to take it.
He greets the bartender "Anyone who is in good company with Ahto and Brand is a potential friend of mine my good barkeep!" He considers what he wants to drink before ordering and slides a few silver across the counter "Would a Dark and Stormy be out of the question? Bread and cheese like my friends here would be fine to eat."
Overhearing the talk of 'boxing' Zeph wonders about this new fighter. With a glance at Ahto he somehow thinks he could take this mystery fighter.
The same as Zeph for me, please. Kierana flashes a smile at the barkeeper and adds her silver to the pile. Sitting with the others, she turns her attention to the boxing, ready for the night's amusement. She sits with a relaxed, casual manner, but keeps a hand set unobtrusively on the pouch of coin at her belt. Wouldn't do to get TOO comfortable in here.
Korihor hesitantly pulls a stool up. Upon seeing Zeph's drink, her eyes light up. "Ginger beer and rum? That sounds good. I'll have one as well." She pulls a single gold piece out of her purse, motioning to Groffin.
As Korihor sits, Kierana turns to her. So, what was all that madness in the square about? she says softly to the human woman. Why were the guards accosting you? If you wish not to share, it's your business, of course, but I'm curious what you could have done to inflame them so, without even intending it.
"I was trying to talk to one of the...Last Disciple's priests, or whatever they call themselves. I was interrupted by the Inheritor's Priest." Korihor shrugs one of her shoulders noncommittally, taking a sip of her Dark and Stormy, and speaks into her glass. "I don't like being interrupted." She winces as the alcohol touches the open cuts across her lips.
Seeking to join with the Last Disciple's disciples, are you? If so, be prepared to take several more knees to the back; the hostility's only been ramping up lately. And it's been more targeted against the Disciple's followers than started by them, if the Grey Guard is to be believed. Kierana takes a sip of her own Dark and Stormy. Not half bad. Not the equal of Pleasure Court metheglin, but I suppose I'm biased in my opinion on that matter.
Korihor chokes on her rum. "Oh, no! I wasn't - I'm not..." she leans forward, whispering, "...do I look like I would run off to be with some Priest of a dead...a dead God?"
There's certainly plenty of others who have. I've lost some of my best clients to the Disciple's new flock over the past several weeks. I've no judgement for those that wish to pledge themselves to a dead god's service, and he's been making quite a stir. I've even heard some of his miracles are actually working.
Kierana glances at the boxers preparing for their bouts. Many feel they lost everything when the Last Azlanti disappeared, that humanity was weakened by his loss. This Last Disciple is a way for them to feel they're gaining that power back, no different than the victors of this boxing match will feel strong for having defeated other drunken old men like themselves. Can they be faulted for wanting that?
"Give me a nod if he walks in, I'd like to see how tough this guy really is," Ahto says, slapping his last silver down on the bar and grabbing his plate of bread and cheese.
"Oh, and can you break this one up for me, so I have something to work with?" he asks, producing his last gold coin.
"He's already here, friend. The lanky fella with the horns, towards the back." Groffin points as he speaks, and there is no mistaking the man he speaks of. A tall and wiry tiefling stands against the back wall, sipping at a mug of ale. His horns sweep back from his forehead, a dark brown against his pale, reddish face. Spines jut sharply from his elbows, the same color as the horns on his head, and a line of spurs trails down the man's tail. His hair is cropped short, with the short grizzle of a goatee around his mouth. He smirks visibly as the party turns to face him, clearly cocky and ready for a fight.
"Like I said, friend. He's no rookie." He looks to Ahto as he breaks the gold piece into silvers, sliding them onto the bar. "He's won five fights this week. Stronger than he looks, too. Knocks 'em out cold, he does. Right across the jaw." He smirks at Ahto as he cracks a joke. "Then again, your's is bad enough as it is. Maybe it won't work on ya."
Ahto gives the stranger a sidelong glance, and when he catches his eye, gives him a nod and a cocky smile in return.
"He's right sure of himself, isn't he?" Ahto replies to Groff. "Guess he's heard of me, or he wouldn't be lookin' this way."
Korihor looks incredulously at Ahto. "You're just going to...fight that guy? For fun?"
"Well...not just for fun. If I can get him to wager coin on the fight, I can make some money, too," he replies to the Korihor with a chuckle.
"So...what if I wagered you'd...lose?"
"Feel to bet on him, if you like. Half the fun's the fear; the risk of losing. If the fight was a sure thing, it'd be boring. It's not like I've never lost...it happens,' he answers with a nonchalant shrug.
"Has a right to be cocky. He's made probably fifty, maybe sixty pieces this week. And I ain't talking copper, neither. Guy moves like a snake, ducks around a punch and comes back swingin'. A wily mother f*cker, that one." He leans in close to Ahto, whispering. "I don't trust that tail, neither. Seen him wrap it round a man's arm, pull him right into a haymaker." Groffin moves back, going back to his normal speaking voice as he pours an order for a customer down the bar. "Be careful with that one, is all."
Korihor blinks incredulously at their words.
"It's you he's glaring at," Ahto whispers to Korihor, as he lifts his tankard to his lips. "Do you recognize him? Look close, 'cause he seems to know you."
Ahto stands, unfastens his weapon belt and sets it, axe and club still attached, on the table. He does the same with his daggers, then removes his lamellar breast plate, and finally strips off his shirt.
"Time to go to work," he says with a smile.
He walks over to the makeshift boxing ring and begins limbering up.
"I'm next," he announces. "Any takers?"
"He - what?!" Korihor quickly turns back to the table, attempting to cover her surprise at Ahto's words. She whispers to Keirana, "Is he serious?"
As Ahto approaches, the tiefling perks up, his eyes flitting to meet Ahto's. "Ah, the man of the hour. You are Mr. Uhlrych, I presume. They told me to expect a man with... well, they mentioned your scar. I hardly imagine there are a number of men who frequent such a place with features like your own."
The tiefling pushes himself from the wall with a practiced grace, pulling off his own shirt to mirror Ahto. Immediately noticeable is the scar; a putrid, deep spiderweb of scar tissue extending outward from what is obviously the remains of a stab wound in his chest, next to his heart. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Uhlrych, truly. I've heard great things about your work." He tenses up, cracking his neck twice before moving onto his knuckles. "The name is Malon, though most have just taken to calling me "Twist". Clever, really. Twist the knife, you know." Having prepared for the fight, he leans in close to Ahto. "I represent our... mutual employer." As he finishes his sentence, one of the men fighting goes down, blood flying from his nose.
"Perhaps you'd like to continue this conversation in the ring?"
"By all means, my good fellow," Ahto says with exaggerated propriety, as he bows and gestures the tiefling to the ring.
As they square off in the fighting circle, Ahto raises his hands and mouths to the tiefling:
"Which employer? I work freelance for many."
As the crowd begins to cheer when the fighters square up, Twist grins. "Lady Galdrin? Oh, but you wouldn't know her by the name, would you... I represent the proprietors of the Black Mask. I'm hear to speak with you about your most... recent assignment." As he speaks, the tiefling rises to the balls of his feet, his hands gently jabbing towards Ahto as he examines his defenses. "That woman with you... she was among those attacked this afternoon, yes?"
Almost unnoticed, Twist's tail begins to coil around his back, and as he feigns another punch, his tail lurches out from behind him as he attempts to coil it about one of Ahto's arms. When the attempt fails, he smiles. "Glad to see your reputation isn't entirely unfounded. Tell me, how did you meet her?"
Zeph looks on worriedly, while he is confident in Ahto's prowess, this tiefling looks dangerous. "Groff, is there anything else you can tell me about this fighter? More specifically outside of the ring?"
Serious about what? Going to get himself knocked cold? Looks like it. Kierana watches the fight, but leans subtly closer to Korihor as the two begin their exchange and whispers to her. Yes, the tiefling did seem to recognize you. And not with pleasant memories attached, either, if the glare I saw was any indication. Best try to keep your head down around him, not call attention to yourself - and hope Ahto diverts his attention sufficiently.
"Not call attent - he was glaring at me!"
And he'll only do it more, the louder your voice rises. Calm, now. Let Ahto and the tiefling fight, and it may be he forgets you in the heat of the melee. If not, so be it. His stares harm you not. If he moves beyond a look - why, then let your anger burn bright. At her last words, Kierana's lips twist into an almost-mischievous smirk.
Korihor clutches her own shoulder with her right hand. She takes a shuddering breath and looks towards the exits.
Kierana sees Korihor's sudden movement. What is it? Are you unwell? She leans in and whispers. It must be something you're quite accustomed to wearing around your neck, if you reach for it when it's not even there.
Korihor starts, looking at Kierana. "How did...who are you?" she asks, and looks out at the two men fighting in the ring. "You're with him, aren't you?" she says, standing suddenly, the barstool crashing to the ground.
Peace, girl! Kierana rises slowly from her seat with her hands in the air and attempts to calm Korihor with her soft tone and soothing gestures. No, I've never seen the tiefling before, and I promise, I've no ill will to you. I've simply had long training in the art of observation, from an existence that's left me little choice in the matter. I know of being ill-used by life, and I suspect you do too.
Stooping over, Kierana rights the stool Korihor had been sitting on. I've dedicated my life to helping those who have been wronged. Please, be at peace, and if you like, tell me of your troubles. Or keep your past to yourself, if you think it best. I wish only to help you help yourself.
A single tear runs down Korihor's cheek. "When the anger burns bright...you said..." she whispers, wiping the tear away. She takes a step back, looking at everyone. "No one can help me."
It may be true; I know not what burdens tax you. But there are few burdens that cannot at least be lightened, with a companion to share the load. Kierana picks up Korihor's drink and offers it to her. Sit, drink, be at rest. We wish you no harm.
Ahto moves in to tie-up with the tiefling, using a wrestling situation for cover for their conversation.
"How much of a show we puttin' on here? Can't go knockin' each other out before what needs being said is said, right?" he whispers.
"Told you she was trouble." Pyrrha says nonchalantly as she shoots a glance in Korihor's direction without turning to look. When Pyrrha is confident her place is safe from flailing limbs she waves the bartender the signal to deliver her stew, bread, and mead. "Not wise in a place like this to make yourself an easy mark, but I suppose if the streets aren't safe then no place is."
Pyrrha turns as the scuffle starts between Ahto and the tiefling, "Hey barkeep, place this wager on Ahto, I don't care about the odds... But let me know when you come back." Pyrrha procures a pouch with a small sum of coin.
5 gp
Korihor takes a steadying breath and slowly sits back down. She watches the fight, a troubled expression on her face.
Kierana settles into her seat, leaning back casually against the bar's top and watching the fight. She idly toys with the bracelet around her wrist, the picture of nonchalance, though she does steal one more glance at Korihor. Best leave this well enough alone for now, she thinks. She'll open up when and if she's ever ready.
When the barkeeper brings Pyrrha's food, Kierana motions to him. My meal as well, if you please, she purrs with a smile.
"Sure thing, darlin'." Groffin slams the wall behind him with his boot, and about twenty seconds later, a waitress brings out the food and drink for the rest of the party. "That suit your fancy, miss?" Groffin laughs, his hands resting on the bar as he looks to Zeph.
"Well boy, I don't know too much. He's a good fighter, but I don't know where he learned those damn tricks of his." He walks away for a moment, helping another customer. "Heard he's rolled up in stuff much like our friend Ahto, here, but I don't know why or who for. Don't dig my nose too deep, keeps it from gettin' cut off."
-----
While he struggles for a moment, the tiefling is pulled into the hold, his head locked inside Ahto's arm. "Not too much, but enough that facades like this are necessary." The tiefling mocks slamming his fist hard into Ahto's gut, but the blows have little to no force when they connect. "I know Anton usually meets you here, but I'm not here on... official business. Lady Galdrin is not the most protective of her assets, as I can attest to. I'm here with a warning, Ahto. And you best heed it."
With that, the Tiefling shifts his weight, then whispers. "I'll be getting out of this, now." With that, he brings one knee up hard into Ahto's solar plexus, flinging himself backwards as Ahto's grip loosens. "I'm better at that than you might think," he says, a wry grin spreading across his face.
Korihor looks at the plate in front of her, nonplussed. She looks up at the bartender "Could I have another drink? I'm not terribly hungry."
"So what's in if for you, for them?" Ahto asks, holding his fists up in a high guard to shield his mouth from peripheral view. "Do the costumers believe she's more closely connected to the Disciple than what she's letting on?"
Ahto keeps his stance ready for a strike, uncertain if the bout will remain theatrical, or suddenly turn full contact.