Braegan was really pissed…no…he was fucking pissed!
The dwarf wiped the fresh spilled ale off his beard and breast plate with his thick hands. He snarled like a bear and glared at the form of his newfound hatred.
A hulking figure stood up from a stool beside the enraged dwarf.
“Let it go Braegan…we just damn…sat down. I buy ya a double if ya like.” The giant of a man offered.
“It’s on his beard, but not by his own drinking.” Stated a female warrior at the same table. “Best finish yer tankard, Gorebath, before we are all wearing it.”
“Martella…how is one to get any study done? If you damn…hot heads…can’t keep it cool…these is your outfit as I recall.” Spat a wizard who sat next to the female warrior.
“You best get out the way…Vizvorn. Don’t be casting any spells in here.” Gorebath warned.
“Demons be damned!” Vizvorn stated sourly and slammed his spell book closed. He then hopped from his seat and with a burst of smoke he was gone.
Breagan growled louder and he skulked to the mercenary who had caused him to spill his tankard.
Previously, the mercenary had stormed past the dwarf on his way into the tavern, and accidentally bumped the dwarf, who dreamily drank from his large tankard. It was an innocent accident that now would escalate to a sinister event, with one foolish remark.
“You got a problem half-pint?” Asked the origin of the spill, a man whose look showed that he was not one to back down from fights of any kind.
“Bloody fucking stones!” Screamed the dwarf and he tackled the brute in front of him. The pair slammed onto the floor in a great tussle and the tavern exploded with cheers and laughter. Yet the partners…of the mercenary now in a fight with Braegan, had decided they wanted a bout as well.
“Time to collect some teeth!” Gorebath stated, delight peppered in his deep voice. When he saw a fight headed his way.
“Songs of the Singer…there goes our newly acquired bounty.” Sighed Martella as she bashed a mercenary in the face with her mandolin that foolishly tried to grab her.
For days after the brawl, all in attendance would fail to leave out that a dwarf, a giant of a man and a fierce woman. Took on all comers with glee.
When Vizvorn returned with the tavern’s owner a half-orgre, named Boglarka. She roared upon seeing the sight of her inn.
“Five fucking minutes…gone just five fucking minutes and you four unleash a shit storm!”
“Boglarka…I see how this looks.” Martella stated and spread her hands outward for indication.
“Do you Martella?” the half-ogre yelled as she stomped over the fallen patrons of her inn.
“Things may have gotten out of hand. I admit…but think of the ambiance this will give your tavern. A place of hard drink and even harder clientele.”
“Hmph…Don’t flower speak to me you silver-tongued bitch.” Boglarka continued her rant. “In fact, you all, better thank the Worldmaker, I don’t go get my club from behind my bar to bash your damn skulls in… Except you Vizzy.”
Vizvorn smiled nervously.
“Now surely we can figure something out.” Martella offered.
“Bitch…figure it out…let me help you…someone is gonna pay for this mess. Or be working as my bitches until the end of time or my satisfaction…except you Vizzy, this ain’t…your doing.” Boglarka winked at the wizard playfully.
Before Martella could answer the door to the tavern swung open. A tall figure walked in, he wore an ornate breastplate and appeared to be a man of great wealth and stature.
“I will cover these damages. In fact, I will have my guard clear out the swine upon the floor as well. That is…if the leader of the winners here today will hear me out.” The stranger offered.