"Oh, I didn't say you'd be fighting me. No, no. I am but a man, that'd hardly be fair, would it?" he grinned wider. "Here, we pit beast against beast." The plump man took a step to the side, indicating to somewhere in the crowd. The fishers all took a step aside, except one. A man who towered above the rest remained. Thorben, the Barge*, they called him. Equal parts broad and tall, it was a mystery how he had even managed to get through the tavern's front door. He had a visage that would make any commoner piss their leggings, with a deep scar on his face and neck that cut through his handlebar mustache on one side. The long, dark coat he had worn for seasons on end had frayed near the bottom and cultivated its own colony of barnacles, which had — along with his notoriety for being slow and his massive stature — contributed to his namesake. The building of a man tended to mostly talk in low rumbles, and the fishers often quipped he was actually speaking a dialect of yeti.

"Or are you too much of a coward to take a fight?" the man atop the table continued. "The half-breed wants to impress us with her vocabulary, but did I hear a 'yes' in there? Did I?!" He spun around, hands wide as he addressed the crowd, before turning back to face Moyrah. "Doesn't sound much like one who's part savage. Perhaps yer mother was no orc after all. Perhaps she was a goblin."

---

*For breakfast he eats five dozen eggs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:04, Wed 03 Feb 2021.

"And I thought you have finally mustered enough courage to confront me. I must be the foolish one then". Without a doubt, the surprising reveal of a massive beast of a man, put a bit of fear into Moyrah's bones. She was no longer so confident about winning a fight, but still, it wouldn't be like her to back down. "Hey, Thorben, I had no idea that you found new people to boss you around, is Naerth Maxildanarr aware of this? Will you seriously allow people who have been calling you a half-yeti for so long, to egg you on. I thought you were smarter than that." Moyrah said, still lingering on the doorframe, awaiting for Thorben's response.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 19:09, Wed 03 Feb 2021.

The Barge grumbled, grinding his jaw before he spit into the spittoon with enough force to almost punch a hole in it. "Naerth?" he asked and glanced questioningly to some of his friends.

"She's tryin' to get ya!" one in the crowd said. "He's got nothing to do with this here!"

It prompted a low grunt from Thorben who furrowed his brow further, scowling at Moyrah. He tensed his fists, knuckles cracking. The men in the tavern had given way for a circle, and Thorben stood near the center. It was in the lower section of the tavern, by the hearth, and had been cleared of tables and chairs. The large man slowly started to remove his barnacle-stained coat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:40, Wed 03 Feb 2021.

"Well follow your master's order and come outside, I promised Vegord I won't make a mess out of his tavern. Don't forget to carry your bosses outside as well, I am not sure those spineless sons of a trout can walk on their own" Moyrah was used to verbal violence, or an occasional piece of mud thrown at her, but to be physically attacked, this was new... Auril's endless grasp over the region has started to bring the worst out of the people without a doubt.

Moyrah went outside and grabbed her father's harpoon, kissing the runes on it before tossing it behind her, on the safer, opposite side of the street, along with her belongings which would have hindered her in the fist fight. As she rolled up her sleeves, Moyrah revealed the blood intertwining ribbons of red runic tattoos which, unbeknownst to to others, covered most of her forearms. She assumed a stance and awaited for her challengers.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Wed 03 Feb 2021.

Vegord sighed. "This is all I'll say — don't do this, Moyrah. There's nothin' to gain. Even if ya win, what would change?" he said to her under his breath as she began for the door. It had gotten to the point where even Vegord was afraid of pushing back against the will of the fishers and their enmity toward Moyrah. To be lumped in with her could prove bad for business.

Most of the fishers considered her insane — to willingly step out into Auril's blistering, lethal cold was truly the act of a madman. During these times, Vegord had developed a new policy — to never throw any patrons to the porch, no matter how drunk or rowdy they were, if they did not have proper shelter to retreat to. Still, the Barge followed willingly, perhaps forgetting the ramifications, if he had ever truly grasped them. Could the men even manage to pull him inside if he was knocked unconscious? Surely, if they pooled their efforts.

But would they do the same for Moyrah?

The wind hit Moyrah like a flurry of daggers, not because of the strength, but because of how unbearably cold it was. The streets on the dockside were poorly lit, the only illumination coming from the windows of the Three Flags Sailing and the pale moon. The tavern's sign, a ship with three sails, creaked on its hinges as it swayed in the wind. The Barge grabbed the top of the doorframe and ducked underneath, shirtless. All he had were his boots, and his trousers pulled up past his waist. The other patrons followed behind him, having put their coats, scarves, gloves, and every other clothing-item they had brought. Now, robbed of their warmth and drinks, they turned far less talkative, surveying the battlefield of increased wager. If this could have ever been a low-risk sparring match, it certainly did not seem so now.

The Barge raised his fists.

---

Roll initiative! If you roll higher than Thorben I'll let you decide if you want to swing first or not.

The Barge Initaitive [8]

As long as you're using fists only, here's some additional rules for a fist fight. I originally took it a step further by utilizing Reactions and Attacks of Opportunity, but it got too complex, so we'll keep it simple for the time being.

1. Drop to half HP, and I'll make you roll a Constitution saving throw DC14 for every Attack. Fail and you get disadvantage on your attack. Drop to 1/4 and the DC climbs to 16.
   
2. If you crit, in addition to doing double damage, we'll do a Pathfinder thing and roll a 'confirm crit'. Roll higher an 18 or higher and your opponent is KO'd.

And as a reminder, you are proficient with you unarmed strikes, and unarmed attacks do 1 damage + your Strength mod.

"I gave you a promise Vegard. I don't want the ruining of your tavern to be another thing weighing on my mind tonight." Pause followed, lasting until her gaze met Thorben's "Thorben searching for his jaw in the snow being the first thing of course" Vegard's advice and sighs meant very little to Moyrah. She had nothing to lose. Her father was already dead, her mother didn't even bother to make her presence known. Nor she had any friends to mourn her, no lover to turn to once all of this is over to soothe her wounds. No prospect of finding one either. All she had left in the world were her harpoon, boat and spite, which was dying slowly, sinking into the snow, wounded and frostbitten. Untimely end of her life didn't seem like the worst option, taking all things into consideration.

~ Fuck Targos, They never wanted me, they never loved me, I don't owe them a copper coin... Slaving on my boat, every day of my miserable life to bring food on the table for everyone, and I am still not worthy. Fuck all of them!~ Moyrah thought to herself as she charged, punch readied, in Thorben's direction. "By the time I finish with you, your friends will have to gather your teeth across Targos" What happened next, surprised not only the bystanders, but Moyrah herself.

The runic tatoos, covering her forearms began emitting faint amber light, as if someone had spilled molten steel in place of where the runes used to be. On each of her sides two translucent apparitions appeared, both amber in color, of an orc and a human, charging into combat, side by side, against the common enemy. At first glance, they seemed like two berserkers, dressed in garbs, stitched together out of various hides and scraps of leather, holding crude weapons in their hands. Occasional red, orange and amber sparks pulsated in and around their body, intense as those one might observe while forging weapons. Moyrah sensed that she might not be so alone after all.

---

12:00, Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 20 using 1d20+1. Innitiative

16:53, Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 21 using 1d20+2.  Intimidation roll.

Movement: Moyrah moved towards Thorben

Bonus action: Moyrah rages

Action: Attacking The Barge

17:23, Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 12 using 1d20+5.  Unarmed attack against The Barge.

Since 12 beats his AC (10), Moyrah deals 6 bludgeoning damage


This message was last edited by the player at 20:20, Thu 04 Feb 2021.

"Hey, no tricks!" a bystander yelled upon seeing the ghosts form.

Before Thorben could react, however, Moyrah had moved in behind her charging, ethereal ancestors, threatening to deliver a solid jab if he did not quickly get his guard up. Too sloppy, too slow. Moyrah's fist found an opening, delivering one weighty uppercut to his chin. He grunted and took a few steps back, staggered. Attempting to shake off the disorientation, he planted one heel solidly on the snow-laden cobblestone and reared a mountainous fist for a strike.

The Barge's advantage laid in his strength and size. Longer arms meant longer reach, and coupled with his bounding muscles one punch could likely level a tree. However, it also imposed a significant disadvantage — though his brawling accolades were nothing to scoff at, he was slower than Moyrah. And perhaps it was due to being shaken, but this attack was particular sluggish, making it duckable for essentially anyone, speedy or not.

---

Thorben, the Barge: Unarmed Strike against Moyrah [6] (Disadvantage due to being intimidated)

Moyrah's mind was so overtaken by combat, that she didn't even have the time, nor the capacity to process the shouts of, what were now to her, irrelevant bystanders, or the spirits that were summoned to aid in her fight. She didn't understand what caused their arrival, or how to influence them, all she felt was that they, unlike most of the souls around her, don't mean no harm. One thing was for certain, Moyrah will not let Thorben's mistakes go unpunished, as she went in for another punch. "It's still not too late to give up Thorben"

---

Action: Attacking The Barge

21:05, Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 17 using 1d20+5.  Second unarmed attack against The Barge.


Since 17 beats his AC (10), Moyrah deals 6 bludgeoning damage


This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Thu 04 Feb 2021.

Something must have rattled the Barge. Perhaps it was the freezing cold stiffening his joints, the surging phantoms, or Moyrah's cutting words, but something made him terribly slow — slower than Moyrah would have ever expected. It left him full of openings. She planted a firm fist onto his cheek, sending him off balance and spitting blood. He gritted red teeth and growled at Moyrah before deciding to change his strategy. Instead of drawing a fist he charged at her, arms spread, to tackle her to the ground.

---

Thorben Grapple (Athletics) [17].
Contest it with an Athletics or Acrobatics check. Though I doubt it's much of a choice for Moyrah :)
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:59, Sun 07 Feb 2021.

Truth be told, Moyrah didn't expect to land two hits into Thorben's chin without receiving at least one back, neither did she anticipate that this massive hulk of a man, would try to grapple and charge at her from such a short distance. Instinctively, a dodge to the side, seemed like the most sensible action, and as Moyrah's body flied to the side, she almost landed on one of the fishers encircling the two combatants. The two apparitions vanished in a cloud of flickering dust, as Moyrah jumped out of Thorben's trajectory, before reappearing at her side. Thankfully, Moyrah quickly regained her posture, and seeing the state Thorben is in, went in for, what will hopefully, be the last punch she will need to pull out tonight.

---

Moyrah the Mutt rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Athlethics roll 1
Moyrah the Mutt rolled 7 using 1d20+5.  Athlethics roll 2.

Action: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  Unarmed attack against The Barge.

Since 20 beats his AC (10), Moyrah deals 6 bludgeoning damage


This message was last edited by the player at 19:44, Sat 06 Feb 2021.

Narrowly avoiding his broad wingspan, Moyrah ducked in for a punch to his side. It was another hit that landed solidly and it drew a sharp, pained grunt from Thorben, who spun around to face Moyrah again. This time he was quicker than Moyrah and hit her square in the gut, knocking the air out of her and very nearly shattering one — or several — ribs.

---

Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 14) to counter fatigue [25] — SUCCESS.
Thorben Unarmed Attack against Moyrah [18] — HIT for [6] bludgeoning damage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:58, Sun 07 Feb 2021.

Eventually, Moyrah knew, a hit was about to successfully land her way. "Ouuh" She whimpered under the very little breath she had left. The force that hit her was something Moyrah couldn't imagine, let alone expect and prepare for. But there is no time for pondering in a fistfight, and the advantage that Moyrah has accumulated could mean nothing if she doesn't regain control, quickly.

---

Action: Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 9 using 1d20+5.  Unarmed attack against The Barge.
Since 9 doesn't beat his AC, the hit misses


This message was last edited by the player at 17:22, Sun 07 Feb 2021.

The Barge narrowly avoided the strike and went in for another one, opting for the strategy that had netted him a hit. Through bloodsoaked teeth he once more tried an underhanded punch at Moyrah's ribs, but his opponent had realized the tells and his fist hit only air.

"Come on, Barge!" an observer shouted, pumping his fist in cheer. "Just hit her! How hard can it be?!"

The Barge's lungs heaved icy air. The sweat he had worked up froze to his skin, and it served as additional leverage to weigh him down. As he regained his posture from the missed punch he was trembling. Even if he still had adrenaline pumping through his blood, he was surely feeling the cold.

As was Moyrah.

---

Right now, in the dead of night, it's a bit more than -30 degrees Celsius (-22 Fahrenheit) outside. Heckin' cold. Give me a DC 15 Constitution Saving throw to steel through it. On a fail, the next hit against you has Advantage. Same for Thorben.

Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 14) to counter fatigue [25] — SUCCESS.
Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 15) to counter cold [21] — SUCCESS.
Thorben Unarmed Attack against Moyrah [12] — MISS.

Was it the cold, the fatigue, pondering, or the mixture of the factors that caused the last punch to miss, Moyrah didn't know, but she knew that the end of this fight needs to come as soon as possible. The cruel never-ending winter didn't care much about the petty squabbles of insignificant mortals. By this time of the night, Moyrah would have  been spending her night, sitting next to a fire, descaling fish that she caught that day with her ulu knife, and not outside, fistfighting, encircled by the townsfolk. Each new breath that she inhaled felt like swallowing a handful of needles. She ducked under the Barge's arm and tried going for the gut this time, hopefully finding more luck this time.

---

Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 10 using 1d20+5.  constitution throw against cold.

Action: Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 6 using 1d20+5.  unarmed attack against the Barge.
Since 6 doesn't beat his AC, the hit misses


This message was last edited by the player at 17:23, Sun 07 Feb 2021.

Thorben swayed away from the attack, and before Moyrah could react he was swinging an arm directly to her head. The hit was as square as it could have been, rattling the half-orcs cranium. Her jaw narrowly avoided dislocation, but that one she would certainly be feeling tomorrow.

The crowd yelled encouragingly.

---

Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 14) to counter fatigue [11] — FAIL.
Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 15) to counter cold [19] — SUCCESS.
Thorben Unarmed Attack against Moyrah [16] (Advantage and Disadvantage cancel out) — HIT for [7] bludgeoning damage.

Disclosing Thorben's HP: 8/26
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:48, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

The shifting of the fistfight's momentum, outside of her favor, didn't do much for Moyrah's confidence, and the cheering crowd only added to the uneasiness that she felt. Despite the current predicament that she found herself in, the fiery spite which fuelled Moyrah's willingness to fight, was only further intensified under the pressure. With the spirits of her forefathers reappearing firmly by her side, she once again became sure that nothing, or no one, will stand in her way anymore.

In hopes of catching her opponent by surprise, Moyrah decided to switch up her strategy a bit. Snow creaked and crunched, under the weight of her left foot, as she propelled herself forward, lunging towards Thorben, looking to land a curved punch straight into the opponent's ribcage.

---

Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 23 using 1d20+5.  constitution throw against cold. [success]

Action: Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 13 using 1d20+5.  Unarmed attack against The Barge. [success]

Moyrah deals 6 bludgeoning damage


This message was last edited by the player at 05:38, Tue 09 Feb 2021.

Thorben cared little of the spirits of Moyrah's forefathers and stood his ground, unflinching, taking the punch head on. It was like hitting a brick wall. Still, he felt the pain, Moyrah could tell, as he gritted his teeth and sucked in air. This was the point where anyone reasonable would give up. And surprisingly, despite being the antithesis of reason, Thorben fell to one knee, steadying himself on a fist planted firmly on the cobblestone. "Hah ... hah ... I yield." he said between his huffs and heaves.

---

Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 14) to counter fatigue [6] — CRITICAL FAILURE. Thorben has disadvantage on his next attack.
Thorben Constitution saving throw (DC 15) to counter cold [6] — CRITICAL FAILURE. Moyrah has advantage on her next attack against Thorben.

Thorben admits defeat.

Thorben's HP: 2/26
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:37, Tue 09 Feb 2021.

Once the fight came to an end, and the adrenaline rush which carried her through thick and thin was no more, Moyrah came to a realisation that there was no more use in trying to resist the bodily urges for warmth and comfort. The piercingly cold wind was ruthless, and at this time of the night can be quite dangerous, if Moyrah didn't head home soon, the hits that she suffered would be the least of her concerns when she wakes up tommorow. Weary, she inhaled and exhaled loudly, with her hands up, still in the combative stance, as the ember lights which emitted out of her forearms gradually dimmed until only red ink remained. Spirits, along with the lights, disappeared gods know where, no explanation provided.

"I bet my season's earnings you you'd lose in straight up brawl!" Moyrah mockingly quoted one of the onlookers, while heading towards the harpoon which waited patiently for her on the snow-covered cobblestone. "Next time Thorben, don't let your friends get you into shite which you can't handle" She advised her opponent, before, spitting in the direction of the toothless man, which mocked her earlier in the tavern.

Even though she wasn't fully convinced by this very night, it became glaringly obvious, that only crumbs of the community she once called her own remained. Not many townsfolk managed to withstand the winter with the sane head on their shoulders, or with any warmth left in their heart. Moyrah vowed to herself that no longer will wounds she withstands, be they spiritual or physical in nature, succeed in defining her, only the battles that she picks, chooses and wins, will manage to do so. One day, when the sun roams across the blue endless skies freely once more, Targos will write sagas about her deeds.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:42, Wed 10 Feb 2021.

Thorben was visibly shivering and about to topple over. He scrambled to keep himself upright, dizzy, beaten, and bloodied. Two punches straight to his head from Moyrah could have been enough to give him a serious concussion, one that was just now starting to take root.

The fishermen stood eerily silent. Moyrah had not just beat any random fisherman, she had beaten Thorben. The Barge himself. The man who was as unshakable as Kelvin's Cairn itself. The toothless man, too, was uncharacteristically silent for a time, not believing what he was seeing. He was visibly fuming when Moyrah slung his wager back at him. "Y-y-you must have cheated... she must have cheated!" he finally sputtered, searching for backing in the crowd. "Everyone saw it, right? Her tattoos! It's magicks, I tell ya!"

He got no responses. Some of the crowd had parted to make room for a set of newcomers, ones who had not been there from the start of the fight. And they were certainly not fishermen, judging from their apparel. The hunter, trapper, or whatever his profession was, the who had come in for a single drink earlier that evening was among them. The scrawny man who had almost gotten his finger snapped off glanced at Rhydd, but did not pay him much attention otherwise. Despite the cold sobering most of this lot up, it might very well be that he was still too drunk to recognize him, or had been to drunk to be able to inscribe him to memory.

"ARE YA DONE?!" Vegord bellowed from the doorframe. The slightly overweight and balding man was far from the boisterous type, but when his patrons had all fled the warmth of his tavern to watch what constituted to him a largely pointless fight he felt the need to raise his voice. He pointed sternly inside. "Get in. Now! Before all you storming troutbrains freeze to death!" He then pointed at Moyrah. "That goes for you too!"

Rhydd took in the situation in a single glance. His best guess as to what would get this many people out of doors, in this weather, at this time of night, was a fight -- well, that and the fact that many of the people in the crowd were probably way more drunk than was good for them.

But this had not been just any fight -- the man who had been vanquished, from the looks of things, was the Barge. Rhydd had no idea what the fellow's real name was, but the archer knew him to be slow of wit, and overpoweringly strong. ~~I know for a fact that I wouldn't want to fight the man -- not with my fists. If 'twere me, I'd have to insist on a fight with weapons, so that I could put an arrow in his eye.~~

He turned to the female Half-Orc who had bested the Barge. Although he had seen her around town from time to time, he did not know her name any more than he did the Barge's. But he did know that anyone who could take the Barge down with her bare hands was a mighty warrior in her own right.

"Impressive," he said, giving the Half-Orc a searching look. "You bested the Barge, an' I'll be damned if I can see a mark on you."

"It's too damned cold out here," he added, the corners of his mouth curving up into a thin-lipped smile.

"Vegord's right about that. Let's go inside. I'll buy you as many drinks as you want by way of celebration, and you can meet some people who -- whether they know it or not -- would do well to recruit the warrior who forced the Barge to bend a knee."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:52, Thu 11 Feb 2021.

Farwalker rolled her eyes at the thought of a simple brawl being the test of a warrior. Sadly, it wasn’t all that obvious of a motion given that she was very tall, it was dark, and she didn’t really have irises. Or a pupil. “It takes much more than a drunken brawl in the snow to be named a warrior.” Her tone was disapproving, showing that there was likely to be something deeper to the word for Farwalker. Then she shrugged, any irritation she felt or showed flowing away with the motion, her gaze shifting from Rhydd to the half-orc. “I apologise if that slights your Victory, in any way.” Something in the way she spoke made victory sound far more important than usual. As if she’d layered six words and their dozens of connotations into one “But my talkative and enthusiastic... coworker is likely correct. I am not certain how long the lot of you can handle these temperatures.”

So saying, she made her way forward and into the tavern. It was strangely nostalgic, walking up to a fight in the snow. Or the aftermath of one. She might have missed it, once.

"But this time Vegord..." Moyrah begged, shivering, with runed harpoon held tightly in her embrace "p...p.please, just please, let me bring the harpoon in. I don't feel safe leaving it outside, within arm's r..r...reach of any p.passerby" The desperation and sadness in Moyrah's voice was a revelation to anyone who knew her long enough. Was it the trembling jaw, or the lack of energy that caused her to look this vulnerable and raw, no one can be sure, but the emotional attachment of hers to the weapon, was visible to a naked eye of anyone who could see or hear her at that moment. "If you are worried that I will cause another ruck..k.kus, you can s..s.store it behind the counter" she said, outstretching the weapon holding hand in Vegord's direction.

The lack of words of encouragement from fellow fishermen of Targos, was something to Moyrah was used to, since they have never even tried hiding the animosity they felt towards her, ever since she came into this damned world. To her surprise, the pleasant demeanour of a man who looked vaguely familiar, managed to put a smile on her face. Out of the newly arrived group, the Goliath woman, and the trapper, at a glance, left a pleasant first impression. Moyrah hasn't seen much of the world past the confines of the city's walls, and witnessing people of Farwalker's physical characteristics, who don't fit the mould of what people deem acceptable around Targos, was refreshing and even encouraging in an unfamiliar way.

Moyrah could swear to all of the gods, that she had already seen the trapper's face before in passing, at least. A Targos native.... he wasn't, but he may be a frequent visitor. "T..thank you, he managed to get in a lucky punch into my ribs, I was worried that he might have b.b..broken some" she extended her hand, covered in intertwining red runic markings, which stand out against her greenish skin."I am Moyrah by the way, or Moyrah, the mutt, as the locals like to call me" She felt unexpectedly empowered by her monicker for a change,going through a spiritual declaration of independence of sorts.



"Don't mind if I take you up on that offer, after this chaos, I could seriously use a mug of ale.... Or two." She said, tapping Rhydd on the shoulder. "Your partner is absolutely right, I am far from a warrior... I am nothing but a measly fisherwoman, and you may have already noticed, if you have stayed here long enough that is, how fruitful the catches have been.."She then turned to the Goliath," Apology accepted, but trust me, if anyone is able to understand..d the cause behind the tonight's chaos, it would b.b..be you... But we can go into more details once we settle insid.d.de."

Once she has found herself in the warm interior of the Three flags sailing tavern, she adressed the group of newcommers. "So what brings you lot to Targos, Are you in passing or looking to settle here long term?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:51, Thu 11 Feb 2021.

He puffed his cheeks, finger still pointed sternly at the half-orc, but the protest died on his lips. "Fine. But stab anyone with it and I swear to Tyr you'll have another bout on your hands. And you won't be fighting Thorben." Vegord said it in a way that implied it would be far worse for Moyrah. He stood in the door frame, shepherding everyone in. "Dastardly brats... It'll take hours before the place warms back up again..." Every minute the door was left open was another opportunity for more warmth to escape.

Now arrived, Mallory could tell from here that whether it was four or five docks over was up for contention. The Three Flags Sailing touched on what would be the fifth dock landing, but did not lay entirely past it. Perhaps it was a matter of angle too. Furthermore, the rotted refuse from spilled barrels had been only partly correct — if you were willing to count a deceased mongrel sticking partially out from the shade, preserved by the cold much to the ship rats' delight. The barrel beside it had tipped over, so the animal could have been scavenging and died midway through.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:39, Fri 12 Feb 2021.

"Vegord, let's have a couple of tankards of your best ale for the Half-Orc and me," Rhydd called out, figuring that having something to do would get the tavern-owner's mind off of the big harpoon that the fisherwoman was carrying.

The archer turned so that he was facing the room, with his back to the bar and his elbows resting on it. Then he set about answering the Half-Orc. The more that he thought about it, he was certain that he had seen her around town on some of his trips into Targos for supplies. But he had never caught her name, and it seemed polite to get that sort of thing out of the way -- not that Rhydd generally cared about being polite or abiding by the standards that lots of busybodies wanted to try and set for him.

But he did have his own standards, and he liked what he had seen of the Half-Orc thus far. The fact that she had gotten into a fight with a bully like the Barge and then had the backbone to see it through were both marks in her favor, insofar as the outdoorsman was concerned.

"Name's Rhydd  Maldhon," he told her, speaking without taking his eyes off of the crowd in the tavern. "I come into town along and along, so you may have seen me before -- now that I think on it, I'm sure that I've seen you."

"The reason that we're in town is 'cause our guide got lost in a blizzard an' we ended up here instead of Bryn Shander, which was where the caravan was s'posed to go."

"As to why we're here in the Three Flags, I'll let this lot explain it," he said, waving his hand at those who had accompanied him.

"They heard everything first-hand, an' I didn't. Plus, I just brought them here -- four docks along . . ." here he paused and gave Mallory a side-eyed glance, "an' I haven't decided whether I'm going to be joining in the hunt, or not."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:36, Fri 12 Feb 2021.

The confident stride out into the cold night air had lasted exactly for as long as it took Mallory to regret striding out in to the cold night air.  Which was, to say, almost immediately.  Only two docks down the line and she'd already devolved into a huffing, teeth-chattering hunch with her hood and cat alike pulled close in a rather fruitless effort to keep warm.  Even the rather grim display of a bloody brawl set out in front of the Three Flags Sailing wasn't enough to dissuade her from hurrying inside for the sake of being anywhere warmer as soon as possible.

"Miserable stretch of gods-blighted tundra and glaciers... why Uncle Hukkush would ever bother with this awful region, I'll never know.  Not enough money in the world..." While Rhydd was busy being productive, Mallory was busy griping under her breath in half-spoken curses as she tried to work the feeling back into her fingers.  Amazing how quickly the warmth had been sapped out of her by the wind alone!  Astre promptly abandoned his master as well - no sooner were they inside than he fluttered his way up into the rafters to perch overhead the crowd, both for the sake of an easy vantage point and to get at whatever risen heat was trapped higher up.

"As to why we're here in the Three Flags, I'll let this lot explain it.  They heard everything first-hand, an' I didn't. Plus, I just brought them here -- four docks along..."

Though intimidated as she may have been of Rhydd, that hanging remark earned a snide look out of Mallory.  She didn't press on the matter one way or another though; she could distract herself from feeling cold by focusing on work.  "Yes, hello, I'm Mallory Bonheur of Neverwinter." she started to reach a hand out to offer a shake Moyrah's way, only to hesitate when she realized the Half-Orc's knuckles were quite bloodied from her scuffle.  All the same, the noblewoman put on a smile and put out her hand in greeting.  It did occur to her, however, a beat too late that she recognized a few faces in the tavern... she'd made a fair bit of a spectacle at the gallows, and not everyone was likely to be happy to see her popping up again so soon.

"We've been contracted by the town Speaker to look into some troubles plaguing the fishing community here.  Talk of missing workers and scant catches, not enough food to go around.  We're hoping to investigate and perhaps get to the bottom of whatever is causing misfortune on the waters.  Naturally we've come in search of anyone who might have insight to offer.  Anything you've seen or heard of, any strange happenings indicative of a creature or a phenomenon responsible?"

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Astre Perception - keeping eyes, ears, and nose open for anything suspicious
Mallory Bonheur rolled 20 using 1d20+5