Mefodiv sits in quiet anger, both at the nobles' behavior and at the mention of his wife, the grip on his mug a bit too strong. He turns to Aver, speaking much more bluntly than usual, apparently having seen enough of this "game".

"You arranged rooms earlier, yes? Should... 'pack in'. Before things get messier."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:13, Mon 16 Aug 2021.

The quiet man in the corner sets down his brandy during the debacle, pushes his chair back and strides over to the party's table. In a dry, rasping voice he says, "I wouldn’t if I were you, pea-brains. Why don’t you just sit there and enjoy yourself?" The whole inn goes quiet as everyone waits for a reply. The young nobles step back behind their bodyguards, giggling and enjoying their merry games. "That's quite enough." Gorrim says firmly, picking his peg leg off of the table. "We've business elsewhere. Not the least of which would involve wallowing in your company." Gorrim moves to stand but finds he is pushed back into his chair by the antagonistic man in black leather. His peg leg falls out of his hand and onto the floor, and is promptly kicked a few tables away by the brooding man. "Why don’t you country bumpkins wash the swill off of yourselves before you enter a civilized city? There's a stench enough as it is." Gorrim sits silently, glaring at the man as he weigh his options.

Mefodiv puts his brass knuckles on under the table before standing up and grabbing the bottle Gorrim was pouring drinks from in his other hand, taking a quick chug.

"Have better idea. Take you outside and dunk head in gutter, maybe that get stench of your own arse off your face? Or maybe spoiled child like you too weak to go outside for more than two minute? No worry, Mev have soap right here!"

He spits at the man's face, aiming for an eye.

The spray gets into the black leather clad man's eyes as he takes out his sword. "Fucking drunkards." Is all he states as he attempts to strike Mefodiv with the pommel of his weapon. It goes wide, as the brandy in his eyes has impaired his sight. Gorrim hobbles out of the way in search of his missing leg.

OOC Narrator rolled 51 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 44.  Strike to stun on mefodiv.

Combat starts!

This message was last edited by the GM at 00:41, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv grits his teeth and winds up, smashing the bottle he picked up against the man's head, glass shattering and embedding in the side of their face.


Half action: Aim
Half action: Standard Attack
Hit location: Head
Damage: 10


_{21:11, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 20 using 1d10+18.  initiative.
21:02, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 13 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  WS to attack.
21:07, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 10 using 1d10.  improvised damage
21:08, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 61 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  ulrics fury.}
This message was last edited by the player at 01:12, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Aver is uncomfortable enough with the situation, well before Mefodiv goes and spits on the darkly-clad man.  As soon as he does so, she rises and backs away, hoping to avoid a stray fist or pommel.  "Wait, wait!  There's no need for this," she tries crying out, but it would seem that her faltering voice holds no conviction.

She fears that her friend is about to lose a few more teeth, and decides to help in some way.  Recognizing her lack of value in fisticuffs, she backs away into a darker corner (and away from prying eyes) to evaluate the situation and cover her bases.  Day one of being registered with the College, she really didn't need to be caught using Magicks in a tavern brawl.  She opens her third eye, searching for any who might recognize her power in use, but fails to notice anything.  After all, it has been a long day and her friend is in danger.

---

18:00, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 38 using 1d10+30.  Initiative.
18:07, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 64 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Magical Sense.

Actions
Half-Action - Move: Aver moves back several meters.
Half-Action - Magical Sense: Aver fails to spot any other spellcasters.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:46, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

The man's bloody grimace was one of fury and... elation from Mefodiv's attack. No quip from him this time, as he holds his weapon by it's blade and swings it towards Mefodiv! Strangely he doesn't go for the head... instead his strike lands true much lower. In an equally critical area. Pain blossoms from Mefodiv's groin.

OOC: Narrator rolled 22 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 42.  Attack on Mefodiv. Hits for 6 damage before armor, Nonlethal damage.


This message was last edited by the GM at 03:21, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Hoping that she is out of sight from most (and counting on Mefodiv to provide a distraction), Aver reaches out for the Winds and finally grasp them, channeling them through herself and into a spell.  Her arcane influence blows over to the table where the two men fight, and surrounds the hand wielding a sword, a hand that has struck at her friend several times now.  And she wills the hand to let go of the sword.

---

19:48, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 63 -- a simple success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Channeling.
19:50, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 9 using 1d10+1.  Casting Roll - Drop.

Actions
Half-Action - Channeling: Aver successfully channels the Winds into her magic.
Half-Action - Cast Drop: Aver successfully casts Drop on the black-clad man.

OOC: The Black-Clad Man must make a WP test or drop his sword.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:54, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv laughs out loud, unflinching, as the man strikes below the belt, thanking the gods above that he had enough money to afford armor earlier. "Hahahaa! You strike like baby ram! No horns yet!" He winds back to deck the man in black, but his blow is dodged, his brass knuckles drawing splinters from the wall behind him.

Half action: Aim
Half action: Standard attack
_{23:27, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 87 -- 3 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 51.  attack roll.}

The man retreats only for a moment, finding his sword was gone. WHY was the sword gone? He thought to himself. Thinking quickly, he plucks a chair from the floor and hits Mefodiv with it. It clangs upon his bulky armor.

Half action: Grab/Equip improvised weapon
Half acttion Standard attack
Narrator rolled 39 -- a simple success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 44.  Improvised weapon Attack. Mef.
5 damage before armor

Mefodiv looks down at the chair breaking against his leg, chuckling before donning his best blank expression. He cracks his knuckles and walks up to the man in black, staring him down and pointing to the two nobles that vomited on Gorrim earlier.

"Leave. And take milksop dandies over there with you. Or you will be picking up teeth with broken fingers."

Full action: Intimidate
_{23:53, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 43 -- 1 degree of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 62.  I AM THE WALL, intimidate with modifier.}

The man in black leather looks at the broken chair in his hands and quickly weighs his options before turning to slink off into the night. Brushing passed the nobles emits another burst of laughter from the pair. They head off with their body guards in search of more entertainment in the night. After a moment of silence, the crowd bursts into cheers and treats Mefodiv like a hero, ensuring him that he and his friends will not pay for a single drink tonight. Gorrim rejoins the table, having found his leg. Despite the celebrations, he does not seem jovial. A slighted dwarf was not easily rectified after all.

OOC The sword from the bully was left behind.

Aver returns to the table, a little smirk on her face.  She pauses momentarily to pick up that sword, examining it as she sits back down.  Some confidence filling her, she turns to the bartender and calls out, "Another round of ale!"

"Meffy, I'm so glad you were able to show that arse a thing or two, but please don't do that again.  If anything were to happen to you, I'd have only Dietrich to drink with."

Mefodiv quietly sits back down, sniffling and rubbing his nose with his thumb. The facade of indifference quickly breaks as he bursts out laughing, cheeks red with joy.

"Bah. Needed to be put in place. Beside, no one mess with Gorrim. Except me. You see look on face? Look like he about to cry!

He sighs, crossing his arms as he leans on the table.

"Should, eh, hold onto sword, there. Would be nice.. backup. If something gets in face."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:23, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

"Drink, Onkri. Or I'll be putting something else in your gob to cut your chatter. Lest it turn into a grudge itself. Wars have been started for less you know." Gorrim says sternly, the amusements of the night were of little interest to him, as he still seemed to be stewing in the signature dwarvern contempt. "Let me know when you've had your fill, and we'll make our way out to the bunks for tonight." Gorrim himself drinks anything presented to him, but does not seem to get the slightest bit less sober.

Mefodiv does just that, opting to not cause any more scenes tonight before heading off to bed, belly full of alcohol and pride in heart.

Leaving the inn, Gorrim leads the party to his barge. Having put down more than two barrels worth of ale over the course of an hour, Gorrim was slightly less infuriated with the nights events, but spoke without so much as a slur to his speech. (There might have been a bit more of a wobble to his step, but best not to point that out for the old dwarf's sake, aye?) The walk and cool night air has let the muggy day dwindle down to a more chill tone that keeps the fog around your ankles. The streets were mostle abandoned now, aside from the night watchmen and the unusual soul in the alley.

You can make an Easy (+40)Perception Test, or simply choose to advance to the barge where Gorrim had agreed to make proper arrangements for you Tonight.

Mefodiv idly scans the streets now that they've been emptied, both out of curiosity of big city life, and out of a slight worry that his bout earlier may lead to a dagger in the dark.

_{04:22, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 42 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 70.  perception.}

Having drank more than her fill of ale, Aver wobbles down the street beside her older friend and her newer one.  The scabbardless sword (now there are two) waves in front of her as she sings out into the night of the fight that had occurred, though Mefodiv should easily recognize that she may be exagerating somewhat.  Having already dealt with a thief the day before, she keeps an eye out (squinting as it may be) for any other potential troubles.

---

07:34, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 93 -- 1 degree of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 81.  Perception.
07:37, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 8 -- 7 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 81.  Fortune Point: Perception.

Mefodiv and Aver clue into a soft echoing sound behind them. The faint dull clatter of boots falling upon the cobbles. You are being followed. Gorrim is uncharacteristically quiet. Not so much as a grunt of effort from him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:02, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Taking a look over at Mefodiv to ensure he was also hearing these footsteps, Aver continues marching forward no less tipsy.  She looks behind her to see if anyone materializes in the dark, not particularly subtle at this time.  One hand goes to the new sword tucked in her belt, the other goes to Gorrim's shoulder.  "I don't believe we're alone.  I mean, we're never alone in a city like this.  And I don't mean in the spiritual sense.  I mean that someone or someone's are following us."

Mefodiv rests his hand on his scimitar's handle, fingers tapping its grip. "Seems I made friend earlier." He leans down and pats Gorrim's shoulder, speaking to him. [Language unknown: Elurpl, erere t tholesntitra ut. Es eiac m reevpediee omilis, cepre Usse ratdayred ereho ieof i Romomesom eeioto."]He laughs, and begins whistling to himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:40, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

"I noticed." Gorrim says under his breath. Aver counts two hooded figures following behind. Gorrim leads you down to the docks where his boat was waiting. "I've got a pistol in my quarters." Gorrim says as you all reach the docks...

"Hrrk!" "Wh-Grrrk!"

Reaching the docks, you hear strange noises from behind you. Looking back, the two men following you in cloaks were slumped over on the ground. Motionless.

Mefodiv tests the straps on his shield and puts his helmet on, before drawing his scimitar and giving it a twirl. "Inside. Quickly.[Language unknown: Nileus utmo st p eemama ssnoli k iladai."]

Gorrim boards his boat and hustles below deck in search of his pistol. The two men that had been following you were still on the floor, motionless.