Author's Note: This story was inspired by Red Thirst, written by Jack Yeovil.
'Damned miserable manlings' bitterly muttered the Ironbreaker, Dorandor Ironheart as he stalked through the empty streets of Altdorf. Although it had been years since he had last been to the city, and to this particular part of the Imperial Capital, he fondly remembered the busy district where some of the finest drinks in human lands could be found (and that was saying much from one of the Dawi).
The Street of a Thousand Taverns was now almost devoid of life, save for the occasional scurrying of rats, stray animals or cloaked travelers who tried to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Dressed in a similar fashion, the Ironbreaker who would normally be clad head to toe in a complete set of fully plated runic gromril armor was now wearing a mail coat, britches and boots of tanned orc-hide and a stone grey cloak, mostly the same sort of apparel commonly used by dwarf rangers or warriors from the surface clans. Upon his back, he carried his wide, round rimmed gromril shield which was emblazoned with runes and the insignia of Clan Gunnisson and dangling from his left hip was his hammer, another powerfully imbued item, also made from gromril which had belonged to his family for generations.
Although the establishments along the street were technically still open, all were forbidden from serving anything alcoholic. Having lived for more than two centuries, the dwarf had seen many things about the race of Men that filled him with derision towards the short-lived creatures but this latest craze which was sweeping across the Empire may just top them all off. A crusade they were calling it, not one like that which the manlings of the Empire and Bretonnia had launched against the southern realms of Araby, but a crusade for the "sanctity of mankind's soul".
These humans who called themselves the Moral Crusaders and their "militant arm", the Guardians of Purity, were spreading across the Empire and shutting down business (and quite violently if truth be told) that dealt with things such as prostitution, narcotics, gambling, sweetmeats, tobacco and worst of all, alcohol. Even the Ruebatuki, the dwarfs who had moved to human lands were forced to conceal their precious stores of beer for these Crusaders and their leader, one bastard by the name of Claes Glinka had been able to sway a number of powerful individuals within the Imperial government to their cause. Supposedly, this Claes human claimed that such vices led the manlings on the road to damnation and service to the Dark Gods, rubbish, thought the Ironbreaker who had fought the followers of Chaos on multiple occasions in the past and he doubted that these wazzocks had so much as even seen, much less faced a live beastman or marauder.
As long as people aren't going about torturing and murdering other folk, flaying skins and using them as clothes then that was fine but once someone starts doing something like those things then he or she deserves an axe to the face. Softly grumbling to himself about the foibles of humanity, he quietly stuck to the shadows and turned towards a dark alley. His natural dwarfish vision allowed him to see well in the darkness and like the tunnels of the Ungdrin, he easily navigated his way through the maze-like alleys.
Dorandor had come to the Altdorf to meet some friends of his for a call to arms from their kin living in Grazhyakh Grungni, or the Tower of Grungni which was located below the manling city of Middenheim. It seemed that dwarfs of the distant Hold were preparing to launch some sort of major assault upon Thaggoraki territory and were inviting other dwarfs from across the Empire and Karaz Ankor to join them. While most Ironbreakers were sworn to remain within the Ungdrin Ankor and defend the holds from dangers below, the dwarfs of Clan Gunnisson had either settled in the capital of Karaz-a-Karak or were vagabond who wandered the lands and Dorandor counted himself among the latter grouping.
Since he had arrived early and was still waiting for his companions who would no doubt still be on the road from Karaz Ankor which was honestly a long way if one traveled over the land, he had nothing but time on his hands and with the whole silly Moral Crusade thing ongoing, the Ruebatukiwere stingy about sharing their stores of hidden beer. Thankfully at least, the expatriate kin had been kind enough to inform the Ironbreaker on where he can at least go grab a drink, even if it would be cheap human-brewed swill. They had also told him of a password he would need to speak before entering, some weird nonsense about coffee which these pious manlings seemed to be forcing just about every barkeeper to sell instead of honest ale.
Traveling through the stinking alleys which were filled with the typical waste of human settlements, he soon arrived at his intended destination where he found himself at what seemed to be dead end. Carefully surveying the area, he spotted a thick, oaken door banded with iron, walking up to the door he pounded a heavy fist upon its surface and after a few moments, a rectangular iron peephole slid open and the dwarf could see the eyes of the one who opened it.
'Who's there!?' warily called the guttural voice of a human man, the slot from which he peered out was at the eye level of most manlings, thus leaving the dwarf out of sight.
'Down here manling' spoke Dorandor and the pair of eyes turned downwards to see the dwarf. 'I am here to get some Lustrian Coffee'.
'We only serve Tilean' cautiously replied the doorman whose eyes then darted towards the alley behind the dwarf, his words were of course, part of the whole routine to be allowed in.
'I hear you also have some Mootland beans' added the Ironbreaker and the peephole immediately closed shut. For a moment, the dwarf thought he got something wrong, but he then heard the soft clicking of locks from behind the door and after a few seconds, it yawned opened to reveal a paunchy human bouncer who certainly had more fat than muscle, a wooden truncheon tipped with iron dangled from the side of a rope belt.
'Come in my lord, drinks are downstairs' announced the bouncer who hurriedly gestured for Dorandor to get inside, his eyes continued to dart again towards the alley.
'My thanks' grunted the dwarf who did so and he went down a flight of brick stairs that was lighted by nearly guttered candles. Hearing the heavy door close behind him, the Ironbreaker's boots echoed down the hall and he heard the faint sound of music and laughter. At the bottom of the staircase, he found a second door, reaching his right hand up to the round handle, he turned it and gave a slight push and as it creaked opened his nose was assailed by a dozens of different smells within, the sounds of merriment became louder and his eyes were momentarily blinded by bright lights.
Laid before the dwarf was a vista of almost every known vice he could think off and then some. Condensed into what must have once been a wine cellar or perhaps a storehouse, he saw dozens of people eating, drinking, dancing, gambling and whoring. Folks from all walks of life such as peasants, merchants, nobles and even foreigners from different nations and races were all crammed into this den of debauchery.
The smell of the food and drink alone was enough to make his mouth water; the music that was playing was rather lively and even catchy. From his position, he could see and hear a group of human philosophers debating over something, poets reciting their verses, mercenaries challenging one another in games of strength and fiends doping up on various forms of mind altering substances. Seeing a rather scantily clad, human serving girl pass by with a tray full of frothy mugs, the dwarf immediately formed his first impression of the establishment.
My kind of place, thought the Ironbreaker with a slight grin spreading across his black bearded face.
Lifting up a polished clay ocarina to his lips, the Shadow Warrior, Ellarian Songweaver blew a series of cheerful notes and soon the crowd around him began dancing to the lively song. He played along with small band of elven minstrels, a mix of Sea Elves (fellow Asur hailing from the coastal regions of Ulthuan's Outer Kingdoms) and Wood Elves from the wandering clans of Loren Lacoi, the song which they performed was an old symphony dating from the time when the elven empire was at its peak, when these lands which the race of Men now inhabited had once all bowed down to the Phoenix King. It was doubtful that the dancing humans would understand the song's importance but that was just fine to the Shadow Warrior who was more than happy enough to have an appreciative audience, even if they were quite easily impressed.
Hands clapped and booted feet stomped upon the stone floor as human males and females danced with one another. With his sharp elven senses, Ellarian could smell the cheap perfume surrounding many of the women, the smoking of dried tobacco from pipes, imported Shisha from Araby being smoked in hookahs and even more exotic (and highly narcotic) substances which mixed in with the smells of sweat, ale and food cooked with too many ingredients and some of dubious freshness. All in all, the high elf was enjoying himself as much as the humans probably were and it was a nice change from his usual activities which tended to involve scouting around through a forest, shooting arrows at something or sticking a blade in someone's gut.
Unlike the elven minstrels, all of whom were garishly dressed in human styles of clothing, the Shadow Warrior still wore his ithilmar breastplate worn over a tunic of misty grey. Red jewels adorned other pieces of his apparel, specifically a plated belt, a pair of steel bracers around his wrists and at the center of the guards of his twin swords, both of which rested within their sheaths. A dark blue cloak which bore minor enchantments from the Wind of Ulgu was wrapped around his shoulders and he could not help but tap his doe-hide boots along with chaotic dancing of the crowd.
If there was one thing which he truly loved about the barely civilized race of humanity was that the creatures lived such vibrant, energetic existences, no doubt fueled by their immediate mortality. There were some scholars among the Asur who claimed that the touch of Chaos lay within all humans (which was not all that surprisingly really, considering how susceptible they were to mutation and falling to the worship of the Dark Gods) and that it was the source of that liveliness which he found fascinating. As the song went on and it became more energetic, so too did the dancing and when it finally ended, the small band were greatly applauded for their performance.
Drinking in the adoration of the crowd and savoring it for a moment, the minstrels graciously bowed before taking their leave. They easily passed through the clapping throng who made way for the elves and the stage was soon taken over by another performer, specifically a halfling entertainer telling comically vulgar jokes that sent the crowds roaring with laughter. Parting ways with the minstrels whose next performance would be at the private estate of a merchant house envoy, Ellarian then made his way to the bar area of the quite literally, underground establishment.
The Shadow Warrior had arrived in the Imperial Capital, along with his senthanos to help deal with the coming of the Druchii raiding season. A vision had come to the Archmage who led their group, of the hated kin of Naggaroth seeking to disrupt one of the Waystones which connected to the Great Vortex. Although it was the sworn duty of the Asur to ensure that the ancient menhirs remain secured, it was fortunate that they would not be alone for their interests aligned with that of certain, powerful groups within the Empire.
There were many preparations to be made of course for such an undertaking could not be done so lightly and until then, the Shadow Warrior had the time to spend mingling about with the lesser races. In comparison to other major cosmopolitan cities within Elthin Arvan, such as L'anguille or Bordeleaux in Bretonnia, Magritta in Estalia or Erengrad in Kislev, Altdorf certainly had its charms, despite the stench that permeated much of its air. Had it not been for the ties with his companions (of whom were all pleasant company at most times) he probably would have even considered applying for a position within the Exarchate of Marienburg.
When he arrived at the bar, the high elf had been just in luck for the stools by the counter were all filled and a rather obese, mustached human male wearing garments of green velvet, vacated a seat which the Shadow Warrior was quick to claim. A tired-looking barman soon passed by Ellarian who ordered for a bottle of Bretonnian Claret and after slipping a few silver coins which the human eagerly took, there seemed to be a sudden rush of vitality within the man who hurriedly went towards a series of shelves containing glass bottles, next to the kegs of beer. Soon the barman returned with an unopened bottle of wine and from the bar, he produced a fairly clean looking glass goblet which was soon filled with a dark, reddish liquid.
Offering his thanks once more, the Shadow Warrior took the time to enjoy his drink and he gave a brief survey of the establishment which the locals were nicknaming as a "Speakeasy". It was a curious thing really that this, Moral Crusade nonsense that was going on in the Empire, which although was ruining the businesses of many honest establishments, it was certainly generating much profits for human organized crime groups. With so many comforts and luxuries becoming forbidden, the value for such things had drastically increased and there was much to gain by doing business with the "right sort" of people.
It was none of his business he supposed with a shrug as he then turned his attention back to his bottle of wine. For a moment he considered the idea of purchasing some Black Lotus or perhaps some opium to liven things up a little but was interrupted by the presence of someone behind him.
'I should have expected to see you here tonight' came sultry, feminine voice of a woman whose hands passed the spaces between his arms and body, her slim, pale and surprisingly strong hands pressed against his armored chest and Ellarian could smell her perfume of cinnamon and an ever so faint coppery smell.
Looking over his right shoulder, he saw the pretty face of a rather intriguing woman he had recently made the acquaintance of. She was garbed in a rather ostentatious dress of black woven with golden filigree at the edges of the sleeves and especially on the central parts of the garment from chest to bottom of the skirt.
'My options at this time are rather limited you know' replied Ellarian who could not deny that despite the wariness which he felt towards her, there was also more than a little bit of genuine interest. 'Most of the establishments around here will only serve coffee or tea, many of which is terribly expensive and of poor quality'.
'I never did like the stuff before, it is an acquired taste I hear but not one I have ever learned to appreciate' then said the woman Ellarian knew as "Maria Konniger" and the high elf held suspicions that it was not her real name.
Possessing skin almost as pale as that of a Druchii's and bearing the features that would not be out of place in what passed for the nobility among humans, he found her to be quite attractive. Long, glossy black hair flowed around her delicate shoulders and he looked into those lovely green eyes which he immediately knew was a mistake to do so, given the nature of this woman. Maria gave him a teasing smile that was just the right mix between being predatory and seductive, like that of a Witch Elf who thinks she has you cornered.
'Perhaps we should find someplace private, just the two of us' coquettishly suggested Maria as some of the patrons were staring at them.
'I would very much like that' politely smiled Ellarian who, unlike most of the patrons within illegal establishment, could sense the ebbs and flows of the Winds and from this woman, the raw essence of Dhar infused her very being.
'Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!' chanted a group of Dogs of War mercenaries and Dorandor knocked back a large mug filled with Kislevite Vodka. Feeling as if his throat was set on fire, the Ironbreaker stoically downed the entire drink and as soon as it was emptied, he slammed the tankard down upon the table and shouted a praise to to Ancestor Gods in Khazalid.
'You drink good vebla!' enthusiastically roared a Gryphon Legionnaire by the name of Ivan Sobieski.
'Takes a lot more than that to bring me down' boasted the Ironbreaker whose natural, dwarfish constitution allowed him to easily withstand so much drink.
Around a wooden table, six humans were passed out, four of whom rested their heads on the table and the other two had fallen off of their seats, leaving only the dwarf, the kislevite and a large Imperial man as the only contestants. Another round of drinks were handed towards the three, this time, it contained an exotic imported drink from the misty isles of Albion called Whiskey. Whether it was the actual drink or not was unknown to the dwarf but considering how the business of smuggling has been booming, he could not discount the possibility of it being genuine.
Grabbing the mug by the handle, the Ironbreaker was just about ready to chug down his drink but the sole remaining Imperial began to wobble and the man fell of his seat, much to the amusement of the crowd. Grinning, the dwarf nodded to the kislevite and they simultaneously drained the contents of their mugs which Dorandor found to be quite good and in comparison to Vodka, was less a whole lot less harsh on the throat. Slamming the tankard again on the table, he let out a loud belch of satisfaction before looking towards his opponent who still seemed like he could take some more.
'Ready to give up manling?' mocked goodheartedly Dorandor.
'Nyeht! Another!' shouted Ivan and two more tankards were being prepared for them.
The drinking contest which they participated in was held over a bag of silver and the dwarf was keen on winning it. While waiting for the next round of drinks, the Ironbreaker reached for an ivory pipe tucked into his belt and then he procured a small metal box filled with dried tobacco. Now this was the life, thought the Ironbreaker with satisfaction for he had long ago learned to enjoy the little things.
Despite being surrounded by manlings, the company was well enough, the food was not bad, the drinks although not proper dwarfish brew was still quite good, he had a pipe full of fine quality tobacco and was confident that before the night was out, his pockets would be a bit heavier. All he needed now was a pretty rinn to share the moment with and he could even just die happily! When the next pair of tankards finally came, he was momentarily stunned as he saw the foamy bubbles at the top of the drink, along with the distinct smell which came with it.
'Now this will really knock you lads out' mischievously announced a rather pretty, olive-skinned human serving girl who was provocatively dressed in a Strigany-styled dancers outfit of silk and decorated with fool's gold.
'Is it Bugman's' questioned the Ironbreaker in reverential awe for he could recognize the smell as of being some proper dwarf beer but not just any brew mind you, but some of the finest around, the sort fit for a Thane!
'Why don't you find out' winked the serving girl and the kislevite discreetly pushed a pair of shillings towards the woman.
Reaching for the tankard with both hands, the Ironbreaker took a cautious sip and his eyes widened in surprise. It was Bugman's! he thought and was soon gulping down the drink with much gusto for it was cool and crisp and in his mind, he saw an image of a golden wheat field under a pleasant summer sun and a clear sky. Exhaling in pleasure as it smoothly went down his throat like Cathayan silk he then looked to the barmaid and he reached for his coin pouch, producing a trio of silver coins and asking for more.
And so the competition went, more dwarf beer was brought to Dorandor and Ivan, the human was certainly able to handle his ale almost as well as a beardling but eventually, dwarfish constitution won the day and soon the kislevite collapsed, he slumped down on the surface of the table with a loud thud. The crowd then began cheering for the Ironbreaker who had personally paid for more of the Bugman's and when he received the prize money, it was hardly enough to pay for the drinks. With a shrug, he did not care so much for it was well worth the price.
The contestants who had lost were soon being carried away by their friends or those who worked at the establishment, some would probably wake up the next morning robbed of all their valuables. Reclining on his seat he placed his pipe to his lips and he pulled out a small matchbox from his belt. Tonight was a good night he thought and it seemed like nothing in the world could ruin it.
A heavy pounding came from the reinforced door and the bouncer of the speakeasy got up from his stool and he slid open the peephole. Outside he saw a group of hooded strangers; he could not make out much of their appearance due to their clothing and the darkness.
'We are here to get some Lustrian Coffee' announced one of the strangers in a familiar Altdorf slum-dog accent.
'We only serve Tilean' replied the bouncer who honestly found his employer's choice of a password to be ridiculous but was smart enough to keep his opinion to himself.
'I hear you also have some Mootland beans' then said the speaker and it was enough for the bouncer to let them in. Sliding the viewing hole closed and working the many, many locks of the door, he opened it to allow the new customers in.
Before he could invite them inside, the hooded man at the front lunged at the bouncer and with surprising strength; he pulled the hired guard into the alley where he landed face first on the muddy ground. Metal truncheons, fists and boots slammed into the flesh of the bouncer who was beaten until he was knocked out cold. The bouncer was left where he had fallen as dozens more robed, black hooded men whose garments allowed them to hide well in darkness, emerge with weapons in hand.
Each of these hooded men were part of the Moral Crusade, the Guardians of Purity who sought to cleanse the peoples of the Empire of sin. Wielding two foot long truncheons of blessed iron, they prepared to descend into the den of decadence and debauchery, their hearts steeled for what they must do. Guided by a religious fervor and faith in the righteousness of their crusade, they had sworn to cleanse the blasphemers, even if they had to do it one broken bone at a time…
Feeling a pleasing sense of warmth from the claret, Ellarian gently traced the tip of his right index on the rim of his drinking glass. Seated across him, Maria had her own drink, a pewter stein filled with a dark crimson liquid that had a coppery smell. They chatted with one another, sharing stories of their own travels across the Old World, of battles fought in the dark corners of the world, of sights seen and even places where most mortals would dare not tread.
'You are certainly quite well traveled' commented the Shadow Warrior.
'And you as well' smiled Maria. 'I must say that I have never had the pleasure of travelling so far into the Orient'.
'I am sure that for someone such as yourself would have all the time in the world to see the Far East' replied Ellarian.
'Perhaps I simply just need to find the right company' suggested Maria.
'I would if I could, but alas, my duties prevent me so' answered Ellarian who was genuinely interested in taking up such an offer.
The high elf had spoken of his past travels, when he had been employed by the Prince of a prominent merchant house from Cothique and his subsequent travels to the remaining colonies of the Asur. From Arnheim and the Citadel of Dusk in the New World to the Gates of Calith and Tor Ellasor in the east, he told tales of his time in the Orient. Tales such as the time he had fought the tigermen of Ind, seen the Great Bastion of Cathay and had once even attended the court of a Nipponese Daimyo.
In turn, Maria Konniger had told him of her own travels which had taken the woman to many strange places and wondrous places. She had told him of a time spent treasure hunting with Estalian Conquistadors in Lustria, of a harrowing journey into the Dark Lands, past the dwarfen realms of Karaz Ankor and even tales regarding the deserts of the Sahra and the Lands of the Dead. Unlike Ellarian who although had been to many different places, he had never been spent a great deal of time learning about the cultures in those faraway lands but in the case of Maria, she knew their peoples as well as those within the Empire.
As the two of them continued to share their tales, Maria suddenly halted and there was a look of alarm upon her face as her attention was then focused on the doorway leading out of the establishment. Warily looking as well towards the doorway, he saw it open and from portal came several black hooded, robed figures wielding truncheons. Within a span of seconds, men and women who had been enjoying their night were not savagely being beaten by the newcomers who could be none other than the Guardians of Purity.
'RAID!' shouted a man who was soon silenced by the smack of a truncheon to the mouth. Several more of the black robed Guardians began pouring through the doorway; they roared words of condemnation towards the patrons of the establishment as they delivered their own brand of violent justice.
Tables and chairs were flipped over, drinking glasses and bottles were smashed, coins and cards were scattered about as mayhem broke out. Muttering a curse, the Shadow Warrior quickly stood up and his hands immediately reached for his swords. He had no doubt that these Guardian humans would be more than happy enough to put him in chains along with the rest of the patrons in attendance.
'Looks like the evening's entertainment has arrived' playfully said the woman with a wolfish grin and she gave him a wink while raising her goblet up in a toast towards him. 'I will be rooting for you.'
Flashing Maria a smile of his own, the Shadow Warrior then turned towards the ensuing chaos, his elegant swords drawn in readiness.
When the screaming had begun, Dorandor was jolted out of his blissful mood and with an annoyed grunt he looked to the entrance of the underground establishment. A large band of black hooded manlings, the Guardians of Purity, were laying into the crowd with truncheons smashing into flesh. Bringing his meaty fists up to his chest, the Ironbreaker began to crack his knuckles for he had heard many a story about people being dragged away in chains by the fanatics and the dwarf was unwilling to share such a fate.
Barging his way through the panicking crowds that tried to get away from the Guardians, the Ironbreaker easily shoved them aside and weathering the press of bodies like a rock in a river. By the time he passed the last of the fleeing mob, he found himself face to well… groin level of a Guardian and the manling did not notice the much shorter Ironbreaker in time before the dwarf swiftly delivered a right handed uppercut into the man's testicles. A high pitched shriek followed as the fanatic toppled over and Dorandor pulled up his Rune Hammer from his belt.
The arcane symbols etched upon the top of the hammer's head began to brilliantly glow as its Runes of Parrying, Speed and a Master Rune of Swiftness flared to life. Feeling the rush of arcane vigor course through the muscles of his left arm, the dwarf launched himself into the gang of Guardians. Quickly switching the grip of his hammer from left to right, he slammed his weapon into the left kneecap of a human, reducing the bone into splinters as his left fist was thrust into the gut of another and toppling the manling.
'KHAZUK!' roared the Ironbreaker in Khazalid, his deep booming voice drew the attentions of several more Guardians. Two of the black hoods disengaged from stomping on some woman and they rushed the dwarf with wordless roars.
A truncheon was swung down towards the Ironbreaker who easily parried it with his hammer and his left hand reached up to tightly grab the wrist of the other attacker. With a swift twist, he broke the right wrist of the second Guardian who loudly shouted in pain and at the same moment, his hammer smashed into the right thigh of the first human and shattering his femur. Although he had reservations against outright killing these humans, he certainly had significantly no qualms about leaving these fanatics with the kind of injuries that could make someone an invalid for life.
Nearby, a large group of Guardians were shouting incoherently as something was swiftly moving among them. For a brief moment, Dorandor saw a dark blue cloaked stranger wielding a twinned pair of silvery blades, the flats of which smacked into the sides of black hooded heads and easily either dodging or parrying bludgeons. The swift moving stranger soon came to a halt in front of the Ironbreaker who looked up and he sneered the moment he got a good look at the face beneath the hood.
'Elgi' muttered Dorandor with disdain and judging by the look on the elf's face, the feeling was certainly mutual.
Quickly on the move again, the elf was once more among the Guardians his blades forming an impenetrable barrier of steel. A contemptuous grunt escaped the dwarf's throat before he charged headlong into the nearest group of blackhoods, his hammer and fist breaking human bone as easily as that of grobi. Roaring oaths and battle cries in his native tongue, the Ironbreaker fought like a member of the Slayer Cult.
Aside from the elf, Dorandor soon found that they were not alone for some of the other human patrons who had some backbone joined in on the fight with an angry mob's fury. Fists, feet and improvised weapons were used by the patrons as they crashed into the Guardians, anyone wearing the black robes was a target and brawl became even more chaotic, especially for someone with a dwarf's height. Many of the humans tripped over or bumped into the dwarf, a number of whom nearly got in the way of his hammer swings and Ironbreaker was forced to control his movements.
More than once, the dwarf felt the pain of being struck by a truncheon or fist but his innate toughness allowed him to easily shrug off the worst of it. Another Guardian crumpled before his hammer blows, the manling fell with a shattered left tibia before grabbing a different human and head butting the fanatic's lower jaw. As the brutal bar fight continued, a fresh group of Guardians rushed into the underground establishment and among them was an absolutely massive, black robed individual wielding a pair of five foot long iron clubs.
Bellowing a loud roar, the giant immediately charged into the press of bodies, heavy clubs smashing into human bodies with enough force to outright kill some of the patrons. The dwarf's eyes widened in surprise at this sudden escalation in violence but already, he was attacked by another of the Guardians who swung a truncheon at the dwarf. Pulling his head back and barely avoidind the blow, he struck back, aiming higher and the head of the hammer struck the human in gut, the sheer impact of it reduced internal organs into jelly.
'Scourge and Purge!' shouted one of the Guardians of Purity as the giant pulverized one of the patrons with a scissoring sweeping that crushed an unlucky manling's head, causing it to explode like a melon and showering those nearby with bits of brain and bone. The sheer brutality of the kill was enough to horrify those patrons who were fighting, most of whom were simply commoners and peasantry caught in the mess. There was a sudden loud crack from behind the Ironbreaker, it was the distinct sound of a black powder gun being fired and the head of a Guardian next to the giant exploded in a shower of bloody meat and bone.
Looking behind him, Dorandor saw a young human noble lad carrying a flintlock pistol, the boy desperately began trying to reload the gun but the giant bellowed another loud roar before rushing the manling with clubs raised.
'Krut!' cursed the dwarf who was in the way of the charging giant and he instinctively readied himself for the attack by settling into an aggressive stance. Suddenly, the elf was upon the giant with twin blades flashing and he managed to deliver a pair of slashes which drew blood.
The giant swung a club towards the elf who was able to dodge the attack but a strike from another Guardian clipped him on the shoulder. Weighing his options, the Ironbreaker quickly deduced that if he could down this giant, he could demoralize the Guardians and send them running, even if it meant having to help a pox-ridden elgi! Seizing the moment to strike, Dorandor went straight for the giant, another dwarfish battle cry was let loose from his lips.
Agony coursed through the right shoulder of Ellarian who immediately swung his main hand sword to the side and the blade dug into the neck of a Guardian who hit him. Blood spurted from the lethal wound as all efforts at trying to get through this fight without killing anyone was gone. Looking to the giant in black, he saw a glittering eye glare at him from beneath the hood and there was something about it which seemed… off.
The giant then rushed the elf with both clubs swinging in wide, deadly arcs. Doing his best to avoid the crushing blows, Ellarian thrust one sword forward and he managed to cut the giant's left arm while a slash gouged the other but the massive man was just about as tough as a Black Orc. Again, he barely dodged the another strike and he quickly focused entirely on trying to evade the giant who grew more and more frustrated with each reckless attack.
Attempting to time things just right so that he could score a killing strike, he heard a sudden loud cry that drew the attentions of both him and the giant.
'KHAZUK!' roared the deep, thunderous voice of the black bearded dwarf wielding a magic hammer. The dwarf's hammer struck the giant in the left thigh but instead of collapsing in pain, the giant brought a club down and the dwarf barely had time to parry it before the giant brought up his other club.
Reacting and without thinking about it, Ellarian dashed forwards and with swords points aimed at the giant and as soon as the club was sent downwards, the Shadow Warrior's blades sank into the back of the giant's knees and eliciting a loud roar of anguish. The dwarf quickly took advantage of the giant's distraction and he swung his hammer towards their mutual foe, the gleaming head of the weapon smashed into the chest of the giant. The high elf heard the snapping of bones beneath the robes and he pulled his blades out before launching a scissor swing at the giant's neck.
Blood gushed out like a geyser as the fine elvish blades parted the giant's head from the rest of the body and the dwarf quickly grabbed the hooded headed before it fell to the ground. In a swift motion, the dwarf dropped his hammer and he held up the giant's head towards the crowd and drawing a collective gasp of horror that sent them all into a stunned silence. Turning the head around so that the two of them could better gaze upon the face of the giant, both were shocked at what they saw.
'Mutant!' shouted a woman for they did not behold the countenance of a man with natural features, but an abnormal creature with a single cyclopean eye.
'The Crusaders are Chaos worshipers!' shouted Ellarian who took advantage of the situation and soon, those among the crowd who had been unsure of whether they should fight or not were roused into violence.
'Someone call the Witch Hunters!' a man shouted.
'Burn them heretics up!' another called as confusion seemed to spread even among the Moral Crusaders. The dwarf then hurled the mutant's head towards Guardians of Purity and they quickly began fleeing like rats and leaving many of their brethren behind. The violence did not end there for the Guardians who had fallen during the brawl were soon being scooped up by the suddenly angry patrons of the establishment and Ellarian heard someone start calling for some rope.
Soon the patrons practically became a lynch mob and were now filing out of the establishment with the captive Guardians of Purity. The barkeeper who had somehow managed to survive the mayhem, tried to stop them, mostly complaining about people not paying for their drinks and Ellarian suspected that some of the people were leaving, precisely for that reason. After about a minute or so, the establishment was empty, save for a few unlucky humans who had been knocked out cold from the fight.
'Encore, what a lovely performance!' called Maria who began clapping for them, her dress of black and gold did not seem the least bit damaged from the fight.
'Now I was not expecting that' the dwarf then said rather incredulously towards the woman. 'Mutation and morality, what next? Orcs preaching fidelity?'
'You can never quite tell you know' shrugged Maria with an amused look on her face and drawing a confused look from the dwarf who then turned towards the high elf. He then gave Ellarian a slight nod before sharply turning around and heading out towards the stairway.
'At least that is over with' sighed the high elf as he then felt the presence of Maria next to him. Looking towards the woman, she gave him that predatory and seductive look again before raising her hand up, the back of it was facing Shadow Warrior had some familiarity with human etiquette.
'Perhaps we can meet again another night' she said with another wolfish grin. 'I know a lovely little establishment around the area called the Crescent Moon. It is a favorite for those who share... similar tastes, as I do'.
'As long as there are no more of those crusaders to spoil the night' replied Ellarian as he took her hand and gave it a kiss upon the knuckles, her pale flesh was very cold as his lips pressed against it.
'You certainly are quite the odd one you know?' smiled the woman in an amused tone.
'What can I say? I have unusual tastes' shrugged Ellarian who then gestured towards the stairway. 'Shall I escort you home?'
'And I gladly accept' replied Maria as the high elf took her hand before leading the woman out.
Lighting his pipe again and taking a deep whiff of burning tobacco, Dorandor looked up and saw the hanging black robed bodies. Nooses had been tied around the necks of the Guardians and they dangled from lamp posts along the Street of a Thousand Taverns. He was not sure how things were going to go afterwards but he certainly was not going to stick around to find out.
He was actually quite pleased, both at the sight of some good old comeuppance and of the the smoke which now filled his lungs, he let out a long puff of the vapor before dumping some of the the contents upon the road and stomping on the embers. Putting his pipe away again, the dwarf headed back towards the Metallshlack district where the inn he was renting a room from was located. As he walked back with rune hammer still in hand, he began thinking about the night's recent event and despite all that had happened he came to his own conclusion.
Tonight was a actually a very good night.