12th Late Spring 651 A.U.
It was a normal spring evening in the city of Vesper. The last fingers of light were fading from the sky and Trammel, one of two moons that encircled Sosaria, was slowly rising in full casting a pale white glow on everything. Though no wind blew in from the ocean into the port city, the many rivers that flowed through it kept the temperature lightly cool. The last of the trade merchants were packing up their wares after a good day of selling, hurrying to get home and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Those with more adventuresome pursuits -- such as escorting said merchants to here and there -- took their refuge at the Marsh Hall, Vespers own impromptu mercenary headquarters, the local fighter's tavern.
The tavern sat on one of the smaller land masses in the middle of the city sharing it with only one other building. It was a fairly simple wooden structure that was humble compared to the taverns closer to the sea side docks meant to attract visiting travelers. The owner was a hale and hardy fellow who never watered down his ale and was always ready for a good laugh.
His customers, for the most part, respected the man well enough to keep things clean. During the day he let the local mercenary groups use the tavern to meet with employers and discuss events, but during the night business is over and his business begins. This night was no exception. Fighters, warriors, mercenaries all were drinking and carousing amiably. This included one warrior in particular sitting at a table downing a large mug of ale.
"You're three sheets to the wind aren't you," his friend uttered, raising an eyebrow at him.
The warrior, Angus Briteblade, grinned at his companion with blurry green eyes and a pleasant buzz going through his head.
"Nay, lad, nay! Not even close," his thick Northern accent coming out only slightly slurred. "Tha evenin' is just gettin' inta full swing!"
Angus was by no means a small man. Not to say that he was fat, there was nothing but solid muscle underneath the slightly worn half-plate armor and forest green kilt he wore. He was big, burly, and standing a little over nineteen hands -- 6'5" by the King's measure -- he made an imposing figure. His hair was long, dirty blond, and head back in a single braid. The same colored beard he sported was fairly well kept, though it did show signs of needing a trim. He had weathered and tanned skin which spoke of his many years spent outdoors. Even though a wrinkle or two around the eyes gave way to a harsh 38 winters, he possessed an energy and vibrance that matched men half his age. Strong facial features, from forehead to chin, didn't make him ugly, but -- as his Uncle had want to say -- there was no mistaking him for a pretty boy.
His friend sighed and shook his head slightly, looking down into his half mug of ale before him, his second for the evening, while Angus was finishing his fifth and calling for a sixth. His friend, Strol Carroil by name, was a mage, but Angus didn't hold that against him.
The warrior spent most of his days before coming to Vesper in the Great Northern Forests. Being no friend of the orcs he hunted the vile beasts from Yew all the way to the Crossroads and back. So much so that the orc population had become quite scarce. (There were other reasons for that, but Angus preferred to think it was his own unswerving devotion that was the cause.) Since deer hides and pelts couldn't pay for shoeing his horse -- and also keep up with Angus' appetite -- he had to find a new way to make a living. He had heard there were many opportunities in Vesper, the City of Merchants, for one such as he. Being he had never been to Vesper he figured, "Why not?"
It was on one of the caravans he was hired to escort that he met his dark blue cloaked friend, hired for the same reason. It was hard to peg him as a mage at first. He was of slighter build compared to Angus, broad of shoulder, and was a full head shorter. He was also neater kept with light brown hair that reached his shoulder blades combed back into a single tail. A clean shaven face, fair complexion with a slight olive tinge, steel gray eyes, and a calm and poised posture made him the better looking of the two. He wore a mish mosh of leather armor, no two pieces the same tone or style and he carried a longsword at his hip that seemed well used. Strol seemed more mercenary than "magiker", but closer inspection told a different tale.
The pair of gold bracers hidden underneath the leather sleeves, the necklace tucked under his tunic with six linked gold circles adorning it, and the leather bag attached to his belt embroidered with runes gave this man of 25 winters away as a mage of some skill. Angus' instinctive distrust for mages or anything of the arcane was easily overcome however by Strol's kind and jovial nature. He also had a level head in battle and didn't completely rely on his magical talents to fight, a good thing in Angus' mind. Not to mention he has, on a couple of occasions, pulled Angus' proverbial bacon out of the fire. They've stuck with each other since then and over the past year Angus has paid back the favor in kind.
Strol leaned closer to his fuzzy minded compatriot, "You know, keep this up and we'll have no money left from our last commission."
"Bah! Strol, lad, yer soundin' like an ol' coin pinching curmudgeon! Whot? Fraid we won't have enough for a room tonight?"
He grinned wide at the barmaid who placed his next drink in front of him with a grin of her own and a wink.
As she sauntered away Angus' grin got wider, "Don't know about yerself, but Ah think Ah gots me a place ta stay."
"With Alicia there? Tsk," Strol tried to frown, but a corner of his lip twitched up. "Angus, really, does your tact ever change?"
"Ha! Can't change whot Ah don't got," he took a good gulp of ale from the refreshed tankard. "Sides that, she's been winkin' at me al evenin'."
Strol calmly rested his chin in his hand, "Hate to tell you this, but she's been winking at everyone this evening. Even blind old man Hughes."
Angus squinted over at Alicia the barmaid and, sure enough, she was giving a sweet smile and a wink to a withered old man getting up from the bar to take his leave. She then turned and gave yet another wink to the men at the table she was serving.
His lips curled to a frown, "Bah! 'N ya got tha nerve ta tell me about my tact."
Strol laughed, "She does it for the bigger tips, Angus, it's no reflection on you."
He muttered something into his tankard before taking another gulp and sulked for a bit.
The mage simply smiled, sat back, and drank from his own mug. He new better than to push it when his friend got like this. Angus tended to pick fights when he was both inebriated and annoyed. They sat in comfortable silence, the background noise of other conversations filling the time.
Finally Angus spoke again, "Lad?"
"Mmm?"
"Are we really that bad off?"
Strol shook his head, "Nay, but if we don't find a substantial contract soon we'll have to go back to camping and dried rations."
"Find a whot?" This time Angus' eyebrow went up.
Strol closed his eyes a second. His slight buzz made him forget that Angus wasn't all that educated. That didn't make him stupid, it just meant Strol had to use smaller words.
"Find work that pays well," Angus gave a look of understanding as Strol continued. "Pickings have been slim as of late. Too much competition I should think."
Angus grunted in agreement as they both cast a glance around. Almost every single seat in the place was occupied by swords-for-hire and the like.
"Well," Angus clapped his friend on the back, which was inopportune for Strol since he was taking a drink from his mug, "then I guess yeh best get ta work."
Strol wiped the ale off his chin and gave Angus a side glance, "What do you mean by that?"
The warrior grinned and chucked a thumb over his shoulder, "Time for ya ta read tha board for me."
Strol's head dropped as he sighed. He knew what "the board" was. Right by the door was a wooden board for people to place proposed commissions on. Simple escorts, body guards needed, items or people being searched for, anything requiring a sword arm of some sort you could find on the board in the Marsh Hall. With the exception of bounties. Those you found at the local magistrate.
Giving a disgruntled look to Angus, who was still grinning at him, Strol pushed himself back from the table with both hands and stood, taking his ale with him, "One of these days I will teach you how to read."
"Can't teach a bull how ta fly, lad!"
"Nay, but you can bludgeon it enough to make it think it can," Strol patted Angus on the shoulder as he guffawed. "I shall see what I can find."
As he made his way through the crowd Strol could only reflect on Angus' illiteracy and how it frustrated the mage so. The burly warrior from Yew at first seemed nothing more than a brute, but after getting to know him it was obvious that there was a brain behind that rock hard cranium of his. Angus wasn't stupid, just simple. Subtlety rarely worked on the man, but get a sword in his hand and get him fighting he can read any feint or bluff like he was reading your mind. Over the past year Angus taught him more about swordplay than the swordmasters of Ocllo and Moonglow combined.
Giving the board a quick once over he could instantly tell there wasn't much to choose from. A few escorts to Minoc , but none had much to offer in the way of payment. Someone looking for a set of silver dish ware, cheap. A local farmer looking for a work hand . . . and somebody who lost their cat.
Strol took a deep gulp from his ale, then let out a long sigh. He sensed dried meat and waterskins in the nearby future if work was going to be this hard to find. He turned to head back and tell his friend to ease off on the drinks, but stopped when he didn't see Angus at the table. He looked around and spotted him at the bar. He moved to join his friend and stopped again when he saw the woman that had Angus' attention.
She definitely wasn't Angus' typical choice, by any means. His usual barmaid choice was thrown out the window for lean athletic looking woman in armor. The dark female plate she wore, though looking a little too small for her size, was a rare sight indeed. The molding required to make something like that fit properly takes time and money. A long black loin cloth covered both front and back, but underneath covering her long legs were a pair of chainmail leggings. Her boots, which came to just below her knees, were slightly dirty with road dust. On the counter, next to her bottle of what looked to be whisky, was a chainmail coif also of dark metal. Her hair was dark brown and fell to the middle of her back in a slightly unkempt pony tail. From the angle Strol was looking from he couldn't see her face fully, but she had high cheekbones and a slightly almond shaped eyes.
Strol froze and nearly dropped his drink. He'd seen the woman before just the night before sitting in the same spot. She was twisting the arm of some drunken lout trying to get friendly with her. Nearly broke the man's arm if the bartender hadn't stopped her. Now she was sitting there with yet another drunken lout trying to get friendly with her. Stroll gritted his teeth feeling a disaster on the horizon.
He neared closer to them cautiously, not able to hear what was being said with the din of other conversations and laughter going on. Strol could only wish he heard what was being said and hoped he could warn Angus in time. He immediately cursed both wish and hope when he finally got close enough to hear what was said.
The woman stood up and glared at Angus in a threatening manner. Angus, for lack of anywhere else to look with an inebriated mind, gazed at the woman's most poignant feature of her torso and replied.
"Oys! Yer a biggun!"
The first thing that entered Strol's mind was that this woman was tall. Possibly just as tall, if not taller than Angus. Strol's next thought on Angus' words were never finished.
He could remember Angus ducking for some reason, then the appearance of a fist flying right for his own face. That's round about when everything went black.
xx
Angus glanced back as Strol was sent sprawling backwards into someone seated at the nearest table. He slowly looked back at the woman who's arm was fully extended. Shock was on her face from both missing her intended target and hitting the poor bystander.
As she retracted her fist from the air in disbelief Angus stood and glared at her.
"Lass, now ya gone an' done it. All Ah wanted was a little pleasant chat an' ya go an have ta hit me friend," he placed his tankard down on the bar and faced her fully.
She wasn't completely looking at him, instead her dark brown eyes kept darting from Angus to some thing at his left. Her inattention to him only made him angrier.
"Woman or no, nobody harms me friend and gets away with it!"
With that he hauled back and let fly a punch right to her kisser. Much to his own amazement she seemed ready for it and actually caught his fist. However she wasn't finished. Using his momentum she diverted his punch past her to his left, straight into the face of the man Strol slammed into. Angus could only guess the man, probably irate after having a body thrown at him , was coming towards them for a few choice words. The man fell backwards right on top of Strol's prone unconscious body. The man's two drinking buddies then stood, gave a shout, and charged for Angus. Being men of smaller stature Angus hardly felt it when they pushed his back against the bar. Regardless, they had him pinned. He looked over at the armor clad woman as the two men tried to hit him in the gut. A horrendous mistake considering the half-plate covered his abdomen. Angus' grin quickly turned when he saw her gloating smile, lifting the whiskey bottle to her lips for a drink.
"Oy! There she is!" The exclamation came from the other side of the tavern. The man, who's back had been to the bar for most of the evening, was pointing right at her. "'ats that one what broke me brother's arm!"
Four others around the man stood. None of them looked weak. None of them looked entirely too happy.
The crowd began to part as the group made their way over. She placed the bottle down, swallowing both the whiskey and the lump in her throat.
"Well, lass, looks like ya got a bit of a followin' there."
The woman looked over at Angus who had both men in headlocks, sporting a cocky grin. "Do ya make all yer friends this way?"
She muttered something inaudible to Angus and faced the men again. Angus saw the barmaids begin to gather themselves behind the bar and the tender started gathering glasses and bottles to slip them under the counter.
She tugged at the earring on her left ear, slowly edging backwards towards Angus. Her eyes on her aggressors she spoke, her voice was a low soprano, "You know, I was hoping this fight would be one on one."
Angus' grin didn't leave his lips, "That'd be an unfair fight for ya, lass." He tightened his grip on one of his opponents as he gave the attempt to struggle free. "But Ah hear whot yer gettin' at."
The four men, lead by the brother, finally neared her. From the look on the brother's face it was obvious he'd forgotten how tall and somewhat imposing a figure she was. His courage mustered again, however, when one of his friends bumped into him from behind. He straightened himself to his full height, which only brought him to her chin, and pointed a finger in her face.
"Yer tha one that broke me brother's arm yesternight!"
She gave a snort, "Broke? I hardly twisted it, barely enough to sprain it."
"Ya broke it!" He reiterated looking flustered. "Ya broke it 'n shamed him in public. I demand satisfaction!"
With that he slapped her across the face.
Angus' lips twitched to a frown. Not consciously knowing why he started to step forward, but being anchored by two men locked under his arms it was quickly halted. For her part, she gave a slow deliberate gaze back at the man. The slap didn't phase her.
"Satisfaction? For what? Your brother being weak boned and even weaker minded," her grin was quite malicious. "Poor breeding I should think." Then in a darker tone. "Your brother shouldn't have put his hands where he did."
Angus couldn't help but grin again. He liked this one. She had a fire in her that was undeniable. The brother, who's face was bright red now, could only stutter inaudible syllables. Turning away from him, she looked at Angus and gave a wink. Angus understood fully and shifted his feet a little. Her back fully to the brother she took up her whiskey bottle the bartender conveniently left and brought it to her lips.
"Go away, little man, or you'll end up broken like your brother," it was a obvious goad, but now beyond the point of anger he went for it.
He yelled in rage, giving her full warning, and lunged forward to grab her. She simply brought her elbow up and back twisting slightly enough for his face to ram into it. It got him in the chin and he stumbled back right into his friends. At the same time Angus grabbed both men by the collar and, putting his strength into it, tossed them into the now fumbling group. All seven men went crashing to the ground in a heap.
There was a second of silence as the entire tavern contemplated the event to come. The moment of peace was shattered by one man, not even involved in the dealings, stood and yelled out one word.
"BRAAAAAAAWL!!!"
All at once forty some odd drunken swords-for-hire started fighting. Fist went to faces, feet went to guts, friend pit themselves against each other, and all for the sake of the fight.
The man that the woman helped Angus punch was on his feet again. Looking slightly dazed, but awfully upset, he made for Angus. Angus made short work of him with a very simplistic straight forward punch. This time, however, he had full control of his own fists and hit with the intent to lay him out cold. Again the man flew back and, once again, landed on top of the still unconscious Strol.
"Ach! Strol, lad, sorry!"
It was all he had time to say. Another brawler came at him, grinning for a fight. Angus obliged him whole heartedly and traded blows with him. Glancing out of the corner of his eye he spotted the lass holding her own. The group of men, now on their feet, had her surrounded. In each hand she held a chair, wielding them like weapons. Anytime one of them would get close she'd fend them off, prodding the chair legs at them. At one point one got close enough to strike, but she blocked the hit using a chair. It was then that Angus saw the smile on her face as she was enjoying the fight as much as he. He liked her even more for that.
Angus paid for his drifting attention with a fist to the face by his current opponent. Giving a low growl he pit himself fully into the fight. Brawler after brawler fell as the fight continued. Angus lost count as to how many he took out, but being drunk he didn't focus on it too much. One of the things he prided himself on was the ability to sober up quickly enough when the situation called for it. He still felt the tinges of a buzz, but his fighting instincts were fully keyed. The whole time Angus kept looking for the lass when he could. She'd still be on her feet, fending off her assailants, mostly the same four to five men that intended to harm her fully.
xx
Outside a small group of the city guard had gathered at the door. They waited, almost patiently, and kept looking to one of the bridges that connected the island to the adjoining one.
"Should we go in?" one asked peering through the window.
Another guard, older than the first, shook his head, "Nay, we wait fer tha Captain."
Yet another guard, seeming bored and leaning against the wall replied, "Eh, the fight'll die down soon enough. It's just a tavern brawl. They'll fight themselves out and when all is said and done we go in and clean up. Arrest a few of them, toss any unconscious ones into a cell till they sober up, and we let 'em go with a slap on the wrist." He shrugged a shoulder. "This happens at least once every few months or so at this tavern."
"You should not be so blasé about your duties, Anderson," came a voice from behind him. All the guards were suddenly at attention recognizing the voice. Anderson tried not to flinch when he felt a hand put on his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye he saw the profile of Captain Fillip Dumas. They were expecting him from the northern bridge, but apparently had gone all the way around to the south.
"You should not let your guard down either," the Captain's voice was calm, his Skara Braen accent coming through only slightly. "Never assume things will go the way you expect."
"Aye, sir! Sorry, sir!" Anderson saluted.
Fillip let the subject drop with another pat on Anderson's shoulder and walked past to glance in the window.
"What's the situation, Sergeant Gren?"
Gren, the older of the guards, stepped forward with a nod to the tavern, "It is as Anderson says, tavern brawl. Though there's one group in tha middle that seem keen on one woman."
One of the Captain's eyebrows raised, "They are not trying to . . . ?"
"Nay, sir, more like a duel, just with five ta one odds."
The Captain peered closer into the window trying to spot the lopsided duel. It was easy to find. The group was centered on a woman in dark armor who was fending them off successfully. Some of them were getting frustrated from the look of it. One red faced man in particular seemed extremely on edge now. Someone to keep an eye on in the fight should he get too carried away. The woman turned to lash out with a chair at one of them and the captain got a look at her face.
Captain Dumas stood up straight suddenly, trying to hide the slight look of shock on his face. The sergeant was the only one to catch the look before the captain turned to look at his men. For the first time since the sergeant has known him the captain looked as if he wasn't sure what order to give.
xx
Strol felt something heavy pressing against his chest. A temporary moment of claustrophobia took him and he tried to push at what was crushing him. He managed to move it slightly, but stopped when he heard it groan. Opening his eyes he immediately closed them when the too bright and out of focus view came before him. It took a few seconds of blinking to have him see that he was lying on the tavern floor, another second to see someone lying on top of him. With his mind still fuzzy and his face hurting he managed to push the man off of him and slowly sit up. Other bodies were lying on the floor and there was quite a ruckus going on. Using the edge of a table he pulled himself up high enough to look around. Strol tried to put together in his head how things ended up the way they are and set it aside for one simple question: "Where is Angus?"
No sooner than the question came to mind than he heard the Scotsman yell out, "Yeh gotta give more than tha', laddie!"
Getting himself to his feet, he spotted Angus backhanding some poor soul. Hitting him hard enough to send him toppling over into a chair. Strol, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head, started to make his way over to him. He only got a few steps when another fight caught his eye. It was her. Strol rubbed his nose and part of his right eye, it felt tender and he could feel the bruise developing. He then glanced in Angus' direction again and remembered what he had said to set her off. He couldn't blame the lady for wanting to knock Angus' block off, but there was no need to resort to violence. But . . . since they were already going the physical route, the mage suddenly couldn't decide who he should beat up first.
Out of the corner of his eye he managed to see, just in time, a partially drunk slob of a warrior lumbering towards him for a bout of fisticuffs. Strol had enough wherewithal to slip out of the man's way, but he wasn't fast enough. The drunk, uncoordinated as he was, still snagged a bit of his cloak. Strol was suddenly choking on his brooch and reeling backwards as he gave the cloak a good yank. His back hit the man's belly then he felt a large beefy arm wrap around his throat. He pawed at the arm trying to pull it off, but to no avail. The arm tightened making Strol even more lightheaded that he already was.
One chance, he thought as he eyed the bottle of whiskey still on the bar counter within arms reach.
Grabbing the bottle by the neck and swinging it up and over like a club he aimed for what he hoped was the lumbering man's head. A resounding crash, the heavy smell of whiskey, and Strol being suddenly free let him know his aim was good. Strol lurched forward quickly and turned to face him. His opponent stood there wobbling on his feet with an almost dead pan face. The large man reached up to wipe off some of the whiskey on his bald head then licked it off his fingers.
"Good vintage," was all he said before his eyes lolled back into his head and he keeled over onto the floor with a "thud" and lay unconscious.
Strol breathed a sigh as he leaned against the bar and dislodged his brooch from the indentation in his neck. He looked about quickly as he rubbed his throat. Quite a few people were fighting but the crowd was dwindling fast as they made for the door. He could tell by the look of several of them that they were beginning to see Angus and the lady as the cause of the loss of a peaceful night. Some of them were even starting to inch their way towards either one. He had to get to Angus and warn him.
No sooner than he began to move that the woman suddenly broke free of her little circle. One chair was broken, which she dropped, and the other she threw at her adversaries giving her the opening she needed. She sprung on top of and over a long table and was running right for Angus. For the briefest of moments Strol thought she was going to ram right into him and thought to shout out, but quickly changed the thought when she rammed someone else about to get Angus from behind. A voice in Strol's head told him to stop and just watch. Considering his head was swimming perhaps this was the best course.
Angus found himself back to back with her. He glanced over his shoulder, a bemused smile on his face.
"Glad ya c'n come over 'n join me, lass."
"Only to make sure no one else takes you out of the fight. That pleasure I'm reserving for myself," she glanced back at him, her grin almost a snarl.
On the other side of the table she had gone across a group was gathering. Something short of a dozen of them were there. Somewhat riled, somewhat drunk, and all of them looking at the two. She and Angus dispatched the last of whom stood against them then turned to face the small mob forming.
The interlude lasted for only a few seconds. Most to catch their breath, the others trying to figure out how to take the brawl starters out. They both looked at each other at the same time. Her eyes went to the table and back at him in question. His grin was his reply. Without hesitation they charged lowering their shoulders, and caught the table up ending it on it's side. They pushed forward with the momentum and slammed into the group. With a shout they both continued and pinned them against the wall. Unfortunately, neither were aware that the wall needed repair. At least they didn't know until the wall cracked, then splintered open, spilling bodies out into the street.
They placed the table down gently, as if that would make up for the damage done, and walked around to gape at the gaping hole.
"Oh, bloody hell," she uttered and they both grimaced at the sound of the bartender's voice.
"My wall! L-look at what ya did to me wall!!" the bartender's voice was so shrilly excited that they didn't hear Strol shout out a warning. Several, who didn't get caught in the wake of the table charge bull rushed them from behind and pushed them out the hole.
Strol could hear Angus cursing and the lady shouting out "Foul play!" from the other side of the wall. The mage shook his head in disbelief. Angus had gotten himself into scuffles before, but this . . . this . . .
He moved with the last of the remaining people in the Marsh Hall through the door to the outside. Already a crowd had gathered out in the street. He pushed his way in a bit just in time to see Angus and the lady place themselves back to back again and get surrounded by the others with the fight still in them.
Strol looked around in dismay. It was like people were watching an arena fight rather than a break down in social conduct. What was worse, he saw some of the city guard standing idly by. They were tense, but they were making no move to stop it.
xx
Sergeant Gren stood by the Captain, his hand fidgeting on the handle of his sheathed sword. They stood at the outer edge of the circle of people watching the ensuing fight. He looked at his Captain. Dumas' eyes were fixed on the fight and nothing else.
It was rather shocking to see a bundle of people bust out of a wall and tumble out into the street. He and his brothers-in-arms were about to move forward and gather them up, but when two more came fumbling out the Captain gave the signal for everyone to hold their positions. Now they all stood, champing at the bit, ready to move the instant their leader would say so. Some other guards had gathered on the other side of the circle and looked at the captain. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he told them to wait. The two fighters in the center were putting up quite a good fight. the Sergeant had to wonder how long these two have been fighting together because they covered each others backs like it was second nature. It was fisticuffs and Gren knew it was mostly harmless, but to let it go for this long? Already he could hear some in the crowd making bets. He looked at Captain Dumas one more time. His eyebrows were furrowed as if contemplating heavily. If there was more here than just an out of hand brawl, he wasn't going to let Gren in on it.
So what by the Virtues was he waiting for?
xx
Out of the group of fighters Strol saw one of them quickly talk to two others then disappear into the crowd. Of the two, one went to Angus' half and quickly spoke to two more. The other got himself to the woman's left and tried to keep himself there. The three now on Angus' side placed themselves on his right. The next few seconds happened slowly. The three on Angus' right and the one on the woman's left charged at the same time. Strol supposed they were both too busy fighting to notice the small organized attack. They slammed into Angus hard enough to send him toppling over and they piled onto him trying to keep him down. The one had tackled the lady to the ground pinning one of her arms to her side. She wasn't' down for long. As the man tried to straddle her and pin her fully she reached up and slammed the heel of her hand right against his ear. he immediately recoiled and rolled off of her, his equilibrium shot. As she got to her feet the man that had disappeared earlier reappeared from the crowd behind her and charged with a dagger in his hand.
"Look out!" Strol yelled out. Somehow even over the crowd she heard him and turned just in time to have the dagger plunge into her arm instead of her back. The impact and the man's determination sent her falling to the ground again. He yanked the dagger out and tried to bring it down to stab her throat, but with her good arm she stopped him. Strol looked around desperately. The guards, upon seeing the dagger being used, immediately tried to push their way through the crowd, but being so riled at the sight of attempted foul play the crowd got in their way. Strol faced the same problem. He looked to Angus. He could hear the stream of curses coming from him as he grabbed one of the men by the nape of the neck and tossed him off with one hand. he had seen what happened to her and looked rather enraged, but he still wasn't going to get free in time. The other man whose ear got thwacked was already on his feet and about to help his dagger wielding comrade.
All in the same instant Strol made the decision, closed his eyes, and began to concentrate. he felt the flow of the ether and began to form in his mind his intentions. The ether swirled as his hands made the patterns in the air in front of him. Raising both hands straight into the air, his eyes snapped open, and he took a deep breath to speak the words of power.
"VAS REL HUR!"
A sudden maelstrom of wind kicked up with the force of a hurricane. People screamed as they tried to grab on to anything, buildings, walls, each other. The debris of wood from the broken wall rose up off the ground and flew high into the air. Clothes were torn, hats were lost, but the one thing happened that Strol had wanted most. The man with the dagger had gotten caught by the sudden gust of wind. The lady had shoved him off the moment he lifted and he flew through the air, up and over the heads of the on looking crowd, and into the branches of an old dead leafless tree. His energy spent Strol lowered his hand and with it the wind died down, then stopped entirely. he looked around and found himself to be the only one left standing.
The crowd was oddly quiet as everyone slowly got to their feet. In that silence a horrid creaking from the tree was heard. Strol watched with horror as the tree jerked, swayed, then stopped again. For a split second he thought the tree would move no more, then with a horrendous cracking sound the tree inevitably fell, passenger and all on top of the tavern.
It was a normal spring evening in the city of Vesper. The last fingers of light were fading from the sky and Trammel, one of two moons that encircled Sosaria, was slowly rising in full casting a pale white glow on everything. Though no wind blew in from the ocean into the port city, the many rivers that flowed through it kept the temperature lightly cool. The last of the trade merchants were packing up their wares after a good day of selling, hurrying to get home and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Those with more adventuresome pursuits -- such as escorting said merchants to here and there -- took their refuge at the Marsh Hall, Vespers own impromptu mercenary headquarters, the local fighter's tavern.
The tavern sat on one of the smaller land masses in the middle of the city sharing it with only one other building. It was a fairly simple wooden structure that was humble compared to the taverns closer to the sea side docks meant to attract visiting travelers. The owner was a hale and hardy fellow who never watered down his ale and was always ready for a good laugh.
His customers, for the most part, respected the man well enough to keep things clean. During the day he let the local mercenary groups use the tavern to meet with employers and discuss events, but during the night business is over and his business begins. This night was no exception. Fighters, warriors, mercenaries all were drinking and carousing amiably. This included one warrior in particular sitting at a table downing a large mug of ale.
"You're three sheets to the wind aren't you," his friend uttered, raising an eyebrow at him.
The warrior, Angus Briteblade, grinned at his companion with blurry green eyes and a pleasant buzz going through his head.
"Nay, lad, nay! Not even close," his thick Northern accent coming out only slightly slurred. "Tha evenin' is just gettin' inta full swing!"
Angus was by no means a small man. Not to say that he was fat, there was nothing but solid muscle underneath the slightly worn half-plate armor and forest green kilt he wore. He was big, burly, and standing a little over nineteen hands -- 6'5" by the King's measure -- he made an imposing figure. His hair was long, dirty blond, and head back in a single braid. The same colored beard he sported was fairly well kept, though it did show signs of needing a trim. He had weathered and tanned skin which spoke of his many years spent outdoors. Even though a wrinkle or two around the eyes gave way to a harsh 38 winters, he possessed an energy and vibrance that matched men half his age. Strong facial features, from forehead to chin, didn't make him ugly, but -- as his Uncle had want to say -- there was no mistaking him for a pretty boy.
His friend sighed and shook his head slightly, looking down into his half mug of ale before him, his second for the evening, while Angus was finishing his fifth and calling for a sixth. His friend, Strol Carroil by name, was a mage, but Angus didn't hold that against him.
The warrior spent most of his days before coming to Vesper in the Great Northern Forests. Being no friend of the orcs he hunted the vile beasts from Yew all the way to the Crossroads and back. So much so that the orc population had become quite scarce. (There were other reasons for that, but Angus preferred to think it was his own unswerving devotion that was the cause.) Since deer hides and pelts couldn't pay for shoeing his horse -- and also keep up with Angus' appetite -- he had to find a new way to make a living. He had heard there were many opportunities in Vesper, the City of Merchants, for one such as he. Being he had never been to Vesper he figured, "Why not?"
It was on one of the caravans he was hired to escort that he met his dark blue cloaked friend, hired for the same reason. It was hard to peg him as a mage at first. He was of slighter build compared to Angus, broad of shoulder, and was a full head shorter. He was also neater kept with light brown hair that reached his shoulder blades combed back into a single tail. A clean shaven face, fair complexion with a slight olive tinge, steel gray eyes, and a calm and poised posture made him the better looking of the two. He wore a mish mosh of leather armor, no two pieces the same tone or style and he carried a longsword at his hip that seemed well used. Strol seemed more mercenary than "magiker", but closer inspection told a different tale.
The pair of gold bracers hidden underneath the leather sleeves, the necklace tucked under his tunic with six linked gold circles adorning it, and the leather bag attached to his belt embroidered with runes gave this man of 25 winters away as a mage of some skill. Angus' instinctive distrust for mages or anything of the arcane was easily overcome however by Strol's kind and jovial nature. He also had a level head in battle and didn't completely rely on his magical talents to fight, a good thing in Angus' mind. Not to mention he has, on a couple of occasions, pulled Angus' proverbial bacon out of the fire. They've stuck with each other since then and over the past year Angus has paid back the favor in kind.
Strol leaned closer to his fuzzy minded compatriot, "You know, keep this up and we'll have no money left from our last commission."
"Bah! Strol, lad, yer soundin' like an ol' coin pinching curmudgeon! Whot? Fraid we won't have enough for a room tonight?"
He grinned wide at the barmaid who placed his next drink in front of him with a grin of her own and a wink.
As she sauntered away Angus' grin got wider, "Don't know about yerself, but Ah think Ah gots me a place ta stay."
"With Alicia there? Tsk," Strol tried to frown, but a corner of his lip twitched up. "Angus, really, does your tact ever change?"
"Ha! Can't change whot Ah don't got," he took a good gulp of ale from the refreshed tankard. "Sides that, she's been winkin' at me al evenin'."
Strol calmly rested his chin in his hand, "Hate to tell you this, but she's been winking at everyone this evening. Even blind old man Hughes."
Angus squinted over at Alicia the barmaid and, sure enough, she was giving a sweet smile and a wink to a withered old man getting up from the bar to take his leave. She then turned and gave yet another wink to the men at the table she was serving.
His lips curled to a frown, "Bah! 'N ya got tha nerve ta tell me about my tact."
Strol laughed, "She does it for the bigger tips, Angus, it's no reflection on you."
He muttered something into his tankard before taking another gulp and sulked for a bit.
The mage simply smiled, sat back, and drank from his own mug. He new better than to push it when his friend got like this. Angus tended to pick fights when he was both inebriated and annoyed. They sat in comfortable silence, the background noise of other conversations filling the time.
Finally Angus spoke again, "Lad?"
"Mmm?"
"Are we really that bad off?"
Strol shook his head, "Nay, but if we don't find a substantial contract soon we'll have to go back to camping and dried rations."
"Find a whot?" This time Angus' eyebrow went up.
Strol closed his eyes a second. His slight buzz made him forget that Angus wasn't all that educated. That didn't make him stupid, it just meant Strol had to use smaller words.
"Find work that pays well," Angus gave a look of understanding as Strol continued. "Pickings have been slim as of late. Too much competition I should think."
Angus grunted in agreement as they both cast a glance around. Almost every single seat in the place was occupied by swords-for-hire and the like.
"Well," Angus clapped his friend on the back, which was inopportune for Strol since he was taking a drink from his mug, "then I guess yeh best get ta work."
Strol wiped the ale off his chin and gave Angus a side glance, "What do you mean by that?"
The warrior grinned and chucked a thumb over his shoulder, "Time for ya ta read tha board for me."
Strol's head dropped as he sighed. He knew what "the board" was. Right by the door was a wooden board for people to place proposed commissions on. Simple escorts, body guards needed, items or people being searched for, anything requiring a sword arm of some sort you could find on the board in the Marsh Hall. With the exception of bounties. Those you found at the local magistrate.
Giving a disgruntled look to Angus, who was still grinning at him, Strol pushed himself back from the table with both hands and stood, taking his ale with him, "One of these days I will teach you how to read."
"Can't teach a bull how ta fly, lad!"
"Nay, but you can bludgeon it enough to make it think it can," Strol patted Angus on the shoulder as he guffawed. "I shall see what I can find."
As he made his way through the crowd Strol could only reflect on Angus' illiteracy and how it frustrated the mage so. The burly warrior from Yew at first seemed nothing more than a brute, but after getting to know him it was obvious that there was a brain behind that rock hard cranium of his. Angus wasn't stupid, just simple. Subtlety rarely worked on the man, but get a sword in his hand and get him fighting he can read any feint or bluff like he was reading your mind. Over the past year Angus taught him more about swordplay than the swordmasters of Ocllo and Moonglow combined.
Giving the board a quick once over he could instantly tell there wasn't much to choose from. A few escorts to Minoc , but none had much to offer in the way of payment. Someone looking for a set of silver dish ware, cheap. A local farmer looking for a work hand . . . and somebody who lost their cat.
Strol took a deep gulp from his ale, then let out a long sigh. He sensed dried meat and waterskins in the nearby future if work was going to be this hard to find. He turned to head back and tell his friend to ease off on the drinks, but stopped when he didn't see Angus at the table. He looked around and spotted him at the bar. He moved to join his friend and stopped again when he saw the woman that had Angus' attention.
She definitely wasn't Angus' typical choice, by any means. His usual barmaid choice was thrown out the window for lean athletic looking woman in armor. The dark female plate she wore, though looking a little too small for her size, was a rare sight indeed. The molding required to make something like that fit properly takes time and money. A long black loin cloth covered both front and back, but underneath covering her long legs were a pair of chainmail leggings. Her boots, which came to just below her knees, were slightly dirty with road dust. On the counter, next to her bottle of what looked to be whisky, was a chainmail coif also of dark metal. Her hair was dark brown and fell to the middle of her back in a slightly unkempt pony tail. From the angle Strol was looking from he couldn't see her face fully, but she had high cheekbones and a slightly almond shaped eyes.
Strol froze and nearly dropped his drink. He'd seen the woman before just the night before sitting in the same spot. She was twisting the arm of some drunken lout trying to get friendly with her. Nearly broke the man's arm if the bartender hadn't stopped her. Now she was sitting there with yet another drunken lout trying to get friendly with her. Stroll gritted his teeth feeling a disaster on the horizon.
He neared closer to them cautiously, not able to hear what was being said with the din of other conversations and laughter going on. Strol could only wish he heard what was being said and hoped he could warn Angus in time. He immediately cursed both wish and hope when he finally got close enough to hear what was said.
The woman stood up and glared at Angus in a threatening manner. Angus, for lack of anywhere else to look with an inebriated mind, gazed at the woman's most poignant feature of her torso and replied.
"Oys! Yer a biggun!"
The first thing that entered Strol's mind was that this woman was tall. Possibly just as tall, if not taller than Angus. Strol's next thought on Angus' words were never finished.
He could remember Angus ducking for some reason, then the appearance of a fist flying right for his own face. That's round about when everything went black.
xx
Angus glanced back as Strol was sent sprawling backwards into someone seated at the nearest table. He slowly looked back at the woman who's arm was fully extended. Shock was on her face from both missing her intended target and hitting the poor bystander.
As she retracted her fist from the air in disbelief Angus stood and glared at her.
"Lass, now ya gone an' done it. All Ah wanted was a little pleasant chat an' ya go an have ta hit me friend," he placed his tankard down on the bar and faced her fully.
She wasn't completely looking at him, instead her dark brown eyes kept darting from Angus to some thing at his left. Her inattention to him only made him angrier.
"Woman or no, nobody harms me friend and gets away with it!"
With that he hauled back and let fly a punch right to her kisser. Much to his own amazement she seemed ready for it and actually caught his fist. However she wasn't finished. Using his momentum she diverted his punch past her to his left, straight into the face of the man Strol slammed into. Angus could only guess the man, probably irate after having a body thrown at him , was coming towards them for a few choice words. The man fell backwards right on top of Strol's prone unconscious body. The man's two drinking buddies then stood, gave a shout, and charged for Angus. Being men of smaller stature Angus hardly felt it when they pushed his back against the bar. Regardless, they had him pinned. He looked over at the armor clad woman as the two men tried to hit him in the gut. A horrendous mistake considering the half-plate covered his abdomen. Angus' grin quickly turned when he saw her gloating smile, lifting the whiskey bottle to her lips for a drink.
"Oy! There she is!" The exclamation came from the other side of the tavern. The man, who's back had been to the bar for most of the evening, was pointing right at her. "'ats that one what broke me brother's arm!"
Four others around the man stood. None of them looked weak. None of them looked entirely too happy.
The crowd began to part as the group made their way over. She placed the bottle down, swallowing both the whiskey and the lump in her throat.
"Well, lass, looks like ya got a bit of a followin' there."
The woman looked over at Angus who had both men in headlocks, sporting a cocky grin. "Do ya make all yer friends this way?"
She muttered something inaudible to Angus and faced the men again. Angus saw the barmaids begin to gather themselves behind the bar and the tender started gathering glasses and bottles to slip them under the counter.
She tugged at the earring on her left ear, slowly edging backwards towards Angus. Her eyes on her aggressors she spoke, her voice was a low soprano, "You know, I was hoping this fight would be one on one."
Angus' grin didn't leave his lips, "That'd be an unfair fight for ya, lass." He tightened his grip on one of his opponents as he gave the attempt to struggle free. "But Ah hear whot yer gettin' at."
The four men, lead by the brother, finally neared her. From the look on the brother's face it was obvious he'd forgotten how tall and somewhat imposing a figure she was. His courage mustered again, however, when one of his friends bumped into him from behind. He straightened himself to his full height, which only brought him to her chin, and pointed a finger in her face.
"Yer tha one that broke me brother's arm yesternight!"
She gave a snort, "Broke? I hardly twisted it, barely enough to sprain it."
"Ya broke it!" He reiterated looking flustered. "Ya broke it 'n shamed him in public. I demand satisfaction!"
With that he slapped her across the face.
Angus' lips twitched to a frown. Not consciously knowing why he started to step forward, but being anchored by two men locked under his arms it was quickly halted. For her part, she gave a slow deliberate gaze back at the man. The slap didn't phase her.
"Satisfaction? For what? Your brother being weak boned and even weaker minded," her grin was quite malicious. "Poor breeding I should think." Then in a darker tone. "Your brother shouldn't have put his hands where he did."
Angus couldn't help but grin again. He liked this one. She had a fire in her that was undeniable. The brother, who's face was bright red now, could only stutter inaudible syllables. Turning away from him, she looked at Angus and gave a wink. Angus understood fully and shifted his feet a little. Her back fully to the brother she took up her whiskey bottle the bartender conveniently left and brought it to her lips.
"Go away, little man, or you'll end up broken like your brother," it was a obvious goad, but now beyond the point of anger he went for it.
He yelled in rage, giving her full warning, and lunged forward to grab her. She simply brought her elbow up and back twisting slightly enough for his face to ram into it. It got him in the chin and he stumbled back right into his friends. At the same time Angus grabbed both men by the collar and, putting his strength into it, tossed them into the now fumbling group. All seven men went crashing to the ground in a heap.
There was a second of silence as the entire tavern contemplated the event to come. The moment of peace was shattered by one man, not even involved in the dealings, stood and yelled out one word.
"BRAAAAAAAWL!!!"
All at once forty some odd drunken swords-for-hire started fighting. Fist went to faces, feet went to guts, friend pit themselves against each other, and all for the sake of the fight.
The man that the woman helped Angus punch was on his feet again. Looking slightly dazed, but awfully upset, he made for Angus. Angus made short work of him with a very simplistic straight forward punch. This time, however, he had full control of his own fists and hit with the intent to lay him out cold. Again the man flew back and, once again, landed on top of the still unconscious Strol.
"Ach! Strol, lad, sorry!"
It was all he had time to say. Another brawler came at him, grinning for a fight. Angus obliged him whole heartedly and traded blows with him. Glancing out of the corner of his eye he spotted the lass holding her own. The group of men, now on their feet, had her surrounded. In each hand she held a chair, wielding them like weapons. Anytime one of them would get close she'd fend them off, prodding the chair legs at them. At one point one got close enough to strike, but she blocked the hit using a chair. It was then that Angus saw the smile on her face as she was enjoying the fight as much as he. He liked her even more for that.
Angus paid for his drifting attention with a fist to the face by his current opponent. Giving a low growl he pit himself fully into the fight. Brawler after brawler fell as the fight continued. Angus lost count as to how many he took out, but being drunk he didn't focus on it too much. One of the things he prided himself on was the ability to sober up quickly enough when the situation called for it. He still felt the tinges of a buzz, but his fighting instincts were fully keyed. The whole time Angus kept looking for the lass when he could. She'd still be on her feet, fending off her assailants, mostly the same four to five men that intended to harm her fully.
xx
Outside a small group of the city guard had gathered at the door. They waited, almost patiently, and kept looking to one of the bridges that connected the island to the adjoining one.
"Should we go in?" one asked peering through the window.
Another guard, older than the first, shook his head, "Nay, we wait fer tha Captain."
Yet another guard, seeming bored and leaning against the wall replied, "Eh, the fight'll die down soon enough. It's just a tavern brawl. They'll fight themselves out and when all is said and done we go in and clean up. Arrest a few of them, toss any unconscious ones into a cell till they sober up, and we let 'em go with a slap on the wrist." He shrugged a shoulder. "This happens at least once every few months or so at this tavern."
"You should not be so blasé about your duties, Anderson," came a voice from behind him. All the guards were suddenly at attention recognizing the voice. Anderson tried not to flinch when he felt a hand put on his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye he saw the profile of Captain Fillip Dumas. They were expecting him from the northern bridge, but apparently had gone all the way around to the south.
"You should not let your guard down either," the Captain's voice was calm, his Skara Braen accent coming through only slightly. "Never assume things will go the way you expect."
"Aye, sir! Sorry, sir!" Anderson saluted.
Fillip let the subject drop with another pat on Anderson's shoulder and walked past to glance in the window.
"What's the situation, Sergeant Gren?"
Gren, the older of the guards, stepped forward with a nod to the tavern, "It is as Anderson says, tavern brawl. Though there's one group in tha middle that seem keen on one woman."
One of the Captain's eyebrows raised, "They are not trying to . . . ?"
"Nay, sir, more like a duel, just with five ta one odds."
The Captain peered closer into the window trying to spot the lopsided duel. It was easy to find. The group was centered on a woman in dark armor who was fending them off successfully. Some of them were getting frustrated from the look of it. One red faced man in particular seemed extremely on edge now. Someone to keep an eye on in the fight should he get too carried away. The woman turned to lash out with a chair at one of them and the captain got a look at her face.
Captain Dumas stood up straight suddenly, trying to hide the slight look of shock on his face. The sergeant was the only one to catch the look before the captain turned to look at his men. For the first time since the sergeant has known him the captain looked as if he wasn't sure what order to give.
xx
Strol felt something heavy pressing against his chest. A temporary moment of claustrophobia took him and he tried to push at what was crushing him. He managed to move it slightly, but stopped when he heard it groan. Opening his eyes he immediately closed them when the too bright and out of focus view came before him. It took a few seconds of blinking to have him see that he was lying on the tavern floor, another second to see someone lying on top of him. With his mind still fuzzy and his face hurting he managed to push the man off of him and slowly sit up. Other bodies were lying on the floor and there was quite a ruckus going on. Using the edge of a table he pulled himself up high enough to look around. Strol tried to put together in his head how things ended up the way they are and set it aside for one simple question: "Where is Angus?"
No sooner than the question came to mind than he heard the Scotsman yell out, "Yeh gotta give more than tha', laddie!"
Getting himself to his feet, he spotted Angus backhanding some poor soul. Hitting him hard enough to send him toppling over into a chair. Strol, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head, started to make his way over to him. He only got a few steps when another fight caught his eye. It was her. Strol rubbed his nose and part of his right eye, it felt tender and he could feel the bruise developing. He then glanced in Angus' direction again and remembered what he had said to set her off. He couldn't blame the lady for wanting to knock Angus' block off, but there was no need to resort to violence. But . . . since they were already going the physical route, the mage suddenly couldn't decide who he should beat up first.
Out of the corner of his eye he managed to see, just in time, a partially drunk slob of a warrior lumbering towards him for a bout of fisticuffs. Strol had enough wherewithal to slip out of the man's way, but he wasn't fast enough. The drunk, uncoordinated as he was, still snagged a bit of his cloak. Strol was suddenly choking on his brooch and reeling backwards as he gave the cloak a good yank. His back hit the man's belly then he felt a large beefy arm wrap around his throat. He pawed at the arm trying to pull it off, but to no avail. The arm tightened making Strol even more lightheaded that he already was.
One chance, he thought as he eyed the bottle of whiskey still on the bar counter within arms reach.
Grabbing the bottle by the neck and swinging it up and over like a club he aimed for what he hoped was the lumbering man's head. A resounding crash, the heavy smell of whiskey, and Strol being suddenly free let him know his aim was good. Strol lurched forward quickly and turned to face him. His opponent stood there wobbling on his feet with an almost dead pan face. The large man reached up to wipe off some of the whiskey on his bald head then licked it off his fingers.
"Good vintage," was all he said before his eyes lolled back into his head and he keeled over onto the floor with a "thud" and lay unconscious.
Strol breathed a sigh as he leaned against the bar and dislodged his brooch from the indentation in his neck. He looked about quickly as he rubbed his throat. Quite a few people were fighting but the crowd was dwindling fast as they made for the door. He could tell by the look of several of them that they were beginning to see Angus and the lady as the cause of the loss of a peaceful night. Some of them were even starting to inch their way towards either one. He had to get to Angus and warn him.
No sooner than he began to move that the woman suddenly broke free of her little circle. One chair was broken, which she dropped, and the other she threw at her adversaries giving her the opening she needed. She sprung on top of and over a long table and was running right for Angus. For the briefest of moments Strol thought she was going to ram right into him and thought to shout out, but quickly changed the thought when she rammed someone else about to get Angus from behind. A voice in Strol's head told him to stop and just watch. Considering his head was swimming perhaps this was the best course.
Angus found himself back to back with her. He glanced over his shoulder, a bemused smile on his face.
"Glad ya c'n come over 'n join me, lass."
"Only to make sure no one else takes you out of the fight. That pleasure I'm reserving for myself," she glanced back at him, her grin almost a snarl.
On the other side of the table she had gone across a group was gathering. Something short of a dozen of them were there. Somewhat riled, somewhat drunk, and all of them looking at the two. She and Angus dispatched the last of whom stood against them then turned to face the small mob forming.
The interlude lasted for only a few seconds. Most to catch their breath, the others trying to figure out how to take the brawl starters out. They both looked at each other at the same time. Her eyes went to the table and back at him in question. His grin was his reply. Without hesitation they charged lowering their shoulders, and caught the table up ending it on it's side. They pushed forward with the momentum and slammed into the group. With a shout they both continued and pinned them against the wall. Unfortunately, neither were aware that the wall needed repair. At least they didn't know until the wall cracked, then splintered open, spilling bodies out into the street.
They placed the table down gently, as if that would make up for the damage done, and walked around to gape at the gaping hole.
"Oh, bloody hell," she uttered and they both grimaced at the sound of the bartender's voice.
"My wall! L-look at what ya did to me wall!!" the bartender's voice was so shrilly excited that they didn't hear Strol shout out a warning. Several, who didn't get caught in the wake of the table charge bull rushed them from behind and pushed them out the hole.
Strol could hear Angus cursing and the lady shouting out "Foul play!" from the other side of the wall. The mage shook his head in disbelief. Angus had gotten himself into scuffles before, but this . . . this . . .
He moved with the last of the remaining people in the Marsh Hall through the door to the outside. Already a crowd had gathered out in the street. He pushed his way in a bit just in time to see Angus and the lady place themselves back to back again and get surrounded by the others with the fight still in them.
Strol looked around in dismay. It was like people were watching an arena fight rather than a break down in social conduct. What was worse, he saw some of the city guard standing idly by. They were tense, but they were making no move to stop it.
xx
Sergeant Gren stood by the Captain, his hand fidgeting on the handle of his sheathed sword. They stood at the outer edge of the circle of people watching the ensuing fight. He looked at his Captain. Dumas' eyes were fixed on the fight and nothing else.
It was rather shocking to see a bundle of people bust out of a wall and tumble out into the street. He and his brothers-in-arms were about to move forward and gather them up, but when two more came fumbling out the Captain gave the signal for everyone to hold their positions. Now they all stood, champing at the bit, ready to move the instant their leader would say so. Some other guards had gathered on the other side of the circle and looked at the captain. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he told them to wait. The two fighters in the center were putting up quite a good fight. the Sergeant had to wonder how long these two have been fighting together because they covered each others backs like it was second nature. It was fisticuffs and Gren knew it was mostly harmless, but to let it go for this long? Already he could hear some in the crowd making bets. He looked at Captain Dumas one more time. His eyebrows were furrowed as if contemplating heavily. If there was more here than just an out of hand brawl, he wasn't going to let Gren in on it.
So what by the Virtues was he waiting for?
xx
Out of the group of fighters Strol saw one of them quickly talk to two others then disappear into the crowd. Of the two, one went to Angus' half and quickly spoke to two more. The other got himself to the woman's left and tried to keep himself there. The three now on Angus' side placed themselves on his right. The next few seconds happened slowly. The three on Angus' right and the one on the woman's left charged at the same time. Strol supposed they were both too busy fighting to notice the small organized attack. They slammed into Angus hard enough to send him toppling over and they piled onto him trying to keep him down. The one had tackled the lady to the ground pinning one of her arms to her side. She wasn't' down for long. As the man tried to straddle her and pin her fully she reached up and slammed the heel of her hand right against his ear. he immediately recoiled and rolled off of her, his equilibrium shot. As she got to her feet the man that had disappeared earlier reappeared from the crowd behind her and charged with a dagger in his hand.
"Look out!" Strol yelled out. Somehow even over the crowd she heard him and turned just in time to have the dagger plunge into her arm instead of her back. The impact and the man's determination sent her falling to the ground again. He yanked the dagger out and tried to bring it down to stab her throat, but with her good arm she stopped him. Strol looked around desperately. The guards, upon seeing the dagger being used, immediately tried to push their way through the crowd, but being so riled at the sight of attempted foul play the crowd got in their way. Strol faced the same problem. He looked to Angus. He could hear the stream of curses coming from him as he grabbed one of the men by the nape of the neck and tossed him off with one hand. he had seen what happened to her and looked rather enraged, but he still wasn't going to get free in time. The other man whose ear got thwacked was already on his feet and about to help his dagger wielding comrade.
All in the same instant Strol made the decision, closed his eyes, and began to concentrate. he felt the flow of the ether and began to form in his mind his intentions. The ether swirled as his hands made the patterns in the air in front of him. Raising both hands straight into the air, his eyes snapped open, and he took a deep breath to speak the words of power.
"VAS REL HUR!"
A sudden maelstrom of wind kicked up with the force of a hurricane. People screamed as they tried to grab on to anything, buildings, walls, each other. The debris of wood from the broken wall rose up off the ground and flew high into the air. Clothes were torn, hats were lost, but the one thing happened that Strol had wanted most. The man with the dagger had gotten caught by the sudden gust of wind. The lady had shoved him off the moment he lifted and he flew through the air, up and over the heads of the on looking crowd, and into the branches of an old dead leafless tree. His energy spent Strol lowered his hand and with it the wind died down, then stopped entirely. he looked around and found himself to be the only one left standing.
The crowd was oddly quiet as everyone slowly got to their feet. In that silence a horrid creaking from the tree was heard. Strol watched with horror as the tree jerked, swayed, then stopped again. For a split second he thought the tree would move no more, then with a horrendous cracking sound the tree inevitably fell, passenger and all on top of the tavern.