The inn loomed up before the group. If you could really call it looming, thought David. It's only 3 stories, but it's the tallest building in this whole town. Its doors opened easily, though, and there weren't as many malevolent stares as David had expected for newcomers. A barkeep came their way.
"How do you do, travelers? You're new here, I see. Ah, well, all are welcome at the Rooftop Estates."
David had to use every ounce of monk-induced calmness to keep from snickering at Sarvok's obvious contempt at the luxurious 'estates'. "Ah, a round of ales would do nicely."
The barkeep smiled. "You seem like ordinary folk—which makes me think you aren't. Just don't cause any trouble in the Estates, okay? I wouldn't want to see any…unfortunate accidents."
Sarevok almost stood up, but seemed content to finger his Sword of Grief. "How about moving along before you really see an unfortunate accident."
David found that he had to use his calmness to for another extreme now. "I'm sure that the good barkeep meant nothing of the sort, Sarevok." David's tact had the desired effect—the barkeep blanched, if only slightly.
He had expected a reaction from Imoen. He casually looked backwards, and discovered that she was eyeing the surroundings—very surreptitiously, yes, but still eyeing them. "Imoen?" he asked. When he got no response, he assumed that her rogue reflexes had kicked in, so he excused himself to 'see what sort of entertainment was available'. He had gotten no farther than the edge of the bar before he discovered what Imoen was looking at. The inn was just too quiet—the gamblers seemed more content to wait than to play, and none of the normal knife-throwing or martial arts competitions were being held. Speaking of martial arts, I could probably teach them a lesson or two…
He started to move forward when he heard Imoen whisper. "I wouldn't step there if I were you." She moved towards a place in the floor right in front of him and put her toe on the spot. David wouldn't have noticed that a corner was ever so slightly turned upward, and a faint glimmer shown off of wire below it. "They expected us to look around…I'm not going to disarm this, at least not yet. That would be too obvious. Just flag this in your head as a danger zone." Imoen went back to her seat and talked to Valygar. He nodded, and then melted into the shadows.
David sighed. Was that really necessary, Imoen? I hope you know what your doing. Hell, I hope I know what I'm doing.
The arena master saw him approaching and hailed him. "Ah, the newcomer. Care to witness any battles for yourself?"
David tried to smile as grimly as possible. "No, I've come to take part in them."
The arena master looked him over. "You sure you're up to it? I see no weapons or armor on you. Which blade suits your fancy?"
"None. Though through all my long travels, I have found that hands and feet can sometimes be a truer weapon than a sword will ever be." He reflexively balled his fist—a movement apparently undetectable by the arena master.
Presently, he smiled. "All right, then, you've got yourself a fight. Meet me here in 15 minutes."
David shook his head. If this doesn't spring an ambush, then I don't know what will. He returned to his seat, pointedly stepping over the trapped plank.
Meanwhile, the barkeep was in the back room fixing the party's ale. 'Fixing' is the exact term I would choose, thought an amused Valygar. He had been watching the barkeep for 2 minutes at least. Well, he's enjoying himself…at least for now.
And he was. Humming to himself, he sprinkled the last bit of poison into the drinks. And I darn well should be humming, the barkeep thought to himself, whatever that wizard was after, he sure paid well for it. I intend to do my part of the bargain. His work finished, he headed for the door.
He didn't even bother to look up. Poised and ready for action, Valygar grabbed his Katana's blade and brought down the hilt on the barkeep's head. He dragged him to the back of the room. Somehow, this strikes me as being the easiest job we'll have to do tonight. Still wreathed in shadows, he made his way back to Imoen.
David was already there when he arrived. "Imoen, I've arranged to take part in a sort of gladiator fight. That's bound to bring the unsavory fighting characters in the arena. I'm thinking that it will spread them thin enough so that you will be able to handle whatever odds are put against you and still have time to get the barkeep."
Valygar smiled smugly. "Already done."
Sarevok looked at him. "For once in my life, I admire the work of stealth. I would have already caused the inn to be attacking us."
"That's why parties need people with skills." Imoen winked at Valygar.
David almost burst out laughing. He saw an opportunity and couldn't pass it up. Feigning a playful punch, he hit Imoen about 3 inches down from the left shoulder, almost light enough so that she didn't realize what he had done until she tried to move her arm.
At Imoen's vicious stare, he punched the spot again to give Imoen her arm back. He faked a cough, which sounded like, "Skills."
Sarevok cleared his throat. David looked at him somberly. You're right, Sarevok. Play time's over. Sarevok apparently got the message, for he silently unsheathed his sword. Keldorn followed suit. "Looks like I've got a fight on my hands."
Strange, but expectant, glances came from every corner of the inn. With his Cloak of Protection and Tzu's bracers, David strode into the arena, monk reflexes already starting to kick in. The first wave of fighters came at him. He was dimly aware of fighting where the rest of his party was, but he couldn't let that interfere with his decisions, especially ones like these next few.
Luckily for him, these fighters had never actually fought a monk before. He let them close on him; after that, he slid in between them. His elbow flashed backwards and impacted on the guard's rib cage with a sickening crunch. He let fly a beautiful kick that arced into the side of the other fighter's face. He went down almost instantly.
David's troubles were far from over, though. A group of fighters had taken up crossbows and were shooting at him from different sides of the room. Without even thinking, he executed a sort of twisted flip, evading all of the missiles. He settled into the lowest level of his consciousness to pick off the remaining fighters. A vicious blow to the stomach and simultaneous kick in the face took out a first, a second, and a third. By then, the fighters were regrouping and adapting to his tactics.
About that time, something strange was happening to David. He couldn't free himself from his level of consciousness. His blood started pounding in his ears. He was conscious enough to silently scream, No! I've left this behind! I had it removed! It's impossible—After that, his thoughts became less coherent.
Imoen chanced a look at David and almost fainted. Barely moving, she tapped Sarevok on the shoulder and pointed. An incredulous growl issued from his lips. Impossibly, what they saw before them was not David. It was the Slayer.
Not having time to think, Sarevok leapt from his position to go and try to intercept him. He knew the power of the Slayer all too well. That essence was destroyed…what I'm seeing is not possible.
It was only too possible for the fighters trying to escape him. Instead of a methodical monk, they faced an unholy beast. Claws raking, it completely tore apart a guard while fatally wounding another. Its escapade was only stopped by a sword slammed into its side.
It only paused to consider the weapon and the wielder. A huge, dark skinned man stood with a desperate light in his eyes. He swung the sword again. The beast grabbed it and plunged it into its own body. Once removed, no damage was detectable. Its claws held high, it was ready to end this irritation's life.
It stopped in mid-swing. I…I know this person… David had come through at last. Within seconds, he was back to his original form. He fell to his knees. Luckily for him, all the fighters had dispersed.
Sarevok edged away from him unconsciously. Everyone looked at him as if sizing him up. What was this thing?
He had dealt with that a long time ago, back in the days of Irenicus. Irenicus…
Imoen cleared her throat. "I think…I think we'd better go."