Bar Brawl (OTA)

[quenched]

The Blushing Mermaid, down by the strand, is well known to be a little bit rougher than the Elfsong. One could say, bluntly, that it's a dive, except the proprietor, Captain Grisly, would then throw empty bottles at you until you run for cover because NO PUNS, get the fuck out of here!

Anyway, the liquor is good, never watered down, and the wine is usually too sweet and too strong, and if you thought you were going to eat with your intoxicants, you're out of luck. In short, it's a perfect place for after-work drinks for the middle and lower classes of the Gate, and adventurers looking for luck and/or trouble.

Tonight, there is trouble. Whether you started the fight or just walked in on it at the wrong moment, there are bottles and punches flying, and if you're not a brawler type, you might need to hide under a table. So. Duck and cover. Try conflict resolution. Sneak for the door. Or punch the crap out of someone. The world is thine oyster.

Comments

Mirkian Fleet | ota

[rangerbirdboi]

[Mir stands out in a fight like this. A six foot arakocra with midnight black feathers and that's a bad thing since he is kind of wanted. But his contract had new information. So he here slashing out with his talons trying to clear his path to a door]

[quenched]

One of the larger tieflings in the room (surprisingly, there are a lot of them around the Gate, which might bode well for an aarakocra in a strange land--he's not going to be the only weird one around) moves suddenly to grab and pinch the shoulder of a large half-elf that seemed to be making a move with a dagger. Dammon's hands are powerful, and he knows enough about pressure points to drop the man without a sound.

Then he immediately looks apologetic. It's not as if the featherfolk can't protect themselves. But this one's alone. It wouldn't be right to let someone stab him in the back just because he's by himself. Dammon's been there.

"...hey. Um. The Gate's not always like this, I swear."

[rangerbirdboi]

Mir had been about to duck the fighter in front of him when the one he didn't know was behind him was gone. "Thank you friend," he says in a soft accent, "I don't doubt it isn't," he says.as he pulls a dagger off his belt and throws it to try get the human charging at them to go down. "I'm not surprised at the trouble though."

[quenched]

"Yes, well, I wouldn't say it's the friendliest--" he swears in infernal as the human charges, grimaces as the dagger in their shoulder knocks them down, and huffs a sigh, holding out his arm to beckon Mir toward a set of stairs. "There's a cellar this way. We can dodge the worst of the chaos there if you want."

Purportedly, there's also a passage out into the countryside from there, but he hasn't traversed it, himself, and it seems likely to be chock full of traps. One step at a time.

[bardbox]

Perhaps he might be in a position to help a bunny out? At some point, Havoc had tumbled off the table they were on, which resulted in them tripping up a half-orc, who then fell over onto another table, spilling plates and liquor everywhere. Much like a Rube Goldberg machine, this in turn really pissed off the dwarf and the genasi who were trying to have a conversation there--and now the harengon has three people several times their size looming over them while they kick at their ankles.

It's worth noting Havoc doesn't look scared, but they do seem to be bite-sized compared to most of the people around.

[rangerbirdboi]

Mir sees the trouble and a pair of dagger flash out in a throw one at the genasi and then the dwarf aiming for the shoulders of each before he follows up the throws with slashes of his talons. "No my friends that is not a fair fight now."

[bardbox]

Whoa! Claws and feathers and blood! They were not quite prepared for this spectacle, but their dazzled eyes recover quickly, and they makes a sneezing sound that appears to be a rabbity sort of chuckle as they roll away and stumble to their feet. The half-orc is still unharmed, but takes his chance to step away before getting torn, and it is in this moment Havoc chooses their counterattack. It's a strange noise from their mouth, soft at first, but it builds into a buzz like a cloud of very angry bees centered around the half-orc's head. Immediately confused, he lurches to a stop, cringes, and begins to wave and slap himself as if convinced the sound is actual insects.

As he gets increasingly panicked, he runs for the door, trips over a fallen bottle, and faceplants, where he curls up and hides his head. Down for the count, most likely. Someone really failed their saving throw.

"I'm not sure I've ever been in a fair fight," the harengon says, with a sunny smile that shows bright, neat front teeth. "But I like them better when they're unfair in my favor."