As the Svartalfari draw their weapons you notice a curious tattoo decorating the inside of their right arms. It's difficult to discern the image in the poor lighting, but you get the definite impression of an intricate spider's web, the ink dark against their ashen skin.
Roondar, still holding his viol atop the bar, stops singing and whistles sharply. This skald, well versed in the art of flyting, is very ready to throw out some poetic insults! "Oi! habora! Better watch your útlendr bacraut around that dwarf! He came in here singing of eating both pork and trolls! I'd love to see what he does to your krás behind! Hahahahaha!" With that he casts Vicious Mockery which means: the Svartalf to Ragnar's immediate right must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw (12) or take 1d4 psychic damage and have disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes before the end of its next turn!
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Constitution save: 17 (I have advantage on saves against poison due to Dwarven Resilience)
Seeing the Svartalfs brandish their blades, Ragnar decides this is going to be a bit more than a simple bar brawl and grips his hammer tight. As one Svartalf lunges at Ragnar, he tenses his muscles and the Svartalf's wrist buckles upon impact with his chest as the blade misses its mark. Through the haze of biting insects, with fire in his eyes Ragnar yells as he swings his hammer toward the inside of the knee of the Svartalf whose lunge ended in failure. "Yew picked the wrong Dwarf ye beardless spoidah ****ah!"
Halvar turns, picks up his mace in one hand, pointing downward, and addresses the Svartalfari, (Intimidation: 5 ) "I'm tired, and would like a bite to eat in quiet. Perhaps you should consider bothering someone else. I'd hate if this turned into a fair fight for you." He sets the head his mace on a nearby table, with a bit of a thump. As he does so, the ground trembles, as if responding to some summons, shaking all the tables, plates, and mugs in the room.
Cantrip: Thaumaturgy
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"
"You backbirthed knob jockey!" Vahlen hisses at the dark elf whose blade had become crimson with his blood. "I gave you the chance to walk away."
This wasn't the first time Vahlen had been stabbed, and given his line of work and propensity for dealings with shady characters, it was unlikely to be the last time. What made him particularly nonplussed is that he had been caught flat-footed in a fight that he'd seen coming from a mile away.
With one fluid motion he flings back his cloak and draws both short swords. Stepping towards the dark elf who stabbed him, he slashes from the draw with his off hand before pivoting into a lunging stab with his right.
The Svartalfari turn to behold Halvar. Unfortunately your attempt at intimidation fails to rattle the dark elves.
”You call that an earthquake boy? In Svartalfheim the ground itself can swallow you at any moment! You’ll have to do better than that to phase us!”
In response, Vahlen does exactly that! Your shortswords drive quick and true, the metal striking down a dark elf before he could even gasp his dying breath.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Once Hem saw the dark elves brandish their blades, he quietly set down his quarterstaff against the bar and readied himself. This was more serious than just some bar fight, and he preferred to be on the offensive than to cower in his corner and wait for a stray spell to come his way. Plus, the drunken dwarf seemed to be having a little trouble aiming his warhammer. Not wanting to get caught up by the the dwarf's errant warhammer, Hem leaped toward the dark elf caster, darting forward with fists disappearing in a flurry of blows.
"You spiders are more cowardly than Loki himself, bringing steel and trickery to a bar fight! I will show you how to use your fists!"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As the Dark Elf pulled out his blade Cerridwen noticed...
the tattoo of the spider web hiding beneath his sleeve.
It looks vaguely familiar... History check: 13 .
As the fight begins Cerridwen jumps back from her seat to get some space between her and the flailing blades and fists; this has nothing to do with her after all.
The lead Dark Elf is taken aback by the fist that cracked against his temple, and even more surprised to find that perpetrator to be less than half his height. He stumbles out of the path of Hem's second swing, his innate aelvan grace on-point even whilst under assault.
Blood trickles down his face and the Svartalf laughs. "Now this is more fun than I expected!" He jabs twice at Hemingr with a pair of curved blades. You manage to duck under the first, but the follow up draws a line of crimson along your forearm for 3 Damage.
The remaining two Svartalfari seems unperturbed by their fallen comrade leaking out his vital fluids across the floor. One of them lashes out at Vahlen in retribution, while the second faces off against the unprepared Ragnar. Again the hardy Dwarf's iron abdomen turns aside the feeble strike, and the Dark Elf's face twists in surprise. But his fellow drives a dagger deep into Vahlen's chest for 4 damage.
For Cerridwen:
You recall that Svartalfari society is structured as a number of clan-based social groups called Cabals. Each Cabal having its own set of rituals and practices. Many Cabals use either tattoos or ritual scarification to cement an initiate in their ranks, branding their allegiance for life. However, you aren't familiar with the particular design these Dark Elves have.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Roondar, watching the flurry with feigned awe, decided this would be the best time to continue insulting the elves! They seemed to have started the whole deal and besides, they also seem to be the losing side! Plus of course they're mean spirited...
"So, web slingers, you pick fights for fun? I think I recognize you... 'Twas with thine sister that I did sleep, The night was long, the silks so fine, But it was barren, this heart of mine. For my evening was droll, Her movements like a troll, And I'd rather bed with the sheep..."
Another Vicious Mockery at the Svartalfari that Hem just thwacked! Wisdom save of 12 of 4 damage!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Missing his first blow, Ragnar drunkenly catches himself before he falls to the ground feeling another Elf's blade arm buckle against his side. Whipping himself back around angrily with the momentum of his hammer, he sees another Dark Elf drive its blade into Vahlen. Keeping his momentum going he aims for the Elf's ribcage. "Vahlen! Yew bahstahd! Oi'll crush yore bones fer that, yew sloimy filth!"
As if the Svartalf hadn't been having a bad enough day! Being punched in the face by a halfling had sent him reeling, but that strange Dwarf's insults...by Angrboda's bosom that scarred him to his very core! So distraught was he, that the Dark Elf failed to notice an otherwise fairly conspicuous bit of discarded fruit littering the beer stained floor. One wrong step and...slip! The Dark Elf lost his footing and his legs shot into the air! Unfortunately his head fared even more poorly, impacting against a sharp table corner on the way down with a sickening crunch and he collapsed in a heap.
The unfortunate Svartalf's fellow took his eyes off the fight just long enough to witness this unexpected tragedy, which, conveniently, was also long enough for Ragnar's hammer to come crashing down like the wrath of Thor himself! His body flew backward, ribcage crushed inward like a bloody sinkhole.
This left only the lead Svartalf standing, his eyes wide with apprehension and the sudden realization that perhaps they should have gone to the Prancing Pony for drinks after all.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Thor's beard, that sort of thing always works in the stories, Halvar thinks to himself. Feeling slightly annoyed at the Svartalfari's condescending tone, he grabs the mace's handle with both hands, spins quickly, and swings it off the table and directly at the nearest svartalf's ribcage. "Fair enough."
Attack: 18
Damage: 4
OOC: screwed up modifier. should have been +4, not +6. original roll = 6, making the correct value 10, not 12. original damage result was 7.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Vahlen flashes a smile at Ragnar, his mouth flecked with blood which he spits on the dying, mangled elf.
As he turns and readies his blades to strike down the last of the Svartalfari, a thought occurred to him. Four poncey "refugees" walk into a crowded inn, pull knives and start tossing spells about, singling out the burliest dwarf in the room. Bar fights don't often escalate that quickly, even when gutter rats like these have something to prove. Something didn't quite add up, and he wanted answers.
He points his sword at the elf. "Last chance, grayworm, unless you care to see what your insides look like. Lay down your weapons, hands on your head. Tell us what we want to know, and I won't slice you into pieces." After a pause, he adds: "Promise."
Intimidation (+2 granted by DM) : 19 The three dying or dead elves on the floor before him lent Vahlen's words some extra gravity.
For the moment, the elf stays his blades, watching the Svartalf intently.
For the DM:
I am holding my attacks. If the elf takes any hostile or suspicious actions (including any gesturing or speech that appears to be part of spellcasting) I will attack him. If he tries to run, I'll also attack him. Send me a message if I should make attack rolls and drop them in the spoiler tag, otherwise I'll make a second post if need be.
The Dark Elf nimbly dodges away from Halvar's swing with inhuman swiftness. However, his enjoyment was cut short. He looked around the room, noticing the crumpled corpses of his allies and the slowly spreading pools of blood beneath them.
He looks down Vahlen's blade with apprehension, clearly weighing his options. "Fair enough treewalker." He acquiesces and lets his daggers fall to the blood stained floor and places his hands behind his head, not bothering to hide the malice in his eyes. "I didn't expect you to have so many...friends." He gazes at each of your in turn. "A Svartalf values his honor only as far as its convenient. I've no desire to see my blood spilled in this filthy hall. I"ll tell you and the rock-spawn whatever you want to know."
He casts a wary gaze around the room. "But it can't be here. Too many eyes, too many ears, too many hidden spaces. If you want to learn anything we need to leave this place, and quickly."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hem, when seeing that only one dark elf remained, got into position to grapple him to the ground, skirting lightly around the fray. This Svartalf needed to answer for his crimes, and at the very least repay the barkeep for the mess his late friends were currently making all over the floor. However, it turned out the dark elf had no fight left in him. The light elf spat a few intimidating words that made even Hem believe the Svartalf would be cut to pieces if he acted, and the Svartalf crumpled to the floor. Changing his tact, Hem grabbed a length of rope from his pack and went up to the Svartalf from behind, grabbing his arms roughly and tying them together behind his back.
"See? A coward, just like I expected. Get comfortable, you aren't leaving until you give us a good reason for disrupting our relaxing evening, and paid the barkeep double for the mess you've made!"
He sat down cross-legged in front of the Svartalf, eyeing him intently with his hands crossed in his lap. He was content that the dark elf was properly detained, but ready for trouble nonetheless. Hem just couldn't trust anyone that shot insects out of their hands.
Ragnar shook his head at Vahlen who was now smiling at him, "Gunna dew sumfing' stewpid no doubt.."he thought to himself.
As Vahlen finished his monologue, Ragnar's face had reached the pinnacle of impatient and unimpressed looks to ever befall a Dwarf. "Toi eem up...?," Ragnar rolled his eyes, standing up straight and holding his massive warhammer in one hand, he walked over to the Svartalf, nodding mockingly as the Halfling gave his speech, and dropped the head of his hammer from chest hight directly onto the foot of the Svartalf. "Toi eem up?! Tha serpent troid tah kill us, an yore gonna toi eem up?! Yew'd bettuh be gud at talkeen grey-back." Ragnar puts all of his weight down on the head of his hammer (which is a lot for a Dwarf!) that is now taking up residence in the Svartalf's foot; he looks the Svartalf in the eyes, and says in an unamused, raspy voice, "Vahlen an Oi ah gunna get ow new fren a rewm...where we can chat."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Good Choice." Vahlen knew that the bastard would undoubtedly try to escape the moment he got the chance. This one seemed a little craftier than his lackeys. However, they couldn't afford to stick around: there would likely be more than one of them locked away if the watch stumbled upon this scene. From the rumors he'd heard, they had been ...less than precise in their justice dealing these days in an effort to quell the mounting unrest. In any case, he didn't aim to stay too long and find out.
As Vahlen reached towards the side of his pack to cut a length of rope, he looked up to see the halfling had already bound the svartalf's hands and nodded to him approvingly. He made a mental note to pick up some proper manacles later. ...And maybe some better armor, he thought, feeling the searing jets of pain between his ribs as the adrenaline began to subside. "Easy Ragnar. Don't fret, you'll be the first in line to smash his brains in if he tries something.
Vahlen picks up the twin daggers, placing them in his belt. He then begins patting down the svartalf, searching for any items of value as well as hidden weapons, pocketing anything worth taking. Perception: 22Without taking his eyes off his work, he addresses the group. "Is there a healer among you lot?" He remembers his manners and adds, "And, erm...thanks for the assist." He motions the others closer and quiets his voice to a whisper so that the remaining bystanders won't hear him. "The watch'll be looking for all of us now, and I don't think they much care that this shitebird started it. Anyone know a place where we can chat in peace?"
"Oh, and uh...Vahlen, professional problem solver, at your service." He offers an exaggerated bow, momentarily forgetting the pain in his chest before it forces him wincing back upright.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Halvar Gunnarsson, formerly of the village Bjarnardal. I might be able to help,"Halvar says quietly, as he puts his hand on Vahlen's shoulder, and his eyes unfocus for a moment, as he muttered a short prayer to Heimdallr. (Cure Wounds: 5) "As for a quiet corner..." Halvar pulls his holy talisman, a simple horn cast from bronze, hung on a length of braided leather, from under his shirt and lets it fall on his mail as he turns towards the bartender. As he faces him, he stands tall and falls easily into the role of holy man, "Innkeeper, where is the hof in this town? Or is the a vé or an ahl nearby?"
For everyone but Vahlen and Halvar (sorry guys!)
As the Svartalfari draw their weapons you notice a curious tattoo decorating the inside of their right arms. It's difficult to discern the image in the poor lighting, but you get the definite impression of an intricate spider's web, the ink dark against their ashen skin.
Roondar, still holding his viol atop the bar, stops singing and whistles sharply. This skald, well versed in the art of flyting, is very ready to throw out some poetic insults! "Oi! habora! Better watch your útlendr bacraut around that dwarf! He came in here singing of eating both pork and trolls! I'd love to see what he does to your krás behind! Hahahahaha!" With that he casts Vicious Mockery which means: the Svartalf to Ragnar's immediate right must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw (12) or take 1d4 psychic damage and have disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes before the end of its next turn!
Damage: 1
Translations:
flyting - basically Viking Rap Battles... Flyting - Wikipedia
habora - 'oar hole'
útlendr - foreign
bacraut - *******
krás - dainty
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Constitution save: 17 (I have advantage on saves against poison due to Dwarven Resilience)
Seeing the Svartalfs brandish their blades, Ragnar decides this is going to be a bit more than a simple bar brawl and grips his hammer tight. As one Svartalf lunges at Ragnar, he tenses his muscles and the Svartalf's wrist buckles upon impact with his chest as the blade misses its mark. Through the haze of biting insects, with fire in his eyes Ragnar yells as he swings his hammer toward the inside of the knee of the Svartalf whose lunge ended in failure. "Yew picked the wrong Dwarf ye beardless spoidah ****ah!"
Attack: 15 Damage: 8
Halvar turns, picks up his mace in one hand, pointing downward, and addresses the Svartalfari, (Intimidation: 5 ) "I'm tired, and would like a bite to eat in quiet. Perhaps you should consider bothering someone else. I'd hate if this turned into a fair fight for you." He sets the head his mace on a nearby table, with a bit of a thump. As he does so, the ground trembles, as if responding to some summons, shaking all the tables, plates, and mugs in the room.
Cantrip: Thaumaturgy
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"
"You backbirthed knob jockey!" Vahlen hisses at the dark elf whose blade had become crimson with his blood. "I gave you the chance to walk away."
This wasn't the first time Vahlen had been stabbed, and given his line of work and propensity for dealings with shady characters, it was unlikely to be the last time. What made him particularly nonplussed is that he had been caught flat-footed in a fight that he'd seen coming from a mile away.
With one fluid motion he flings back his cloak and draws both short swords. Stepping towards the dark elf who stabbed him, he slashes from the draw with his off hand before pivoting into a lunging stab with his right.
Main hand: Attack: 20 Damage: 6
Off hand: Attack: 17 Damage: 6
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
The Svartalfari turn to behold Halvar. Unfortunately your attempt at intimidation fails to rattle the dark elves.
”You call that an earthquake boy? In Svartalfheim the ground itself can swallow you at any moment! You’ll have to do better than that to phase us!”
In response, Vahlen does exactly that! Your shortswords drive quick and true, the metal striking down a dark elf before he could even gasp his dying breath.
Once Hem saw the dark elves brandish their blades, he quietly set down his quarterstaff against the bar and readied himself. This was more serious than just some bar fight, and he preferred to be on the offensive than to cower in his corner and wait for a stray spell to come his way. Plus, the drunken dwarf seemed to be having a little trouble aiming his warhammer. Not wanting to get caught up by the the dwarf's errant warhammer, Hem leaped toward the dark elf caster, darting forward with fists disappearing in a flurry of blows.
"You spiders are more cowardly than Loki himself, bringing steel and trickery to a bar fight! I will show you how to use your fists!"
Unarmed Strike: Attack: 14 Damage: 4
Unarmed Strike Bonus Action (Martial Arts): Attack: 6 Damage: 4
Unarmed Strike Bonus Action (Reroll/Lucky Trait): 19
As the Dark Elf pulled out his blade Cerridwen noticed...
the tattoo of the spider web hiding beneath his sleeve.
It looks vaguely familiar... History check: 13 .
As the fight begins Cerridwen jumps back from her seat to get some space between her and the flailing blades and fists; this has nothing to do with her after all.
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
The lead Dark Elf is taken aback by the fist that cracked against his temple, and even more surprised to find that perpetrator to be less than half his height. He stumbles out of the path of Hem's second swing, his innate aelvan grace on-point even whilst under assault.
Blood trickles down his face and the Svartalf laughs. "Now this is more fun than I expected!" He jabs twice at Hemingr with a pair of curved blades. You manage to duck under the first, but the follow up draws a line of crimson along your forearm for 3 Damage.
The remaining two Svartalfari seems unperturbed by their fallen comrade leaking out his vital fluids across the floor. One of them lashes out at Vahlen in retribution, while the second faces off against the unprepared Ragnar. Again the hardy Dwarf's iron abdomen turns aside the feeble strike, and the Dark Elf's face twists in surprise. But his fellow drives a dagger deep into Vahlen's chest for 4 damage.
For Cerridwen:
You recall that Svartalfari society is structured as a number of clan-based social groups called Cabals. Each Cabal having its own set of rituals and practices. Many Cabals use either tattoos or ritual scarification to cement an initiate in their ranks, branding their allegiance for life. However, you aren't familiar with the particular design these Dark Elves have.
Roondar, watching the flurry with feigned awe, decided this would be the best time to continue insulting the elves! They seemed to have started the whole deal and besides, they also seem to be the losing side! Plus of course they're mean spirited...
"So, web slingers, you pick fights for fun? I think I recognize you...
'Twas with thine sister that I did sleep,
The night was long, the silks so fine,
But it was barren, this heart of mine.
For my evening was droll,
Her movements like a troll,
And I'd rather bed with the sheep..."
Another Vicious Mockery at the Svartalfari that Hem just thwacked! Wisdom save of 12 of 4 damage!
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
Missing his first blow, Ragnar drunkenly catches himself before he falls to the ground feeling another Elf's blade arm buckle against his side. Whipping himself back around angrily with the momentum of his hammer, he sees another Dark Elf drive its blade into Vahlen. Keeping his momentum going he aims for the Elf's ribcage. "Vahlen! Yew bahstahd! Oi'll crush yore bones fer that, yew sloimy filth!"
Attack: 22
Damage: 7
As if the Svartalf hadn't been having a bad enough day! Being punched in the face by a halfling had sent him reeling, but that strange Dwarf's insults...by Angrboda's bosom that scarred him to his very core! So distraught was he, that the Dark Elf failed to notice an otherwise fairly conspicuous bit of discarded fruit littering the beer stained floor. One wrong step and...slip! The Dark Elf lost his footing and his legs shot into the air! Unfortunately his head fared even more poorly, impacting against a sharp table corner on the way down with a sickening crunch and he collapsed in a heap.
The unfortunate Svartalf's fellow took his eyes off the fight just long enough to witness this unexpected tragedy, which, conveniently, was also long enough for Ragnar's hammer to come crashing down like the wrath of Thor himself! His body flew backward, ribcage crushed inward like a bloody sinkhole.
This left only the lead Svartalf standing, his eyes wide with apprehension and the sudden realization that perhaps they should have gone to the Prancing Pony for drinks after all.
Thor's beard, that sort of thing always works in the stories, Halvar thinks to himself. Feeling slightly annoyed at the Svartalfari's condescending tone, he grabs the mace's handle with both hands, spins quickly, and swings it off the table and directly at the nearest svartalf's ribcage. "Fair enough."
Attack: 18
Damage: 4
OOC: screwed up modifier. should have been +4, not +6. original roll = 6, making the correct value 10, not 12. original damage result was 7.
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"
Vahlen flashes a smile at Ragnar, his mouth flecked with blood which he spits on the dying, mangled elf.
As he turns and readies his blades to strike down the last of the Svartalfari, a thought occurred to him. Four poncey "refugees" walk into a crowded inn, pull knives and start tossing spells about, singling out the burliest dwarf in the room. Bar fights don't often escalate that quickly, even when gutter rats like these have something to prove. Something didn't quite add up, and he wanted answers.
He points his sword at the elf. "Last chance, grayworm, unless you care to see what your insides look like. Lay down your weapons, hands on your head. Tell us what we want to know, and I won't slice you into pieces." After a pause, he adds: "Promise."
Intimidation (+2 granted by DM) : 19 The three dying or dead elves on the floor before him lent Vahlen's words some extra gravity.
For the moment, the elf stays his blades, watching the Svartalf intently.
For the DM:
I am holding my attacks. If the elf takes any hostile or suspicious actions (including any gesturing or speech that appears to be part of spellcasting) I will attack him. If he tries to run, I'll also attack him. Send me a message if I should make attack rolls and drop them in the spoiler tag, otherwise I'll make a second post if need be.
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
The Dark Elf nimbly dodges away from Halvar's swing with inhuman swiftness. However, his enjoyment was cut short. He looked around the room, noticing the crumpled corpses of his allies and the slowly spreading pools of blood beneath them.
He looks down Vahlen's blade with apprehension, clearly weighing his options. "Fair enough treewalker." He acquiesces and lets his daggers fall to the blood stained floor and places his hands behind his head, not bothering to hide the malice in his eyes. "I didn't expect you to have so many...friends." He gazes at each of your in turn. "A Svartalf values his honor only as far as its convenient. I've no desire to see my blood spilled in this filthy hall. I"ll tell you and the rock-spawn whatever you want to know."
He casts a wary gaze around the room. "But it can't be here. Too many eyes, too many ears, too many hidden spaces. If you want to learn anything we need to leave this place, and quickly."
Hem, when seeing that only one dark elf remained, got into position to grapple him to the ground, skirting lightly around the fray. This Svartalf needed to answer for his crimes, and at the very least repay the barkeep for the mess his late friends were currently making all over the floor. However, it turned out the dark elf had no fight left in him. The light elf spat a few intimidating words that made even Hem believe the Svartalf would be cut to pieces if he acted, and the Svartalf crumpled to the floor. Changing his tact, Hem grabbed a length of rope from his pack and went up to the Svartalf from behind, grabbing his arms roughly and tying them together behind his back.
Dexterity check (tie up prisoner): 12
"See? A coward, just like I expected. Get comfortable, you aren't leaving until you give us a good reason for disrupting our relaxing evening, and paid the barkeep double for the mess you've made!"
He sat down cross-legged in front of the Svartalf, eyeing him intently with his hands crossed in his lap. He was content that the dark elf was properly detained, but ready for trouble nonetheless. Hem just couldn't trust anyone that shot insects out of their hands.
Ragnar shook his head at Vahlen who was now smiling at him, "Gunna dew sumfing' stewpid no doubt.." he thought to himself.
As Vahlen finished his monologue, Ragnar's face had reached the pinnacle of impatient and unimpressed looks to ever befall a Dwarf. "Toi eem up...?," Ragnar rolled his eyes, standing up straight and holding his massive warhammer in one hand, he walked over to the Svartalf, nodding mockingly as the Halfling gave his speech, and dropped the head of his hammer from chest hight directly onto the foot of the Svartalf. "Toi eem up?! Tha serpent troid tah kill us, an yore gonna toi eem up?! Yew'd bettuh be gud at talkeen grey-back." Ragnar puts all of his weight down on the head of his hammer (which is a lot for a Dwarf!) that is now taking up residence in the Svartalf's foot; he looks the Svartalf in the eyes, and says in an unamused, raspy voice, "Vahlen an Oi ah gunna get ow new fren a rewm...where we can chat."
"Good Choice." Vahlen knew that the bastard would undoubtedly try to escape the moment he got the chance. This one seemed a little craftier than his lackeys. However, they couldn't afford to stick around: there would likely be more than one of them locked away if the watch stumbled upon this scene. From the rumors he'd heard, they had been ...less than precise in their justice dealing these days in an effort to quell the mounting unrest. In any case, he didn't aim to stay too long and find out.
As Vahlen reached towards the side of his pack to cut a length of rope, he looked up to see the halfling had already bound the svartalf's hands and nodded to him approvingly. He made a mental note to pick up some proper manacles later. ...And maybe some better armor, he thought, feeling the searing jets of pain between his ribs as the adrenaline began to subside. "Easy Ragnar. Don't fret, you'll be the first in line to smash his brains in if he tries something.
Vahlen picks up the twin daggers, placing them in his belt. He then begins patting down the svartalf, searching for any items of value as well as hidden weapons, pocketing anything worth taking. Perception: 22 Without taking his eyes off his work, he addresses the group. "Is there a healer among you lot?" He remembers his manners and adds, "And, erm...thanks for the assist." He motions the others closer and quiets his voice to a whisper so that the remaining bystanders won't hear him. "The watch'll be looking for all of us now, and I don't think they much care that this shitebird started it. Anyone know a place where we can chat in peace?"
"Oh, and uh...Vahlen, professional problem solver, at your service." He offers an exaggerated bow, momentarily forgetting the pain in his chest before it forces him wincing back upright.
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
"Halvar Gunnarsson, formerly of the village Bjarnardal. I might be able to help," Halvar says quietly, as he puts his hand on Vahlen's shoulder, and his eyes unfocus for a moment, as he muttered a short prayer to Heimdallr. (Cure Wounds: 5) "As for a quiet corner..." Halvar pulls his holy talisman, a simple horn cast from bronze, hung on a length of braided leather, from under his shirt and lets it fall on his mail as he turns towards the bartender. As he faces him, he stands tall and falls easily into the role of holy man, "Innkeeper, where is the hof in this town? Or is the a vé or an ahl nearby?"
hof - hall or temple
vé - shrine
ahl - sanctuary
Niels H.
Halvar Gunnarsson - Half-Elf Cleric - lvl 1 "Scourge of the North"