The Hardened Enforcer catches Herman's elbow in both hands, but lacks the available limbs to block the double shot to the body. He lets out a single barking cough, flinging tiny red droplets into Herman's face and speckling his glasses. He staggers back, looking significantly worse for wear than a second prior, but doesn't quite let up. Two wild punches rain down upon Herman's steadfast guard, the Hardened Enforcer's face twisting with rage as he lets them fly.

Attack: 8 Damage: 10
Attack: 18 Damage: 9

Meanwhile, the Dour Fence has shoved the Black-Toothed Robber back, and he goes flying into an Elderly Spy, who in turn bowls into a More or Less Innocent Fellow, prompting a sharp retort in the form of a balled fist, which sends the Elderly Spy's dentures flying.

One of the punches does catch Herman’s chin, although he cracks it back in place. For the next combination of attacks, Herman goes for a pair of open palm strikes to the Enforcer’s temples, then grabbing the back of his neck and driving his knee up to smash it against the man’s neck and chin. The brawl that is supposedly starting to break around Herman is no surprise to him, those could be pretty common in the Meat Ring.

      Breaking up the Fight

The first blow sends the Hardened Enforcer flying back, trailing an arc of blood from his staved in nose. He knocks up against the edge of the ring, where the fighting spreading from the Black-Toothed Robber has not yet spread, and they push him back into the thick of it. By the second blow he is already unconscious. The third is superfluous, merely functioning to hasten the descent of his boneless body to the ground. His head cracks against the ground and he lies still. It's unclear if he's dead, or merely unconscious. Not that it matters all that much, anyways.

A cheer goes up, but swiftly devolves into shouting and arguing as the fighting spreads throughout the ring. A Bandaged Fighter hits a Proscribed Bookseller in the head with a brick. An Unlucky Costermonger pokes a Quarrelsome Honey-Addict in the eyes. A Revolutionary Vandal calls a Scowling Prisoner's mother some very choice words. It's nothing short of barbaric, to say the least. For those who have hung back, extraction from the mess is relatively easy, but Herman is stuck right in the middle of the whirlwind. An eye in the storm, where for the moment, it's safe. But the eye is shrinking, and the fists are swinging ever closer. It seems for a moment that he is going to have to fight his way out.

But then, there is a loud metallic banging sound, as one of the hulking gaolers slams its iron cudgel into the ground, making a loud sound that echoes through the entire wing. Many prisoner stop in their tracks and step back, unwilling to cross the hunch-backed creature, but several others are too caught up in the fighting to care. A gaoler walks up to the aforementioned Bandaged Fighter, gripping the thin tomb-colonist's arm as she raises her brick to bash the Proscribed Bookseller's head again. It picks her up by the arm, kicking and squirming, and literally throws her across the hall, the brick tumbling and shattering against the ground. Another places its hand over the Revolutionary Vandal's mouth mid-tirade, dragging them by the face a good twenty feet away.

At last, the chaos dies down and the prisoners return to their work, now a few teeth poorer than they were before. The Bilgewater Boys drag their comatose leader across the room, a faint streak of blood trailing behind him. A gaoler takes a bucket and a rag, and with a grunt hands it to the split-knuckled Herman, then points to the bloodstains on the ground, spilt by the fighting. It then turns and walks back to its post, watching from afar (though its hood makes it hard to determine if it's looking at him or someone else). As he begins his work, however, he notices several looks from fellow prisoners, a few nods of acknowledgment. (An occurrence — Renown: Criminals is increasing...)

Ezra gives a nod to Herman, and if things seem to be progressing in their own fashion, returns to his 'cleaning', unless the gaolers are on higher alert to anyone shirking on their assigned tasks.

Damien looks as the fight takes its course, then at the closest gaoler, apparently as happy to have the show go on as the crowd watching. If he doesn’t move then attempting to break the fight will only get bad reputation. No one likes to be starved, after all.

“Good to see we agree that they are both idiots.” He said to the Bligewater Boys, claing yet again at the spectacle. “But when it come about just letting it play out, well, we would make more of the situation if we opened bets around this. If all the gaolers are always so comprehensive to the show the whole thing could become a regular thing and organization could take more of the cut.”

Before he could further elaborate his idea the cheering starts and ends in chaos. The guard is forced to act and disperse the inmates. Damien is relieved that it was this commotion, and not Ezra’s work in the cell that caught the eye of potato-sack-head.

“You got the respect of the crowd.” He said starting to help Herman cleaning. “Our worker was not caught, and I think the show helped with that.” The warlock continued, lowering his voice so just the pugilist could hear. “Any new info?”

Herman spits down a bloody mass into the stain he is about to clean and takes his glasses off. He rubs the speckles of blood off with his vest and kneels down to start scrubbing. “Funny that, I started the whole thing just to find out a fella with bad teeth and funny ears. At least I got to beat somebody up, always feels nice,” He sighs, “How far did Erza get?” 

Herman doesn’t really know that he has been helped out by the clayman, so he doesn’t ask about it.

“Not very far, I’m afraid.” He admitted to Herman, doing his best to look particularly concentrated on cleaning the floor. “He had little time to work and going by how close the gaoler was after the fight became generalized chaos, I think the potato sack head was not very far from finding the hammer and chisel.”

The more he thought about it the more Damian believed that what he thought to be a stupid decision on the part of the pugilist had actually save them from being discovered. Escaping without the help of the stonemason would be a good deal harder and at the end of it all they didn’t get any punition.

“The Boys had knifes, for the look of it so unless they smuggled blades like our friend did with his tools someone is bringing weapons.” At least the warlock hoped that was the case. It would take a corrupt guard or someone with a fair bit of knowledge about the prison layout and schedule to do this kind of work. The missing pieces on the puzzle that was their escape plan. “Someone that may just have the information we need.”

There was another meaning to the finding, of course. Knuckles were not the only thing they needed to worry about.

"You seem to have a plan brewing. Talk to the rest as well, yeah? See what they can do. We'll be out of here in no time. I still gotta find that ugly piece of work though, have you seen anybody like that around?" Herman keeps scrubbing and makes a mental note to bruise his opponents in less bloody ways next time. 

With that little bit of excitement over - or at least Croup hoped it was over for now - Croup steps out of the shadows and continues his explorations whilst trying to look busy

(Croup: anything specific you're looking for?)

“I’m thinking in checking if there is someone doing the smuggling and if this person knows the schedule of you know what.” He answered to Herman’s comment about a plan. “Problem is that if there is no one the question could reach the guards’ ears and put more eyes than necessary upon us so maybe we should just try figuring the itinerary on our own first.”

Seemed like the most prudent thing to do, but then again, when was Damian Armstrong truly prudent? His choice to stay in London until he no longer had money to get back home was enough answer to that. I had too much hope for my own good, he noticed in hindsight. But now he had much more than he expected, dreamed, even, to achieve.  Maybe there is no such thing as too much hope.

“After the working hours I reckon the gaolers will be easier to evade so we can share what we got.” Hopefully they can have Ezra make some further progress. That would be the very best scenario. “We can piece what we got today by then. Decide the next steps and you mean your punchbag?”

Damien didn’t know the name of the man Herman had knocked out, but punchbag seemed like an apt description

Croup would like to try and have a poke about in the guards room - hence why he was waiting in the shadows during the fight - but to no avail - he is to all intents and purposes avoiding doing any work by trying to look busy - not actually be busy

As Croup slinks about, he sees that the door into the guardroom is at all times manned by a powerfully built gaoler. It seems rather bored with its position, if the nodding of its head and idle foot-tapping is any indication. He also notices, as an officer enters the wing from the door, a gaoler closing and locking it behind him, that the keys that hang from the belts of the officers and the gaolers are able to unlock the door.

(Any last actions before I resolve Ezra's tip-tapping at the wall and any events that might occur before time in the 'yard'?)

(Alright, I'll assume that's a no.)

For a while, Ezra's work yields few rewards. A small pile of dust begins to accumulate at his feet as he chips away, hiding his tools and pretending to work whenever someone passes by. The hole begins as nothing more than a dent, but it soon grows deeper, and deeper, until eventually... crack! He breaks through. There's only a tiny chip missing, and through the hole he can see only darkness. He sets to work widening it, and soon it's large enough for him to put one of his large fingers through. A little while longer, and he can fit two. Still, without any sort of light, even his keen clay eyes can only see vague shadows within. He is about to continue his work, when suddenly a bell rings, distracting him, and other prisoners begin walking by en masse. They're all heading towards the door you entered the cafeteria from, and from the gaolers shooing stragglers behind he (and everybody else) soon gathers that there's not really much of a choice in the matter. Ezra is forced to abandon the hole he has been creating. While not large, it would probably be easily spotted, should a curious officer decide to inspect his cell.

As people begin to gather, Herman’s job of scrubbing his own spilt blood off the ground is interrupted by the grunt of an impatient gaoler, and he is forced to begin walking towards the door, where the Burly Officer waits. As he goes, however, someone grabs his arm. Turning, Herman recognizes the gloomy face of the Dour Fence. For a moment, it seems like he's about to start another fight, but then he presses something into Herman’s hand, and releases his arm. As he goes, he speaks: "Let it neffer be said that der ain't honor among thieves."

The Burly Officer awaits you all as you line up in front of the door, and he has two gaolers collect all your slightly dirtier rags and your buckets full of slightly dirtier water. "Well, I 'ope you've done a bang up job 'at cleanin' up the place, cos you ain't gettin' anuvver cleanin' for a good while. Righty, then. It's yard time fer you lot, or at least the closest thing to a yard we can manage up 'ere. Come on, now, it ain't far." He leads you once again through the cafeteria, then through another door into a more open space. There's not a lot there, just a couple of benches here and there, some exercise equipment, and a couple of balls for kicking or tossing about. There are, however, a whole lot of other prisoners, being led in at the same time you are. Here and there, a few gaolers stand watch, but the number of prisoners far outnumber them. After he finishes escorting you, the Burly Officer turns away and leaves, leaving you all alone to meet with, make friends with, and piss off the other inmates from your floor.

(Bump)

Ezra scans the yard, trying to take note of any groups that are forming, and to try to spot the fellows that got into a dust up with Herman earlier.

Perception: 23

Does Croup notice any pattern to the officers comings and goings?

Croup notices no clear pattern. More observation or another source of information will be necessary.

Looking about, Ezra does indeed see that many of the prisoners are forming groups, with whom they converse, throw balls around, and loiter about suspiciously. These are the most notable groups that he is able to spot.

• A gang of unpleasant looking tomb-colonists, which the Bandaged Fighter who was tossed about earlier seems to be fitting in well with. Notable members include a hulking one-armed fellow who barely fits in his bandages, who must have been incredibly strong in his heyday, and a stick-thin woman whose bandages hang loose like a robe on a mouse, who seems barely strong enough to stand; the once-strongman's single arm has to support her.
• The Bilgewater Boys, whom you've already met. A disgusting, diseased bunch, they look as if they've just crawled out of their namesake. The Hardened Enforcer is among them, though heavily bruised, so he must have survived Herman's beating (or else his death was a rather mild, exceedingly temporary one).
• A rather odd bunch, whose only defining trait seems to be their abnormality. A rubbery man with braided tentacles stands beside a bookish fellow with what appears to be a large purple mushroom perched on his shoulder. Further inspection reveals it to be a blemmigan — a type of sentient mushroom with a penchant for the written word, which dwell in Bugsby's Marshes (though they were originally imported from the Uttershroom, a massive mushroom located in Myceligaea, in the Unterzee). An eyeless astronomer of Watchmaker's Hill also stands with them, staring blindly with his empty eye-sockets from behind his prisoner's mask.
• A small, curiously well-dressed group, or at the very least formerly so. They seem normal enough, though the room feels oddly warm around them.
• A group of hulking clay men. No, wait, Unfinished Men, for every one of them is very notably missing a part of itself. An arm, a leg, a conscience. One even lacks a face, with only a flat, blank surface sitting in front of its ears. It wears no prisoner's mask.

There are plenty of others, but the DM is running out of creative juices so these are just the more interesting ones.

Herman takes in the very... diverse prison yard and sits down somewhere to read the note handed to him, gigglign to himself about not realising that the Fence was right there. 

“Well, chaps.” He says as the quintet reunites in the yard, away from the close attention of any guard. His focus lies on Tharkhan, Ezrra and Croup, who had not heard his small information sharing talk with Herman. “I was talking with our pugilist friend before leaving the cleaning duty and it seems that the Boys right there have some weapons on them. A small knife, if I were to take a guess. Maybe it was something they brought, much like we did with different items.” In saying so he gesticulates to their clay man associate, the hammer and chisel illustrating his point. “But it may also indicate that someone is smuggling weapons to the prisoners and in my professional opinion this would take knowledge on the itinerary of a certain vehicle.”

There was, after all, no other way to reach New Newgate. Any smuggler there had to know the times of the thing. More likely the time of the patrols too. The problem would be the price. Anything over ten pieces of gold would be too much for him. No choice but hope they can help with the costs, he thought with little worry.

“It may be a good idea to talk with other groups, the Boys excluded for obvious reasons.” Damien then started looking around, searching for someone likely to have ties with a possible contrabandist. His eyes rested upon the bandaged and the well-dressed groups. Tomb Colonists were well known for their love for fighting, making for likely, easy clients to anyone selling blades there. Fine clothes where a sign of wealth, maybe acquired from the other inmates. “My guess is that either the banded fellows or the stylish crew can know something. Any of you have other guess?”