OOC > I love you guys.

Running dude Acrobatics: 14

Ilena doesn't even notice the street, the Watch, the dead bodies, the apprehended folks, or the blood until the shout, then she shows unnatural quickness as she rakes the guy's feet out from under him with a swift and graceful kick. He falls and rolls on the ground, ending up at Jorin's feet, who calmly puts a boot on his neck. Hildi leans in, shakes his head.

Two of the Watch come running up, and one roughly handles the man, taking him back to the others. The ruffian sneers at you and says, "We'll remember that!"

The other Watchman clears his throat. "Thank you for that," he says. "Good relexes there, miss. Thank you for the assistance, but a word of advice: keep those weapons locked securely at your hip, and try not to get more of a reputation with these Zhentarim scum. Let us deal with them. Move along now, it's late."

Hildigrim and Jorin will recognize by his insignia that he is a Captain. Hildi does not recognize him, so he must be new to the Dock Ward.

Hildi has seen the ruffian around before, but does not know him or anything about him. Dude has an eye tattoo on his neck.

Ilena shrugs and looks confused. She pats her hips looking herself over and checking for weapons, then kind of half turns her torso (making a few audible pops as she stretches her spine) and remembers there is indeed a dagger strapped to her waist against her lower back.

"Oh this? This is just for utility, cutting rope and the like..." she thinks to herself my only weapons are these guns hmm... what are guns anyway? patting her biceps. 

"Thank you, Captain," Hildigrim says, gently ushering his friends along. When he feels they are out of earshot, the halfling says to the group in an undertone, "Another with the eye tattoo. The Watch may have identified them as Zhents, but they're with the Xanathar Guild, not the Zhentarim. I wonder if this is some of what Semmy was telling us about."

Ilena chews her lip, trying to figure out what the Zhentarim, Xanathars, and Semmys might be "uh... to me it sounds like you just said a bunch of made up words but... okay."

Pascal nods, “Buncha gangs. Don’t worry ‘bout it too much, Madame, all these common words sound weird to me too. They ain’t got no... eh...  je ne sais quoi. They just ain’t the same.”

"The Zhents — Zhentarim is a faction that's been around a while. They usually keep quiet, but they're always looking for ways to gain power ... in ways that aren't always on the up and up, but usually not so brazenly unlawful. The Xanathar Guild, well ... We're just hearing about them. We ran into Semmy — a guy from the old neighborhood — on our way into Waterdeep. He says the Zhentarim and the Xanathar are feuding, and it's getting dangerous. I wonder if we just saw the results of another confrontation."

"But how does the City Watch fit in with the Xantarim and the Zhenathars?"

"Poor saps have the job of trying to keep one from killing the other," Hildgrim gives an ironic grin.

You continue on your way, but to be safe you head a little west to Snail Street, what passes for a thoroughfare in the Dock Ward. If anything, the streets here are busier than they were in the better parts of town, but not so busy that you interact with anyone. You do get some lingering looks, given your... strangeness.

Finally, after some twists and turns, you enter an alley off of Fillet Lane, and a few turns in find the Skewered Dragon. It looks like a ruin. Both of its front-facing windows are smashed, and a ship’s anchor is lodged in the roof. Through the windows, you can see a group of haggard patrons drinking from huge tankards in dim torchlight.

OOC > Feel free to tell me how you enter and what you do. Who do you approach (a random patron, the barkeep), what do you ask.

Jorin's eyes light up at the sight of the Dragon.  He had frequented here several times after crewing a ship.  It was a good place for cheap drink, and ruckus entertainment.

He steps slightly ahead of group, towards one of the busted out front windows.  As he approaches, he puts a hand on the sill and vaults up, over, and through the broken pane, landing with a thump on the other side.

The patrons look up as Jorin makes his entrance. One of them drunkenly raises his tankard in recognition of the feat. The barman, who looks to be the only employee in the place this late, looks over. “You’ve not had enough to drink, if you can manage that.”

Quote from Mingofaust >>

OOC > Feel free to tell me how you enter and what you do.

 Drusk approaches the tavern first by doing a moonwalk, and then into a Russian squat-and-kick dance.

(No, I'm kidding.) Drusk puts on a goofy glower expression, and flanks Hildigrim, to appear like hired muscle. He won't say anything, but will listen to the other patron's conversations for anything of interest (kidnappings, gang fights, etc.) Perception check if needed: 21 (Edit: apparently the room acoustics are poor)

"Aye friend, " Jorin says to the bar tender, "I've been feasting all evening, yet sure footed as a wolf in winter!"

He nods at the patron who raised his tankard, head towards his table, and begins to pull a few empty chairs to it (enough for the rest of the group). "Five of your biggest ales, and one more for my new friend here." he says, then extends an hand in greeting to the tavern-ite, "Jorin Maul, of the Bodt."

Ilena pulls her cowl up to cover her head and pulls her coat in tight and crosses her arms looking very uncomfortable. Looking at all the broken glass and sticky spots on the ground, for once Ilena is really glad that she's wearing boots. She tries to huddle between the guys because they seem to be relatively comfortable, and tries to sit between them when Jorin pulls the chairs over. She tries to look around and keep her ears open from her safe vantage point sitting with her friends.

perception : 11

While Ilena sure-footedly crosses the wood floor, bits of broken glass tinkling under her boots, Hildigrim curses quietly as he dances about, attempting to miss each shard with his tough-yet-bare halfling feet. When he reaches the table, he gladly scrambles into a chair.

Pascal simply walks through it with his natural armor, “Oh come on, ain’t nothing but a little glass. Y’all never woulda survived back in the bayou! Scared o’ a little sticky spots and sharp stuff, ha! Wait till ya gotta butcher a hydra! Now there’s a day!”

Jorin and the rest of you pull up empty chairs to the table of the guy unlucky enough to have noticed Jorin's leap through the window. He is a dwarf, remarkable mostly because he wears a fistful of silver rings on his fingers. His voice slurs as he talks.

"Allo! Are ye jes' startin' yer drinkin' day, then?" He peers at Ilena as she squeezes between Drusk and Jorin. "Yuir the one to watch for, it's the slight ones can hold their drink like an upside down pirate!"

The handful of patrons in the place look at you all nervously. You're quite a sight, and well armed.

OoC - About how many people are in the tavern?