Journal Posts

Tag: brawl

Have a drink on me...
Hokur, if ye would be so kind, please put me down,” Maeve’s voice dripped with velvety sweetness.

“Nae. I cannae do that darlin’,” the big mercenary shook his head and tried to keep the riot of the bard’s hair out of his mouth as he spoke. He had one arm wrapped around her waist tightly, pinning her right arm to her side below the elbow as he held her left wrist in his other hand.

Hokur, I realize just because that feller deserves t’eat a bag of dicks beginnin’ with his own nae means I’m the one t’feed it to him. Set me down.” The sweetness was draining from her tone.

The Aral shook his head again, “Nae gonna do that dove, an’ ye knows why. Put it back.” Under nearly any other circumstances having his arms full of Maeve would have been a downright enjoyable experience, but as the situation stood at the moment it was deadly.

“Whate’er d’ye mean? Put what back?” blinking innocence and butterflies replaced the mock sweetness in her tone and were exponentially more menacing.

“Th’ Dodger. Drop it. Just ‘cause I’ve an armful of spittin’ mad wildcat nae means I di’nae notice ye pinched th’ Dodger. Drop it or hand it t’Raylen, them’s yer choices an’ one or th’ other needs t’happen before I’ll leave loose o’ ye.” Hokur felt her tense all the way through her frame and steeled himself for another barrage of kicks against his shins. Spellcaster she may be, but she was stronger than she looked and had enough alcohol in her system to stagger a good-sized city. Raylen had tried to warn him that she was a mean drunk as the fighter stepped into the altercation between her and some jack-a-nape that would likely be dead if he had not. He agreed that the bloke needed a lesson, but somehow he thought his new employer might not appreciate the Captain of his retrieval team being held by some northern clan chief for murder.

Hokur, ye overgrow’d armor rack, Set, Me, Down! Last warnin’,” Maeve gritted through her teeth as the fighter flexed his grip and forced the air out of her lungs.

“Nae lass, I cannae do th-” the bard lashed back with her head in an attempt to smash his nose but he felt it coming and turned his head so he caught blow on his brow and left eye which was enough to make his vision swim for a few heartbeats but he held her fast. A quick shift of his hips kept him from being gelded with his own blade as Maeve reversed her grip on the Dodger. “Settle down lass! We’ll be havin’ none o’ that foolishment now!” he growled through clenched teeth. He hissed at the other two of his new comrades-in-arms, “Bit o’ help here if’n ye nae mind!”

Arcelli shook his head and took a leisurely drink of his ale as Raylen blinked, momentarily unsure of how to assist. Inspiration struck so he muttered a quick prayer and darted a hand in, touching Maeve’s pinioned arm. The wild light of ale-fueled rage cleared from the troubadour’s eyes instantly and she ceased her struggles to hang tense and panting in the fighter’s grip. “That should at least sober her up.”

Hokur put his mouth close to the bard’s ear and whispered so only she could hear, “Aye darlin’, that jake’s earned anythin’ ye cared t’dish him and more, I’ll nae dispute it. But look ‘round ye; ye’re nae in Salpia now – we’re deep in Turnbull lands and this is nae a blood feud ye want t’be startin’, ye’re a Lachlan, an allied clan, so’s it’d go twice-hard fer yer folk. We just come from yer brother’s handfastin’, d’ye really want t’cost him everythin’ he’s nae even had time t’enjoy yet?” Hokur felt some of the tension in the contora’s limbs relax; at least she was listening.

“Now, I’ve nae any love of these ignor’nt, braggart Turnbull bastards me own self but shankin’ one o’ their men at arms in one o’ their own taverns is suicide fer ye, and us, and a parcel o’ headache ye’d ne’er wish t’saddle yer clan with,” he could feel the muscle in her jaw jump against his moustache as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. “Bloody mayhem is th’ onliest thin’ a Turnbull’s any good fer since th’ gods only gifted ‘em with size and nae brains; I’ve served with enough of ‘em t’know. And I’ve broke bread with yer clan so’s I’m nae gonna let ye do somethin’ they’ll regret just because ye got too deep in yer cups.”

Maeve took as deep a breath as Hokur's grip would allow and nodded, “Aye, I did and it was stupid. My ire’s still fresh on one Turnbull in particular but since I cannae take it out on him I was goin’ for next best. Lemme down and we’ll make sure I nae sliced either of us.”
Session: Sail away, sail away, sail away... - Sunday, Jan 20 2013 from 11:00 AM to 7:00 PM
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Tags: Booze , Brawl , Doh!
Epic × 2!
I'm still standin'
Talasko and the other Dran must’ve had about the same estimation of this Gratt as I did, givin’ him no sympathy for his apparently busted arm, “Gratt” bein’ the critter’s name he gave of himself whilst he was pratin’ on about Raul, since they commenced t’whoopin’ and hollerin’ and headin’ in for a good dust up. As they was too occupied t’see what I was doin’ I gave the worg the slip, literally, by greasin’ up the ground under its paws sendin’ it belly up, and commenced t’singin’ so’s my fellers would feel at home whilst they was whollopin’. I glanced across my shoulder and spied that Raylen and one of the other Dran, Hoitcurie by name, had a worg of their very own t’contend with so’s I started fishin’ my bow out whilst singin’ t’be prepared when that cussed thing finally stood up. I heard the familiar crunch of mace on meat and bone so’s I glanced up t’see Fearghus slingin’ gore offa his weapon whilst windin’ up for another shot just as Talasko goes flyin’ from an awesome backhanded blow from Gratt. Arcelli was featherin’ the giant whilst two of the other Dran carved chunks outta Gratt like there was no t’morrow… ‘course as it turns out there wasn’t fer the giant but I’m gettin’ ahead of me.

The big Dran shook his head back on straight as Raul dusted him off a bit before chargin’ back in t’meet Gratt at the same time said jake was reversin’ his swing and aimin’ a heavy, body-twistin’ whollop at dear cousin who instead caught the blow full on his shield – which, as an aside, rung at the same pitch as the tenor bell on the Temple of Halcyon in Salp – but as a testament t’Aral stubbornness he planted his feet and traded blow fer blow with the giant instead of gettin’ flung off as I’m sure the critter intended. Talasko evidentially isn’t as obstinate as Fearghus as he went flyin’ again this time from a forehand swing what caught him right under the ribs, knockin’ him flat on his arse and takin’ the wind straight outta him such that it took him a few seconds and more ministrations from Raul t’suck in enough air so’s he could run back up and get in his licks. Cacciatore took the opportunity of gaps in the critter’s defense t’feather him again. Now for some reason the critter decided t’take out his frustration at beginin’ t’look like a hedgehog on Turnbull… but as I’ve mentioned, Fearghus was goin’ nowhere; he stayed standin’ right straight in front of Gratt regardless of how hard that bastardin’ thin’ hit him and as the sound of the Halcyon bell rung again over the general din of fightin’ Gratt begin t’look right puzzled that Fearghus was not only stayin’ upright but was still comin’ in for more. ‘Twas ‘bout that time that I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced back over my right shoulder.

Raylen disappeared behind his horse which is t’say the worg knocked him on his kiester which might’ve been right deadly had Hoit not been there t’finish it off. Fortunate for me Raul came round and convinced the surroundin’ shrubbery t’cuddle the other puppy, so’s t’speak, and hold it fast t’the ground so’s those with bows could finish it off after the giant was tucked under which, with the way Fearghus was whollopin’ and Arcelli was featherin’ with the Dran choppin’ away as well, they did in good order. Once the kerfuffle was over I wandered up t’the gents as they was pokin’ at Gratt and lookin’ at his busted wing and says Arcelli it looks like he ran afoul of a boar t’which Fearghus and Raylen concurred havin’ been through just such an experience not terrible far back themselves. Asks I, not t’anyone in particular but just musin’ in general mind ye, how the hells big a pig would have t’be t’be able t’reach the arm of a critter what was ten foot tall t’which end everyone sort of stared at me like I was daft. I thought it a good question. Regardless, says Raul that this territory isn’t Gratt’s usual haunt and that the giant had a cave but looks like he’d been shooed out of it by somethin’ but he nae knew what… which seemed t’go over better than my giant pig question though they was tight related… men!

The mornin’ came up cold and clouded which is likely why no one was thinkin’ clear about what we were there t’do but rather decided t’go see what had bested Gratt… like that had aught t’do with rams or the fast dwindlin’ time we had left – but as the Dran was concerned with what might be headed toward their lands we had t’go larkin’ about the countryside in search of we nae knew what instead of what we damn well came for. The fact that we found nothin’ nae sat well on my mood so’s I bedded down in a foul temper – which may well be hard t’believe, but it happens on occasion. Sometime in the night, I was sleepin’ so’s I’ve no ideer whose watch it was, there came a howlin’ on the wind what wasn’t natural but sounded fair familiar once we’d shook the night webs outta our skulls – gnolls. But there was somethin’ off about ‘em that shook even seasoned blokes so’s I commenced t’beltin’ out a Nord battle chant – as they nae need t’be sung so’s I could basically shout so’s everyone in ten leagues could hear me – and gave it a little magical goose since none of the Dran could see what I was doin’ and would likely nae notice a little arcane assistance masked by song.

I nae saw the fight but as I’m sittin’ here tellin’ the tale ye can guess that it went general in our favor regardless of the fact that the gnolls was tainted with some flavor of hell-stink what made ‘em harder t’hurt and able t’spook even hard-bitten types. The Dran declared ‘em of “Ol’Tara” and said they had t’be burned so’s there was that t’cut int’ our time as well but I was much less chaffed by it since fiends are nae t’be trifled with even if they’re half-bred and burnin’ will cure quite a lot of evils if ye pour on enough pitch. We set the blaze in a wide clearin’ and with all of the snow there was little chance of it settin’ the surroundin’ countryside ablaze so’s our nature lovers declared it safe t’continue t’ward the giant’s former digs.
Session: What?! another game within 2 weeks! - Sunday, Jan 22 2012 from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM
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Tags: Brawl
Careful What You Wish For...
Now, you know ye nae liked where ye was when force-marchin’ a cantankerous horse through knee-deep snow is an improvement t’yer circumstances t’the point where ye have t’bite yer tongue t’keep from singin’ out of pure joy, but that is precisely the situation I found my own self in as we followed Raul, the druid if’n ye’d fergot, up Spiones Pass heavy on the heels of the Dran what had brought the dead Salp sage t’Shitehole, er, Sperso. The sun was direct overhead and providin’ little warmth when the fellers spotted the remnants of a camp which our outdoorsy guide, Raul nae Arcelli, said belonged t’the very Dran fellers we was trackin’ down which meant eatin’ in the saddle instead a stoppin’ fer lunch and pushin’ well past sundown t’meet up with said Dran, which we did.

T’be honest, I’d ne’er met a Dran bloke or lass before so’s I had only the wild descriptions I’d teased out of the few folk I’d chatted with in Sperso and general rumor and conjecture I’d gleaned at the Academé whene’er the subject of barbarians came up, which is fair often in a group of folks what think they’re more civilized than nigh anyone else in the known world. There was four of ‘em sittin’ round a fire with steel in their fists and dark, wary eyes peerin’ int’ the darkness toward us such that Raul had us stop as he rode frontward and hailed ‘em in their own tongue which served t’at least have ‘em lay steel aside and make with much shoulder slappin’ and laughter. Raul motioned us closer and I got my first goodish look at a Dran.

First off, Dran are nae twelve feet tall – as the more wild descriptions I’d heard claimed – but rather of a height more common in us Araldites rather than our vertically-challenged neighbors to the west so’s the exaggeration was understandable, and the fellers we supped with were to a man big… one of ‘em may well have been wider at the shoulder than our own dear Fearghus. They are swarthy of complexion t’the point that I was put in mind of a particular table in Namen’s study what’s made of black walnut heart wood, which makes their expressions passin’ hard t’read by firelight unless they smile – which they do with great frequency. Without exception they had full, wooly beards and their hair hung in what I thought at first was braids but turned out t’be long, compact mats, kind of like a sheep too long betwixt shearin’s so’s the wool is devilish hard t’card, shot through with beads, bones and all manner of colorful adornment. Likewise their clothes were a riot of color and even the leather of their armor was dyed gay colors with sworls and patterns of every hue. The leader went by the name Talasko and was the only one what spoke a stitch of Salpian so’s he and Raul shared translatin’ duties though the other three nae said overmuch t’require the service as they spent most of the time listenin’ t’what was told t‘em and noddin’.

One of the few thin’s I did know about our new acquaintances was that they’ve a powerful distaste for all things arcane which was why I’d concocted a story fer why we needed t’hunt down a zoggin’ huge horned critter, that story bein’ that Fearghus had a rite of passage t’accomplish by takin’ on the legendary cussedness of a dire ram on his lonesome. The Dran understood the concept, havin’ somethin’ nigh ont’ it in their own culture, and as we was accomplishin’ their dear departed friend’s dyin’ wish and Raul vouched us safe, they agreed t’guide us t’the critters we sought which suited me down t’my boots as I was nae lookin’ forward t’scourin’ the entirety of the Altaran Fence at random fer a critter we’d only rumors and speculation as t’where t’find. We bedded down us in ours and them in theirs and first light the next mornin’ they commenced t’dollin’ Fearghus up fer his trial, and contrary t’what ye might think there was more than a smudge of mud here an’ there – every inch of his head was done up in wee braids with bone, bead and bangle (some of which I’ll admit I provided) and he was painted from hairline t’waist with the most elaborate tangle of serpentwined intricacy that I’ve ever seen put t’any canvas, livin’ or otherwise.

By the time the sun was at its zenith the Dran was done with Fearghus’ make-up so’s we headed up the pass and made good time as nothin’ terrible excitin’ befell our li’l group ’til after we’d lunched the next day. I was ridin’ at the back so’s I nae realized that something was afoot until I heard what sounded like someone took a rasp t’a rock then rolled it in gravel and was usin’ it as a voice. In the path ahead was possibly the biggest, ugliest jake I’d ever laid eyes on and it was bellyachin’ that it wanted us t’leave Raul on his lonesome so’s they could have a talk which was impossible just on general principles leave alone anythin’ else. I caught a flicker at my left and might just’ve cussed a bit as a worg, which is a crashin’ big wolf what’s figured out how t’talk which is unsettlin’ enough in its own right without the added fact that they’re nigh ont’ as contrary as an owlbear, is sidlin’ up outta the brush. Which reminds me, I needs must remind me t’nae wish for excitement quite so often when I’m in open country.
Session: What?! another game within 2 weeks! - Sunday, Jan 22 2012 from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM
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Tags: Brawl
Epic × 2!
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago...
I suppose that movin’ to a mate’s defense in the face of certain defeat is an admirable trait in most folk but somehow the Regulars managed to make it look pitiful. That probably had to somethin’ t’do with the number of ‘em that got their bells rung when they stepped up within arm’s reach of my fellers. Mind you, we’d just come in from the road and were still kitted out fer dealin’ with whate’er the Fates might throw at us and the Regulars was in their civvies and several sheets to the wind besides so it’s nae arrogance that turned my thoughts to the piteousness of the army blokes but rather an ability to spot the obvious. Arcelli wrapped his trophy necklace up in his fist and gave one of the sots a good clip to the nose whilst Raylen raises his hands to the air and beseeches Neguma to enlighten those what stood against us as to the error of their conduct or some such – it was a trifle hard to make out everythin’ he said over the groanin’ of the wise arse on the floor and the meaty smack of knuckles meetin’ teeth as Fearghus walloped another one to an early bedtime. The whole thin’ kinda tickled me so I decides that one of the old battle chanteys that my Grand Dame used t’sing when my brothers were scufflin’ over one thin’ or another was an apt addition to the melee and general air of jocularity… see Fearghus was grinnin’ like a fool and Arcelli looked right pleased with himself so’s it couldn’t be too terrible serious.

Whilst I’m larkin’ by the bar the innkeep, a man of wits as I’ve said before, decides to scuttle behind the bar as to have somethin’ solid between himself and the whirl of fists and feet that his tavern has become. Fearghus thumps another bloke what was within his considerable reach as Arcelli lays flat the unfortunate soul he’d already bloodied the nose of as one of the army chits slaps at him just enough to get his attention but nae enough t’hurt him overmuch. Raylen, to his credit as he’s a wee feller and nae well-versed in the crackin’ of skulls what deserve it, unslings his shield and steps up so’s the Regulars can’t get behind Arcelli just as one of the aforementioned idiots was tryin’ to do that very thin’. Courtesy of the bar and a fortunately-placed table we were a solid wall of defense against anyone comin’ after Ilario or mobbin’ up on us but that didn’t keep the blighters from jockeyin’ around to try to get in their licks. Fearghus had three jakes on him and they landed a few blows but nothin’ that made the Aral do more than let out a feral laugh as he found himself square in his element.

I’m havin’ a hard time rememberin’ all the words because I’m fit to bust my knickers laughin’ at the scene before me but I manage well enough that the fellers are pickin’ up the rhythm of the song and really goin’ t’town. About that time is when Fearghus reaches diagonal to the Regular that actually landed a fist on him and lays said bloke out colder than the snow outside and one of the army cusses comes straight over the table at Arcelli. I’d never seen a Salpian fly until that point but that is the only way I can describe how that fool Regular looked as the ranger flipped him overhead and direct onto the floor. The priest gawped fer a heartbeat but noticed the fist comin’ at his face in time to raise his shield t’meet it and I’ll gladly say that the ringin’ that sounded through the room from that blocked hit matched the most glorious golden bell on the highest temple tower in Salp. The howlin’ from the Regular as he clutched his mangled paw wasn’t so melodious but it was still quite pleasant to my ears truth be said.

I might have intimated at some point that army types aren’t very quick on the uptake in the wits department and the fact that they kept comin’ even after havin’ half or better of their number beat like beggars bears out my observation quite nicely. Arcelli favored the amazin’ flyin’ Regular with the heel of his boot so’s the chit didn’t have to bother standin’ up or stayin’ awake whilst Raylen reaches over his shield and gives the howlin’ bloke what had tried to dent his shield a cuff to the back of the head that had what were you thinkin’? writ all over it which was no small wonder as the bloke towered over the priest by a good half head. Fearghus took a poke to the ribs that he appeared to fair well ignore as he was watchin’ one of the other sots hop up onto the bar and run at him… or rather run his most holy of holies, if y’take my meanin’, directly into one of them sledge hammer Aral fists. I thought Fearghus was gonna have t’finish the fight with a Salpian fer a glove the way that bloke crumpled over double around his fist which might have been safer fer the poor gent as he was so busy clutchin’ his self that he didn’t put his hands up when he fell off of the bar, head first, onto the floor with what proved to be a fair sickenin’ crunch.

Before any of the other Regulars could follow their mate’s misfortunate lead I hopped up on the bar to keep Fearghus’ side covered so’s he couldn’t be flanked by that pack of army dogs. I’d just swung myself up and was kickin’ the stupid out of one of my fellow Araldite’s opponents as he sent another one to the land of Sorcha with one smack and Arcelli clobbered the one next to him with similar effect when I saw the bell-ringer grab the top of Raylen’s shield and land him a square hit directly to the chin that snapped the priest’s teeth together but didn’t put him down fer the count – I think he might just be tougher than he realized which would be a new learnin’ experience fer him so’s I’m imaginin’ he’s fair pleased with the outcome regardless.

‘Twas at this point that I saw feet on the stairs across the room as the commandant and the remainin’ five of his men finally appeared, to see what the entire ruckus was about I suppose, though what he asked was a fair bit less intelligently stated and he sounded like he’d had a badger take up lodgin’ in his nose – kind of a nasally, muffled shrill that was fair pitiful enough even I felt sorry fer him. Says I that we was just disciplinin’ his troops what had the audacity to lay hands on the innkeep when he tried to save some of his stores fer actual payin’ customers who didn’t have to misrepresent their deeds to get a jack of ale – I have to admit my blood was up a bit so’s I was a little less diplomatic than usual and didn’t care. Fearghus was in mid-swing so’s he laid one last trotter out as I was bringin’ the commandant up to speed and I nudged him so’s he didn’t head over to the stairs and continue the lesson on gents what wasn’t in on the initial insult.

The commandant looked fair miserable as he pinched the bridge of his nose and detailed those few of his men that was still upright – that bein’ one of the sots and the five blokes on the stairs – to take those what was cold-cocked to their rooms so’s they could sleep it off. Ilario jumps in here and says that he’s takin’ two rooms back because he’s got payin’ customers to which I added that the Regulars looked to be sleepin’ fair comfortable where they lay. I asked if there was a medico in the compliment and found out quick that unfortunately it was the bugger behind the bar what had cracked his head on the floor which is precisely fer whom I’d been in search of a healer for. Raylen saw to his wounds in an admirable display of there bein’ no hard feelin’s between the lot of us. As the commandant turned to go back upstairs to his sick bed I stopped him and suggested kindly that I’d a word I’d like to have with him and that I’d make him a tonic fer his cold, with the innkeep’s permission to use his kitchen, which would have him right as a trivet in no time. He groused but came the rest of the way down whilst I popped into the kitchen to make the most unwholesome concoction I could as everyone knows the worse a medicine tastes, the better it works.
Session: Game Two Bizatch! ...or Get in that Hole! - Saturday, Jul 09 2011 from 11:30 AM to 5:30 PM
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Tags: Brawl
One in every crowd
Now, whilst we had only the immediate aim of warmin’ up and fillin’ our bellies in mind when we hit the door of the inn the universe at large had a slightly different plan. When we’d stomped and shook off the majority of the out-of-doors we’d brought in with us and set our eyes to the relative brightness of the tavern room after wandrin’ through the windy darkness we came to be aware that the room was near filled to capacity with none other than the illustrious Regulars we were aimin’ at pressin’ into service fer gods, country and our own amusement and profit. Be it said that in a room what only comfortably sits about twelve bodies upright havin’ ten free-loadin’ soldiers sprawled about in various stages of intoxication grousin’ about the cold that came in with us made fer a less than cheery welcome.

Spied I the innkeep and bein’ sociable I waved to him and high-stepped over the layabouts to meet him at the end of the bar. Says he that he’s right glad t’see payin’ customers but he’s afraid every room he’s got is full up of Regulars but that he supposes at least this time they earned it since they did remove the hob threat. Auntie Mo would’ve whacked me twice with the big ladle fer the very un-ladylike snort of outright disgust that I let out hearin’ that. I said it wouldn’t make us no nevermind to bed down in the stable with the horses but then leaned in conspiratorial like as the fellers had grouped around me and the innkeep by then so’s I knew they could hear me but the Regulars couldn’t and I asked the gent – Ilario by given name – if he’d thought it passin’ strange that the heads what the Regulars had been showin’ off were missin’ their fang teeth. Arcelli takes his cue like an old hand and begins twirlin’ the necklace of aforementioned incisors around his finger casual-like though his face is eight shades of murder. Now Ilario is a fair quick feller in the wits department and he puts his two and two together and comes up with bein’ took fer a fool and is fair chaffed about it instantly.

Says I that I’d like to chat with the commandant about some other business before retirin’ to the stable and asks about his whereabouts to which the innkeep replies that the commandant is sick and already upstairs but nae to worry that he’ll go rouse said illustrious leader and get us some proper rooms. Says I that it really isn’t necessary as we’d just like a li’l spot by the fire to warm our bones after trekin’ in the snow fer the better part of the past week. Says he that he’ll nae have it said that he treated payin’ guests in such a shoddy manner and he begins to roust the layabouts from in front of the hearth.

Now it’s a gods-simple truth that there is one wiseacre in every crowd and this bunch of Regulars was well represented in that department by a snide sot what offers me his knee and the warmth of his company, if y’take my meanin’, to which I replied that me and my sword would likely nae fit in such a confined space but that Fearghus might take him up on the offer at which point my Aral companion batted his lashes at the wise-arsed drunkard and piped up his assent with a suggestion that would nae be at all polite to repeat but sufficed in gettin’ the lout to his feet. On the heels of this, so t’speak, Ilario announces that he’s cuttin’ off the lot of ‘em from the taps as the voucher covers only bed and board nae spirits. The Regular, Pino I was later to learn his name was, grabs the innkeep by the shirtfront and commences to try to shake the poor feller to make him change his mind.

Let me make this perfectly clear and leave no hint of a doubt; if y’learn nothin’ else about me you should be painful aware that mistreatin’ a tapmaster, particularly in his own place of business, is one of the surest ways to set me instantly on a bloody warpath that can only end in the offender’s abject humiliation. So’s before Pino can get in two good shakes on poor Ilario I intervene by dazin’ him slack jawed and, coincidentally, it would seem that Fearghus shares my opinion of how to treat an innkeep because no sooner had the glaze had set in Pino’s eyes before my Aral companion’s ham-sized fist rocked the Regular back on his heels to crumple into a pile what came damnable close to landin’ in the fire. Were this a different kind of tale I would say that the rest of the Regulars took this pugilistic lesson in etiquette to heart and apologized to the innkeep whilst pickin’ their comrade up and haulin’ him out of the way but … they wouldn’t be Regulars if they was that smart so a good old-fashioned brawl commenced.
Session: Game Two Bizatch! ...or Get in that Hole! - Saturday, Jul 09 2011 from 11:30 AM to 5:30 PM
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Tags: Booze , Brawl , Dust Up