Closed [The Drunken Fish]Of Drinks and broken tables[Kreig]

[Crylon Stonecraft]

5 Summer 519 Heading into the bar named after the inebriated fish, Crylon once more carefully eyed those about him. He had spent enough time in Sunberth to know that whenever there was a press of bodies, there was a good chance of someone trying something. And while he might be on the short side compared to the more common humans, as an Isur his odd and thick looking features -to the humans- and his intimidating blessed arm tended to make some think twice. It also did not hurt that he came in wearing his nicer clothing, which included an open chested vest showing off his Isurian physique. And it did not hurt either that he had little more money on him than what was needed to buy a few ales, and nothing else of apparent value on his person. Since those of the Gem had left, Crylon had stayed for the most part close to the docks, planning his own trip after them. But he had not quite been ready to leave the city so soon, and so had stayed a bit after they had left. Making his way to the bar, Crylon did his best to look intimidating to ware off anyone looking to start trouble. Mostly a salty bunch of what looked to be sailors, and a few other people he could not so easily determine provenance of. Standing up solid and straight, to show his heft behind his step seemed a straightforward tactic, though if his simplistic attempt at warding off trouble worked or no one felt the need to bother, he could not say. Regardless Crylon soon made his way to the bar, and taking a stool dropped the few coppers for a mug of ale, and ordered with a simple stated “Ale.” It was a simple single word in common he knew well, and which the barmaid understood well enough.

[Kreig Messer]

To say the Drunken fish was one of Kreig’s favorite places was a…incorrect statement to put lightly, oh it wasn’t a bad place in terms of food and drink by Sunberth standards but it was a dangerous place more so than many of its competitors. It was the go to for many ship crews and dockworkers, and those who work with the waters are a coarse sort especially if they’re Svefra.

Kreig, who was feeling a bit tipsy having been there a fair time now, chose the Drunken Fish out of convenience. He was aware of some of the eyes on him though, it wasn’t hard to notice the gazes of bitterness aimed at the brawler who flaked out on a fight, but that was not a reason for him to take heed, oh he felt some quilt towards that but when illness strikes there was little he could do about it, unfortunate that it had happened on the day of the fight and he’d missed it but it is what it is.

But alas, when gambling is involved and the wagers are high some elect to have a grudge instead. That became quickly apparent ten days after the fight and his illness passed and boy did the audience boo him like a heel. And of course there was the attempts to cripple him or end his life, those had been fun.

He snorted it into his ale before taking note of the isur who’d taken a seat next to him, looking as brawny as the rest of his ilk. Ah, Kreig could only feel pity for the fellow right now Isur or not, sitting so close to him invited trouble.

“Heey friend, reckon ya need to find a better seat or somethin’, I ain’t the most popular person in Sunberth if yer catchin’ my meanin’ “ He gave the warning, and no sooner had he said did someone think to toss in a response.

“Oooooh ya bet yer stinkin’ arse ya stuffed up petch arse shyke eatin’ whoreson” Came the line of insults and Kreig turned to see the reddened face of a fellow who clearly bet his money on Kreig that unfortunate day from past seasons. The brawler could only sigh as he gingerly stood up from his seat and looked to stare at the fellow, clearly human in plain clothes, balding with a bit of weight in his belly. His arms were bulky though, muscle gained from moving cargo no doubt.

“Ay, an’ how many times do I have to say I jus’ got a might sick that day? Its been seasons already man, can’t ya let bygones be bygones an’ let me buy ya an’ ale?” But the words didn’t sway the man not one bit it seemed.

“Don’ ya be tryin’ excuses on me ya shaftless bastard! Me an’ my mates bet a lot of miza on yer sorry ass an’ some of us are feelin’ it even now!” Kreig winced at that, again it had already been seasons and while some who still betted him gained their money back…. Some had continued to bet against him out of spite, much to dismay of their money purse and Kreig was assuming this fellow here was one of them unless he was one of those who decided to bet far more than what was wise of them, either way it spoke of money lost and grudges held “I oughta be takin’ a pound of flesh off of you you sorry bastard” He continued and of course he was getting support from some of his mates and some who aren’t, either sharing sentiments or just looking for an excuse.

‘Ah wonderful, one of those days again’ Been a while since it was one of those Kreig felt, but he supposed the lull was just that and now here was the storm. He turned hi head apologetically to the Isur who had the misfortune sitting next to him and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’.

The hornets’ nest was about to go berserk.
x

[Crylon Stonecraft]

So focused was he on appearing intimidating to ward off trouble, Crylon found himself unknowingly sitting right in the middle of said trouble. He did not even notice the person sitting near him at the bar, so focused on movement and other such things which might alert him to trouble. One person sitting alone at a bar near were he planned to sit, such did not seem an immediate or pressing trouble. It was not until the drunken human began to speak that Crylon's attention was drawn to him. However, whether due to his inebriated state or accented common, Crylon had trouble understanding him. At first he thought the human was threatening him, or being rude, but then he realized it was some odd attempt at the opposite of that. He was still trying to mull over the words and their possible meaning when another human from across the room began barking at the first human. His words seemed even less inteligble, and consisted more of curse words which he understood even less than the rest than any actual proper words used in normal speech. Turning to the new speaker Crylon saw he was a strong looking human, though no match for an Isur in a wrestling match or test of strength. Though he was having trouble piecing things together, he seemed to be pulling together bits which led to him getting a small bit of the gist of the situation. The human at the bar was supposed to have done something, somethiing the bar human and standing human both thought, -oh now the bar human was standing as well- but he had become ill and had not done it. The nearby human seemed apologetic, but with humans sincerity was a odd concept and not always clear. Money had been involved, betting of some sort, which had been lost when the nearby human had not been able to perform. Turning to the human, Crylon tried to query him on the situation he felt a lack of understanding on. “Why is human bet money on you? Or why is lose money? What is do? Or not do?” Betting on things was still somewhat odd to Crylon, he understood the concept but not the motivation. Why not just work and gain the money through time, rather than risk losing so much? It either was not truly betting, in which case you felt sure to win, or it was betting and seemed foolish. But then he was an Isur, and they were humans. As Crylon spoke one of the patch of humans with the first foulmouthed human seemed to have enough, and grabbed a mug of ale off a nearby table. Rounding in a overly dramatic fashion he reeled back and tossed it at the human by Crylon... Only to incredibly miss to such a degree that it smashed into the side of the first foul mouthed humans head. The ceramic mug shattered, and ale spilled down the mans back. It was then that Crylon noticed the man who tossed the mug was quite drunk, stumbling and swaying on his feet, barely standing. That, Crylon felt, explained his truly horrid aim. However, no friendship it seemed among the motley crew of angry folks, the foulmouthed man who was wet with ale moved his hands near his back only to draw them back out with a weapon of some sort. A short wooden haft with a rounded metal ball like object at the end. With a turn and step he moved at the drunkard who had struck him, and smashed him in the mouth with a backhanded swing. Said drunk fell backward, a spurt of blood flying from his mouth, landing on a table and flipping it over on top of himself. It was then Crylon realized, being a smith and understanding metal, that the head was not round but shaped. Ribbed, ridged, flanged, in some form. No sooner had he realized this that the wet and foulmouthed human turned back, facing back towards Crylon and the man he had sat next to. Another of the original group pulled out a short blade of some sort smaller than his forearm but which Crylon could not see well enough to name or identify. However what truly drew his attention was a bit of motion out of the corner of his eye, causing Crylon to rise from his seat once more. A chair had been lifted off the ground, and someone had hurtled it in their direction. Likely not aimed at Crylon. But Crylon being right next to the man it ended up flying directly towards him. Without thinking Crylon did the only thing he could do, raised his left arm in front of him to ward off the blow of the flying chair similar to how someone might raise a shield if they were holding one when something was launched at them. Of course Crylon's arm was far finer than any shield, if he managed to use it correctly.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig could only laugh as what appeared to be a thrown mug targeted at him crashed into the bastard who was spouting venom at the Brawler. But it was the spark as the humiliated tub of lard turned on the drunk with horrid aim and smashed him with a mace, Kreig’s gaze fell on the fallen drunkard whose mouth looked like a mess, the poor bastard seemed to be breathing at least which was good. Kreig recalled the last time a brawl went out of proportion due to a death, it was certainly not a pretty affair that was for certain. Kreig’s eyes scanned the remainder of the bar and sure enough other folks were starting to pick fight, and the lard’s crew were here to back him up as well; such loyal friends. From the corner of Kreig’s eyes he spotted someone preparing to fling a chair, seemed the Isur picked up on the fact of what was coming and was prepared to shield himself with his arm. For Kreig’s part however he picked up the stool he used as a seat and in a swift motion flung it upwards past the Isur to intercept the incoming chair, wood collided with wood and stopped the chair’s momentum as booth stool and chair crashed onto the ground in a broken heap. “Now now, ain’t polite to throw somethin’ at me when a feller who’s got nothin’ to do with it ‘s right nex’ to me” Kreig drawled as he looked at the 4th member of the lard’s crew, well… that was the assumption anyway. The rat looking figure approached with a chipped Hand-axe in hand, flushed face not hiding the murder in his eyes. “Hey Isur, if ya were still wonderin’ why they were bettin’ money me, its cuz I’m a prize fighter” Kreig answered as he cracked his knuckles, meanwhile loosening his boot as his gaze returned to the lard with the mace “Why they lost it? Well, I didn’t show up” Now whether the Isur understood or not Kreig didn’t know, but that didn’t matter now. “You filthy piece of rat meat costed me money” shouted Rat-face, echoing Lard’s sentiments and Lard charged forward to swing his mace at Kreig who responded by kicking up the loosened boot at Lard’s face, catching the brute off-guard as he stopped in his tracks as the boot struck an eye. Instinctively Lard raised his hand to cover the eye but he failed to see Kreig taking a step forward as he threw a heavy fist, the blow connecting with the back of Lard’s raised hand and pressing it hard against his eye. Lard let out a loud yelp of pain as he slammed head first onto the floorboards of the bar, rolling left and right as he covered his eye with the other hand and let go of his mace. This left him in the midst with the one who pulled what Kreig could identify as a long dagger, though the blade was strangely wavy… as if whoever made it couldn’t keep it straight though Kreig realized that was probably the intent. That left Rat-face with the hand-axe to come after the Isur “Hey Isur, if yer any good with that arm of yers I reckon ya ought give it a good swing” Kreig advised before focusing himself on the wavy dagger. “Now, that thing jus’ for show or you gonna stab me, ay fodder?”

[Crylon Stonecraft]

Bracing himself for the impact of the chair, Crylon stood with his indomitable Isur limb protecting him... Only for the expected blow to never land. Instead he saw some motion, and then watched as the human beside him, quicker thinking in a unruly brawl than he- or perhaps just more experienced with them- grabbed and flung a chair to collide with the first that had been thrown there way. It was an interesting tactic, and one a small part of his mind noted for use later. Force countered force, a chair stopped a chair if thrown as hard it seemed. The greater part of his mind however was working on the messy math of the room. The number of people of the original group, and others who might join in. At the moment it was himself plus the human he seemed to have teamed with, which made two against... One, two, three... Much easier to count if they stopped moving, Crylon thought to himself. Regardless quite a few, and while it seemed this other fellow was a good fighter he did not trust himself in anything more than a gentle tussle. A third much tinier part of his mind for a moment bemoaned the poor craftsmanship involved in the making of the stool and the chair, that both should so easily break with such a collision. Clearly not Isur made, or crafted by anyone of any skill or merit. Focused on the fight at hand and giving up on counting their odds as best he could, Crylon instead focused on those which seemed the most immediate threat. Whoever was closest and looked most liable to come at him. A man with a weathered and used axe of some sort, smaller sized, along with the first man with the metal club or sorts. The most immediate threat did not however seem aimed at Crylon, but the man with him. Crylon paused, waiting as it seemed the other man had some plan, which he clearly was working to enact as the men came at him. Crylon was not sure exactly what was done, but the man beside him seemed to kick and at the same time propel his foot covering off his foot and up to strike the man in the face. Before he could act further he continued onward, striking with a punch aimed at his face which struck the hand that had moved up to cover the eye struck by the foot covering. Another man coming on, angling at the shoe covering thrower beside him, this one wielding an oddly designed short blade of sorts. As this one same at the other man, the man with the axe came at Crylon. He knew he could not depend on the human to aid him, not when he was busy with his own fight and after having already helped him before. No, he needed to help himself, if he could, as best as he could. Stirred by the mans words and actions, Crylons mind blazed with a fiery maelstrom of creation. Wonder. Ideas. Plans. Numbers. And slowly a course of action built in his mind, taking from the other examples he had seen around him. Logically the shoe had been to put the man off balance, an unexpected blow to upset him and make him defensive in one way, which in response stopped the attack and made him vulnerable to a counterattack in a different manner. The punch. One, to weaken, two to strike. As his new human compatriot struck off with his own battle, Crylon continued in the manner he had been shown. In the Sunberth manner. The man with the axe came at Crylon, and he in Crylon turn grabbed the nearest object he could find and easily lift, an empty mug off the bar. With a pivot he turned and launched the improvised weapon at the man with the axe... With little more success than the other thrown mug. The axe wielder sidestepped and the mug flew past to shatter on the ground. But Crylon did not stop there, and as the man dodged the first Crylon grabbed another mug, and another, one for each hand, and threw them one by one at the axe wielder. One. Pause, two. As the second was launched he pushed forward and launched himself at the axe wielder. The next mug was smacked out of the air by the axe, having seen it coming. The last one smashed into his chest without any apparent damage really. Bits of broken pottery fell to the ground, dusting himself off just as Crylon came into range with a left armed punch aimed at the man. In response the axe wielder did what any sensible axe wielding man would do when a seemingly unarmed man came at him. He used his axe, and swung it directly at the offending limb being thrown at him. However instead of the satisfying soft and rough contact of metal entering his body as the axe user had expected, there was instead a jarring impact that swept his arm downward. The axe popped back, and as it did the poorly crafted wood haft snapped sending the axe head flying to the side away from both of the pair. What followed was a half moment of confusion as the human who was no longer wielding an axe froze and tried to understand what had gone wrong with his attempt at using a metal weapon against an oddly colored but otherwise normal limb. Crylon took that moment, having expected it from past experience, and used his right limb to strike at the man with a punch. A jab to the face, this one striking the man in the nose. While his right arm was not the indestructible tool of Izurdin like his left, he was still an Isur. Stronger of bone and denser of flesh by far than human, his fist meeting the mans face resulted in a smoosh as the nose caved in and a spurt as blood began flowing downward from the broken appendage.