33, Fall 519 AV
It didn't take long for Baelin to recognize the trap he was walking into. He could see the two scrawny street rats closing in behind him, the third helping to funnel him towards a corner behind a building, and a fourth waiting in said corner.
He was about to be robbed.
He didn't have a petching clue how to stop it.
The weight of his stone hammer was reassuring at his hip, but it wasn't like he really knew how to use it as a weapon. Sure, it was a good chunk of steel, and he had used it once with success to split a skull... but still. It was a tool, not a weapon. With a relatively sharp, angled chisel on one end and a flat, smooth face on the other, it was a heavy hammer designed for strong blows to split and trim stone. But it was still just a hammer designed to split stone. At no point was it intended to effectively fight people.
Well, it'd be getting a crash course in combat today, because Baelin sure as shyke wasn't just going to stand around while they robbed him. Baelin pulled the hammer from his waistband and stopped walking. Turning so that he had the three herders on his right and the one waiting in the trap to his left, Baelin braced himself.
The two street rats behind him stopped. One―tall yet lanky, with arms like sticks―halted and then backpedaled an extra step, caution evident in the way he moved. Stickman, Baelin decided to call him. The second tail he had wasn't so cautious and kept coming towards him. She walked with her arms slightly spread, head held tall, and a look of pure murder on her face. Trying to intimidate him into backing up, Baelin hedged. She reminded him of a seagull, puffing itself up and charging at someone much bigger than them. She'd be Gull, then.
When Baelin made no move to back up, Gull finally stopped. And then the third moved in. He was bigger than the rest. Of a height with Baelin―with the broad-chested strength to back it up―he looked to be their muscle. Brawn came out from behind the two original herders and pressed in towards Baelin. Unlike Gull, Brawn wasn't just the threat of violence, he was the promise of it.
Baelin was going to go in hard on the bet that Brawn was as cautious as Stickman. Taking a page from Gull's book, Baelin drew himself to his full height, raised his hammer up, and grinned. Look crazy, he told himself, They might back down if they think you’re crazy.
There was only a slight stutter-step from Brawn before he recovered and continued forward. Baelin had to decide: face the giant before him, or back up to the last of the crew waiting in the trap.
A smarter man might have been able to come up with a plan. Maybe could have figured out a way to twist the trap around to benefit him. But Baelin was not that kind of man. So when Brawn kept coming towards him, Baelin clacked his teeth together, rose his hammer up higher in preparation of a downswing, and charged.
Brawn must have been expecting him to back up, since he was caught mid-step between moving forward and bracing in position. But Gull was prepared. She lunged forward and dashed under Baelin, ducking around him and slicing a line of fire in his side. Baelin snarled and swung after her, hammer twisting in a motion that no blacksmith would need to use. She dodged it, dancing away from the chunk of steel's range, her knife held tight. Its edge was wet, and Baelin was sure that if he looked down, he'd see his side blooming with the same dark red.
Baelin was so focused on the girl and her knife that he didn't notice that Stickman had circled around him. It took him no more than a tick to realize his mistake, but that had been enough. There was a tug at his hip. Baelin swung back, his arc wide in the hope of catching something. A sharp yelp and a jarring shock that went straight to Baelin's wrist told him that he hadn't completely failed. But by the time he was able to finally twist around, it was to see Stickman already several paces away with Baelin's coin pouch clasped tightly in his grip. Even if Baelin had managed to land a blow, it hadn't been enough to stop the theft.
Stickman backpedaled, and the fourth finally left the corner that the group had been trying to herd Baelin towards. The fourth was of average build, average height, and such a forgettable face that it was almost unnerving in how utterly unremarkable he looked. Plain Joe jogged over to Stickman and held out his hand for the coin pouch. Stickman relinquished it without fuss, and then went to rub the fleshy part of his side. With a wince, Stickman put a few more paces between himself and the range of Baelin's swing. Baelin viciously hoped Stickman would be feel that bruise for days.
Plain Joe opened the pouch and leafed through the mizas. "One...five..." Plain Joe squinted and frowned, rolling the bag over to see into its recesses. After a moment, he looked back up to Baelin with an eyebrow raised in unimpressed derision. "Only two gold mizas and some silvers? C'mon, blacksmith, you make more than that in a day." Plain Joe rolled the bag in his hand, as if to accentuate his point with its light clinking. "Where's the rest of it?"
It didn't take long for Baelin to recognize the trap he was walking into. He could see the two scrawny street rats closing in behind him, the third helping to funnel him towards a corner behind a building, and a fourth waiting in said corner.
He was about to be robbed.
He didn't have a petching clue how to stop it.
The weight of his stone hammer was reassuring at his hip, but it wasn't like he really knew how to use it as a weapon. Sure, it was a good chunk of steel, and he had used it once with success to split a skull... but still. It was a tool, not a weapon. With a relatively sharp, angled chisel on one end and a flat, smooth face on the other, it was a heavy hammer designed for strong blows to split and trim stone. But it was still just a hammer designed to split stone. At no point was it intended to effectively fight people.
Well, it'd be getting a crash course in combat today, because Baelin sure as shyke wasn't just going to stand around while they robbed him. Baelin pulled the hammer from his waistband and stopped walking. Turning so that he had the three herders on his right and the one waiting in the trap to his left, Baelin braced himself.
The two street rats behind him stopped. One―tall yet lanky, with arms like sticks―halted and then backpedaled an extra step, caution evident in the way he moved. Stickman, Baelin decided to call him. The second tail he had wasn't so cautious and kept coming towards him. She walked with her arms slightly spread, head held tall, and a look of pure murder on her face. Trying to intimidate him into backing up, Baelin hedged. She reminded him of a seagull, puffing itself up and charging at someone much bigger than them. She'd be Gull, then.
When Baelin made no move to back up, Gull finally stopped. And then the third moved in. He was bigger than the rest. Of a height with Baelin―with the broad-chested strength to back it up―he looked to be their muscle. Brawn came out from behind the two original herders and pressed in towards Baelin. Unlike Gull, Brawn wasn't just the threat of violence, he was the promise of it.
Baelin was going to go in hard on the bet that Brawn was as cautious as Stickman. Taking a page from Gull's book, Baelin drew himself to his full height, raised his hammer up, and grinned. Look crazy, he told himself, They might back down if they think you’re crazy.
There was only a slight stutter-step from Brawn before he recovered and continued forward. Baelin had to decide: face the giant before him, or back up to the last of the crew waiting in the trap.
A smarter man might have been able to come up with a plan. Maybe could have figured out a way to twist the trap around to benefit him. But Baelin was not that kind of man. So when Brawn kept coming towards him, Baelin clacked his teeth together, rose his hammer up higher in preparation of a downswing, and charged.
Brawn must have been expecting him to back up, since he was caught mid-step between moving forward and bracing in position. But Gull was prepared. She lunged forward and dashed under Baelin, ducking around him and slicing a line of fire in his side. Baelin snarled and swung after her, hammer twisting in a motion that no blacksmith would need to use. She dodged it, dancing away from the chunk of steel's range, her knife held tight. Its edge was wet, and Baelin was sure that if he looked down, he'd see his side blooming with the same dark red.
Baelin was so focused on the girl and her knife that he didn't notice that Stickman had circled around him. It took him no more than a tick to realize his mistake, but that had been enough. There was a tug at his hip. Baelin swung back, his arc wide in the hope of catching something. A sharp yelp and a jarring shock that went straight to Baelin's wrist told him that he hadn't completely failed. But by the time he was able to finally twist around, it was to see Stickman already several paces away with Baelin's coin pouch clasped tightly in his grip. Even if Baelin had managed to land a blow, it hadn't been enough to stop the theft.
Stickman backpedaled, and the fourth finally left the corner that the group had been trying to herd Baelin towards. The fourth was of average build, average height, and such a forgettable face that it was almost unnerving in how utterly unremarkable he looked. Plain Joe jogged over to Stickman and held out his hand for the coin pouch. Stickman relinquished it without fuss, and then went to rub the fleshy part of his side. With a wince, Stickman put a few more paces between himself and the range of Baelin's swing. Baelin viciously hoped Stickman would be feel that bruise for days.
Plain Joe opened the pouch and leafed through the mizas. "One...five..." Plain Joe squinted and frowned, rolling the bag over to see into its recesses. After a moment, he looked back up to Baelin with an eyebrow raised in unimpressed derision. "Only two gold mizas and some silvers? C'mon, blacksmith, you make more than that in a day." Plain Joe rolled the bag in his hand, as if to accentuate his point with its light clinking. "Where's the rest of it?"
Dice Roll :
WC: 941