Bar Room Blitz ((Andric))

[Thorne]

Radasanth.

It had been a real hell-hole during the recent upheaval. Fighting in the streets, riots, rebellion, looting, and many, many lightly guarded rich estates. Thorne had loved it. While civil unrest may have made it harder to walk the streets, and brought the local City Watch out in droves, it also made it a very profitable time for the thief. And, he admitted to himself, he had enjoyed the minor excitement of racing the looters to the nearest unguarded manor, fat with loot.

But now?

Now it was back to normal- Thorne worked alone, night after night, stealing from the rich singularly for his own profit. Tonight was a quiet night though. The grey-and-black clad thief was sitting alone in the back of the Horny Satyr pub, far from the roaring fire, and rowdy patrons. The building was made in typical Radasanth style, with doors leading in front and back, windows in the upstairs rooms, and even a few balconies higher up- all in all, a nice little cash-cow for anyone in his trade. The pub itself, however, took up the entire ground floor, a bar in the corner, and most of the floor taken up by tables and stools with booths lining the walls. It was always crowded, being located near enough to the docks to bring in many sailors looking for a good time. Indeed, the girls in the upstairs rooms were said to provide a very good night, providing the price was right. Rumour had it (and Thorne made a point of hearing as many rumours as he could- they could prove useful to him) that the owner, a grouchy old bugger from Salvar had bribed enough of the Watch to keep the law out of his establishment.

Even sitting in the back of the pub, he had his hood drawn up, hiding his face in the deep shadows. The slightest glint of light caught his green eye as he eyed up the bar's regulars (and irregulars), judging how much gold each of them carried- since he'd entered an hour earlier, many of the patrons were one or two coins lighter; not so much that they'd notice, especially the more inebriated customers, but enough to line the thief's pockets nicely. He could hear a storm brewing outside, rain lashing against the few small porthole windows set in the walls, so filthy with grime and tobacco stains that they could not really be considered 'windows'.

He was waiting on one of his contacts- a Dark Elf who required his services. Thorne's schedule was relatively empty at the moment, so he relished the chance to get out in the field for a decent challenge. So far, though, there was no sign of the contact. Thorne was willing to give it another half-hour before he left. He did not appreciate being kept waiting. The door to the bar opened, and the thief's keen eyes darted to the entrance... But no, it was a Dwarf that entered, not his man. Idly rolling a copper coin across his knuckles, Thorne went back to eyeing up the customers: If his appointment didn't show, he could at least lift a few purses before retiring to his safe-house.

*CRACK!!*

The door broke on its hinges, swinging crookedly inwards. A deep voice boomed out over the muttered conversations and bawdy songs. The man- a captain, judging by the marking on his chestplate- belonging the voice sauntered in. He was huge; not merely big, but truly huge. His body was covered in slabs of muscle, swelling underneath the plates of his armour, barely contained within his straining City Watch uniform. Fat greasy fingers stroked an equally greasy beard, his bald, scarred head reflected the dim light, and his pig-like eyes glinted with sadistic glee.

"IN THE NAME OF THE ASSEMBLY, THIS IS A BLEEDIN' RAID. WE'RE LOOKIN' F'RA THIEF NAMED THORNE. HAND HIM OVER AND WE WON'T HAVE ANY TROUBLE!! ANY OF YOU SODS RESIST AND WE WILL USE FORCE!"

A single drunk staggered up to the grotesquely muscled captain, slinging his arm round the man's shoulders, slurring, "c'mon lad, whassall 'is nonshen-- *hiccup* nonshense? 'Ave a ale on me.."

The Watch Captain turned, and with a malicious grin, hit the old man in the face with an iron cudgel, sending him to the floor in a spray of blood and broken teeth. Before anyone could react the room descended into chaos: A flood of City Watchmen burst into the pub, clubs and blades drawn, laying into the patrons with savage abandon. Several were dragged outside, barely conscious.

Well, Thorne thought, this isn't good.

He made no moves, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Trying to keep a low profile, he kept sipping his ale, his sharp eyes peering out from under his hood, watching as more and more drunk sailors fought back. In moments bar stools were flying, bottles were breaking, and more guards were screaming for reinforcements. The thief reached round to his back, loosening his dagger in its sheath, his mind racing. He knew he should be considering his best chance of an escape route, but the number one thought in his mind was he had been set-up. If he managed to make it out of here alive, he would make a point of finding out exactly who had done it, and why. Then he would make them pay dearly for it.

But at the moment, getting out of here alive seems a very remote possibility.

[Andric Cailin]

The night was long. And the drawn out crowds, yawns and searches were longer. It had been a solid month since The dwarf had left home, but not a sausage. Everyone knew roughly about the same amount of information that Andric did. On one rare occasion a stranger had known more. Only to reveal the family tree of the deceased. Not a productive time. But the thrill of adventure was an adrenaline rush that he was slowly growing more and more accustomed to. The heat of battle, the surge of strengh as you knock your opponent blow for blow, the shear joy of the mome-

In full thought of his adventures so far, Andric's foot caught in the crook of a figure laying in the cramped street. The poor elf must have had much too much fun this night. He chuckled, and dropped the figure a copper piece and moved on.

A rumble of thunder in the sky, however, threatened to dampen his spirits considerably. So a visit to the nearest pub was in quick order. The dwarf entered, a busy bar at the least. An over crowded bar at the most. The patrons didn't look all that welcoming. However, after noting that he was not here to kill or, heaven forbid, rob any of them. Interest quickly dwindled. Andric, walked quickly to the bar. His shorter than human legs stepping over dropped glasses, and the occasional unconscious patron. Picking a stool, and scaling it to the appropriate height, he ordered a tankard and paid for the privilege. Fatigue slowly fading onto his muscles as the dwarf let himself relax.

A crack of thunder filled the bar.

Such commotion for a storm

As Andric let his senses close over the world for a moment. Almost dreaming of the sweet tastes that would soon be all his. Could taste them now. Both refreshing and Glorious at the same time. Where was the bar-keep?

At this moment, a hand had grabbed his shoulder. Forcing Andric very much into the very real world. And it clicked. The thunder, the commotion. It was a fight breaking out and some drunk had decided to pull the armoured guy into the fray. There's no service for the stupid in today's world. Thought Andric as his elbow struck out, connecting what he assumed was a jawline, the hand and it's owner, thrown back a couple paces. He stretched and turned, Shoulders popping slightly as andric readied himself to lecture the alcoholic on proper fighting etiquette. Then the whole scenario became clear.

And on his back, under a crushed table. Was a rather well armed and armoured gentleman. With the sigil.

Of the guard.

Burning beards.

Andric looked around, chances be that noone had noticed in the chaos. And two guardsmen were moving towards him. Quite clearly having noticed. The warhammer now in Andric's hand... Probably didn't help matters but they clearly weren't playing fair.

[Thorne]

Thorne's thoughts were racing a mile a minute, assessing the situation, and every possible outcome. So far, he had reached one conclusion- if he didn't get the hell out of this bar, quick-smart, he wouldn't be doing much else again. Rumours were rampant about the recent crack-down on criminals; thieves with their hands smashed.. or removed entirely. That, Thorne thought, would put a considerable dampener on my income. Not an option. And the more the thief procrastinated, the more likely the Watch would spot him in the back of the bar. So he had no choice- act, and do it bloody quick.

Slipping out of his seat, the thief crouched low, making sure to keep his table and as many of the warring patrons blocking the Watchmen's line of sight. His keen eyes darted over the scene, taking in all the details at a glance- several sailors were beginning to gain the upper hand, before the captain weighed into the brawl. His iron cudgel swung left and right, taking a man down every time it connected. A few guards were mercilessly beating the patrons who were already down- evidently not remembering why they were there in the first place. The establishment's owner was cowering behind the bar, dodging thrown glasses, ashtrays and bar stools... So far, nothing Thorne could turn to his advanta--

THERE!!

Two City Watchmen were bearing down on a well armed and armoured dwarf, obviously a warrior of some sort. One look at the comfortable grip on his vicious-looking warhammer assured Thorne he was no stranger to a fight. That, and the guard already laid out flat on his back in front of the dwarf. Well, I think I can work with this, the thief smirked. He drew his shortbow from the sheath on his back, still crouching low to avoid drawing attention. Snaking around the outskirts of the room, he got into a better position to draw a bead on the foremost guard. Knocking an arrow from his quiver, Thorne drew the string, the back of his hand touching his right cheek- Now or never. Letting out a slow breath, he loosed the shot, the arrow whistling across the room in a heartbeat.

The broadhead hit the Watchman high in the cheek, sharp steel splitting flesh and hammering deep into the bone underneath- right where Thorne had hoped to hit. It wasn't a lethal shot, but that was exactly the intention. Hell, they wanted him for theft already, he wasn't about to let them add murder to the list. Still, watching the guard drop like a sack of potatoes, blood pumping from his mangled cheek, Thorne had to admire the effectiveness of his handiwork. But there was no time to dawdle. Sticking his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, he let out a short, sharp whistle to get the dwarf's attention. Another guard turned to look at Thorne when he did, but the moment's distraction was enough for a rosy-cheeked barmaid to smash him over the head with a heavy tankard.

"Unless you're enjoying this little party, how about you and I make a quick exit?"

Movement in his peripheral vision made the thief duck out of instinct, and a blade whistled through the space only moments ago occupied by his head. A City Watchman was bearing down on Thorne, teeth bared, sword drawn.. and already wet with blood, he thought. Well, if you want mine, you'll have to work harder than that. Snatching up an ashtray from the bar, Thorne swung round, throwing ash and tobacco in the man's eyes, blinding him. A swift kick to the groin, and another guard was down writhing on the floor, amidst the blood and spilled booze. The crowds were starting to thin more now, more of the patrons being beaten down and dragged outside into the rain. The captain's piggy eyes turned in his direction, and Thorne only had a second to duck out of sight. He glanced toward the dwarf, waiting on his decision.

"Stay or go, your choice."

[Andric Cailin]

This was not a situation that Andric fancied himself to be in for longer than he had to. His way, however, was blocked off and a handful of guards had obviously marked him out as a threat. Much like a bear is a threat after you're started to assault it him. There wasn't anything of use in this city, Andric had been here too long already and was ready to leave anyway. His hammer arced low, moving high. Connecting with the bottom half of a guards head, the small stature of the dwarf giving him little disadvantage.

Turning, Andric readied himself to encounter the second guard, to find a mess of a man clutching at a bloody cheek with, what even the dark skinned Droolk'a would consider, an inconvenient piercing. He was willing to simply smash his way through the wall of guard and out of the door. Fighting your way out into the street, then losing them in the system of alleyways that sprawled the city. It wasn't of course him they were after.

He hoped.

His chest swelled with a cry for battle just as a high pierced wail pierced his hearing. And that of the room. The fighting dulled slightly as the attention grabber grabbed attention. A human, tall, brandishing a bow and arrow was starting at him. And speaking

"Unless you're enjoying this little party, how about you and I make a quick exit?"

It took him by surprise. And the guards who, seemed to remove their attention from anything they were doing.

And split it, about 70/30 Between the archer and himself. This was not a good night. Did the stranger know what he had done? It was likely, his eyes shone with light and intelligence under the dark hood. Quick reflexes too as the sword above the lad's head cut a good few inches of empty air. It didn't matter anyway. he was already involved just by being here. Wrong place, wrong time. It isn't something to smirk at, it could be a strange kind of fate.

Stranger opened his mouth to speak, but Andric Drowned him out with the deep rumble of his own voice.

"Aye lad. Time to leave I think, get close."

And the chaos resumed. But there was a goal now, escape. options ran through his head. Mostly involving walls that were less sturdy than these walls were. instead.

Andric's fingers forked into a series of blurred positions, electric blue sparks of lightning danced between his bare calloused fingertips, After a fifth motion the energy lept to his stone hammer and there was a dull silence that pulled on the senses. And Andric through the charged weapon. colliding with a town guard and throwing him through the door, followed a second later by the dwarf. Already retrieving the heavy weapon from the unconscious and probably numb guard. Hopefully the stranger had followed him out.

The guards did.

[Thorne]

The dwarf's hammer connected solidly with another guard's head, making Thorne smirk despite himself. He wasn't a sadistic person per se, but seeing the city's "lawbringers" get their arses handed to them, after yet another classic example of abuse of power, amused him to no end. Watching the easy movements of the bearded fighter, the thief knew he had been right about the dwarf's abilities as a warrior. He had picked the right person to help him escape a potentially nasty situation.

**"Aye lad. Time to leave I think, get close."**

Even over the commotion of the bar fight, Thorne could almost feel the bass tone of the dwarf's voice. Like two boulders rubbing together, he thought, already slipping through the crowd. In one fluid movement, he slid his shortbow back into its sheath on his back and drew his dagger from the scabbard at his lower back. He didn't plan on doing much fighting himself- after all, that's why he'd chosen to help the dwarf. One good turn deserves another, and if the hardy little barrel of steel-plate managed to get him out of here alive, he'd consider his "good deed" repaid.

A sense of... pulling, almost, drew Thorne's attention back to his temporary ally. The dwarf raised his hands, and started doing a quick series of hand gestures. Spellcaster, eh? Looks like I picked the right man for the job. Without even thinking about it, the thief committed the motions to memory- it had become a natural reaction to magic users; if you knew how they did their tricks- chanting, hand gestures, wands, etc.- then you knew how to disrupt them from doing it in a fight. So far, Thorne had no intention of becoming hostile with the warrior (he knew he didn't have much chance against many people in a fair fight), but it was handy to have that kind of knowledge. 'Insurance' was the word that came to mind.

Slipping through the crowd, dancing around blades, cudgels and assorted improvised weapons sailing through the cramped confines of the Horny Satyr bar, Thorne made his way to stand beside the doughty little spellsword. He watched with mute interest as the heavy warhammer began to dance with a flare of blue lightning. Rearing back, the dwarf hurled his weapon across the room, smashing a City Guard clean off his feet and through the door behind him. The Captain's entrance had already half-destroyed the door, but the flying guard finished the job admirably. Before the hammer had even connected with its target though, Thorne and the warrior were moving. A guard moved to intercept them, but Thorne ducked low, slashing his dagger across the back of the man's calf. The keen blade parted the leather breeches the man wore, and the flesh and muscle beneath. But they didn't slow down- that was tantamount to suicide. Barreling out of the door into the cold, rainy night, the thief hopped over the fallen guard- the poor bugger looked like he'd been kissed by a battering ram- glancing over his shoulder to see another four guards follow them out. The rest were, thankfully, too busy looking for their target inside, they didn't even realise he'd already escaped their net. But if they didn't remove these four quickly, they could easily shout to their comrades.

It came down to one simple choice- fight or flight.

But even as he said it, another two guards appeared at the two nearest alleyway entrances, effectively cutting off any fast escape routes. The thief drew his secondary dagger from his boot sheath, weighing the weapon in his hand. Despite himself, the thief was smiling under his hood. Tonight was turning out to be anything but dull.

"So..." he said quietly to his ally, standing back to back, "I'll take the one on the left, you take the five on the right?"

[Andric Cailin]

The human was a quick one it seemed. A surprising, and nice change to the overweight nobles he had been visiting recently in this dead end town. Time was marching on and Andric was struggling to feel like he was moving with it in any sense. The cold night air stung at his face and a shallow cut he had recieved in the head long dash out of the door. Which, upsettingly had not deterreed a handfull of guards from coming after them.

The human moved beside him, eventually Andric noticed that he had drawn a different weapion set. Something much more suited to the situation he was in than a bow and arrow. Something that at least seemed a lot more deadly.

-"ill take the one on the right, you take the seven on the lesft?"-

Sounds good to me!

His hammer whipped out into the abdomen of the nearest guard, who crumpled into the ground after Andric's head connected with the man's temple with a gut wrenching crunch. The guardsmen probably had a healer on duty... He called out to his new ally:

"So, what do I call ye? When I'm no just shouting in your direction. And what's caused you so much attention?"

He waited, relatively calmly, for a responce. While swinging his hammer of stone about and into body parts that came close enough for his reach. A guardsman, obviously not used to combat with anyone an inch shorter than himself made for a decapitating swing at andric, over shooting by a good hand's width without Andric neeeding to duck down. Which earned him a rebuttling shout from another guardsmanwho had been hanging back. Probably one of higher rank. Andric cared little. And why he was fighting, he didn't know. His last month had been exceptionally droll though. So he was glad of the exeercise.

[Thorne]

Thorne saw in his peripheral vision as the dwarf instantly went on the offensive. In the span of a few heartbeats, another guard was down, unlikely to get back up for the remainder of the fight. Or ever, for that matter, the thief thought, eyeing the cruelly-spiked stone hammer in his companion's hands. Still, it didn't bother the rogue overly. He may not be one for killing while on a job, but if someone came at him with hostile intent, Thorne had no qualms about putting them down.

Speaking of which...

The guard in front of Thorne rushed in, a small buckler strapped to one arm, a notched sword in his other hand, swinging wildly. Evidently, training for the City Watch didn't teach them the basics- like how to fight. The thief quickly danced back a few steps, the iron blade whipping past his neck once, then over his head as he ducked under the backswing. Thorne kept his weight spread evenly, making sure to always keep on the balls of his feet, always moving. He side-stepped another clumsy lunge from the guard, and, tiring of trying to delay the inevitable, the thief slashed low with his dagger, taking the guard along the back of his knees; the blade parted his ligaments like paper. Before the blood had even started to flow properly, though, Thorne pivoted on the ball of his foot, whipping his throwing knife at another guard who was raising a mace at the dwarf's back.

The man didn't have time to react, as the steel blade hammered into his chest, taking him cleanly in the heart. Two more down he thought grimly, already losing the enthusiasm he had felt.

**"So, what do I call ye? When I'm no just shouting in your direction. And what's caused you so much attention?"**

He glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow quizzically- he had a little difficulty understanding the dwarf's gravelly rumble, but he caught the gist. "Not quick on the uptake, are you?" he smirked, "I'm Thorne- the one they're looking for, though the "why" beats me." Though I intend to find out, Thorne added to himself, sneering.

In the brief few seconds' lull, the rogue sprang from a standstill, leaping toward the guard he had felled. Rolling as he landed, the thief yanked his throwing knife from the corpse's chest with a wet *sshhhllkk*, once again wielding a blade in each hand. He could make out the ruckus from the Horny Satyr dulling down, as the guards within finally managed to "lay down the law" to the patrons. It wouldn't be long before they realised their man wasn't inside the building anymore, and came out searching. The rogue didn't intend to stick around for that.

Thorne spat as another guard turned away from the armoured dwarf, obviously seeing the hooded thief as a softer target. Judging by the thick beard and hirsute arms, the man was a Salvaran, not that it made any difference. He brandished a solid wooden club, and grinned a gap-toothed grin. Judging by the man's biceps- like sides of beef- and the size of the club, the thief doubted he'd enjoy being hit by the length of oak. But, he didn't have much room to maneouvre here. Thorne jumped back a few paces... and instantly knew he'd made a mistake. The hamstringed guard lashed out, catching the thief's ankle in an iron grip. The other guard charged at the trapped thief, grinning magnanimously- Thorne had no illusions, he wasn't avoiding this attack.

So, instead, the smirking criminal did the only thing he could do given the circumstances- he stepped into the attack. He couldn't move far, with the other watchman hanging from his leg, but he could get just far enough; lashing out with his left blade, Thorne opened up the man's forearm- simultaeneously, he thrust forward with his main dagger. The Salvaran realised his mistake too late, but he couldn't arrest his momentum: he ran straight onto the slender blade, the steel sliding into his mouth and punching through the base of his neck at the back.

Before the man was fully dead, frothing blood over his beard, Thorne had whipped his dagger out, and rammed it through the eyesocket of the man gripping his ankle. The thief's mouth twisted into a grimace as he wiped his blades on the watchman's jerkin, angered at what they were driving him to.

He turned to see how his accomplice fared. So far, none of the guards had been smart enough to raise the alarm to the rest of the City Guard- the pair were lucky, but Thorne hadn't survived for as long as he had relying on concepts like "luck".

"If you're done playing with them, how about we leave?" the thief said quietly, surveying the mess the dwarf had made of his opponents.