Another story scene... sinking feeling that was more experience than instinct Shade and Soul followed the noise to its source; a ramshackle tavern called ‘The Dead Horse and Flail’. The name was unhappily familiar; it had been the Daemonslayers’ meeting point. “Wait here, I’ll go see if Blackjack’s in there.” Shade said, groaning inwardly and not at all enjoying the prospect. More than happy not to get involved Soul did not protest. As Shade stepped inside she quickly dodged out of the way as a dwarf was thrown out the window, “Good luck,” she said under her breath. Inside the tavern’s drinking room Shade would have sworn he’d seen less bloody pitched battles. He could not immediately see any sign of Blackjack and reluctantly moved further in. Keeping low to try and avoid unwanted attention he still had to duck to avoid a morning star-wielding ranwulf then jump and roll to hide under a table before becoming unwillingly involved in a vicious knife-fight. He was hoping Blackjack wasn’t here yet so he could make a speedy exit but beneath the table lay a body with an unmistakeably gaping axe-wound. He had not noticed anyone else with a weapon that large. The coast a little clearer, Shade got up and scanned the brawlers more closely, unable to see his friend until he got a clear view to the bar, at one end of which a small fire was burning. The shelves in the wall behind that normally held bottles and glasses were smashed in one place. Below the point of impact pair of black boots with metal shin-guards and spikes on the toecaps was sticking up, accompanied by a spined black tail. Shade muttered a curse, set his teeth then sprinted through the gap in the fighters, dodging random punches and jumping prone bodies until he vaulted over the bar (having barely recovered from a skid in a pool of blood and spilt beer). His jump was poor and he yelped as he overbalanced and landed on his backside in broken glass. Blackjack, a bottle of dwarf spirits in one hand, his axe in the other, swung his head up to look at him, “Good fight, eh?” he slurred. At some point a particularly large ranwulf had picked him up and thrown him over the bar. The bony armour plates down his back had saved him from serious injury and Blackjack had taken the opportunity to down all the ‘free’ alcohol he could. He took another swig from the square-shaped blue bottle then waved it in front of Shade’s face. “Want some?” The fumes made the lycanthrope cough “No! And you’re not having any more either!” Shade snatched the bottle and threw it away. Unfortunately it happened to land in the fire and exploded, turning the minor incident into a blazing conflagration. Shade stiffened then, very slowly, reached up his back and pulled out a couple of shards of blue glass. Blackjack laughed at him. With a feral growl, Shade grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the end of the bar that was not on fire, "Time to leave."
sinking feeling that was more experience than instinct Shade and Soul followed the noise to its source; a ramshackle tavern called ‘The Dead Horse and Flail’. The name was unhappily familiar; it had been the Daemonslayers’ meeting point.
“Wait here, I’ll go see if Blackjack’s in there.” Shade said, groaning inwardly and not at all enjoying the prospect.
More than happy not to get involved Soul did not protest. As Shade stepped inside she quickly dodged out of the way as a dwarf was thrown out the window, “Good luck,” she said under her breath.
Inside the tavern’s drinking room Shade would have sworn he’d seen less bloody pitched battles. He could not immediately see any sign of Blackjack and reluctantly moved further in. Keeping low to try and avoid unwanted attention he still had to duck to avoid a morning star-wielding ranwulf then jump and roll to hide under a table before becoming unwillingly involved in a vicious knife-fight. He was hoping Blackjack wasn’t here yet so he could make a speedy exit but beneath the table lay a body with an unmistakeably gaping axe-wound. He had not noticed anyone else with a weapon that large.
The coast a little clearer, Shade got up and scanned the brawlers more closely, unable to see his friend until he got a clear view to the bar, at one end of which a small fire was burning. The shelves in the wall behind that normally held bottles and glasses were smashed in one place. Below the point of impact pair of black boots with metal shin-guards and spikes on the toecaps was sticking up, accompanied by a spined black tail. Shade muttered a curse, set his teeth then sprinted through the gap in the fighters, dodging random punches and jumping prone bodies until he vaulted over the bar (having barely recovered from a skid in a pool of blood and spilt beer). His jump was poor and he yelped as he overbalanced and landed on his backside in broken glass.
Blackjack, a bottle of dwarf spirits in one hand, his axe in the other, swung his head up to look at him, “Good fight, eh?” he slurred. At some point a particularly large ranwulf had picked him up and thrown him over the bar. The bony armour plates down his back had saved him from serious injury and Blackjack had taken the opportunity to down all the ‘free’ alcohol he could. He took another swig from the square-shaped blue bottle then waved it in front of Shade’s face. “Want some?”
The fumes made the lycanthrope cough “No! And you’re not having any more either!” Shade snatched the bottle and threw it away. Unfortunately it happened to land in the fire and exploded, turning the minor incident into a blazing conflagration. Shade stiffened then, very slowly, reached up his back and pulled out a couple of shards of blue glass. Blackjack laughed at him. With a feral growl, Shade grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the end of the bar that was not on fire, "Time to leave."