• Ooc:Any one can join after marshall has.

    Bic:Prattel was running for his life.He had done the mistake of accidentally winning the heart of a very powerful tribal leader's daughter and rejecting here when she asked him to marry her.Now he's a marked for death stoat."Bloody day bloody day bloody day!"Prattel said as he avoided spears and arrows."I knew I should have left as soon as I finished his sculpture but nooo!I had to stay for the feast,then his birth day,and then his sister's birthday!Woe on me for not saying no!"Prattel found a tavern to hide in while the hunting party passed by."I'll have some October Ale please."He said in a jovial tone.

  • Tristin looked up as the door of the the public house flew open, admitting a disheveled looking stoat who looked wildly around the room before grinning foolishly at the patrons and sidling up the the heavy oak bar counter.  "I'll have some October Ale, please."

    Recognition dawned on the weasel.  "Prattel Hafter!  Well, I must say it's been a while since I saw you last!"  He motioned the stoat over to his small table, and pounded his stoneware pint pot on the well worn surface.  "Landlord, and pint of your best October bitter!"  He turned to the stoat, smiling cheerfully.  "You looked like you were in bit of a panicked hurry when you popped in here…  Running from something?"

  • Prattel looked in disbelief."Tristin St Canes!?!Long time no see!As for chasing me,I had accidentally wooed  the heart of a chieftain's daughter and turned her down when she proposed I turned her down…hard.To much grog heh.So hows life treated you after our battle?"

  • As they were speaking, in the tavern a mouse carefully watched the new stoat.
    Being his nosy self, Gregory approached the conversing creatures.
    "Excuse me gentlebeasts, I am dearly sorry for interrupting this conversation, but I rat over there wanted to see Mister St. Canes."
    As Tristin left, Gregory sat himself down next to Prattel and asked,
    "Running away from the tribe, are you, Mr. Hafter?"

  • "Ahh, you escaped the fate that is worse than death.  You did well to refuse her hand, my dear fellow.  I assure you that you will never regret it."

    Tristin looked up as the mouse walked up to his table and addressed him.  Excuse me gentlebeasts, I am dearly sorry for interrupting this conversation, but the rat over there wanted to see Mister St. Caens.

    "Oh, ahh.  Of course, right away."  The weasel stood and strode over to where a fat searat sat contented over his eighth pint of October Ale.  The animal looked up as Tristin tapped him jovially on the shoulder.  "Er, I was told that you wanted to see me."

    The rat frowned confusedly and growled back at the oblivious mustelid.  "Ah, urr, ah never wanted to see yew."  He punched the weasel hard in the stomach.  "Get away from meh, I'm being busy, and you're bothering meh.  Else you want me to hit yew harder, eh?"

    Tristin gasped, "No, thank… thank you kindly.  Please.  Although, I just thought that you should know, that mouse over there, the one sitting by the largish stoat...  Called you a...  Oh dear.  A...  Fish Headed- Piece of Sea-Cheese, and a Silly Daft Drunkard..."

    The rat's bleary eyes snapped open.  "Ee said that?"

    Tristin's smiled sadly.

    "Yes, indeed he did.  He also said that he'd fight you any time of the day or night..."

    He chuckled to himself as the rat made his way purposefully, if unsurely, towards the offending character who sat in conversation with Prattel.

  • OOC: Do I wait for Danker to post?

  • OOC:  You can post, but don't get TOO carried away…  We want to keep it open for Dank.

  • OOC: Okay. Just to get things cleared, does being too carried away mean starting a fight scene with the burly rat?

  • OOC:  No, if you want, Greg can fight…  Or he can run, or try to talk his way out of a conflict.  What happens next is up to your imagination.

  • Dug watched the large searat walk toward a mouse looking like he wanted to him harm. "Urrg, I didn't want a fight tonight." He said while reaching under the bar table and pulling out his large battle axe. He walked around the table toward the searat and mouse.

  • Prattel saw the events unfolding and jumped in to stop it."Hey,hey,hey!I just got out of one violent situation and I don't want another.Put down the axe and sit down Mr.Rat.Now is everybody calm?"Pat really didn't want to be involved with another brawl.Especially since theres a wolverine with a large axe.

  • Tristin cringed.  Wolverine responds to imminent fist-fight with battle-axe.  Lovely.  The weasel hastened over to the huge beast and laid a placating paw on the creature's muscular forearm.  "I say, old thing, calm yourself.  No need to go forth spreading death and despair whithersoever you go…  Look, see, my stoaty friend has everything under control..."  He ducked as a tankard flew through the air and crashed against the far wall.  "Well, at least almost under control.  Perhaps you could help by buying our obnoxious sea-rat friend here a fresh pint of bitter."

  • Dug  looked the searat right the eye "You got two choices here. You can go back and keep drinking your bitter, or you can start a fight and see just how sharp my battle axe is." he said griping his battle axe in both paws.

  • The rat grimaced at Dug.  "Huh, yew wouldn't have the guts to do anything to me.  Now do like the weasel said and buy me another pint before I gets angry.  And 'Urry up, stoopid!

    Tristin glared at the searat.  "My dear stupid and pugnacious fellow, I would suggest shutting your fat mouth immediately, unless you you fancy painting the walls with your insides tonight."

    The weasel turned to Dug, who was by now quivering with suppressed rage.  "Perhaps it would be best for everyone if you were to put your mauler away…  I doubt that the landlord of this institution would take kindly to a gory brawl..."

  • " I AM the landlord and I don't like it when rats, no matter how drunk or stupid, say I don't have the guts to do something!" By the end he was yelling in the rats face and his knuckles had turned white from griping the axe handle so hard.

  • The weasel gulped in surprise.  "You the landlord…?  Er, I suppose I failed to notice that.  In any case, carry on...  Perhaps you could throw him out of here, then..."

    The rat glared malevolently up at the wolverine, drawing a notched carving knife.  "Threaten me, eh?  Just you try anything."

  • Watching the verbal fight getting more intense, Gregory's right paw wandered toward his sling slowly.

  • " Oh you want to see me try someting? All right!" He took his axe in one paw and punched the searat full in the stomach sending him flyimg backwards.

  • Tristin gaped as the wolverine vented his rage and belted the rat across the room, and into a glass windowed cupboard full of pewter mugs.

    "My, my.  I think you settled that argument once and for all, my massive friend.  I just hope that you don't get mad at me someday…"  The weasel faltered as the huge beast turned towards him with a gravely forbidding look on his face.  "Er, would you care for me and my friends here to clean up the mess?

  • Sebastian watched quietly from a dark corner of the bar as the group of beasts around his target started to get violent. He silently lifted the wanted poster the chieftain had put out up to his face. The stoat matched the description exactly. He lowered the poster again and set it down on the table. Taking another small drink of his ale, he thought about the situation.
      There was a large, angry wolverine with a war axe, a bar full of (probably) criminals, poor lighting, and inebriates abounding. This would be easy. If a brawl started, his target would most likely bolt for the door, the same one he happened to be sitting beside, heh-heh-heh.
      Moving his coat aside slowly, he brought his small crossbow up on the table, hiding it behind his tankard. He adjusted his aim until it was pointed at the chain suspending a chandelier above a large table of about twelve beasts. By their slurred talk and jerking movements, he could tell they were well and truly drunk, and therefore susceptible to their urges, say, to fight, should the correct trigger come along. It was crude, and it was a cliche, but it had a high probability of being effective.
      With a deft flick of his finger, Sebastian Nolan Dayfly, world renowned bounty hunter, nicknamed Search N. Destroy, pulled the trigger, and lit the metaphorical powder keg.

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