((Righto, here's a little dealio to test drive my new searat character. I'd like to point out that despite the location, this fight is equally open to woodlanders as it is to other vermin. Please don't smack me with any exceptionally powerful characters, thanks. Vorna was made to be a highly competent vermin warrior, not to take on wolverines or badger lords or great raptor birds and the like. Thanks.))
The seedy bar, catering to anyone mean enough to enter and tough enough to handle the poisonously cheap grog, was hardly without its history of fights and bloodshed- to be frank, brawls happened at least twice a week, and serious duels were far from uncommon. Vorna Scarclaw knew this, of course, but didn't let it deter her- she fit in with this rough crowd and almost nowhere else, and even if the grog was terrible, at least it was cheap and there was lots of it. Blowing on the bowl of indeterminate stew before her while her horribly scared right arm firmly clutched the tankard of grog (as if expecting imminent attempts at theft), the burly searat attempted to concentrate on her repast and not on her simmering anger from the day, that threatened to boil over and would be assuaged only by choking it with food and a well-deserved stiff drink. That became difficult with the arrival of a near-drained tankard that sailed through the air to clonk the back of her head, spilling grog dregs on her tunic. With an impetuous roar, she stormed up, hurling her chair aside and slamming the table with a clawed fist as her scarred arm reached for her cutlass' hilt.
"Arright then yeh pile of inbred, flea-bitten, knock-need, frog-fondlin' cowards, which o' ye's got a deathwish!"