Three Casters Walk Into A Bar...

Log Info

• Title: Three Casters Walk Into A Bar
• Emitter: TidePool
• Characters: Lorik Level 2, Nasrin Level 4, Malik Level 3, Ivy (NPC)
• Place: Alexandria - Ox-Strength Tavern
• Time: April 13, 2018
• Summary: Its a barfight with a cleric of war involved. EVERYONE HITS HARDER!

It's a lovely night at the dive-bar that is the Ox-Strength. Rowdy crowds of dock workers and sailors and merceiares, all drinking.

This can only end in disaster.

"Is it always like this?" Lorik wonders aloud as he sits at a table, trying to eat as he is crushed all round by the press of bodies. "It's at least lively." He observes as he ducks a drunken punch, trying not to get between many of the patrons. "...this is so very different than what I'm used too. But I can say it is at least entertaining!" He adds, the observations all but lost in the noise of the crowd.

"Little louder usually," Nasrin tells Lorik brightly as she takes a moment to look around the bar. She's been laughing and cheering with the best of them, throwing back pints and grinning like a fool. "You'll be fine," she promises. It's soon followed by, "Oh, wait. There's m ysong."

A rousing chorus breaks out led by the redheaded cleric,

"Oh, as I went home on Monday night As drunk as drunk could be I saw a horse outside the door Where my old horse should be..."

There is indeed no help to be found in Nasrin.

It starts rather suddenly. "You idiot! That was my drink!"

"Was it?"!

SMACK. PUNCH.

...immediately, bodies are diving everywhere. A barwl has just broken out.

It was, of course, inevitable.

"Oh you sing!" Lorik tries to follow along with the song but just with all the noise. It is hard for him. Things really are more lively up here on the surface. "I...you sing well!" Adds the elven Seeker as he reaches into his cloak to pull out a piece of folded parchment.

"Miss...Nasrin!" Oh good he remembered. "I need to ask the bartender if he's seen someone! Will you be ok if I---"

/CRACK/

"...oh. That can't be good." As men start to dive anywhere. "I don't suppose any of you have seen this woman around anywhere?" He has a picture of her and everything.

Most people seem to be involved in punching or dodging. So he isn't really expecting an answer...

Malik steps deftly out of the way as someone goes flying past him, not even spilling his ale that he was drinking from. Fights at the Ox aren't all that uncommon, after all, and learning how to navigate them is like learning to do a complicated dance. Partner moves left, step right, twirl, two steps back, bend the knees... it becomes second nature after awhile. Probably because the price for failing to follow the steps is that you end up the one flying and bloodied.

"I'll be fine," Nasrin promises Lorik. Afterward she lets out a shout and then she is in the middle of the fray, kicking and punching and smashing people over the head with nearby objects alongside the best of them. She won't go for a weapon if no one else does, but in reality - a person in full plate is a weapon. Most unarmoured people with weapons aren't even competition in that scneario. And she's a brawler.

"I was meaning to ask earlier!" Lorik is getting swept up in the fighting. Like Nasrin not pulling a weapon, though he does unlimber his shield. His other hand still clutches that paper! "What does the color of your armor stand for? I mean its very striking."

The shield blocks someone's fist and the Inquisitor peers around it. "Er you shouldn't punch steel, it doesn't have much give." A pause. "And you haven't happened to know this lady would you?" Again the poster is pulled out. Lorik is sometimes singleminded in his searching for things.

...look he owed Rori and he meant to find her!

As Malik twirls this way and that, one of the brawlers attempts to grab him!

He's going to be bodily thrown at someone if he does not manage to get out of the way.

And that's when someone /also/ grabs Lorik from behind and attemspts to throw him over the bar!

GAME: Lorik rolls ref: (2)+3: 5

GAME: Malik rolls Reflex: (1)+5: 6 (EPIC FAIL)

Malik, for what it's worth, doesn't seem to be much of a fighter. Or at least, he's not actively running to jump into the fray, instead just watching as fists fly, bones crack, and little spatters of blood appear, giving the Ox some of that lovely ambiance it's known for. But as he eyes the man holding up the paper and asking about the person on it, his attention slips away from the fight for just a moment -- much to his detriment. Missing a step in the dance is a costly mistake, and one of the drunker patrons manages to get Malik squarely by the shoulders, tossing him bodily in Lorik's direction. It's a messy tumble, the way he falls, rolling over the floor and groaning for a bit. But at least he managed to make it a few feet closer to the man holding the picture, even if not quite in the way he intended.

"What? This is a /bar brawl/ this ain't no...place...that you ask questions about lost people!" Shouts the patron that just punched the elf's shielf. "Isn't that right, Rolf?"

Lorik pauses a moment. "Rolf? But my name isn't Rolf it's Lorik."

Which is when Lorik feels a pair of hands clap down. One on either shoulder. "My name's Rolf." Comes the rumble of a voice behind him.

"Oh." Says Lorik.

Then the elf finds himself flying, not under his own power either, though the air to crash shield first behind the bar.

Right when Malik lands closer to him too.

Groggily the elf looks up from his inproptu flight and spying the barkeep starts to hold up the slightly wadded up paper now...

"I don't suppose..."

"Should answer the questions for 'em," Nasrin calls. "Cowards. No one's even hitting me," she complains as she looks around the room. Indeed, people are studiously ignoring and avoiding the red-painted cleric of war as she stomps around the room.

"To be fair, Nasrin..." Lorik calls from behind the bar. "...you are slightly terrifing. And I mean that as a compliment!"

They really are trying to avoid her. /Nobody/ wants to pick a fight with a cleric of war here. Nobody. In the meantime, bottels are flying, mugs are thrown, and chairs are breaking. It's escalating rapidly.

The barkeeper, a man named FInneous, looks down at Lorik and Malik and says, "No hiding, now. Get out there and take your medicine." He goes back to polishing a mug.

GAME: Malik casts True Strike. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14

Malik manages to sit himself upright behind the bar, rubbing his forehead a bit as a fast-growing knot appears there. He's already starting to grumble something unpleasant, but as he eyes the woman in the picture, an eyebrow goes up. "Actually," he tells Lorik in turn, "I'm pretty sure I saw her in the market earlier. I think she was looking at some of those cheap charms they sell there." Because, as long as he's down there, he might as well be helpful. Holding up a finger to the man, though, he says, "If you'll excuse me for just a second, though..." He gets to his feet, moving over a few feet down the bar as he makes a few complicated gestures with his hands.

Rori has arrived.

GAME: Malik rolls Ranged - 4 + 20: (5)+6+- 4+20: 35

Crawling back to his feet the elf peers from around his shield as he looks at the mess whirling around the main floor. Though he pops up further when Malik mentions his quarry has been sighted. "Oh! You did? I really need to find her, I...got distracted a the library a bit longer than I thought and..."

And more punche and bottles come his way.

He sighs.

"Er...yes. I think we might should talk after this then!" And with that he snatches up a stray bottle. "Bottle! Not a weapon!" He calls out as he flings it at a target with surprising accuracy.

A longer pause. "Nasrin," Because he's always being helpful here. "...I've heard that the furniture doesn't count as weapons! If you're corralling them with a table they can't get away as well!"

HELPING!!

Speaking of 'not a weapon', Malik finishes his gesture, then grabs -- a pot of tulips? A large one, from the looks of it, in a heavy ceramic pot. He only just barely looks above the bar, scanning the room for a split second, before he lets the thing fly like he's been doingit all his life. The flowers sail across the room like they're being guided by an invisible hand, smashing over the head of the man that had the audacity to -throw- him, of all things. Though no sooner is that done than he's looking back over to Lorik. "Sorry. Priorities. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I saw her, what? Yesterday afternoon? Kind of distinctive, you know?" Though he looks up over the bar again, eyeing the cleric in the red armor as he asks, "She's on our side, right? Or should I maybe be pissing myself right about now?

GAME: Nasrin refreshes spells.

GAME: Nasrin casts Bless. Caster Level: 4 DC: 14

"Beer's on the first five guy's down," Nasrin calls as he lifts up her holy symbol. Then she's lifting her drum and starting up a sharp percussive beat. Anyone who hears it is filled with a surge of energy and the will to fight harder than ever before. Except Nasrin. Nasrin is left alone.

GAME: Nasrin casts Bull's Strength. Caster Level: 4 DC: 15

"

GAME: Nasrin rolls weapon0+2+1: (3)+6+2+1: 12

"She is quite distinctive!" Lorik agrees as he hops away from the bar and reaches out for another discarded bottle. "I think she's on just the fighting side." He adds towards Malik. "She seems to enjoy a good fight!" A longer pause. "Which she isn't getting yet...unfortunately. I hope she doesn't get too angry." A longer pause. "Oh the lady you saw, was she setting anything on fire? Or half-fire? If she was then that was defiantly who I'm looking for."

Rori makes an impression.

GAME: Lorik casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14

And thus, the brawl intensifies. The blessing of Kor fuels it. More punches are getting landed. Finneous polishes a mug. Someone runs up to him, snatches it out of his hand. "HEY," yells the bartender.

And he is diving into the crowd after him.

One fellow is KO'd by a sudden pot to the back of his head. He staggers a few steps and topples over. Someone bursts out laughing at the sight, only to then get KO'd himself. r

Lorik is then tackled from the side by a burly, tattooed airship sailor. They smash into a table and crash through, but his new magical aura of faith is protecting hi mfrom the drunkard's blows. EVerything is going... very, bar brawly.

As Nasrin trussles with a fellow trying to escape the carnage, a single chair goes sailing through the air and crashes into the back of the cleric. Everyone stops dead.

OH NO, is their reaction.

GAME: Malik casts Acid Splash. Caster Level: 2 DC: 13

GAME: Malik rolls Ranged + 1: (14)+6+1: 21

Tucked at the very far end of a bar is a slip of a thing, slender and deceptively frail, her hair fashioned in a serviceable bun. Ivy Thistlebrush is one of the Ox's many barmaids, and she has tried her level best to stay out of the fight, holding up her serving platter as a shield in a near-futile bid to keep any projectiles and shattered glass off her. Dressed in a nondescript dress, she would be easily missed in a crowd; certainly not the most assertive of all the other barmaids in the tavern, and /definitely/ not the most buxom (hence her tendency to be overlooked, her shyness certainly doesn't help). But large gray eyes peer out from around her serving platter at Lorik's question, and Malik's rejoinder, and she's about to squeak a response when shockwaves of violence erupt with a newfound intensity in the center of the tavern.

"S-sir, I-- " Something /breaks/ above her head and she ducks underneath her serving platter, muffling a shriek against it.

Oh gods, /why is this happening to her/? Did she not pray enough today? But she prays /every day/.

GAME: Lorik rolls ranged + 1: (5)+4+1: 10

Malik eyes the dogpile happening in the center of the tavern, sighing deeply. "Just a moment," he tells Lorik again, this time standing up and taking a more careful look around -- at the ceiling? He makes another complicated gesture, this time with accompanying words in a strange tongue, as he eyes something up there. The gesture ends with him pointing a finger, from which a little green orb erupts. It strike the chain holding the lamp just above the dogpile, making a sizzling sound as metal starts to squeak. It'll be a few seconds yet, but those under that lamp are going to get a nasty surprise.

Sitting back down, he offers a shrill whistle over to the barmaid, pointing next to himself in a 'you probably want to be over here right now' sort of way as he answers Lorik off-hand. "Nothing was on -fire-, no. But the day was still early."

A chair hits Nasrin's back and she freezes, turning to look around the room slowly. She pauses for a second and then stares. "Who threw that?" She asks quietly, her azure eyes full of menace. Silence follows as she awaits the response. Then she shouts, "Good toss! Put your back into it next time!" Doesn't it figure that would only make the cleric more cheerful?

It's really the poor barmaid's plight that gets her attention. Nasrin is scowling now. She calls out, "The staff is off-limits. Who's going to get the beers otherwise?" Now she starts through the crowd, expecting it to part like a wave before her. Woe betide those who targeted the barmaid whether on accident or on purpose in their assault on the bar. As she goes Nasrin is raising her holy symbol again.

GAME: Nasrin casts True Strike. Caster Level: 4 DC: 14

"Mmmm. Still it could be her..." Lorik calls back towards Malik as he half turns towards him. Though the squeak of the barmaid gets his attention causing him to turn towards her. "Is there something I can help you with mi--"

Annnnnnd then he's tackled, though the suddenly glowing holy symbol of Elune that appears on his shield seems to be keeping him from harm. Not that he can get a good angle to actually retaliate against his attacker. "Would you get off me! I was trying to have a polite conversation!" He calls out as he attempts to crack the man over the head with the bottle...and...not do a good job of it.

There is a back door to this place. The fellow who threw the chair?

He pasues as several accusing fingers point at him. He whirls and runs for the back door qas fast as he can.

He is so not sticking around for this! Who can blame him? And then the light comes down on several people and knocks them silly.

It also darkens the room considerably.

GAME: Malik used a Wand of Magic Missile.

GAME: Malik rolls 1d4 + 1: (4)+1: 5

Malik sees Lorik get tackled by -someone-. Doesn't really matter much to him who it is. He reaches into his belt, pulling out a smooth, wooden wand as he points it toward the attacker, letting out a single sharp word. Which, in turn, causes a single, sharp bolt of energy to spring forth from the wand, striking Lorik's attacker unerringly, and with almost perfect precision. "Rude," Malik tells the man. "We were having a conversation here!"

Poor Ivy. She is comfortable with her routine. Get up in the morning, visit the temples, perform her vigil and work at the tavern, doing her best to live a virtuous life in spite of the bar brawls that explode in her workplace. She's managed to avoid the worst of it - until now, that is.

But at the shrill whistle from Malik and the acknowledgment by Nasrin of her purpose (because yes, she /does/ serve beer, tons of it every day) and Lorik's straightforward queries, she looks like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in her place against the bar and unable to move...for now, at least. But the worsening situation forces her to weigh her options and she scuttles upon her hands and knees towards Malik, brandishing her serving platter like a shield. She seems very much determined to hide behind it, shrinking into its metal back and doing the very best impression of a turtle.

She also tries to do this without looking at either Lorik or Malik.

Probably because they're both too handsome to look upon directly. /Like staring at the sun/.

Or something.

She just points wordlessly at the poster Lorik is clutching at his hand. But whatever tale she has to tell is going to have to wait, especially when the three of the main brawlers in the room are so determined to teach the violent masses the importance of social etiquette.

Malik has connected.

GAME: Lorik casts Create Water. Caster Level: 2 DC: 13

GAME: Nasrin rolls weapon0+6+1+2+20: (2)+6+6+1+2+20: 37

"Would you just get /off/ me!" Lorik has had quite enough of rude people ruining conversations. "The nice barmaid has something to say!" He calls out as he shoves both hands into the face of the man pummeling him and summons a burst of ice cold water(drinkable even) in his attacker's face.

GAME: Nasrin rolls 1d3+1+5: (2)+1+5: 8

Nasrin advances on the man who was throwing things at Ivy. he tries to run and she shouts. everyone between her and hte fellow melts out of the way. Then she stampedes at him with a massive overpowering punch that knocks the man clean out of his boots and sends him tumbling across the floor. After that Nasrin looks up.

"...Where did the lights go?" The redhead osses her head once qd blinks as hse looks around. Because she only just now thought to ask.

The nice barmaid.

Nice.

The handsome dark elf called her nice, and Ivy hasn't even /done/ anything to warrant the compliment yet.

Behind the metal platter, she turns a delightful shade of crimson, while still hiding behind her apparatus. Now she's embarrassed /and/ horrified at the state of her workplace. There are clearly no wins for her today. /Thanks a lot, Lorik!!/

Malik points the wand again, just in case the lesson didn't take the first time, though this time he doesn't fire. Once is usually enough to get the point across. "There are plenty of other people in this bar that you can go pound on. This man and I are trying to have a chat. So unhand him, or I'm going to stick you so full of glowing shards they'll hang you from the ceiling as a decoration at the next ball."

As he notices the barmaid blushing behind her shield, however, he offers her a smile. "Nice moves with that thing. You could moonlight as a guard." Maybe he's misreading that shade of crimson as panic? Though as the cleric calls out about the lights, he winces a bit. "My bad! Didn't think the lamp thing through all the way."

"..." Nasrin surveys her kingdom and feels a surge of pride as she sees the destruction she has wrought. The Cleric forges a path through the tavern and all people in her way part. Even the most vicious of foes recognize the Red Cleric as ascendant in the halls of the Ox-Strength bar. She walks over to Ivy and Lorik, offering both of them a smile. "It's a good week for sales. They have to buy all the things in the bar. And tip for it," Nasrin notes helpfully.

Well, the bodies have certainly hit the floor. After being blastedd in the bottom by Malik, he flops over like a fish and rolls around on the ground in agoiny.

It's kind of hilarious looking, especially since he is miserably sopping wet now. There's a lot of pointing and laughing.

And now is the time when the guards finally begin to show.

And when she thought her mortification couldn't be complete, Malik turns to her, /smiles/, and paints an image of her that is larger than life. Gray eyes widen and for some reason, the atmosphere in the tavern changes for her. The half-illumination within suddenly gives way to a bright sunlit day, clear skies and crashing surf, and for some reason, the Tsuran mage is on top of a white horse, his hair blowing dramatically in the wind. It's akin to the painted covers of cheesy purple fiction books that she keeps under her bed.

This is when Ivy realizes that the brawl isn't going to be the source of her demise, but the sheer mortification of being noticed and being noticed favorably. Look, none of you understand. She has /never garnered this much attention in her life/ by people who look a thousand times better than she does.

...and then the Red Cleric arrives, resplendent in her...everything. She turtles in further behind her 'shield'. "Just please tell me when the actual guards get here," she says, but her voice is so quiet and meek that it can easily be lost in the din.

Slowly Lorik clambers back to his feet. He draws a deep breath as he looks towards the man flopping around like a landed fish. Then the pair of boots left behind as a second man goes flying. One hand clutches a shield, the other the slightly damp poster as he glances around at the carnage.

"I think he knocked them down. The lights I mean." A pause as he glances at Malik. "I don't think I ever got your name, sir."

Then a pause again, tempted to drop a darkness spell on whoever is left up. He resists though though...instead he turns to the largest knot of fighting that isn't centered around Ivy, Nasrin, Malik and himself and summons up another minor rainstorm of ice water.

Try to shock them out of it as the guards arrive. "That is enough I think!"

A glance then towards Ivy as she turtles there. "...miss? You're alright now I think. The guards /are/ here. It seems."

Malik looks like he's going to move to help the elven man up, but then Lorik is on his feet in no time flat. So instead, he just tucks his wand back into his belt, standing up as the woman in red comes closer -- and promptly moving to the other side of Lorik, just to be safe. "Speaking of the guards," Malik says, "let's all agree that we have no idea how the man on the ground over there got those injuries, since we're all fast friends and whatnot now. Malik, by the way," he tells Lorik in response to introductions. "As for your girl, last time I saw her I think she was heading toward the alchemist's stand? We didn't exactly talk. I just know the new faces." And then, over to Ivy, he asks, "Should we maybe get -you- a drink? You look a little... jittery."

The guards /are/ here, it seems.

Lorik seems resolute in speaking to her this way and she is /still/ hiding behind her platter. But after a moment of waiting until the guards shuffle the miscreants /out of her workplace/, she reaches out to touch the very edge of the parchment the dark elf clutches in his hand.

"I know her," she says finally, though her voice dips so softly, she can barely be heard. "Rori. She was here last night. I didn't think much of it at the time, and I really only noticed because she left a hairpin behind. I ran out to return it to her, but she wasn't alone."

She frowns at her recollection, lifting her fingers to tug at an errant dark brown strand of hair.

"It was strange," she finally decides. "The entire thing was strange."

When the other youth addresses her, she shakes her head. "I-- no, thank you. It's very kind of you but I...." Her head sinks back behind her serving platter. "Waterwillbefine."

"You did well," Nasrin notes quielty. "All of you. As everyone i nthe bar will attest ididn't really pqrticipate in the brawl. I just... Kept osme semblance of order. I think we are all safe." With this noted the owman turns toward the room at large to watch as the guard does their job. "A drink would probably be a good idea," she muses then,. "Maybe something sweet." She is a cleric, after all. Believe it or not, Nasrin knows how to heal people.

When Ivy refuses in favour of water Nasrin shakes her head. "I need to be at another barfight on the other side of town in an hour. Kor calls."

SOTD: Bolide goes to frolic at the Spot of the Day! Type +sotd to follow!

Rori has left.

Rori goes OOC.