Tossed off in Sabata (Chyril 22nd, Early TT) ~ Lir & Hol

[Lir Calysta Markby]

"Now, now calm down. Bandaging it without stopping the bleeding will not do much for you." She looked into Brann's eyes, as her voice lowered. "It will be all over soon, I promise." She murmured softly to calm the man down and to see if the alcohol was taking effect. "I will even take care of you until you get better which will be in a few days. Right as rain..."

She glanced at the waitress and gave a small smile, "Thank you Ira dear." She did not make to get the knife until her patience was steady. "Now, please...let me do this before you pass out from lack of blood and then I'll have to get another heated blade." It was the nicest voice she could muster for any of her patients.

[Brann]

Perhaps the liquor was taking effect after all, for Brann didn't take advantage of Sweeney's momentary distraction to wriggle free. Instead he merely leaned against the bar, temporarily resigned to his fate, until his chance slipped by and the half-giant's bulk once again ensured his compliance for Lir's ministrations.

The raven-haired achadhiel was surprised by Lir's suddenly soft tone, not expecting such tenderness from the pretty but gruff healer. His brow lowered slightly and he titled his head to look at her, as though trying to discern what had changed in few short burns since he'd met her. Maybe she really does find you cute! the thought came from nowhere, and a somewhat silly grin spread across his face.

"I think I'd like that," he whispered back, his gaze wandering ever so slightly, before refocusing on her lilac eye. What an unusual colour.

Suddenly screwing his face up in an approximation of courage, he slapped his good hand down on the bar and announced he was ready. "All right, do this before I lose my nerve," he demanded, although his voice sounded hollow and unconvincing, even to himself.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

About time. Lir's violet eye would look back at the half-giant. "Please hold him steady. If he jerks and he will, keep his movements to a minimum." She instructed and then took the knife.

When Sweeney was in place again after the momentary lapse of wanting to assist Holler with his task, she held onto Brann's hands in her own roughened grip. "On the count of three, we'll do this." Her hand tightened around Brann's hand, "One...Two...Three..." The breath caught in her lungs as the flatside of the heated blade burned Brann's forearm to cautherize the blood. After a few moments, she let up the knife and looked to see the state of the patient mainly to see if the man had passed out.

Next, she would clean the wound with the cooling warm water, and one of her own cleaner rags. She placed some of the alcohol onto a piece of cloth and numbed the whole area with the left over alcohol and got her needle and thread carefully slowing up the gash from the knife wound. "It'll teach you to be more careful. Look where you are going." By this time, Brann wouldn't even feel the needle in his arm if he survived the burning.

"The cut is straight enough and I don't think it'll scar too much." She spoke out towards the patient even if he might be unconscious or stupid with alcohol. The herbs she had brought from the Nether's Gates were made into a paste which she placed over the closed wound to promote rapid healing. Then lastly she wrapped the forearm up in a nice, tight bandage.

"All done...I think now, we need to find a place to rest. We also need an inn." She looked for Holler, "You all right?" Lir called out not really paying much attention before and then back to Sweeney, "The name's Lir, that's Holler over there, this here is Brann and you are?"

[Morg]

The remaining knife-thrower nodded gratefully in agreement, hoisting up Striler's limp form and placing the man over his shoulder in a practised manner. He'd obviously had to provide this service to his cranky companion a few times before. As fast as he could given the situation, he left the tavern, only once looking back to check that Holler hadn't changed his mind, and not looking over at Denning or what was taking place at the bar at all.

The light from the entrance provided only minimal illumination at the back of the room where Holler stood. It was just about enough for the orc to locate the dropped knife by the dull gleam of its blade. The weapon was of poor workmanship, too small to be of any real use in a close quarters fight and yet not well enough balanced to be accurate at range.

The other item Striler had dropped, however, seemed almost to shine of its own accord, although it was much smaller. It was a golden clasp, finely worked into the shape of a dragon's head, with the beast's jaw intended to clamp down and keep a cloak closed. The whole device was no larger than the upper joint of Holler's thumb, but two tiny green emeralds gleamed in its eye sockets, and an opal was set into its forehead. Slim, elegant fins protruded from the back of the dragon's head, and long whiskers were traced onto it below its nostrils. The clasp was currently in the closed position.

Meanwhile, Lir carried out her improvised cauterisation on Brann's arm. The red-hot blade hissed and sizzled as it touched the bleeding wound and sealed the blood vessels where they surfaced. The pain shooting up the achadhiel's arm was excruciating, easily the equal of what he had suffered when the injury had been inflicted. Unconsciousness did not quite force itself upon him, but between the effects of the alcohol and the shock he'd received it began to look like an exceedingly attractive option.

Regardless, the wound was now cleaned and sealed. Denning was busy pumping out mugs of ale as though nothing had happened, placing two of them on the bar for Lir and Holler after retrieving what remained of the bottle of Dragon's Tears and returning it to its hiding place.

[Brann]

Brann's lingering yell of pain came through clenched teeth, but the animal nature cut cleanly through the natural din of the bar as though it were empty. Finally Lir withdrew the knife, leaving only a fiery, throbbing ache that numbed all the achadhiel's other senses. A gasp of relief blew from his lips as he collapsed limp against the bar, only a feeble thread of his strength and the half-giant Sweeney's grasp holding him upright.

It was Ithrainne's final jest that he not pass out from the experience, but instead remember it all in excruciating detail. Panting, with his head lolled atop the counter, he waited for Lir to finish with the sewing and bandaging while he gnashed his molars in time with the pulsing ache of his arm. Anything to distract him from the actual sensation...

Finally she finished and Brann was left with an incredibly sore but tightly bandaged forearm. Lifting his head a little, he scrubbed the tear tracks from his pale cheeks and brushed some dark strands from his eyes. "Thank you," he managed over a wan smile, first to Lir and then to Sweeney, although he had trouble looking back at the half-giant while still propping himself up at the bar. He wasn't about to let go just yet, for fear his watery legs would collapse and he'd be facing some other impromptu surgery. One white-hot knife a day was enough, thank you very much!

He caught the healer's name, and that of the orc, when she introduced the three of them to Sweeney. At least he knew the name of his caretaker now. Good to know, he thought, before slumping against the bar again.

"Could I get a beer?" he rasped softly, before clearing his throat. Even that hurt, but his thirst managed to overcome his discomfort. "A beer, that is? Could I get one here, please?"

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The mug of ale was received by loving hands as she drank it down. Then her knife was cleaned in the water and wiped clean of debris and sheathed. As she heard the one called Brann asking for a beer, Lir wondered if she should stop the man from mixing his drinks. The bartender had said 'Dragon's Tears' was the concoction that was given to the stranger and she imagined it was quite a strong brew if the man was still on his feet after what he had gone through.

"Brann? Are you sure you should drink more alcohol, perhaps some cool water? I think we should head on over to the inn and let you get some rest before you pass out on the filthy floor and have to be dragged. What say you?"

[Guest]

As the two troublemakers left the establishment, Holler found himself eye to eye with a dragon, no less! Almost crushing the handle of the cheap knife in his clenching fist, the Orc blinked - surprised. The gleam of gold and precious stone seemed so out of place on the rough floor of this worn out watering hole. Still, somehow it seemed to have traded up by escaping the drunk's saggy, hidden pocket.

Looks like it should be worth something. Glancing around at the now empty doorway, Holler shrugged. He figured Striler wouldn't be coming back to reclaim it. It wasn't like the man would have come by it in a legal way anyway. With a flash of his fangs, the Orc's empty, green hand closed around the little clasp.

"You all right?" queried Lir. With a speed bellying his mass, Holler Sleipnir swapped knees for foot soles. Whilst secreting the tiny adornment away, he waved the little knife about. He grinned: "Just fine, I'm just fine." Turning the blade around in his hand, he sauntered over to the counter. Annoyance stole over his features as he saw his spot clotted up by strangers. The healer he knew of course, but to his dismay she cooed like a mama hen to the half elf. Add to that the looming figure of a half giant and the Orc was fully annoyed.

Peering suspiciously at what seemed to be the beginnings of a crowd, Holler groaned. "Would you mind!" Pointing the butt of the captured knife at the foaming ale-mug, he added: "That one has my name on it."

Brann's drawn features was met by a stone cold gaze. Only the mention of beer earned him a bit of appreciation. As Lir sputtered cordially, meaning to deny the patient his well deserved drink, Holler spoke on his behalf. "Let him have his beer. He sure looks like he could use one, right about now." The Orc didn't feel like finding themselves an inn anytime soon. After all, the drinks were on the house for the whole night!

[Brann]

Brann smiled a bit at Holler, though the huge orc's entire appearance was unnerving. If there wasn't a fire burning up his arm he'd probably spare a bit more concern over the imposing brawler's presence. As it was, Holler was supporting the decision for a beer and that went far in Brann's current state of mind.

"Water sounds good too," acknowledged Brann with a small nod, his voice still raspy and dry. "Beer and water, over here," he amended his order as loudly as he could manage. He knew it wasn't what Lir meant, but he really didn't feel that water was going to satisfy his need.

"Then rest," the achadhiel agreed, knowing he couldn't hang off the bar all day. And the thought of a bed was so much more inviting than the hard, gritty floor beneath his boots. "Somewhere shady though, near the sea? A...breeze would be nice," he sighed, quieting as a strengthened wave of pain coursed through his body and took away his concentration for anything else.

[Sweeney]

The orc's fight didn't last long, but Sweeney did manage to catch a glimpse of Striler being knocked out cold by the swinging chair. The half-giant let out a low whistle through his teeth at this evidence of Holler's handiwork. Then, since his services were clearly not needed there, he turned his attention back to Brann and Lir.

Luckily, the wounded man had not scurried off anywhere while Sweeney was distracted, so he just resumed his earier role of steadying and immobilizing he patient. The one-eyed healer's treatment was?quick and obviously painful, but it appeared to be effective, and the half-elf impressively remained conscious throughout. When it was all over but the bandaging, Sweeney released his charge and retreated a step. "Name's Sweeney," he said in reply to Lir's introductions. Curiosity overcoming tact, he continued: "You done that before," he said, cocking his head at Brann's bandages. "Maybe a few times? In Aveas?" He left the name of the Mouthie colony on Pan's Isle hanging in the air. It was not a place he wanted to remember, but he felt branded by what happened there. Perhaps, he thought, connecting with other veterans of the war might help him work through his feelings of guilt and betrayal.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The healer's eye narrowed as her body visibly stiffened. Painful memories of loss. A war that was not worth fighting. "Maybe." She took another swig letting Brann do his own thing. She was not his mother or caretaker.

"The war's over. It is not something I like to dwell on. Have a drink and relax." She said gruffily and asked for another ale.

What Brann had said about a breezy in close to the sea did have a nice ring to it and she hoped there was a place like that. The heat was definitely oppressive and all the action did not help. She also needed to get some new clothes to accomodate this new climate and place of residence.

[Guest]

The achadhiel's weak presence was already blotted out. After all, he must have gotten somekind of blood poisoning; Holler had never heard of an inn that wasn't shady. Those things usually come with a roof!

The half-giant - Sweeney wasn't it - was a completely different matter however. Easily a handspan taller than the Orc, he also carried around more weight; the man stood between Holler and his ale! To make matters worse, the baldy added insult to the inconvenience by ignoring him altogether. Shuffling a half step back, it seemed that the annoyed greenskin was readying himself for something or another. In fact he sized up the blockade, hilt of the loosely held dagger rubbing his chin. Just then Sweeney mentioned Aveas. Sulking seapocks! Did they let just anybody join that godsbedamned war?

In the back of his mind Holler registered that the half giant had been on the opposites side. Although technically that wasn't true, as his master had ordered the former Orc leader to betray their side. So, he had started out on the other side, but at the end of it they had shared - if not one cause - at least one side. All nice and well, but I still want that ale. Immensely frustrating it was; Holler Sleipnir could see his draught but not reach it.

As the Orc's patience crumbled in the wake of his thirst, a low growl grew in his stomach. It resonated beneath his next words: "Stop chattering and let me pass!" With a glare down at Lir and a mean stare up at the half giant he snapped. "Told you that ale has my name written all over it. So, get out of my way or else..." Holler shrugged. "Or else the darn' thing will stale were it stands!"

Thoughts of a wardrobe change or even an inn were far from the sailor's mind. Punching a great old dent in the alehouse prince's barrels took precedence.

[Morg]

Denning didn't have any qualms about complying with Brann's order, and he dispatched Ira to fetch a mug of water while he himself poured another two ales, one for the achadhiel and one at Lir's request. The little group had grown in size since he'd asked Holler to sort out the two thugs, and the bartender found himself wondering whether the others would claim to be in on his generous offer, and how much it would then end up costing him. Either way, it was going to be an expensive tradetide. He placed the two ales on the bar, commenting "Water'll be along in a burn or two".

Ira was making her way out of the back room with two broad-bottomed bowls of brilliant beige broth and a mug of water when Holler suddenly snapped, and she nearly dropped the lot in surprise. For his part, the bartender observed the orc's sudden anger with unease, although he didn't try to take any obvious action. Instead he moved a little way up the bar and tried to attract Sweeney's attention - probably a difficult task, as he wasn't anywhere near as imposing as the orc. "Hey, big guy... you want something ta drink?"

[Sweeney]

Sweeney noticed Lir's change of demeanor when he mentioned Aveas. It seemed that he was not the only one with bad memories of that place. This heightened his interest in the one-eyed healer, but he also recognized that prying further about her involvement in the war would probably not be welcomed.

In any case, their conversation was interrupted by the bellowing arrival of Holler, whom Sweeney had unwittingly seperated from his ale, an action easily as dangerous as getting between a she-bear and her cubs. Sweeney was not particularly intimidated by the orc (he was rarely intimidated by anything), but he'd seen enough to be cautious around the obviously excitable brute, and he was interested in camaraderie, not a fight. So the half-giant stepped gingerly away from the bar, leaving the way clear for the orc to reach his beloved beverage. "Aplologies, good sir," he said, with a hint of good-natured mockery. "'fraid I don't read too good. Guess that's why I di'n't see yer name there."

By this time, the bartender was inquiring after Sweeney's order. He glanced with a mixture of anxiety and desire at the ales being consumed by his new companions, but his will held strong. "No, um, thanks," he stuttered. "Nothin' for me, thanks."

[Brann]

Brann took smaller gulps, but steadily worked at his beer in conjunction with the water while the others talked. The achadhiel was intent on dulling the pain radiating up his arm, and though he was sure Lir was only being medically responsible in suggesting only water, he wanted something that would help him sleep as much as slake his thirst.

Even in his distracted state he caught onto the fact that both Sweeney and his healer Lir had both been involved in the recent war between Empire and Kingdom. He had thought about joining the isles' forces as a spy, but the troubles close to home had kept him from such altruistic sacrifices. So he didn't have any appreciation for what the two had been through and judging by Lir's expression should feel grateful for that fact.

And he did feel grateful for that, and the drink in his hand, and the good fortune that had presented a skilled healer in his immediate time of need. He also felt tired, and seeing his beer was nearing it's end and his water already gone, he began thinking about where he might find a place to stay.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said to Lir and Sweeney, knowing full well the big orc Holler had no interest in dealing with him, "but do you know of an inn or rooming house nearby? I think I should go lie down soon."

[Lir Calysta Markby]

Holler's adrenaline still flowed and his need for battle was not sated by the men that ran out. This could cause a bit of a problem. She thought. As Lir felt the orc's ire rising, she in turn became colder. It did not help that the half giant had to bring up the war which left her with one less friend in the world as well as a lot of new nightmares.

Holler was not helping the situation by yelling which may constitute him acting out because he is not getting his way. Of course, he was scaring the help as well watching Denning and catching Ira's near drop. She even noticed that the bartender tried to have Sweeney move up and away from Holler with distraction of a drink which Sweeney didn't take.

It would be interesting to see who would win, knowing that it would be easy enough to escalate this but sighed softly. She was not even phased by Holler's glare and even had the audacity to look bored as she accepted her second mug of ale and as Sweeney moved aside, she did as well to give the orc a wide berth. "How are your stitches, Holler? If you split them open again..." She briefly glanced to see if her 'charge' was all right and then glanced at Brann requested a place that he could find a room and took note of the barkeeper's directions. Even if Holler decided to stay here all night to put the barkeeper in debt with his free drink tab, she was definitely going to get a good night sleep.

[Guest]

Clearly the company of mere men started to rub off on the Orc. As the serving wench all but dropped the broth Holler wasn't sure whether his concern went out to the contents of the bowls or to the mental state of the woman. Whatever the reason, he found himself stepping forward to take the food from her, before it did end up on the gritty floor. Somewhere buried deeply within the catacombs of his mind, the tough sailor hoped nobody would start to look at him as 'gentleman-like'. The first one to mention anything akin I'll eat! Might go well with the broth! With his earlier annoyance melted away like seafoam by the sun, Sleipnir chuckled softly.

As his large green hands curled around the two bowls the heat of the brilliant beige contents had already warmed the earthen ware. The warmth soothed his callused palms. For a moment he stood, enjoying it. Quickly blinking he realized how foolish he must appear. With a shy grin, he looked at Ira. A soft reddish hue crept up from beneath his shirt as he turned about rapidly. Seeing his course to the counter freed at last, Holler kept his head down and snuck past to offload his cargo. What is happening to me? I never acted like such an oaf before! Chaos ruled his rugged head.

As the half-giant's well meant taunt hit him, Holler didn't get much farther than a grunt in reply. Gruffly he admitted: "Reading is hard." Without further ado the hungry Orc hid his snout in the broth. The color suggested that it consisted mainly out of fish components, but the former squad leader's usually sensitive nasal organ seemed unable to tell him much more. Shrugging he lapped at the liquid mass. With some of his food dripping from his chin, Holler glanced over to the wounded Achadhiel. He was amazed at the speed with which the pointy eared fellow emptied his mugs. Which reminds me... Licking his lips, the Orc - finally - took a healthy swig of the elderly ale. Smacking his lips in obvious pleasure, he murmured: "Aaahhh, this is life?" Grinning the 6'9" Orc winked at Brann.

Lir seemed uncharacteristically silent. Holler could well remember moments aboard , when she'd been yelling and cursing like a pissed pirate. "How are your stitches, Holler? If you split them open again..." Women! The woman's remark felt like she'd prodded him just there; in his sore side. Flinching slightly, he shoved over the young healer's bowl. "Stop, jabbering. Eat your meal. It's free remember." Actually it probably wasn't as Denning had only offered free drinks - if Holler remembered correctly. With another mouthful being mauled in between the Orc's strong teeth, he wondered what was happening to him. Have I become soft? Flinching from the tingle in his stitches, he remembered his performance at the sea battle. He had killed a fair number of opponents, hadn't he? Still, with his eyes locked to the quickly emptying bowl he practised his warrior snarls. Can't be weak, must not be weak!

[Morg]

Ira smiled shyly back at Holler before disappearing once again into the depths of the tavern. She may not have understood what was running through the orc's brain... but a grin was a grin, even plastered onto the mighty maw of a greenskin.

The broth was very watery, and the chunks of fish floating in the liquid were more or less unidentifiable. Still, it was hot and salty, and there was even a hint of some curious spice in it. More importantly, there was plenty of it. It wasn't the ideal meal for a full-grown orc, but at least Holler wouldn't starve.

"Really?" The bartender replied wheedlingly to Sweeney's denial that he'd like a drink. "Not even one ta the health of yer half-elf friend there?" Damned if the big lug's gonna come in here and scare off my customers by the size of him and still not drink a drop for himself. Life's a bitch.

Denning let out the breath he'd been holding through black-gummed teeth as the tense situation defused itself without violent consequences. He'd already had to reconstruct the bar twice since Yulember, as well as fixing an implausible dent in the packed-earth floor, and he didn't want to have to do so again. Overhearing Brann's question to Lir, the bartender chipped in.

"There's bunkhouses here in the harbour district," he commented, "but ya don't wanna stay in one o' them. Sooner sleep in an open grave. Head into town, if I was you lot, and stay at the Laughin' Dwimmerwick. It's..." Denning proceeded to reel off a list of directions leading to a point under the central Great Market dome, only sporadically distracted by Holler's repeated snarling.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The Orc seemed to be acting very strange as she watched him help the serving wench, and then his mouth curled into what looked like a grin probably because he finally got a chance to eat.

A violet eye subtly nursed her ale as Holler came back over to his proclaimed spot and stated that reading was hard and he started eating out of the bowl as if he was an animal eating what he could and lapping up the broth which even made her stomach lurch.

Of course, her comment gave her a measurement of glee as he seemed to switch into his bad mood again. He could not take a kind word and it seemed to make her happy enough that she had poked the bear..err orc and came out alive.

Her nose wrinkled at the broth and she shook her head, "No, you eat it..." and almost said, to keep up your strength but decided that would be pushing it and swallowed her words wisely.

When the bartender mentioned going to the Laughin' Dwimmerwick it did peak her interest as well as the central Great Market. Then she heard Holler snarling and raised a brow. Is he practising or is something bothering him? The healer also wondered if they would except a half giant or an orc for that matter at the inn, but it would be amusing to see them refuse.

She shook her head and finished her ale. "Well then, I think a trip into town is a must." Lir looked at Holler first to see if he was going to come along or drink the bar under, then to Sweeney who would be an interesting travel companion but also a likely target. Better someone else and not her.

Her violet eye then caught Brann's and she smirked, "I don't think you will be good for anything else today and might even need an escort...can you walk?" The healer asked gruffly as she observed the achadhiel as he seemed to be clinging to the bar finishing the last of his ale.

[Brann]

Brann looked up at Holler, fishy broth dripping from the lower half of the orc's fanged face, and couldn't help but smile in return to the huge brawler's wink. After all, what about that image did not demand a smile, if not outright laughter? Luckily the achadhiel still retained enough self-control to fight off that impulse.

"The Laughing Dwimmerrick!" he nodded in response to Denning's helpful advice, before realizing his error. "Laughing Dimmerwick. Laughing Drimm...I'll find it." Frowning, Brann shook his head in disgust. Clearly his injury was affecting his speech. A loss of blood perhaps? He would have to ask the healer about that when he got the chance.

At Lir's somewhat dismissive comment about his usefulness, Brann forced himself upright, leaning heavily on his right elbow. He met her eye squarely and explained her mistake. "I think you'd be surprised what I'm good for, mistress Lir," he said with the hint of a smirk. "And of course I can walk, though I'd be more than happy to escort you on the way."

Intent on demonstrating his prowess, the achadhiel straightened completely and put his full weight on both legs. For a long flicker he balanced there perfectly, but then his broad "told you so" smile faltered as first one, and then the other leg trembled beneath him. His natural reflexes still worked though, and his right hand shot out with impressive speed to grip the edge of the bar and prevent an embarrassing collapse.

"I think I could manage," he amended somewhat sheepishly, looking up through raven bangs at the violet-eyed healer, "if I take it slow."

[Sweeney]

Once Holler was united with his soup and ale, tensions around the bar diminished a bit, although the the orc's continued irritability, Lir's aloofness, and the bartender's lack of enthusiasm for over his motley new clientele all continued to cast clouds over the gathering.

Really?" The bartender replied wheedlingly to Sweeney's denial that he'd like a drink. "Not even one ta the health of yer half-elf friend there?"

The half-giant hesitated again as he heard the siren song of alcohol call to him. "No, really, nothing for me," he protested, but realizing that he would not be welcome in the tavern if he weren't a customer, Sweeney reconsidered. "Well, maybe I'll have some soup like him," he offered, nodding skeptically at the bowl in which the orc had buried his snout.

There was some discussion of the new arrivals finding an inn. Sweeney payed little attention to this. During his short stay in Sabata, he had been staying in one of the bunkhouses mentioned by the barman. It wasn't luxurious, that's true, but in comparison to sleeping rough in the desert or in the gutters of World's Mouth, it seemed perfectly comfortable to him. The half-giant was prepared to let the others leave without him—there didn't seem to be much friendliness to spare among them anyway—until he saw Brann's failed attempt to stand on his own. Immediately the samaritan in Sweeney had decided he was needed.

"No, I don't think ya be walking too good," he pronounced. "Lemme help ya get to that inn."

[Guest]

Well, he sure wasn't going to argue with that. The broth, although not the best cooking Holler had ever tasted, was not too bad. It was even a notch above the ship's cuisine and the war camp's goo he was forced to endure lately. Lir's unexpected generosity did surprise her tall, green companion, though. Not one to forego any offer for free food, the Orc grinned and nodded his thanks.

All the talk about finding lodging, made Holler rather nervous. Firstly he doubted whether or not he would be able to stow away the contents of both the bowls fast enough. It had cooled down significantly, but contrary to most people's beliefs a proper fish broth can be very filling indeed - especially for someone favoring red meats. More importantly, the former slave remembered how he ended up as one in the first place. It had been after an evening of emptying alemugs at this very alehouse that he had been captured and sold off into captivity. Sure, it could have ended a heck of a lot nastier for him. But the memory still irked Sleipnir immensely. His good mood left him and a heavy rock settled into his stomach. It even soured his appetite. "Enough!", he grunted and shoved the healer's half finished bowl away from him.

Torn within, Holler rose with Brann - although a tad less shaky. He felt he was ready to follow the other three in their quest for rooms, but his earlier experience with Sabata's streets didn't make him too enthusiastic. Admittingly he hadn't listened when Denning listed the directions to this Inn he mentioned, but the Orc was confident that one of the others had. Seeing as the half elf was fussed about enough already, Holler just picked up his meagre sack of belongings and said: "Giant. You and Lir can help 'pointy ears' here." That even sounded halfways leader-ish! Grinning he clenched his empty fist dramatically. "I'll be making sure no evil-doer gets in your way."

Forgotten were the broth-bowls, the cheap knife and even the not entirely emptied ale-mug.

[Brann]

Brann shot Holler a slightly cross look at the "pointy-ears" comment - at least his achadhiel teeth didn't poke up his nose - but hardly saw the point in pressing the issue with the shape he was in. His short adventure showing off for Lir had convinced him the wound and her subsequent ministrations had left him weakened to the point that walking was going to be a challenge. Provoking an orc with the sunny disposition of Holler? Even the Dragons Tears couldn't make Brann that drunk.

His expression was more thankful when he looked up at Sweeney, and nodded briefly. "Perhaps you could just tag along beside me, and if I need to steady myself I could reach out and hold onto your arm?" he suggested. Surely he could manage that much, if only to avoid the embarrassment of being carried by the half-giant while not unconscious or otherwise respectably incapacitated.

To the group at large he said, "I am ready when you are. Actually, perhaps now would be good, in case I'm going downhill instead of up." With the bar steadying him Brann was stable, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was going to get worse before he got better.

"Shall we?" he asked Sweeney and Lir, his impromptu escorts.

[Morg]

Sweeney's order for broth did not take long to arrive. Now that the dubious mixture was on the boil, it was simple enough to dredge off some of it and put it into a bowl, and the waitress Ira brought it out within the burn, delivering it with a demure smile at the half-giant. The small party containing the two big fellows seemed to have received Denning's seal of approval, after all.

The latter, seeing that the group seemed to be preparing to leave, coughed in a manner he considered highly discreet and subtle. To the ears of anyone other than a Sabatan, however, it likely sounded like a horrible cacophony. The rasping noise was as much evidence of the bartender's excessive consumption of certain narcotics as were the flecks of dark yellow phlegm that decorated his lips as he coughed. "Ahem-hem-HEM!"

"Beggin' yer pardon, d'war," Denning addressed Lir - the one he knew to have the cash. "One soup and an ale for you, and an ale and a water for yer unlucky friend, and a soup for big fella." He smiled ingratiatingly at Sweeney. "Plus two shots of Dragon's Tears... comes to thirteen banner, d'war, unless ye want to pay in-di-vi-du-ally?" This last word was a favourite of Denning's. He'd picked it up from a robed fellow who'd graced the tavern with his presence a month or two ago.

Reflecting, the bartender considered that it was probably a good thing that the group was leaving. On the one hand he was losing out on an evening's worth of drinks. On the other, he was saving his ale stocks from the considerable appetite of Holler. In addition, any broth they left unfinished could be poured back into the cauldron and served to other customers at a later date.

[Brann]

Despite his condition Brann couldn't help but smirk at the rather proud look on Denning's face as he managed to spit out such a fancy word. Apparently six syllables was quite an accomplishment around these parts - the achadhiel would have to keep that in mind lest he bamboozle the natives with his fanciful elocution.

"Don't be silly, my good man," replied Brann smoothly, although his right hand still grasped the edge of the bar tightly. "I wouldn't dream of the lady healer paying for her fare after so kindly looking after my arm." Brann offered a quick glance and smile at Lir, expecting some sort of scowl out of the gruff physician, but wanted to see the reaction nevertheless.

"What do the two of our totals come to?" he asked, nodding his head back and forth to indicate Lir and himself, before pausing. "I suppose that only leaves Sweeney's soup though, doesn't it? And that can't amount to much," Brann realized, pursing his lips for a flicker. "You know what, forget all that. I'll pay for the whole lot."

The raven-haired achadhiel fished out a leather bag from beneath his shirt and slipped two dextrous fingers in to retrieve the right amount. What he pulled out was a golden coronet, and immediately the achadhiel's face sank in disappointment.

"I can't believe it," he said, staring at the coin morosely. "My last one, gone for a meal and some bandages." Grudgingly he extended the shiny disc to Denning, offering it in payment. "I'll take circlets and lances in change," he said after handing over the gold coin. "You can keep the extra banners."

Brann hadn't uttered a word of lie, for it was indeed his last coronet. He just didn't want the tavern to know he had more gold, in the form of crowns no less, not when he'd just arrived in town and would need that backing. The flashy coronet would be too easy to spot, so making a show of giving up his "last one" was his way of protecting himself from those who had noticed.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The healer was about to pay her fare only before Brann interjected to paying for all of them. This caused a bit of surprise in the woman and it did not sit well with her. She did not like to be indebted to someone, but at the same time she did not find it right to argue and excite the bartender with promise of more money. This place was a run down and disgusting pig sty and it was best that they left immediately. It was unfortunate Holler didn't drink the place under as he decided to lead the group.

Lir didn't say thank you to Brann, but she worked herself up to saying it. Didn't want to say it in front of so many people and it was often difficult to show gratitude because it usually had a motive. She completely forgot that she had healed him moments before but in her own mind it was not the same.

She needed to shop for new clothes to fit in, learn some of the language and lands as well as learn of what herbs were available here in Sabata. It was going to definitely keep her busy.