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

[Sweeney]

Sweeneybarely had time to gulp down a few mouthfuls fo broth before the party was on the move again. The patient Brann generously covered the meal and drinks, a gesture the half-giant acknowledged with a simple nod of thanks. After his abotive attempts at conversation earlier, he remained quiet and a little withdrawn. Truth was, this group made Sweeney a little nervous, especially the orc, Holler, who seemed capable of burtsing into a rage at the slightest provocation. The half-giant stayed out of the way until the transaction had been completed and then offered his support for the wounded achadhiel.

[Guest]

Having decided to leave, Holler got a bit impatient with all the money-stuff. He would as gladly as not have walked out without paying - although today this wouldn't be very daring, as Denning had erased his tab. With a finger exploring his left nostril, the murky Orc snorted his surprise as the Achadhiel paid for the others as well. The former sailor thoughtfully rolled some of his nose's contents up into a small ball as he watched Brann's antics. As shrewdness was different to intelligence, Holler found the wounded man's emphasis on how he was spending his last gold somewhat fishy. Then again perhaps the rather dodgy broth was to blame for these sentiments. *BURP!*

With a sheepish grin the tall Orc looked over to his companions. In the company of Orcs nobody would have flinched nor blinked at his 'rude comment', but by now Sleipnir knew that so called 'civilized' people didn't much care for this venting of gass.

Well, all seemed taken care off. "Sir Prince! 'Till we meet again." With a cheeky smile the Orc tapped a finger to his forehead. "I wish you many peaceful but rich customers!" Rather mysteriously the little waddle of snot had dissapeared to someplace obscure. To the half giant, the half elf and Lir he said: "Com'on, let's get this patient into bed."

[Morg]

The bartender was pleasantly surprised at Brann's seeming largesse, although he didn't display it outwardly. Denning pocketed the sizable gold coin and clapped three circlets down on the bar as change. "Thank ye, sir. Hope yer wound don't get infected or nothin'," he grunted professionally. This was the politest and most considerate way of wishing the achadhiel good healing that the bartender could think of.

To Holler he saluted with a flourish, managing not to gag as the orc blew back some of the rancid contents of his gullet. "Till we meet again, Sir Ambassader," he echoed. "May your diplermatic activities be fruitiferous," he added solemnly.

Once the small party had left his establishment, Denning could hardly restrain a sigh of relief. There was something turbulent in the atmosphere around them - and more than just the usual aura of bigness and threateningness that surrounded orcs and half giants. Shrugging, the bartender put it out of mind. He picked up a mug-drying cloth and started wiping up the blood that had dripped onto the bar. As he did so his mind was on how he could make the incident into an amusing anecdote to tell future patrons. An orc, a half-elf, a half giant an' a hot chick walk into the bar. Stop me if ye've heard this one...

(OOC: Fin! Continued here.)

[Morg]

Skilled