The Phoenix of Llael

Thrash: The Painted Weasel

Of the several taverns Thrash has visited in the last few months, the Painted Weasel has really started to grow on him. The ale is good for the price, the crowd is rowdy, and the furniture was obviously bought with some Trollkin bodies in mind.

Even better, it’s only a few blocks from their new lodgings in the river district, and that is where Thrash finds himself tonight.

The crowd is lively this evening, and the tables are full. Thrash arrived early enough to get a seat near the bar, and has been ordering his ales three at a time, as the serving wenches have their hands full with the bustle of the place.

Thrash is just into his second round when two men approach his table. They are young but weathered. The red-headed one has a patch over his left eye, and the one with black hair has scar running from his right ear down to his chin. Thrash takes them for river boat sailors – but whether bandits or traders, he can’t tell, although he’s not sure there’s much difference these days. Rusty daggers hang from their belts, and the smell of old leather and human stink wafts off them as they grab two chairs and sit down.

The black-haired one reaches out and slides the two ales Thrash isn’t drinking in front of him and his companion. “Thanks for keeping our table for us,” he says. “You can go now.” The red-headed man sets his dagger on the table as he takes a swallow from your extra ale and eyes Thrash with his one good eye.

Thrash looks at the red-headed man with his one good eye, and a smile creeps across his face which turns to a chuckle and then to a guffaw. He grabs his belly as he laughs — and suddenly stops and draws his gun, pointing it at the red-headed man. Thrash brings his warhammer down on the table with a crash, spilling the drinks. “Gentlemen, us Trollkin salute courage and gumption, but hate stupidity. Let’s say I buy us another round and salute your courage and discuss how we lost our one eye due to courage, or do you lose your other eye because you are stupid?”

The crowd around the table gets hushed, and backs away. Thrash definitely made an impression on them.

Unfortunately, the men do not appear intimidated at all. The red-haired one pushes his chair back and throws his beer in Thrash’s face, splashing it in his eyes.

Thrash stands up and readies his hammer, “Outside” he says. He turns 90 degrees or to the other guy and smiles squeezing his hammer’s handle flexing the gun show, so everyone could see, for no ticket was needed to that show.

The other man smiles. " ‘Ey now, isn’t that noble." He leaps at Thrash and grabs the Trollkin with both arms in a grapple.

The red-haired man grabs his dagger off the table and stabs at Thrash, but the blade glances harmlessly off his armor.

Thrash flexes his arms to break the grapple, and bursts out of the man’s grip! The man swears in shock.

The black-haired man draws his sword and swings at Thrash. He is obviously rattled, and catches his sword on the back of the chair.

The red-haired man makes to cut Thrash again, and once again, his dagger fails to penetrate the Trollkin’s armor.

The crowd around the table has started cheering and money is exchanging hands as the tavern’s occupants place their bets.

Thrash swings at the black-haired man, crushing him square in the chest. He crumples like a rag doll to the floor, not even needing the follow-up blow Thrash had intended. The red-haired man is quicker, and Thrash almost misses him, but the Trollkin manages to bring the butt of his hammer up into the red-haired man’s chin, sending him sprawling into the crowd behind him. Several onlookers try to push the man back towards Thrash, but he collapses at their feet.

The crowd mutters and there is a mix off boos and cheers, as money exchanges hands.

No one argues with Thrash as he searches the bodies of the two men. He finds a total of 8 gold crowns, between them. Thrash seizes a collection of rather ordinary weapons: a dagger, pistol and sword. Then he gives the tavern owner 4 gold crowns.

A man steps up beside Thrash at the tavern bar as he pays the owner. The man has short cropped black hair and is dressed in fine merchants clothing. He lays 6 gold crowns on the bar, and says “Rufus, some replacement ale for this fine warrior. 3 pints of the good stuff from Cygnar. And one for me, please.” He offers his hand to Thrash. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mr. Davos.”

Thrash takes hold of Mr. Davos’s hand and holds it very firmly “If you buying, I am accepting, even if those guys are with you,” pointing to the two guys on the floor. “That wasn’t a test, was it?”

Davos smiles. “I don’t employ fools like that,” he waves a hand dismissively. “However, I am always on the lookout for new talent. A trollkin with your… special talents,” he glances at the two men, “could be useful to me from time to time.”

Thrash smiles “Tell me what you need and if the price is right, I will be happy to provide my services.”

Davos sets a small purse on the bar. “There’s 50 gold crown in there.” He nods at Thrash. “Consider that a retainer. If you’re interested in learning more, come by the Red Bearded Dwarf on Merchant’s Street on the 2nd of the month – that’s in two days time.” Davos finishes his ale. “1 hour past sunrise. Try not to be late. I have other matters to attend to.” He slides his mug across the bar and stands to leave.

Thrash takes the purse, shakes it, eyes Davos and says “I will be there — and this better not be a setup, or what happened to those guys will be nothing to what I do to you.”



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