Café de Nuit

Norzak drops the mug and belches rather loudly. Concetrating he points at the blue cloak and utters a few words of power and a ray leaves his fingertips, heading for the blue cloaked man.

It looks like the drink will have to wait. Bennedict thinks as the blue cloaked man sprints for the exit. Seeing that he had no real chance to catch him and not sure that he could do anything to the large fellow if he did, he began to incant the words to the ancient Ezran prayer of blessing, feeling the words of power burn in his blood to guide the hands of his allies.

A thin ray of sickly green light darts from Norzak's fingertips and strikes the fleeing man in between the shoudlerblades. He slumps forward against the open door, seemingly exhuasted. His breath comes in gasps. He turns and leans against the door jamb, fumbling to draw his poignard and holding it out to defend himself.

Sir Cirdan comes thundering across the room, hopping up onto a table and running down it's length to execute a flying leap over the bar! He pulls his sword free of the scabbard in mid air. Hitting the floor,he lands a savage blow on the blue cloaked man, striking him in the chest so forcefully with the sword that the man is flung sideways , away from the kitchen door and halfway over the bar.

The blue cloaked man pushes himself up from the bar, leaving a pool of dark blood on the wooden counter-top to match the crimson stain on the front of his slashed tunic. He grimaces in pain, then makes a clumsy stab at Sir Cirdan, one the knight sidesteps by a handspan's space.

As the fight continues, all of you suddenly feel as if something or someone is watching over you, even helping you!

"Dwarf! Can you make him sleep?"

Cirdan doesn't want to kill his opponent - obviously, this peasant may be able to give some information.

However, he isn't going to risk anything either. If noone of the others reacts, he is going to strike again, not caring at all what damage he causes...

Looking at Cirdan, Norzak shook his head no. Putting away his crossbow, he removes his short sword and rushes after the man. "Don' ya go too far ya filthy kidnapper!" Norzak yells out to the man. "Ya kinna go peacefully or tha hard way, 'is up ta you, mack. I don' usally give a choice, but I'm guessin' them guards 'll wanna have you in their fancy lil' jail 'n' take care of you their own way. If 'twas fer me, I'd slit yer throat 'n' feed ya ta the sewer rats." As soon as he can reach the man he'll give him a choice "You gonna run or do it the easy way. Imma itchin fer the hard way meself, but tha elf here" he points his thumb over his shoulder at Cirdan, "prefers ya not be harmed. Take it or leave it." Norzak keeps five feet from the man, waiting to see what he'll say or do. If he tries anything funny, he'll try knock him out.

The man, his face drawn and pale, looks from Cirdan to Norzak, then back to Cirdan.

''Hold! It is enough- I yield!''

He reverses his poignard and extends the pommel toward Sir Cirdan.

"Now yer talking, bub. Hey why don' we take this mutt to tha guards. I bet they be really happy ta see the filthy dag. Then I kin get to me serious drinkin the tavern outta business!" NOrzak grins as he sheathes his short sword and removes a dagger from a boot. "Hey" he looks meaningfully at Cirdan "Ya ming if he loses an ear? Hmm mebbe a finger or even better, I kin cut out his tongue.Hmmm?" He looks at at the blue cloak with an evil grin, spitting on the ground then licking his dagger. "There, now it's clean. C'mon elf, lemme take an ear at least!"

Bennedict glares at the dwarf, wondering just when exactly that one had drug himself out of a nearby storm drain. "Perhaps it would be best if we adjourned from this location, and perhaps got away from prying ears, before continuing this." Bennedict turns to look at the bar's customer base, who are no doubt staring in befuddlement at the odd melee that sprang up in their bar a moment earlier. "If nothing else so we can let these people get back to enjoying their drinks."

With that he turns to the barkeep, fishes around in one of his pockets, drops some coins on the bar, says "A round for the house, on me," and turns to walk out the front door.

The crowd in the Goats is indeed unsettled. The sudden outbreak of violence seems to have caught most of the patrons by surprise, and rections are mixed. Some men have drawn daggers and are warily staring at your little party, in a none-too friendly manner. Others have moved their chairs to the far corners of the room and are studiously avoiding making eye contact with any of you. Two men at a table near the bar are loudly discussing the realative merits of calling the gendrames.

All this changes when Benedict's stack of coins clanks onto the bartop and the bartender announces, with a nervous stammer:

''Uhhh...drinks for whole ...uh...house ...on the gentlemen 'ere. ''

The mood immediately shifts. Daggers are returned to sheathes. Men and women jostle each other in an effort to get to the bar before the free drinks run out. No one makes any attempt to stop any of the party from leaving, or to aid the blue-cloaked man.

Cirdan signals the cloaked man to drop the dagger on the ground.

"Might I have the pleasure of your name?"

The man drops his long dagger to the floor . He steadies himself by gripping the bar with his right arm and manages to regain his composure. An ugly sneer creeps over his features.

''My name? I'm Pierre Renault, and you are making a big mistake, foreigner! I have friends. You will regret this.''

Cirdan moves closer, his blade now touching the throat of the man, and visibly cutting him.

"Friends? - Then tell me their address, so I can send them your remains.
Talk, master Renault, talk, or will run you through with my sword, I swear.
One more word I am not pleased with, and I'll end this conversation the way the dwarf would. - Think twice before you answer."

And all this coming from an elf with a viking helm on his head.

Renault stands stock still, seized with terror as Sir Cirdan presses the naked steel against his throat. A thin stream of blood begins to trickle down his neck. Bullets of sweat stand out on his pallid brow. His lips move wordlessly, as if he's trying to speak but cannot get the words out.


Finally, he manages to say, in a small and frightened voice,

''I.... yes...no trouble at all monsieur. I'll tell you whatever you wish to know. Please don't kill me.''

Cirdan grins like a hungry wolf, waving the others near,
he looks for a free table in a dark corner of the tavern.

If there's one, he'll guide Mr Renault there at the tip of his blade and order him to sit down, the hands pressed on the table board.

He'll let the others ask their questions first, since he realizes he has come a bit late to the scene...

Norzak spits on the ground. "Let's follow Bennedict outta here. Too many people seen us 'ere 'n' I think we should go somewhere quiet to get some information from this scumbag, elf." Looking to Renault, Norzak says. "Yer coming with us bub. Try anything 'n' I'll cut ya a new smile. And do introduce yer friends to us, mebbe they'll have as much luck as you and your dimbulbed associates have had this evening, eh?I hope they got more sense 'n' you do. C'mon.. let's get outta here."

Calling after Bennedict "Hey, wait up! I am presuming ya got a place we kin go talk ta this loser?" He asks.