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DragonSworn

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POG:
Dunrik calmly appraised how the newcomer handled the jibes tossed by drunken revelers who danced with unknown forces.  There was a time when he relished drunken brawls and such but such youthful bravado was lost on him.  This undertaking had to be accomplished ere the enemy gained strength.  The passion for senseless violence he had embraced in bygone days wasn't there in this one.   As the youth sat down at the table he didn't see it.  The other patrons should have realized it but they were drunk.  Too drunk to realize that this would be no pushing and shoving match were noses were bloodied and crockery was smashed over the combatants heads.

If this one, his Guild contact had said Jori was his name, was provoked, blood would be spilled and lives would be in danger.
"Well met Jori."  Dunrik finished the first flagon in a long pull and then started in on the second.  "I am called by many names but you can call me brother, I am Dunrik"  The first was a greeting used by members of the Guild.  These were hostile times and agents of the enemy were many.
He looked up at the five men sauntering toward the table, then expectantly at Jori.  The greeting he had given required the proper response.  If Jori didn't give it to him shortly the young man needn't worry about the drunken mercenaries coming his way looking for cruel sport.
If Jori didn't give the proper response Dunrik would kill him before they had a chance to lay hands on him...

Pee-cola:
At first, Jori was rather puzzled, yet curious of this strangers intention while taking his seat. But once he heard the guildspeak, his purpose became clear. He knew he was among trusted brethren.

“Hail Fellow Dunrik…” He replied, as he closed his eyes and puts his mug to his lips. After three big swigs and a little spillage on his cheeks, he opens his eyes to see Dunrik looking past Jori over his shoulder.
“Looks like someone wants to talk to you” warned Dunrik in a low voice.

Jori-ell turned around to see four hulking men towering above him sitting at his table. Based on his quick head–to–toe assessment, he could tell that these men were guardsmen of a sort. All dressed in the same armored garment with a bird-like insignia emblazoned on the breastplate.

“Look at the lad, trying to drink like a man!!!!” yelled one man from the back.
“Isn’t it past his curfew????…haharharha” chuckled another,
“This is my tavern!!!” , Screamed the alpha of the pack, as he slamed his ungloved hand on the table with such force, it spills Dunriks drink.
“You think you can give me a squinty-eyed look and just get away with it….? You’d better apologize before me and my goons, break you and your friend here.”

Jori is not unfamiliar with these circumstances but the outcome is not usually good. He looks toward his new found comrade for some kind of affirmation, but Dunrik says nothing.

“Oh I get it. He’s your babysitter!!!!.....Haharharhahahar….” Blurted the last guardsman.

POG:
Dunrik saw the younger man tense like a coiled spring, ready to explode into murderous action.  He laid a roughly calloused hand on his arm.  His eyes told his companion,

I'll handle this.
"You know, you lads are right."  Dunrik spread his hands, "We are sorry.  I apologize for not realizing I was in the presence of my betters."  He placed a gold crown on the table, about what these mercenary/guards made in a month.  "For the drinks,"  He casually flipped another on the table "and another for the trouble we've caused."

He rose slowly, hands away from his blades.  The men were already moving forward eyes gleaming greedily at the prospect of ill gotten gold.  Their leader, a bear of man whose nose displayed signs of being broken several times, deftly pocketed the shiny coins.  Dunrik took a step toward the rickety stairs leading to the second floor.

"Hey?!"  A grimy hand shot out and grasped Dunrik's shoulder. "It's time for you to leave!"  Dunrik thought briefly about explaining that he had a room upstairs but thought better of it.  He had seen this before.  Once outside these lads, perhaps joined by more of their fellows lurking about in the shadows, would do their best to liberate the rest of his gold from the captivity of his coinpurse.  There was but one thing brutes such as these would understand.  He didn't have time for this.

"I thought I told you..."  Dunrik pinned the hand to his shoulder and spun dropping elbow and his full weight onto the exposed elbow joint of his assailant's arm.  There was a sickening sound reminiscent of dry timber cracking.  The formerly arrogant guardsman let forth a high pitched wail that sounded as if it should be coming from the mouth of a school girl.  The yell was cut short as Dunrik's forearm blurred into a point on the side of his opponent's neck in a motion to fast for most in the room too follow.  The unconscious man slid across the floor.  A second assailant rushed in swinging a haymaker punch.  Dunrik dropped to the floor and spun, his outstretched leg catching the attacker behind the heel.  Between the wild punch that hit air and having his legs swept out from under him the brute found himself spinning thru the air and crashing to the ground heavily.  He tried in vain to catch the wind that had been knocked from his lungs.  Dunrik snapped a kick to the groin of the third guard, who had been watching the spectacle unfold before him as if it was a spellcaster's fireworks show.  The man pitched forward and Dunrik dropped his elbow onto the back of his head driving the man's forehead into the ground.  The man's hands were covering his hurt parts so his nose broke his fall.  The second man pushed himself to his feet just in time catch Dunrik's elbow in his temple.  Stars filled his vision and swirled down into darkness.

OOC:  Fourth guy is your's P.  Have fun

Pee-cola:
It quickly became obvious that Dunrik could certainly handle his own affairs. His companion was fast, agile and well skilled at hand – to – hand combat. In fact, Jori felt that his interference would merely complicate matters. He made such quick work of his combatants that the last foe, knowing he was no match for the Dunriks fury, reached in his waistband for a weapon.

But Jori was no mere spectator to the brawl, with drink in hand, he was also observing the patrons who seem to be enjoying the fray.  A glint of steel caught his ever-scanning eye, which forced Jori to react. He reluctantly tosses his ale in the eyes of the remaining guard. Before the oaf had time to wipe his stinging eyes, Jori leaped over a crumpled body and pounced on the mans back like a hungry feline catching its next meal. His legs wrapped around his torso pinning one arm to his waist and his other arm was now pinned to his ear by Joris powerful arms, twisted and contorted around his neck in such a way that the unfortunate recipient of this chokehold would have his last words spoken with his eyes. As the grip tightened around the guardsman’s neck like an executioners noose, the victim dropped to his knees, and then to his face as his body went limp. 

“What a waste….of a good drink.”, Jori mutters while dismounting his prey.
He then uses his foot to roll back the guards arm to reveal a dagger loosely held in the sleeping mans hand.
“He sought to jig you from behind.” reported Jori. “I don’t like cheaters.”   

POG:
The echoes of the quick but frenzied battle died slowly.  Dunrik scanned the room looking for other potential foes.  None had the heart or mettle.  The bartender's eyes were wide with awe.  He had seen many brawls in his time here but none finished with such quickness or ferocious efficiency.  As the collective heartbeat in the room slowed.  Dunrik flipped the man a gold crown.  "For your troubles."  He nodded to Jori in thanks.  "We'll be leaving."  We have to go upstairs first.  "You with me."  The last was guild speak.  Jori new it meant that Dunrik thought there were more enemies about and to be cautious.  He started to walk upstairs when...

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