Prologue: The Brawl at The Eagle's Nest

Vargas struts in and plops down at a table slamming his palm down with a grin from ear to ear. I'll 'ave da nite's special Love, and Grog please (Lotta Foam?) Lotta Foam on it. (It is kinda chewy das why I like it.)" he states snagging a serving wench before it got busy.

It was the weekend and although he would have enjoyed cutting loss he was settling for a meal before going on duty or at least the most one could expect from him since he lacked focus at times. Having flown into a drunken rage the last time he was in a bar brawl here he had managed to jump up off a table and swing on the chandelar. Unfortunately sicne that had turned out to be fun and he had a bully time kicking people and spinning around it eventually fell from the ceiling. After which he had broken it by battering ramming a few people out of the bar through a window. That seemed to quiet down the brawl and people looked at the large man laughing at the hole in the wall and the broken chandelar in his hands when the Owner showed up and slammed the place with her 'Okay now I'm pissed' magic.

That's why he had to come in on a regular basis to pay off his debt and police the bar, if the craziest person in the room is waiting for a fight few people opt to start a fight where he'll get to join in.

With his grog brought off first Vargas laps up the libation in front of him and waited on his meal.

"Thanks love (wonder if we'll 'ave a propa fight tonigh' Brazy boys should be mended by now too... cept the little one's nose... Crying shame he can't take a boot to da face)" he states to the server and to most it seems he goes into talking to himself.

Vargas waits for his food and people watches. Few people make eye contact for too long, some avoid his area completely.

Davik sits down next to Vargas, smiles at his large friend, and orders an ale before quietly looking around the room and looking to see if there are any pretty serving wenches, or any obviously wealthy marks.

Belarigan joins Vargas as well. Taverns are good places to blend in, and he feels he can relax more here than out in the open.

He looks around. Signs of earlier abuse have been tended to but remain. The chair he is sitting on is made off fresh wood and hastily carved. It wobbles slightly so he stands, flips it over, examines the legs and then places a shiv under the shorter leg for now.

He waves at Sunnita, the serving wench, and holds up 2 fingers, which, by repetition, she knows to bring him 2 ales. He'll chug one right off, then so and enjoy the second.

"Vargas, you beast, you're smelling particularly provincial today. Did you sleep in a barn?" He smiles in anticipation of one of Vargas' particular insults in reply. He nods at Davik and grins toothily.

"P-pro-provinchial?" Vargas states scratching his head, "(What's 'e mean? Oh like the country side?) I woke up in a pig farm on the outskirts of town on top of some pigs." explains before belting out a laugh, "Past out I guess no idea how I got there... must o' been a gud nite innit?" he adds as if proud by the accomplishment. With his food out he latches onto the meat in one hand and tears into it. Plopping down a empty mug he picks up potatoes and shoves them into his mouth with his free hand. Between snaps, rending of food, belched, snorts, and open mouth chewing his tablemates would probably wonder if Vargas might be actually feral.

Leaning to one side a horrific noise occurs and half of Vargas' face scrunches up in the act, "So what you blokes up to tonight?"

*sniff*

"Fwha I guess I got into the pig slop while I was drunk... or I'm dying..." Vargas comments patting his stomach before going back to eating like a wild animal and looks at the other two.

Jarveena stands on the balcony, well in the shadows thrown up by the fireplace on the ground floor, and looks down on the common room. With Leatha away, it's up to Jarveena to watch over the boys and make sure the Eagle's Nest doesn’t end up burned to the ground. Speaking of which...

Vargas' booming voice thunders up from downstairs. Jarveena leans forward from her perch - the real eyrie in this eagle's nest - and rests her small hand on the balcony railing. Smooth oak, carved by nameless craftsmen generations past - Leatha won the Nest in a bet; the partnership with Jarveena and the boys came years later.

Belarigen notices Jarveena and acknowledges her with a barely perceptible nod. The woman draws back into the shadows and clucks her tongue in annoyance. She keeps telling them not to do that. They're not supposed to let on that she can "see" them. Jarveena is blind. Her eyes were put out when a rival assassin splashed acid into them. That rival had paid dearly, but not before he had, in addition to blinding Jarveena, managed to push her into the ritual pyre under the bridge on which they had been locked in mortal combat. Jarveena had come out badly burned and eventually lost her left arm. But victory was hers and she had taken her place in the assassin’s guild. But that was many, many years ago, and far away from here. Brought back to the present, Jarveena continues watching the activity below. Sightless though her eyes might be, she has trained her senses to such heights that she can "see" just as well - sometimes even better - than someone with keen eyes. At this moment she not only sees every living body, every piece of furniture, and every piece of cutlery down there, she also marks the location of coins clinking as they change hands, the uneven clatter of a cheater’s loaded dice… suddenly, her oversensitive hearing is jarred by the crash of a falling tray of ale tankards, then a squeal followed by tittering laughter. Maya. That half-wit girl! The serving wench will need another talking to. Jarveena sighs. This matronly life, watching over squealing girls, is not for her. She longs to be out on the rooftops again in the cold, bracing night air. It’s been too long since she’s been given a job. Leatha better have something for her when she gets back.

Jarveena signals to the servant girl beside her to help her rise from her chair and guide her down the stairs. Not that she needs the help, of course, but appearances of helplessness must be kept. Only Leatha and the boys are privy to her secret. Thus assisted, she descends the stairs to the common room.

Davik sighs heavily as he hears Vargas tear into his food as he always does (like a feral dog). As always, he ignores it and turns his attention back to the rest of the tavern, spotting Jarveena coming down the stairs. He tips his hat to her and his eyes change from deep brown to a bright blue suddenly. He smiles and turns back to his food, satisfied that none of his wealthier marks are going to leave soon.

He smiles as he hears Maya's tray crash and chuckles under his breath. Maybe she'll need a bit of "cheering up" again after another talk from Jarveena. It could be a good night indeed!

Belarigen flinches at the crashing sound. Unlike the others, he has long suspected that Maya is also in hiding and bears talents of her own. A server's tray is heavy - especially laden with the barbaric gruel and, cough, "Ale", cough served in this low brow frontier town - but her arms are wiry with a strength born of martial training. Not that he watches her for flashes of her skin. His face glows red, and he takes another sip of "ale".

Jarveena descends the staircase. Another one of lithe grace ill-fitting a tavernkeep. A strange mix of creatures have found their way to the Eagle's Nest, and with them, the characteristic violence that always follows talent.

Vargas barrels out a warbling series of guffaws at the girls misfortune. Loose bits of meat fly out from his mouth onto the table and all that in front of him before he suddenly stops and blinks, "(Oh yay, if she's down I might 'ave ta do dis soba..) Love you alright? Can you still serve? Someone 'elp the lady up wudja?" Vargas belts out after the realization less serving wenches meant less serving of him mostly.

Arching an eyebrow the large man looks around his flagon of grog his lips scrunching to one side of his face before licking his lips. Looking to Davik and Belarigen he nods and stands up. Walking towards the trio he belts out.

"I be Vargas. (You think it's about the pigs?) In my defense if dis ere is about da pigs I figured they likes a good belly rub." Vargas stated regarding the three, "N who da three o' you lot be?"

The man hadn't paid for anything yet so he planned on being civil. Plus it also gave people time to get where they wanted to be if there was a bit of trouble to be had.

Davik sighs deeply before quietly slipping underneath the table and changing his features to that of a plain, old man he saw on his way in here. He then sneaks over to an empty table before emerging just before Vargas speaks up and taking a seat to watch the exchange. He nervously fingers one of his many knives under the table.

Silent until now, Dasclaw leans forward, his eyes glittering. All three of these newcomers reek of magic, and he considers how he can best provoke them into using some. Should he be charming, needy, abusive, or offensive?

He grins when they ask for Vargas. :::Oh, that's that taken care of, then.::: Dasclaw rises and approaches the newcomers in Vargas' wake, all of his senses seeking to gather as much information as possible. Does the smoke from the man's eyes have a smell? What does the woman's posture tell of her knowledge or ignorance of the Twelve Arcane Stances of Gunnazirian? Do the hairs on Dasclaw's arms rise as he nears the man's staff, a sure sign of the trickle of prana that such staves often provide?

The moment the trio enters the tavern Jarveena senses trouble. She dismisses the serving girl and sends her scurrying out the back. Jarveena takes cover behind one of the tavern's large oaken columns. By the time Vargas confronts the trio she has her bow out and an arrow nocked.

Jarveena lets loose her arrow / aimed at one of those smoking eyes, / then dives and rolls under the heavy trestle tables, / from where she shoots a second arrow / at the man's other eye.

Seeing things get bad, Davik leaps atop the table / and yells to the attackers hoping to distract them from his friend, "Fools, he's an impostor! Our master will be most displeased with you!" / He then draws and launches a dagger at the man who flung Vargas away / before leaping into a backwards roll into the crowd and / changing his features into that of his actual self to hide from any counterattack.

Vargas is midword when he realizes he's in the air, "(Oy, we didn't start it? We can't be 'eld responsible fa dis and they'll 'ave ta pay that's what it means dinnit?)" he states to himself as he lands and bounces up off the table snatching up mutton in his mouth in the tumble and clatter of an experienced barroom brawler. With a metal flagon in one hand and a chair in the other he smiles with glee. With a chump he finishes the last of the meet, "After the bill for damages, drinks on dem fo' 'nother round!" Vargas bellows with glee in his eyes for the chance of actual battle for a change.

Rushing forward he chucks the flagon at the stick wielding bloke/ bounding forward and jumping up into the air a snare on his lips as he grips the chair with two hands on separate legs to come down with the chair aiming for the the smokey eyed man/ having broke these chairs several times he holds onto the legs of the chair as it splinters apart having fashioned crude large wooden shivs from the splintering slashing out at the man with them./ Vargas bounds backwards into the Robed woman giving her an elbow to the face, "Loose da hood love! Dis is a fight not a shagging... yet." Vargas jeers trying to spit in her eyes.

"I love a good brawl in a bar! (What? Oh Yeah) PRISON RULES!" he roars cackling like a drunken madman.

Recognizing the dampening, Dasclaw slides easily into Warding Stance Eleven, Prayer of the Contemplative Scirocco / his wrists crossed, hands pointing in opposite directions, palms outward to the trio, directing the flow of prana out and around him. / For good measure, Dasclaw chants the Bacravian Order's Song of Drawing / as he locks eyes with the woman and attempts to draw on her knowledge through her gaze.

Belarigen slides from the table, and spins down low, ducking below and behind the bar, where he rolls to the far side and springs up from behind, a bar towel in his fists. He seems to hover for a second, leaping over the bar, before he crashes down behind Smokey. The bar towel, wrapped around one fist, snaps around Smokey's neck, and into his other hand.

Vargas finds himself suddenly squint from the fist to the face. "Oy if you're playing dirty we're havin' a roll in the hay la'ah. I'm a bi'ah. (Yeah I know but I like em feisty!)". Kicking a bit of chair strapnel towards the wooden stick wielder's rear/ Vargas rushes the woman repeated attempting to jam one shiv into her head as his hand keeps passing through,/ "So do you 'ave ta concentrate when you do dis trick or you're in the nude? I'd like to see if you fight in the nude well too love." Vargas jeers,/ if the woman noticed he'd always try and keep the other shiv steady in her stomach while she was intangle or move it so his hands was just outside the intangle target holding the shiv in place waiting./ Although he didn't know how this trick worked he was keen to find out just how it work dancing around the woman as he attacked he'd keep one hand steady close to her hip with a shiv buried as he smiled gleefully.

Davik circles his way to the side of the attacker, / steps out of the crowd, dagger in hand / before launching a couple more daggers at their attackers and fading back into the crowd, / shifting his features again to avoid notice.

Dasclaw hoists himself on Vargas' shoulder as the larger man passes, dodging past the staff (eliminating threat on Dasclaw) and landing on a table in Stance Four, Desire of the Burning Mountain. Flame busts from Dasclaw's palms and soles. He extends his hands in a pushing motion, sending fire toward the staff-wielder's face. / Dasclaw drops from the table in the second form of Stance Four, attempting to chop his flaming hands on either side of the man's neck, as physical contact helps him draw the magic from another. / Then Davik's dagger flashes through the air; Dasclaw snatches it out of the air and plunges it at the staff-wielder's face (bonus die). Stance Four is all about disruption of magic concentration, which helps with the feasting.

Belarigen rises to a knee, and then dive rolls toward Smokey (1). His bar towel destroyed, he draws his own rope-dart and flicks it into action. It instantly begins to whirl menacingly with a high pitched whine (2). The dart spins back and forth in a complicated dance (3), and then swings at Smokey's head, missing short (4), but wrapping around his other hand before springing backwards to attack the sorcerer's throat (5).

Staying low and hidden, Jarveena rolls to the next table to get a better shooting angle / Rising up onto her right knee, / she switches her bow to her left foot, grasping the weapon through her specially-made split-toe soft boots. / Drawing with her right hand / she fires arrow after arrow at the smoke-eyed man.

Seeing only one opponent left, Davik leaps from the crowd / and launches a hail of daggers at the woman's exposed arm. / He shifts back into his regular self before shaking his head sadly, / saying dramatically, "Oh, what a shame this loss of life is! Though they did promise us a free round of drinks to dull the pain."

Davik tosses his blade and it strikes home just as the woman's hand reaches up from below the floor, pinning the hand to the floor. The woman wails in pain and comes back up from below, solid once again. Davik bends down, grabs her chin and moves her head to look her right in the eyes and flashes her a wide smile, "Now, why don't we talk about this now? If you'll tell us what's going on here then we will ensure that your punishment is far less unpleasant than it could be."

"Well, why don't you tell us who these people are. They have also incurred a response with its own price tag. They've laid out the rules, let us play!"

Belarigen gathers in his rope dart and pauses to dramatically clean the blood off of it.

Jarveena has stowed her bow out of sight, and is back playing the part of the stern but blind tavernkeep. "Take this interrogation to the barn. Someone get these bodies out of here and clean this mess up! You boys - get the hell out!!!" It's all for show. She gives Dasclaw a surreptitious glance and a barely perceptible signal: "I'll be right there." Once order has been restored at the Nest Jarveena intends to tail the group - secretly of course - to the barn, the Black Quarter, and wherever else this is all leading.

With a shrug Vargas looks down at the woman and picks up his boot. With a quick kick to the face he knocks her out before putting his boot back on and grabs the two men tossing them over one shoulder. He goes to lift the woman under his other arm and realizes she is attached to the ground, "Right what we do with a blink about bird like this? Can't nail her to the barn for a bit can we?" Vargas pokes her to see what she has one her and also to find out if she's wearing shoes or anything under her robe.

After standing slack jawed and drooling for a bit the stars clear and Vargas comes to being as competent as he can be, unfortunately he had no recollection of a Kryss in Black Quarter since he usually ended up there only if he was drunk and feeling up for a bit of danger or possibly dying. Vargas was curious what she'd do if someone else claimed the bounty so he asked, "Right so if someone else gets da bounty we square or we got a bit o' blad bood...bload bod?" he asks the woman his words making less sense as he goes as he shakes his head.

The rest probably realize this isn't the first time he's gotten knock clear out of the nest.

Davik nods, this all sounds pretty standard. "So, if we take out Kryss then the bounty is gone, right? Sounds simple enough."

"Well this time maybe but won't the Client just get another 'Kryss' to be the middle man?" Vargas asks and for the first time makes a comment somewhat insightful.

"Well then, we find Kryss and make him talk before we take him down. We'll find out who the client is."

Jarveena, who has been listening from the rafters, drops down silently behind their hostage. She has replaced her simple white smock and green kirtle with a suit of supple black leather, and a black hooded cloak. She draws a dagger and points questioningly at the hostage, as if to ask, "What do we do with her?"

Vargas counts the few coins he's found on the dead after checking to see if they were real and starts over a few times before giving up. In response to the lady Vargas scratches his head coming up with an unorthodox answer, "Well someone's got ta pay fo' dem damages dis time dat's not me... uh 'ave 'er work at the Nest to pay it off? Being able to not worry about a crowd when serving might be 'andy innit?" Vargas states with a shrug getting ready to go to the Black Quarter, mainly by getting things to hide his head... unfortunately the best he could come up with is a basket and cloak.

Black Quarter wasn't a place one went sight seeing so Vargas went into the back of the barn and pulled out a blankets and opted to take as much weaponry as he could carry with him and didn't make any attempt to hide most of the weapons. Armed with what he thought would pass as a disguise or just enough to get him dismissed as the 'crazy one' in the group and a few tools to bash, slash, or hack his way to answers he waited for the rest to get ready.

Davik reshapes his features into that of a slightly younger man, with dark grey eyes and black hair, "I'm ready to go get this figured out. I'll stay back a ways and keep an eye out for anything extra suspicious."

Jarveena nods and melts into the shadows. The group knows she will be tracking the group from the rooftops, covering everyone with her bow.

Belarigen tidies himself up and meticulously rubs his hands clean on smokey-eyes cloak. He claps his friend Vargas on the shoulder and mock bows for Vargas to lead them. "After you." He winks at Davik and the shadow wherein Jarveena is likely hiding.

Vargas leads the way to the seedier area known as the Black Quarter and for the most part tries to look menacing with just his eyes showing from inside his basket helm... actually it's just a basket with a dagger gouged slitted area for his eyes to see through./ With the occasional opportunity to sneak up on people that might know he tries to pick them up by the shoulder or neck so that the others can get in a word while they deal with Vargas' own version of friendly crazy./ Opting at times to let the others just talk to people that seem less unsavory he offers up some of the dead men's coin to loosen lips if it seems like a good idea./ Vargas keeps an eye for someone following or keeping an eye on the group since that might be their best lead to find out things.

Dasclaw considers whether he can find out more information about this Khryss person by interviewing one of these small time gangsters, whom he thinks he might have met before. He recalls that the gangster's name is Tophyr.

Dasclaw grabs Tophyr's arm as he's cutting out of there. / "Not so fast, friend..." Dasclaw croons. "You remember me, right? Dasclaw, remember? I'd like to get in on some of that action, too. Tell me about this Khryss, Tophyr." / "I could make it
worth your while, perhaps..." / "...or I could just let you go without my friend Baskethead whomping you."

Davik follows along behind the party silently, / leaning in close to attempt to hear any conversations that sound interesting. / When he sees that Dasclaw confront Tophyr he will circle the area, / watching for anyone who appears to be too interested in what's being said.

Jarveena watches from a rooftop overlooking the street, / hanging impossibly from the eaves by the crook of one ankle, / a darker shadow among shadows, / listening for trouble. Damn it to hell, is that really a basket on Vargas' head?!

Belarigen watches the others, trying to get a grasp of what they're up to. He's a watcher, patient till the end, preferring to wait until the guards are down, and then strike.

Belarigen gets behind a bruiser, bumping him and hissing slightly, luring his attention away from Dasclaw. "You lost, child? Looking for your nana? If you know that you need a courier, then you know the going rate."

"Well we didn't know Khryss was a she. (I thought it was a bloke what 'bout you? Well its a crap name fa a soup.) Looks like your message will have to wait." Vargas states menacing. / "You guys are seeing two blokes right? I haven't had that much to drink yet but these two look the same, angry, can't find what they want, and filled with an unbridal need to vent through violence..." he adds ribbing them / "But I think I bet you in spades in that department so hands off me mate or I'll be takin those fingers propa" he threatens / Pulling out a large curved blade and a meat cleaver 'borrowed' from the tavern he grinds the blades against each other as if getting ready to carve up a bit of meet his eyes wild and dancing from within the basket.

To Vargas it sounded very intimidating but if he wasn't spitting and chewing on wicker for most of the speech others probably would have understood what he was saying... plus a carrot rolled out from inside the basket.

Davik whips out a couple of daggers at the man who swung at Vargas, / then shifts his features to appear as one of them / before walking around to the side of a building and /climbing up the roof to look for any others who may be approaching.

Jarveena, still hanging impossibly from the eaves by her ankles like a large bat, / releases her grip and tumbles, landing cat-like on the balcony below. / Putting her foot on the rail and bracing her bow with her knee, /she draws an arrow with her teeth / and sends it flying towards the brute with the dagger sticking out of his shoulder.

Belarigen jumps onto the fallen foe, and efficiently removes his obvious weapons. "What out, this one might be pretending!". He then removes any hidden weapons, tossing those aside. If he doesn't find any weapons, then Belarigen tosses a small knife to the side and stands up. Secretly, however, he is rifling through the thugs pockets and pouches searching for papers or any other clues as to his allegiences.

Munching on the emergency carrot he didn't know he brought along Vargas comments on their good luck slapping the note before walking off before being told he was going the wrong way opting to just follow people that have a bit more common sense and brains in their skull bucket than himself he opts to follow before they find themselves in front of a place called Hell Mouth.

Vargas never meet a bar he didn't like even the ones that were closed or on fire had a bit of charm to him (both had free booze kind of) so he walked up and tried to open the door and shuffle in to get a look around./ He wasn't really one for talking and getting people to talk back in a meaningful conversation so he looked around for people that looked like ladies./ He'd also look around to see where the biggest surliest looking bloke was and the bar were. Figuring if he didn't see who he was looking for asking around for Kryss supposedly might work, knowing where the bar was for Vargas' personal want to get drunk. The place was pretty packed and had a darker more unsavory feel to it and smelt a lot worse than the bar the group usually was at. Vargas was also unsure if what he was stepping in was ale, puke, or blood... from the stench maybe a bit of all three.

"(Oh yeah that's a good idea thanks mate)" Vargas stated to himself before looking around for a dimmer corner to talk and do business out of as well.

Jarveena drops down to the ground, and drawing her cloak around her, walks through the door. She keeps to the shadows and keeps a close eye on Vargas.

Davik waits a minute before entering, just to make it seem like they're less of a group.

Belarigen follows they others in and snags a bottle of wine from the barkeep, leaving a medium tip. A wine glass gets left subtlely near where Jarveena is likely haunting.

He pours himself a drink and squints at the local style, drier than his taste prefers. Bel approaches an old drunk and bids him tell a story from "the old campaign". He watches the room while the veteran regales him with tales of better days.

Vargas moves about casually looking through the crowd as he goes and finds an open table it wasn't that preferable with the candle light so he extinguished the light. He freezes and realizes why no one was at the table in a packed place since the stench finally hit him. His nostrils shriveled a bit and he cocked his head.... It seemed slightly familiar and he wondered if he was the culprit having hurled in the corner some time ago. He let the rest know he had found a spot by waving them over to get their attention.

Vargas, you jackass! Jareena curses silently to herself. After all the effort to conceal the fact that we're a group, he waves everyone over! She does her best to ignore the big man and melt into the shadows.

"Friend of yours?" Belarigen asks they old campaigner in-depth. "By the looks of him, I think his name is Vargas. Ran into some trouble the other of town. Now folks are after a piece. Might be some coin in it, only I don't know who's paying."

Bel spins a coin on the table, then taps his wine glass with it, signaling for a refill for him and his buddy. "You know who might be looking for that one, or who would know?"

Davik sighs at Vargas' lack of thinking and goes to sit with the big man. Hopefully the others will be able to find something

From her position, Jarveena catches the exchange between Belarigen and the old man. As the man indicates the cloth partition concealing the back room, she concentrates all her senses in that direction. she filters out all the noises in the common room one by one as she focuses her senses to catch what might be going on in the room beyond the curtain.

Not rally knowing what to do Vargas opts to do what one does in a dive bar to blend in and order drink. After a few and starting to feel a buzz he feels the sudden need to sing a bit a pirating song he knew but could only half remember either due to the level of intelligence or the rounds he had knocked back causing his head to be a bit foggy. Laughing and making a general fool of himself a basket headed drunk Vargas goes into singing songs of being a pirate a bit off key... by a bit I mean he's unsure what keys are when singing.

Davik takes advantage of the chaos / and circles around the back of the room / keeping to the shadows to avoid notice, / and keeping a close eye on the guards.

As the guard steps into the room Jarveena sees her opening. She flits from one shadowy corner to another like a cat hunting a mouse, trying to slip past the guard and duck thtough curtain.

Seeing some of his companions sneak towards the back, Belarigen decides to play a Vargas card.

He claps the campaigner on the shoulder, and way-too-loudly calls for a new drink. "Wench, you'll want to bring us more drinks, and try not to let the cat piss do much in these ones, or we'll tan your plump backside. Bah ha ha!" He laughs boorishly, and rocks back in his chair, it leans back too far, and topples over. He crashes to the ground, smacking his head and his feet kicking the table alarmingly causing the not yet empty drinks to jump and slosh about.

"(Gawa ha ha ha... Of course I'm messing up the song I don't know the words!) Well if you remember you sing it!" Vargas yammers on standing and looking at something or something out of focus since his vision was blurry. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog proves to be a bad idea as his entire upper body lurches with what seems to be the cross between a hiccup and hurling. "Ka 'ek that tastes like chew warm grog... Oh a radish..." he comments a hand shoving up into the basket helm he's still wearing and the sound of something crunching hopefully a radish can be heard. Vargas bursts back into song and jeers. It is odd he seems to be only a few inches from the wall and facing that direction. Hopefully it's due to being drunk but Vargas undid his top and pulled it off adjusting his helm before he swung his top around screaming at the top of his lungs... he stopped for a second wondering what he was so excited about and opted for more drinking to be the desired result.

(Caw hell, you remember? You sure) I'd like another grog. I actually don't really remember why I came to the pub in truth I might be almost fully slushed. Vargas inquires before making and admission and starts munching on another radish he found.

Belarigen wanders into the room, acting surprised. "Vargas, we're here investigating possible fire and revenge over the attack at the Eagle's Nest. At least, that is what we heard from those amazing people in the market. Right?"

"There was a Fire?!?! I didn't start it. (Well I'm pretty sure it wasn't me I don't remember doing it. I'm not going to cross interrogate myself I'm filled with enough mental problems as is.)" Vargas states.

"Oh and someone's looking for me, I'm here to collect."

He looks over Vargas speculatively. "600 gold, is it? And where would I take Vargas' incapacitated body to collect?"

"Incapa... inkapas... (Oh ya sho', so it's like passes out?)" Vargas mutters to himself, "Well if I get another pint for the trip I'll be out by the time we get there maybe if it's close, easier than carrying me." Vargas explains ribbing his friend with an elbow which happens to be a supporting beam on the wall.

Vargas grunts acknowledgement, "(Well yeah she has a point, huh, yeah thats a good point too)... Right love since 'e's escaped from being locked up... Is 'ere a boun' e on 'im too?" he inquires his jagged teeth bearing as he muses with curiousity.