DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Ty sits sideways in his chair. Another surprise: it turns out that what seemed to be a hunchback was in fact a backpack, worn beneath the fellow's ratty cloak. That pack now sags open on the ground between Tyravasiel-Llir's knees as his fingers flutter over the contents. To his store, the beggar-- if someone so supplied really qualifies-- has added an additional brace of dried travel rations and a leather flask filled with water, in preparation for the journey ahead.

"I shall manage somehow, madam," he assures the wizardess. "Never you mind." He seems a bit distracted in telling over his supplies. "As Father Aldric relates, we are simple pilgrims in service to blessed Pelgiana. We propose to consecrate a temple in her honor. Or so I am told."

"And this Pelagia, is she withholding the moisture from this one’s tongue?" she says, motioning to the man eating like a pig at a trough.

"Only he speaks so little that I imagine it must take quite the effort to form the words!"

Then she turns to him more fully, as he is face down in his bowl, and asks:

"And you share this fervency, you do?"

Dufgal looks at the mage in surprise, then looks behind him to see if someone might be standing there. Now certain she was speaking to him, he wrestled with the meaning of the word fervency so he stares blankly while thinking up a reply.
um, I’se thinkin’ much good of these men and their quest. If they asks us, I says yes.
He looks longingly at the glamorous woman for approval.

"Dufgal, my friend and faithful servant of the Mother of Storms, your unthinking devotion is exactly why Pelagia has entwined our destinies."

Aldric spoons a bit of salt into Dufgal's drink, too. A reward for his piety!

"Yes, I am going to build a temple to Her Moistness, on the very top of the highest mountain. From there, her fervent followers can expose our hairy arseholes in defiance toward the much-hated moon, and wait for the day that the temple becomes the last island in the world."

Such a grand statement of intent was sure to pacify Pelagia, if she happened to be listening, at least he hoped.

"I do not know if these two mortal men will see the entire venture through with me to the end. We are all but castaways adrift on the sea of fate, are we not? But for now, we all united in the endeavour to fatten our purses, our consciences aligned to ensure the clinking of coins. "

"And now you, Anora the Blue, are entwined with us. Contractually, but also spiritually - blue is Pelagia's blessed colour, after all. No doubt those who wove the tapestry of our fates took great pleasure in meeting our threads. I would be most interested to learn how you came by this name, and about your arcane craft."

The cutpurse, now feeling tipsy from drink, feels the void within speak to him, "they are all laughing behind your back. they brought you to be the butt of their japes. "friend?" please! this cleric has no benevolence in him. all holy men are wicked. just wait and see."
Dufgal vigorously shakes his head side to side, pushes himself away from the table, and blurts out, just shut yer mouth right now!
He stands up, looks around at the onlookers who are likely watching him after that outburst.

Aldric is surprised by Dufgal's sudden outburst. "Well, here we go." He slumps his shield off of his back and begins to spit polish the metal rivets, trying not to make it obvious he will be ducking for cover at the first sign of trouble.

Never one to expect Luck in his favor…

Dufgal's outburst draws eyes from all over the tavern when he shoves himself back from the table and lurches to his feet, nearly knocking into the busty, full-bodied barmaid delivering drinks to the table behind him. She gives a good-natured whoop and a wink as she deftly avoids the big man, but beyond that table, in the corner, a pock-faced man climbs to his unsteady feet.

Orfum is a head shorter and fully five stone lighter than Dufgal, but once tortured the younger boy when they were both living on the streets. The man is a bully and a pig with women, the tipsy thief knows, and the unwilling young bar wench that Orfum had pulled onto his lap makes her happy escape as the two square off.

"You... about crashed into Tanny there, y'oaf," Orfum slurs as he approaches. There has been bad blood between these men for years, and every so often it turns violent. As it looks to now. "What, you've got s'new friends so now's you's big man in here, th'it? Not on my watch, Dumbgal. Why don't you's and your friends fuck off, eh? Do they's even know what shit-for-brains y'got?"

Looking at everyone else at the table, the man adds, "Do you's all even know what shit-for-brains e's got?"

Orfum is usually backed up by two or three thugs who follow his lead for some inexplicable reason, but today, though he's too drunk to realize it... he's alone.

Ty lifts his head, then wrinkles his nose as if he's smelled something rancid.

"Eh, who's that now? Is he ugly? He sounds ugly."

"Nothing as fanciful as what you’re surely imagining." the wizard responds to the cleric, with a humble expression on her face.

"My own mentor was something of a traditionalist, you see. Magick, and therefore the wizards that practice it, should have a color." she continues, wondering if all this was lost on the regular folk.

"Igorius the Black. Hippopa the Red, and what have you. My mentor was a Blue, as you can probably imagine. And his mentor before him, and so on. And so, here I am: Anora the Blue." she says, throwing her hands up, and then the scene erupts and stops the conversation.

"Trust your ears, so as to spare your eyes." Anora says to the beggar. She has magicks enough to deal with a fool like this, but men had their own way of doing things…

Dufgal squares off toe to toe with his childhood bully, although anyone just seeing this fight might think him the bully, and aims for the single knockout punch. His father taught him that the neck snaps a certain way when punched and easily causes a "temporary death" as he called it.

you forget what happened last time? You get two raccoon eyes this time, Orf-dumb!

"What fool would take on a Chosen of Pelagia in an ale house?" Aldric remarks as he remains seated behind his shield. He has every confidence that Dufgal can handle this loud-mouthed lout!

"Is your man prone to hotness of the blood?" Anora asks, as she watches the melee go on from her place at the table.

She picks up her food and drink, clutching them a little closer so that she might stabilize them, should the man be sent this way next.

"I didn't forget nothin'!" Orfum shouts as he comes at Dufgal, his right hand cocked as he prepares to throw a haymaker. That swing is wild, though, almost hitting a bystander as a small crowd is now starting to gather, folks standing up from their tables to either get clear of the chaos or get a better view.

"Stop that you two!" the man behind the bar bellows. "You'll be payin' for any damages! Settle your differences outside!"

Maresa, the short, freckled waitress who escaped from Orfum's clutches as this all started, is suddenly at Dufgal's side, encouraging him.

"Get him, Duffie! Get him good!"

"Hard to say... his opponent sounds like a right cunt that deserves a good wallop. Hard to fault a man for punching a face that ugly."
"Now things are getting serious!"