Curious about the trail, and in a good mood at the thought that he would soon be meeting up with somebody from the arena who was (almost certainly) less infuriating than Raz'nak, and headed on his all-the-merrier way. When he reached the building, he turned the doorknob and pushed in without a second thought, not bothering with the human niceties of knocking. If it was locked, he would do so. If not, obviously the inhabitants were comfortable with the entry of whoever felt like opening the door. It was only in doing so that he gave the building a quick analysis of exits, materials, and the like. There could be a trap waiting inside as easily as an assortment of allies.
Raz'nak's body collapsed onto the tunnel floor into a heap, and only his body hit the floor. His head, however, remained detached in the soft loam soil. He wasn't dead, persay; a skeletal is magically held together. But without a body that's attached to him, Raz'nak was all but defenseless. And without the constant magic flowing through him to keep his body together, he was no stronger than a staff gem. A talking staff gem, that is, and Raz'nak insisted on making the difference clear.
"What... what the hell happened? How dare you crush my neck! I'll grind you into shavings! I'll cook you in an oven and eat out of your skull! I'll make you eat your own intestines! Ahh, damn! What the hell am I supposed to do now?!" Raz'nak's skull chattered, shaking his head upward so as not to muffle his voice.
Raz'nak, now without (arguably) his Wrath moving through his body, he could finally think clearly. Reaching out, he began to whisper to the dead. Only the voice of the Bartender responded. "Crimson... he's not dead, is he?" Raz'nak said aloud for Tronfros and Debatra to hear. "Then... what happened to him?" Raz'nak asked, his head struggling to turn to see Tronfros and Debatra.
***
IC: Crimson
He could hear the clunk! of wood against a skull multiple times, followed by a faint dropping of bones against each other. He could hear now. He could even feel the blood flowing through him, awakening his body. If Crimson wanted, he could even try stand. But Crimson was smart enough to know that it could be dangerous if he was badly wounded. His head was woozy, and he couldn't think very much without a headache. He decided to rest.
TAG: Debatra, Yorgmiester
******************** Result of Lucien's Area Analysis: The building had two windows with closed wooden shutters. The wooden door opened easily with an twist-knob that was painted to look brass; the many scratches in paint revealing it to be made of iron. Inside, the gnome from the Inn, the elf druid from the Arena who had fought Capricorn, and a man who's eyes are swollen on the floor grabbing the gnome by the shoulders. The room has a messy desk, a broken bottle of whiskey in one corner, a bulletin board, and two doorways on the opposite wall. The doorway on the right was open to reveal the elf comforting a dog who was shivering in the corner.
Galath Bounty Office
IC: Olm
The front door swung open to reveal the armed serpent from the tournament. If Olm recalled, his name was Lucien. "Another one?" Olm whispered to himself. The serpent's eyes darted across the room, taking in as much as possible in as little bit of time. Olm stood up, wincing as he put his wounded food down on the floor. "You're a competitor in the tournament, right? You fought that human with the chain? Saved his life? What are you doing here?" Olm queried.
TAG: Sai, Tirin
*********************
Galath Town Square
IC: Cameron Moltise
The clock tower stabbed into the sky in its golden glory, like a scepter for the gods. It read 9:49, eleven minutes before curfew. When the bells rang through the city, all of its inhabitants knew it was time to retire for the day, whether they be citizens or from foreign lands. Right on cue, the bell would ring through the town, and everyone but the guards would drop whatever they were doing and head home or to an inn. It was an eerie thing, how it all happened in such unison, and he wasn't the only one who thought so. Many people don't ever take notice, but some have, and they claim it is a magical enforcement conspiracy; a way that the guards can find someone that wasn't around before. If they weren't in bed, then they were somewhere that was protected against magic, like a certain crime organization that couldn't be found using magic.
Anyone who would try to investigate would have to be near the tower, and would therefore be affected by the spell. Cameron, however, had the upper hand. Mind-affecting spells that would "influence" him were something of a specialty to Cameron. They'd be hardset to influence an influencer.
Tronfros stopped as he heard Raz'nak shouting, turning his head slowly to look back down the slope. The skeletal hadn't come after him? Strange. He also seemed confused and frustrated about something, the first part of which Tronfros had failed to hear. It was clear, however, that Raz'nak was incapacitated somehow. Better take advantage of it.
He turned and trudged slowly back the way he had come, being careful not to lose his footing and go sliding down into the gully. As he neared the spot Raz'nak had appeared, he saw the corpse's head sticking out of the ground, screaming bloody murder.
"Crimson... he's not dead, is he? Then... what happened to him?" the head asked, wobbling this way and that, trying to see something above the lump of dirt it was sitting in. As the skull rolled a little farther, it revealed where the vertebrae wold usually connect, and suddenly Raz'nak's situation dawned on him.
Tronfros' deep, throaty laugh shook the gully. This was one of the funniest things he had ever witnessed. Chuckling and wiping tears form his eyes, he bent down and picked up the skull, holding it upside-down in the palm of his hand. He gazed over the furious little skull in his hand, as if surveying a fine trophy. "No, Crimson is not dead. At least I hope not. He couldn't hold his liquor, and passed out, then got blown half to hell, then buried. But I think he'll be fine." He looked down to the bottom of the gully, where Crimson's legs were sticking out of the ground, and thankfully, moving around slightly.
"I think we'll go help him out." he said, promptly depositing the skull in one of his pouches, then ambling down the side of the gully toward Crimson.
"Yes, yes, yes, and I'm leaving the scene of the destruction of the Knight's Court Inn to leave the fools to fight their battles. Hopefully Raz'nak will lose his 'life', and I won't have to deal with competing against that abominable imitation of any god-created organism." Was Lucien's disgusted reply as he slithered into the office, coiling himself up in the corner. "For lack of a better place to do so, and being too lazy to run around this city in an attempt to find someplace else, I'll be staying here for the night. Just go about your... Whatever it is you're doing, I don't care. I want some rest that doesn't involve being crushed under large amounts of dirt, stone, and the like." He said condescendingly, his eyes squinting to be barely visible, his only way to block out the sense of sight, and listened carefully for a few minutes. If what he heard was, in fact, important, he wouldn't bother with sleep.
Dalji more or less ignored the snake-man. He recognized him from the Inn which he had destroyed, but as long as he didn't want to fight then Dalji wouldn't bother with killing him. Everyone always thought they could take advantage of the Caultic Gnomes, those days have pasted and Dalji was taking no quarter and he would ask for none."So, what now elf? We have no information, but names, a useless drunk, and his broken bottles."
"Well, maybe we can try gathering information from the guards." Olm suggested. "We obviously don't have any other leads, and waiting around would be counter-productive. I guess we have no choice."
Olm sighed, then beginning to yawn. "I think I share a notion with the snake. I'm worn out. My magical energy is depleted. I think it'd be best if we simply got some sleep. I feel bad for those at the Inn, since I'm supposed to give them a place to rest." Olm scratched his head, then remembered.
Olm walked toward the wall and knocked on it. From the wall appeared Olm's Treewarden, standing tall and silent. "Take this money," Olm ordered, holding out a small sack of coins, "and give half of it to a minotaur by the name of Tronfros Gronintur. Give the other half to a man named Terath. If you can do this, you are dismissed." Olm told it, not expecting a reply. The wooden figure took the money and took off through the doorways, making sure the move around the gnome and drunk man.
Olm took his staff and hobbled over to the drunk man. "Here, this will help you sleep." Olm said, pointing his staff at the man. The "flower bud" bloomed, releasing a pollen. Orthik sniffed once, and fell over, asleep. His limbs spread apart precarelessly, and began to breathe gently.
Olm then began to sit and think. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking down at the floor. There's something that we're missing. Something important that we aren't seeing. I just can't put my finger on it yet. There isn't anywhere in town that could successfully hide the Black Dusk, but it can't be outside the town either. The town is heavily guarded, so even if they can move through the shadows, they'd only have access to connecting shadows. That only goes so far... Well, we need extra hands, apparently.
"If we want any kind of support from the guards," Olm said finally, "I think the best idea would be to try and gain an audience with the king. We'll get at least forced respect from the guards. We should go and apply for it now before we sleep, so it has time to g-"
Olm's voice was interrupted by the loud gonging of the bell. It gonged 10 times. Olm stopped in mid-sentence, then moved toward the dog and began to lay down to rest. Lucien also decided to go to sleep, and so did Dalji, who moved toward a clean corner of the room and rested his head. Slumber came to them quickly, and for them, the night was over.
TAG: Tirin, Sai
********************
Ruins of the Knight's Court Inn
IC: Raz'nak
It was Raz'nak's turn to laugh. "Crimson? Couldn't hold his alcohol?" Raz'nak cackled some more. "Crimson can't get drunk! It's improbable! Something must have caused him to pass out." Raz'nak concluded with a smirk. The minotaur rudely stuffed him in a pouch, as if he were some ornament or common trinket. Gutsy. "I don't think I've ever introduced myself, minotaur. My name is Raz'nak, Necromancer. I'd bow and shake your hand, but I have no body. And I assume you wouldn't want me shaking your hand." Tronfros mentioned helping out Crimson, which relaxed Raz'nak.
A treewarden appeared to Debatra and Tronfros suddenly. He stood tall holding a small sack. It jingled to reveal it held coins. Just as soon as he had appeared, he left, dropping the bag of gold on the ground. He jumped into the nearest tree and was not seen again that night.
Soon after, the day came to a close, as the bell rang ten times. Tronfros and Debatra, if they did nothing else within the few minutes after the treewarden left, picked up Crimson gently, and walked toward the Speared-Grape Inn to spend the night.
Tronfros ducked under the low doorway of the inn, bending over almost double to fit through, then straitened and lumbered over to a nearby table, passing the innkeeper on the way and tossing him several coins out of the bag. "Room for three, for the night." He then deposited Crimson in one of the four chairs surrounding the table, kicking his own out of the way and simply crouching down on his haunches. He rummaged around in one of his pouches while Debatra took a seat, and upon finding what he was looking for, drew out the same stone vial he had used on the elf earlier that day.
"Open wide..." tilting the dwarfs head back, Tronfros poured a small amount of the liquid down his throat, then sat back and waited. In a few seconds Crimson came sputtering to life, coughing and holding his chest. The minotaur watched him for a few moments, amused, then reached forward and slapped the table twice to get his attention. "Welcome back, oh mighty drunkard. How was your nap? You're just in time for another round of beer, provided you don't have any plans for the next few days." He let out a thundering chuckle, then reached into the pouch containing his little skeletal friend. "But first, I believe this item belongs to you." With that he drew Raz'nak out of the bag and set him down with a 'thunk' in the middle of the table.
Crimson was awoken abruptly. "Ah, he's back." Raz'nak said, pleased. Crimson wasn't as happy. The blood was circulating . The poison was still in his system. His stomach churned. Crimson ran quickly to the washroom and threw up. It burned his throat, but the poison was finally out of his system. He was feeling woozy, but a bit better anyway. Crimson wiped the blood from his mouth and returned to the table.
Raz'nak was beyond surprised. "So you WERE drunk! Crimson, you're slipping up!" he barked.
"Raz'nak, I had it under control, I just-" Crimson tried to explain.
"You just forgot! What did you tell me? 'You have become your biggest threat. You must never lose control. You must mantain focus at all times. If you fail, you will die.' What happened to that?" Raz'nak continued. Raz'nak was infuriated. The man who had put him in this position had been so careless; it was an insult to Raz'nak.
This was too much for Crimson. "How dare you talk to me this way, Raz'nak! You certainly remember my lessons, but you obviously haven't learned them! Look at you!" Crimson grabbed Raz'nak's skull, holding it up to his. "You've lost your body, no doubt to your recklessness."
"This situation is because of your stupid shenanigans, Crimson!" Raz'nak defended, leaning in to Crimson.
Crimson was about to respond, but something about Raz'nak shocked him. "Thissituation?" Crimson repeated, emphasising the S's. "Raz'nak, you've lost your lisp..." Crimson gasped.
Raz'nak shrugged. "I guess I have. So?" Raz'nak turned his head toward the table, and answered Tronfros. "Actually, in about two days, we'll be needing to attend the tournament. Until then, I think we're free. It's not like we need to practice or anything." Raz'nak cackled.
In reality, Raz'nak was worried, and Crimson knew it. Without his normal body intact, Raz'nak would have a problem. And Lucien would without a doubt be practicing. It couldn't be helped. Hopefully, Raz'nak can win his next battle with only his spellcasting, and without his other ability...
TAG: Yorgmiester, Debatra
***
IC: Narrator
Debatra wasn't listening. He was finally able to sit and read his book. Raz'nak also found interest in it, and decided to plop next to the book and read as well.
The War of Arcana said:
Magic is in everything. Magic created this world, and magic will end this world. It is an evil, but it is required. It is power that cannot be contained, and cannot be surpased. As long as one has magic, he can eclipse others in all fields. This was learned long ago, when the humanoids gained the ability to wield it.
While the history of magic is somewhat blurred by oral tradition, possible bias, and conflicts in the original scriptures, most of the stories have similarities. When it is unclear what truly happened, this book will provide the most plausible theories, and will notify the reader when doing so.
The Main Domains of Magic (Draconic, Demonic, Divinic, and Feyic) are called by their origins. Draconic magic comes from dragons, demonic comes from demons, divinic comes from the gods, and feyic comes from the fey. They were the only wielders of this magic, and they all eventually abused it.
No one is exactly certain who or what was the original cause of the War. According to elven scholars, it was the dwarven discovery of precious gems that sparked dragon interest. Dragons were enthralled by the gems. A dragon was popularly quoted as saying "They match our own beauty." Dragons used their overwhelming strength to make slave out of the other races to mine the gems. Dragons had little sympathy for their workers, and so the conditions were harsh. Many people died in the mines. (To read in more detail, see Chapter 9: Harsh Mining Conditions.)
Miners would be required to work for their lives. Miners would come up once a day to eat whatever the dragon had killed that day, ranging from cave rats to Caultic elk; sometimes the dragons would mistake game for the beast-like humanoid races, forcing the miners to eat their own kind. If they did not mine anything within a certain amount of time, they would be killed. If they did not find the gems that matched the scales of their dragon master, they would also be killed. This became extremely dangerous when the mine came up fruitless.
Due to the sleep cycles of Sovereign Dragons, the workers would have to find times in between work to take naps during the dragon's wake period, and would get a break during their sleeping period. Dragons eventually discovered their slaves were "slacking off" instead of working, which brought about the Age of Wizards.
Dragons themselves couldn't always fit inside the small tunnels, so they appointed individuals that they trusted over the others, often ones that were magically charmed, to become "officers." These officers were granted a minor control over magic to gain an edge over the others. While most of the officers were on the dragon's side, either because of fear, idolization, or indoctrination, some of them used their magic to help free the slaves.
The officers became corrupted by the power, abusing the already weak slaves further. Others learned to gain more control over their magic, and in a few cases, even rebelled against the dragon. There were only two cases when the officers had rebelled against their dragon master and succeeded to defeat them. (To read about these cases, go to Chapter 12: Halzayda of the Fire and Chapter 13: The Knight of Dragon's Bane.)
Not all were as lucky. Some wished to rebel against the officers, but they knew that they had no chance. If they were to defeat them, they needed magic of their own. They were desperate. They would give away anything to gain power to overcome their oppressors. They were willing to make a deal with the devil.
Demons visited the miners in their sleep. They willed them toward the darkness, granting them the power they needed. They gained the powers of the demons. Their form was twisted into that of the demons. They themselves, became masters of the demonic arts. Those willed to the darkness were eventually called the Warlocks.
The dragons and the demons had always had a hatred of each other. They were a constant reminder to each other that there was another race that could match their great power. These two great magical powers could finally prove themselves as the strongest magical power. It was this that caused the War of Arcana.
Tronfros blinked as the sun rose just high enough to shine over the windowsill and into their small room. The warm sunlight felt good on his fur, so he rolled over and dozed for another half hour before finally pushing himself up and looking around.
He was laying on the floor in one corner of the room, his bed pushed aside and leaned against the wall to make room for him. The other half of the room was occupied by Crimson and the bat, who's name he had yet to learn. Raz'nak had fallen off his perch in the windowsill and apparently rolled into the far corner, where a cobweb and several dust balls kept him company.
Tronfros grunted and heaved himself up, causing the floorboards to creak loudly in all directions. His head rammed solidly into the ceiling above him, with a resounding "thomp" that elicited some muffled, angry yelling from the room above them. After rubbing his head for a moment and silently cursing his forgetfulness, he turned toward the window, making sure to keep his head down.
The view from their room was just a side street, so there wasn't much going on, but from what he could tell, the human's day had just started and everyone was leaving their homes to go about the day's business. A street vendor had just begun setting up his cart across the way, a group of children were running by, laughing and pushing each other around, a few old ladies stood outside their homes sweeping the front porch. A young boy with a large bag full of paper ran by, yelling the latest happenings at the top of his lungs, giving out pamphlets to whoever was willing to pay a few coins.
Tronfros sighed. He didn't have much of an idea what he should be doing, at least right now. His goal, in coming here, was to learn more about humans, and magic if he could get the chance, but sitting around staring at the little fleshy pink things didn't seem like a very good way to do it. The arena matches would come soon enough, and they would give him something to study, but until then he really didn't know what to do. What he needed were some histories, some stories, about the humans. One of the best ways to learn about a culture was through the stories they told.
He turned to the others, who were still asleep, or at least still had their eyes shut. "Wake up, little sluggards. I'm going down to find some "break fast" as you people call it. Then one of you will tell me where I can find some human stories."
The little skull was roused from his sleep by the loud 'thump' the minotaur had caused when he slammed against the ceiling. "Ehhhugh" Raz'nak mumbled, moving his mouth around to wake up. The skittering of a spider through his mouth caused him a bit of panic. Raz'nak tried to spit the thing out of his mouth, but without a tongue or even a throat to blow wind through, Raz'nak rolled around making an odd noise through his mouth.
"Wake up, little sluggards." the minotaur bellowed. "I'm going down to find some 'break fast' as you people call it. Then one of you will tell me where I can find some human stories."
Raz'nak rolled over to face the minotaur with a slightly confused face. "Human stories?" Raz'nak chuckled a bit. "That's a broad topic. What kind? Ones where humans are pricks, ones where the pricks call fellow pricks pricks, or ones where they pretend they aren't pricks?" Raz'nak cackled at his own joke. "How's about helping me find my body? I'm finding it hard to get around without one."
Tronfros looked down at the little skull quizzically, then stooped and picked him up. "Alright, we will find your body. But first, tell me, what is a 'prick'?" The minotaur had a fair grasp of the human language, up to a point, but many slang words and insults made no sense to him.
The minotaur glanced sidelong at Debatra. "I assume the insult. That seems to be what humans do most, after all." He turned back to Raz'nak. "Tell me what it means as we walk." Tronfros then picked up his staff, which had been laying nearby, and opened the door, ducking under the doorway and out into the hall. All the ceilings were low in this place. As Raz'nak explained with great sarcasm and wit the meaning of the human 'prick', the bulky minotaur made his way down the stairs and into the main room.
Having followed Malto, Jeistan was bewildered as they were denied entrance to the city. Quite frustrated, he thought for a short moment and then began his response.
"We are gladiators, fighters in the tournament. What would those running the tournament think if we were denied entrance to the city?"
Jeistan flashed him a confident wolf-smile.
"I don't think they'd be too happy if the two of us weren't ready for the upcoming match, would they?"
Dalji didn't feel tired, he was angry, that lack of leads and his failure to do what he had set out for was boiling his blood. Even in his anger though he could not deny his body the rest it needed even if his mind tried to keep him awake. He collapsed somewhat more forcefully then was healthy, but his low stature made it so he risked little injury from such a fall. His head rested on the ground in the corner of the room. The fact that he must have stumbled over here were the last thoughts he had before sleep claimed him. Dalji had gone days without sleep, he always did, dreams were of no comfort to him...
Dalji looked at his hands and they were unburned. He felt his face and it was smooth like the days of his boyhood. He stood in his old home. He felt young and that the world was a safe place for him. There was so much hope, so much life to be had. He would leave his home and never serve for his homeland like his father did. Giants were just a myth to scare children, and he knew his father's tales of hunting them were lies to cover a boring life as a traveling merchant. Why else would he no so much about treasure and foreign lands?
The Gnomes did not leave the tunnels and homes they had built over generations. This was their land, the surface could not hold such dangers as the elders spoke about. Dalji's older brother was sure of this. Denni had always been fast for a Gnome, when he was Dalji's age he had traveled to the surface many times. Dalji gazed up at the sky for the first time, he didn't want to remember the rest. Fire burst around his feet and his brother's too.
Dalji woke up breathing like he had tunneled a mile. The dream changed, but the ending was the same he woke up burned like always and his brother had been dead for years. Sleep was no comfort to him. Something else irked Dalji that he hadn't considered properly before. The inn had been extremely volatile. It had exploded instead of just cracking the floor like he had hoped. He had just counted his blessing at the time, but it was strange. "WHy was the entire inn leveled?" He thought. He tried to remember the type of explosion that had occurred, surely their was some clue. Dalji would spend a good amount of time mauling it over before rising to leave.
Dalji turned to Olm, "You, elf. Wake? I think we should talk to the guards at some point, but I'd like to visit that Arena you mentioned. If the Black Dusk, or whoever was their, made such a ruckus then there should be some trail of witnesses or otherwise that the left behind. Show me the way if you still want to be par of the search."
The deafening ring of morning bells shook Cameron from his sleep. He was lying directly beneath it as the morning rings pierced his ears like daggers. The Fragments screamed in protest, but listening to them was the farthest thing from his mind. He had fallen under the trance of the Clock Tower. He couldn't overcome it. How was he supposed to find the other psychics if he couldn't even resist magic that wished to mimic his own abilities? Suddenly, that wasn't important enough. Cameron wasn't going to give up.
If Cameron was in his right mind, he would have thought twice before crawling to the edge of the Bell Room and pushing himself out. He wouldn't have plummeted down three stories onto the Galath Library roof and broken his spine. He wouldn't have bounced off toward the Speared Grape Inn and landed with his head bashed into a window. He would have been fine, if he had been in his right mind.
TAG: Everyone
********************
Galath Bounty Office
IC: Olm
The elf awoke quickly. Taking the gnome's words in slowly, he finally nodded. The druid took in a large breath of air, then yawned as he stretched. "I guess we can check it out..." the elf sighed tiredly, slowly getting up. "I don't know how much we're going to find though... I think I kind of screwed it up with that fire, but we can try."
TAG: SaiFai, Tirin
********************
Speared Grape Inn - Rented Room
IC: Narrator
...The first spells taught by the demons were summoning spells. Most demons do not have the ability to move freely in the world, so gathering an army would be difficult. There were numerous slaves, and lesser demons were considered expendable. Not only could the slaves then spawn an endless amount of soldiers, the demons could use their own spells to hurt dragons on multiple levels.
Because of the nature of how Demonic spells use magical energy, their use around Draconic spellcasters could hamper that spellcaster's ability to use spells. Draconic magic is used by manipulating the world's mana with the spellcaster's magical energy to create and form. Demonic, however, consumes mana to create much more disasterous spells. However, many of the more complex Demonic spells require the caster to release their magical energy and convert it to mana, so that there's more to consume. This weakness would give some of the faster Draconic spellcasters a momentary advantage. Draconic and Demonic magic were two dangerously parallel powers, and although neither side thought it at first, this war-
Debatra was suddenly startled with the sound of breaking glass, causing the book to jump in his hands. An envelope slides out from one of the pages, landing in Debatra's lap.
TAG: Debatra
********************
Speared Grape Inn - Lobby
IC: Raz'nak
"...but now it's just a general word for self-centered humans who act for their own benefit." Raz'nak finished, pleased with himself. The sound of glass being shattered echoed through the staircase. Tronfros hurried down the rest of the stairs and broke through part of the doorframe. His hooves caused glass to shake against each other. The clatter announced his presence to the room.
Everyone in the inn's lobby (the war troll, the guard, and the turron) had their eyes on the bartender. The short, burly human was carrying the body of a shaved-headed man through the broken window in front of the store onto a nearby table. The man appeared to be passed out. The bartender confirmed this after a violent shaking and face slapping.
"Let's move out." The large races seemed to be lazy and soft. Dalji didn't blame them they lived in such soft country he didn't expect much from anyone who lived in such comfort. Dalji walked out of the Bounty Office and waited for the elf to lead the way.
"Hmph." Tronfros grunted as Raz'nak finished explaining the word. "In my land, we have a word for weaklings and cowards. Basik." The skull looked at him quizzically. "Basik are small, fleshy creatures, similar to rats or other small rodents. They are speedy, but incredibly stupid, and when cornered, they all dart off in different directions, abandoning their fellow basik. They often run straight off cliffs, or into rivers, or into cracks in the rock that are too small for them. The most common method for hunting basik is to scare them off and then have the children go and collect their dead bodies." Raz'nak burst into laughter, obviously amused by the striking resemblance between Tronfros' basik and the ever-stupid, ever-cowardly humans.
Tronfros was about to continue, when a loud crash was heard from downstairs. He hurried the rest of the way down, emerging in the main room with a good deal of noise. A few people looked at him, but then turned back to the unconscious man laying on the table, who had apparently just come through the window.
He rumbled some archaic curse and pounded up to the table, shoving the bartender out of the way. Then he raised his massive hand, and brought it down with a hearty SMACK right next the the comatose man's head.
Lucien released a soft, hissing sigh, annoyed that he had fallen asleep at what seemed to be the drop of a hat - not that it mattered in particular, he hadn't been doing anything, and wasn't the type to think of what might have occurred if he had been doing something important. When he heard the gnome mention the Arena, though, he headed out of the bounty office with the words "Find me later, I'll do what I can to help you out with you terrorism investigation. Right now, I'm busy", intent on getting set up for his match with Raz'nak, if the idiot hadn't gotten himself killed (re-killed?) yet. Whether or not they followed him was of no consequence, while they were going to the same place they had entirely different objectives.
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