Fight:minor ruckus in Kelay

Background

Main Participants: Bufus, Dreegor, Noose and his Fermin pack, Robin, Cornelius.

What starts as a Fermin pack's attempt to ransack a cart for wine results in a coffer containing a sack of gold being discovered in a very public fashion.

Suddenly, there's a lot of interest from various folks passing through Kelay, each looking to gain some advantage out of the situation.

Qui Bono?

The Ruckus Begins: the Jersher Bufus attacks the Fermin

Cornelius quietly slips up to the exit of an alleyway to watch the street

Dreegor walked out from the tavern with instruments attached. Eyes scanned over the heist and he immediately hid behind a wall of the tavern as he began to watch from the background. Eventually he'd pull out his lyre and think of a tune to strum in an attempt to help someone, anyone, out..

Bufus's rubbery, wet tongue, the bulk of which remained for the moment in his spangled hillock of a head, licked over his perpetual upside-down smile.

Noose payed the strange amphibian virtually no mind as his underlings ransacked the cart. They nabbed a sack of bread, and a small barrel of wine, but the real prize was held by that small grey rat with his hand on the coffersack. He opened the purse, grinning growing only wider after seeing the telltale glow of golden coins.

Noose stared the man whose possessions these were in the face with indifference, hoping he might plead and beg for restitution. He did nothing of the sort, however, being so grievous as to be mute. All that remained in the confines of the cart now were blankets, of which the Fermin had little to no use, the rest having been desecrated out upon the cobbled way. Two rats fandangled the barrel of spirits off, rolling it hand over hand with their tails triumphantly held high. The remaining three held their bounty and watched the unfortunate mark's fate as it was decided. A heavily clawed and infectious hand raked across his face, and Noose sneered, "I've half a mind to follow you home." Blood collected in the wound that spanned the entire width of his cheek.

Cornelius knows that feeling well, the claw marks on his face still vivid. He keeps his distance, nervously straightens his cravat and smooths out his sleeves, keeping in the cover of the alleyway

Cornelius shakes his head "Dash it all, a man has to do what a man has to do!" He steps out of the alleyway, legs seeming slightly unstable

Bufus picked the moment of that hand's descent to strike, knocking the gold coffer madly askew and aside, spilling gold all over the street as his tongue lashed like a terrifying, sticky fist-ended arm to smack the smaller rat upside the head. But rather than merely knocking the meal over, it remained attached to the stunned fermin, for all of the one second it took for the powerful muscle to retract. Yum, yum. And, when the fermin was nothing but feet hanging over lips and the great toad had blinked him to a pulp, swallowing hard, he'd slouch upright to smile a booted smile, some of that gold sticking to his corpulent underside as he did so.

Cornelius calls out "I say there, I say! Dash it all, but doesn't that man need a doctor?"

Bufus burped. One fermin boot fell free of his lips.

Cornelius walks out into the street, legs apparently a bit unsteady. It seems acts of bravery are not in fashion for this fashionable man. Indeed, his cheek bares a similar clawmark to the man he is intervening on the behalf of - perhaps his nervousness is warranted

Noose rained down merciless agony upon the frail man, both fists pummeling him into a tighter and tighter ball. The sable vermin's back straightened and halved repeatedly as he funneled all of his malice into the blows. It seemed Bufus' heroic -or just hungry- endeavor set him over the edge. It wasn't the potential loss of life, the rats were entirely expendable, but the wrench it through in the wheel. He simply could not let this go, such a spit in his face as it were. The small grey Fermin is entrapped by the Jersher's adherent tongue, although one arm was spared as it strained outwards to catch the sack when it was struck from his grasp. As his diminutive mass was pulled into Bufus' maw, his tail writhed, artfully encircling his fat neck and constricting thereupon to ensure that he wouldn't be forced down its gullet. The free hand, meanwhile, loosed a small rusty dagger from its confines on his waistbelt, and thrust it several times madly towards his palate. There was, after all, enough room within his mouth to wriggle so, especially considering the small size of the rat. Being a frog and possessing a frog's anatomy as Bufus does, it is likely the same eyeballs that expunged and tried to press its meal downward would be prey to the ravaging attack. The cart driver was not forgotten until he lay lifeless in the center of the thoroughfare, bloodied and mangled, and even then he was stepped upon by the black Noose. By now, the remaining rats -three of them not counting their packleader- had turned their attention to the interrupting Jersher, beady red eyes narrowing to scant slits.

Cornelius pauses, the old human already dead. It seems that his intervention was too late. He rubs the claw mark on his cheek, evaluating the evolving situation.

Noose stood, bearing down almost all of his modest weight, upon the dead man in quite the pose.

Bufus was a jersher. Well, that much was obvious. And that race was bred up from the marsh amphibians of Alithrya, many species. The Great Horned Frog of the Western Peatlands had evolved several features which enabled it to survive in that moist and most inhospitable of regions, which fairly seethed with a plethora of dangerous and sting-tailed indigenous fauna. Such a toad would, said the bones of its members who had not survived the challenge, be best off developing a hard and horned upper palate, to discourage such stingers and whiptails and fang-like protrusions as the bog-pests owned. The knife met with resistance, a leathery thud as it sunk into nerveless, bloodless matter. The clever tail was a trick, though, which had the toadman blinking madly, his clawed hands scraping across his bulbous eyes in an effort to force the little rat down. And, in all the shuffling about he did, Bufus only managed to make more gold pieces stick to his dragging, thick-skinned belly. A particularly hard gulp, as enacted currently, would likely shatter the skull of anything but a Western Peat-turtle, notoriously hard of bone and shell, and known to choke a jersher or two in its time.

Cornelius considers the situation, talking to himself "It's not your fault, old boy. It's their fault. Would've been fine if the rat hadn't been further provoked. Old gent would've gotten away with a scar like yourself. Gracious me, but this kind of thing sets a bad example" Still talking to himself, apparently deep in conversation, he starts walking in the general direction of the cart

Cornelius continues his erratic ambulation towards the cart "Dash it all fellow, but what to do? There is no one to rescue... but wait! YES! That is the ticket!" He looks up, and looks at the coffer "Yes, I shall try and ensure nobody profits from this crime! Now that is cricket!" He is now close to the edge of the action

Noose sniffed the air annoyedly and bounded over the expired wagon driver. He, like the other three rats, enclosed upon the Jersher. Now, the mealpiece was not a crustacean, nor was he fortuitous enough to rest himself from the clutches of Bufus' nightmarish maw. The sound of crunching bones, muffled, could be heard before that scaled tail went limp and disappeared into the toad's mouth. Likely as the rat was being digested, the filth and toxins of which it was comprised would not be very appetizing. And likewise, with such a morsel in its belly, the Jersher would be notably less mobile. The two rats that had rolled off the barrel of wine have returned anon, one of them rivaling Noose in size: Scabies, the second in command. His clawed digits were firmly clutching a morning star, and he joined Noose and the other rats as the advanced on Bufus. Noose's tail twitched angrily, and from within the folds of his tattered attire was produced a pair of darksteel daggers. The other rats' armaments mysteriously manifested as well: crude cudgels with nails embedded in them, rusty blades, and even a short spear. A frog-sticker, ironically. As they circled around the Jersher, they carefully awaited his next move.

Robin enters to immediate confusion, having apparently stepped into a fight between two strangers. Accordingly, the little hobbit circles the wall trying to keep his head down on his way to the bar and (hopefully) some modicum of safety. If nothing else he could hop over the counter and hunker down with Mesthak.

Cornelius notes the Fermin are all eyes for the oversized toad, and uses that to his advantage, circling around rapidly using the cart as cover while he enters the external circle of conflict. Strangely, all the earlier knock-kneed vagaries seem to have disappeared, his eyes focused, flicking constantly between himself, the Jersher, the gold, and the Fermin.

Bufus, his empty belly at least partially mollified by the small ratman, gulped one or twice as the sparse-haired tail slithered down his gullet, knife and all. Well-fed, and with with a decent amount of gold adhered to his sticky, lumpish hide, he had no further wants to fulfill here. The burgeoning mob, enclosing the space around him would have, in his youth, simply have been leapt over with a powerful thrust of legs, and away he would have gone to digest his prize in peace. But Bufus was elderly now, and arthritic, and unconscionably fat for a warrior, even retired, and so his attempt would merely send him a half-dozen feet upward in a mad lurch that brought all his considerable bulk of a half-ton in weight down upon one of the cudgelled fermin, the nails scraping gouts of slime-thick skin away, one piercing spongy flesh in the one place where such damage mattered - his belly. His trusty under-armors lost to the wasting of time of poverty in his far wanderings, the cranky old soldier ejected the other rat-boot as a cry escaped him (more of a deafening croak to non-jersher ears) and he'd claw at the spiked object, dislodging it quickly - but not quickly enough. Blood spotted the Kelay road. If the cudgelled fermin was likely to survive a half-ton being dropped on it from a height, then huzzah for it - but otherwise, Noose's coterie would be reduced by one more, and the old warrior puffed up his wartlike skin-sacs to meet the next in the fray.

Bufus also dropped some of his amassed gold, in the process, the pieces tinkling back to the road as he scoured the nails loose from his underside.

Cornelius uses the timing of the Jersher's jump to run to and stand over the remaining gold

Noose dashed swiftly after the Jersher once his egression was made clear, and the underling that seemed fated for a comical squashing was spared just such a fate with a simple sideroll maneuver. They were Fermin, after all, a creature far more agile than any Jersher could hope to be, especially one as cumbersome as Bufus. As this particular knave rises to its feet once more, its brethren back away timidly, noting the swelling of their foes paratoid glands. Boldness accompanies numbers, apparently, and one of the gang charges with his frog-sticker in hand. This sets into motion a chaotic, unorchestrated tirade of rat-bodies rushing Bufus in all manner of attacks. Some simply ran headlong behind their weapons, others sailed through the air to land on its back; all fought tooth and nail -quite literally- to bring down the sticky-skinned beast. Scabies and Noose approached Bufus from behind, and the former seemed obliged by way of ranking to engage it before the sable leader. His flail whorled at his side, but he would wait to see the result of the ratpile and their wanton assault.

Bufus hops away. Bufus exits east.

A Musical Interlude

Cornelius watches Bufus' exit as the rest of the gold seems to get dislodged by his momentum. He stands over the coffer of gold, loose coins around him, as he tallies up the number of Fermin left

Robin stands not far off with mouth agape at the scene unfolding before him on the road just outside Kelay Tavern as a group of Fermin chase off one of the strange toad creatures that had been seen about recently. Cautiously the little hobbit steps forward, making slowly toward an overturned cart and a man who seems rather less intimidating than the group of armed rat-men.

Robin said to Cornelius "Is it... safe?"

Noose and his ratpack are but one shy of their previous number. Five of them, in whole, stand over the scattering of debris from the wagon and the coins that were left in the slime-monster's wake. Noose appeared quite perturbed by the whole ordeal, although his underlings were clearly roused and revitalized by the encounter.

Cornelius waves Robin away as he stares at the Fermin "I hate to say it, fella, but this place isn't safe yet, dontcha know?"

Robin finds himself standing at a general midpoint between Cornelius, Noose, and friends, eying them all uncertainly as he tries to decide whether he should run, or whether he might be able to talk his way into a portion of the gold which litters the ground all around them.

Cornelius purses his lips. 5 Fermin. Not fun odds. Still, he is a man of principle, and the look in his eyes seems to indicate that the principle states the gold ain't going anywhere right now

Dreegor had sat off to the side long enough and had found the gold rather appetizing for to long as strings were plucked. A melodic tune played through the barren, early morning, streets. The tune would be played to lull people to sleep and force them into a slumber the likes of which wouldn't be easy to place but would at least put them to peaceful thoughts of rest and dreams for the next five minutes while he snatched the stolen gold.

Robin passes out apparently.

Svilfon falls asleep.

Cornelius arches an elegant eyebrow to Noose "I say old boy, how about this: we have ourselves a little one-on-one, winner takes the gold, loser takes the consolation prize of walking away"

Cornelius starts to feel drowsy, but the combination of pain from his recent wound and adrenaline from the situation helps keep him awake

Robin snores loudly on the ground in the middle of this whole thing, every so often muttering about something tasty which he may or may not be eating in his dreams.

Robin groans "Nuh, y'stay away from that!"

Cornelius shakes his head, noting the musician. He starts to sing to himself - nothing magical, just an old tune to somewhat mute the noise.

Cornelius looks at Noose, awaiting his answer, still singing "There is an inn in old Vailkrin, where the maids will serve all night, but if you take them to your room, you'll get a nasty fright"

Noose was in the midst of reassembling his coterie to start gathering the bounty when the sounds of the bard's song sounded. In an awkward way, the rats conglomerate into one filthy mass and slumber together like a true pack would. If they do this every time they rest, it would be quite aberrant to their saditious nature; it's almost cute. Noose tried his damnedest to keep his eyes open, and trained on Cornelius and the much-sought after bounty, but to no avail. His bald tail whisped up under his nose and curled like a pillow as he tucked himself into a ball besides his brethren.

Dreegor approached the large bag of gold cheerfully, though eyes turned towards Cornelius ever so often, "A split? Fifty-fifty? I just need money and they stole it, but I prefer to avoid violence.." The skittish salamander looked fearful of the man, as if ready to flee at a moments notice.

Cornelius looks at the Minstrel, still singing to end the lingering effects "Oh sing for the women of Vailkrin my men, the heavenly angels of night, and avoid their sweet smiles and tales of heaven, for you'll get such a hideous bite" He pauses, takes a breath, and considers "A fair offer, save one thing. The Fermin leader is faking it"

Cornelius continues to keep an eye on Noose as well as the Minstrel

Dreegor stared at the leader warily as he slowly backed away from the gold and started the play with a little more fright. Occasionally the wrong string would be plucked and the spell would likely falter shortly as he turned towards Cornelius once more, "Hurry snatch the gold then! before they wake.."

Cornelius shakes his head 'Don't be foolish. Do you not know their speed? If I move with haste to collect the gold, I leave myself open."

Noose was indeed quite conscious, as descried by his still-shallow breathing and unlikely stillness. The other rat's activity was congruent with sleeping mice: deep regular breathing, twitching of the whiskers. A shimmer of crimson alighted in one of Noose's eyes, watching through the slit the two negotiate the proper and most intelligent manner of distributing the clinkage. And even though his bluff was called, he remained still in hopes that it might not be believed.

Robin cringes on the bad notes, his eyes half opening each time before shutting again. Hobbits are very particular about their music.

Dreegor pulled forth a small kazoo and placed it inside his mouth before his fingers returned to strumming the strings. The kazoo was played with several breaths of air. A small tinge of fire was created by the golds and then it flickered away, "Eep.. Sorry, I have little knowledge of what to do then.."

Noose as a body that just bludgeoned a man to death and chased off a galloping toad, was capable of not succumbing to the entire effects of the enchanting song. And yet, the longer he waited in his faux slumber, the more likely it would be to be true.

Cornelius grimaces "Might I suggest you cease that infernal tootling so I can think clearly and fight unfettered?"

Cornelius faces the Fermin Noose

Cornelius turns to Noose "Dash it all, is a one-on-one acceptable to you or not?"

Dreegor blinked and eeped once more as he withdrew finger from string, "Ssssorry, I forgot." The tune was ceased as he hid back behind the wall of the side of the tavern.

Robin starts thrashing irritably as he tries desperately from beyond the veil of sleep to try and silence the god awful noise of that kazoo.

Noose snapped his eyes open, their brilliant red accompanied by a rotted and snaggletoothed grin of wicked intent. His tail brushed out from under him, and formed a 'Q' behind him as he stretched to his feet. "Acceptable? It would be most enjoyable!"

Robin rolls accidently into the pile of fermin and snuggles against them for warmth.

Cornelius smiles "Then we have an accord." He draws his sabre and a dagger, adopting an upright and relaxed stance, sword arm and blade extended directly to his opponent. "This gold shall be adequate payment for the mark on my cheek, methinks"

Robin is momentarily content.

Noose sent a rippling series of cracks and pops through his spine in a simple twisting of the neck. The hobbit looked something like a feral child adopted by a pack of mutant rats amongst the sleeping Fermin behind the black Noose, but he did not acknowledge them. Instead, his clawed digits fell into the folds of his overcloak, disrobing it and letting it billow to the ground. In his hands were held a pair of identical dark steel daggers, which appeared of fine craftsmanship and true edge. "If this is the fate you choose," he hissed, tail flickering and beckoning the dandy towards him.

Cornelius smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. The usually haphazard dandy has a hungry look in his eyes, his movements become more methodical, almost scientific as he slowly advances towards the Fermin. His footwork is strange though, almost as if he is limbering up his legs for a dance as he approaches, blade still extended, forming a perfect line between himself and Noose. He talks casually "There is an old magic of sorts called the science of geometry, and even today you can see the meshing between it and more orthodox and supernatural mysteries"

Noose did not appear as enthused on the academic subject as Cornelius. He took up an offensive stance with his knives, bent-kneed and bent-elbowed, moving both hands in small circles towards and back his opponent. His left leg was his forward one, as was the respective knife, but by the fluid semi-circles that his feet moved in, both of these could change on a moment's notice. Noose began to circle to the dandy's left, and his tail swung slowly from left to right behind him as if it too were a part of the dance and weaponry. "You won't distract me with your scholarly banter," he hissed, teeth bared.

Cornelius enters the mid measure, finds the line of eternity, and starts to walk the circle "No, really old boy, I think you will find this illuminating" His dancing footwork carries him in an almost gliding fashion, describing a circumference around the Fermin "In Old Vailkrin it was held by some scholars that Geometry could be used to answer all the questions of life. Geometry could even answer the question of why I was attracted to Anastasia, curse her vile soul." So saying, his footwork carries him in as he flicks in a slash towards the Fermin's temple with a subtle moulinet from the wrist, followed by a quick figure 8 slash targeting limbs before his footwork carried him back to the circumference line he had danced out, dagger at the ready to parry.

Noose mirrored the man's footwork vis-a-vis, reflecting a lifetime of such engagement and even displaying a comfort with it. As Cornelius lunges in with a high strike, the rat ducks low on one bended knee, causing the slash to sail painlessly overhead. His scaled tale lashes forward, striking the wrist that came in with the blow in a simultaneous movement with his kneel. It slapped the hand, causing it to divert to Noose's right, and possibly leave his foe's right side vulnerable. His left arm came out with a crack, bending in so as to deliver an elbow to the ribs from his lowly position, dagger spinning effortlessly to a downward facing position in his palm. The figure eight slash with the smaller blade is met with resistance as the Fermin's opposite dagger parries its initial approach. It only misdirects the tip, however, and as Cornelius flicks his wrist to complete the circuit of the slash, it draws blood from the outside of his shoulder. In retaliation, the other arm, formerly bent following an elbow strike, straightens to perform a thrust with the now repositioned blade to the man's abdomen.

Cornelius is saved from being overextended by the unexpected tailstrike to his wrist simply because he had not committed to a deep lunge, the deceptive moulinet working in his favour. Still, he grimaces in pain at the blow, the tail's cartilage reminding him of his old fencing Maestro's favourite cane. Clenching his teeth, he let the momentum of the strike carry his blade, noting with grim satisfaction the slight gash on the shoulder. First blood was his. Satisfaction rapidly turns to vexation as his escaping footwork cannot carry him far enough to outreach the movement of the thrusting dagger. Cursing his lack of foresight, he hastily performs a grand compassing step, spinning him out of the way of the worst of the damage, lowering and lengthening his stance, but leaving a line of blood across his stomach. Despite the pain, he keeps on talking in a nonchalant tone of voice "You see, everything is circles and triangles, each attack and defense a vector of geometry. Everything can be calculated. Apparently, I liked Anastasia's circles more than her sister's straight lines. An error in judgement, I freely admit" As he finishes the grand compass he lets his sabre fall to slash at the Fermin's hip and tail, before bringing it to a low guard, tip flicking back up to point at the Fermin's throat, dagger ready to parry or impale whatever attack or body part comes close

Robin slowly comes to, disgustedly disentangling himself from the smelly pile of rats and rolls over in time to watch Cornelius and Noose giving each other Fonzie looks as they fight over the gold. Hurriedly, and in as stealthy a fashion as he can manage, the Hobbit begins shoveling handfuls of coins into his pockets.

Noose tucked himself into a tight ball and launched into a somersault, his tail being the propellant that pushed off of the ground. He narrowly escaped the diagonal swipe of the sabre, and could chalk that fortune up to his well-minded tucking. Were he not to have brought his knees all the way up to his chest, he would have been more exposed, and probably lost his much-loved tail. Or worse. As it is, he has passed Cornelius' guard, and yet he untucks from his maneuver only to find a gauche pointed directly at him. Noose was still perched on the agile balls of his feet, and with performed another somersault, this time away from the man and with considerably less form. There was, however, an insidious facet to it this time: that ever-active tail wrapped about Cornelius' ankle and gave it a stalwart wrench as it was also pulled by the rat's bodyweight. He unfurled, claws digging a purchase into the clay underfoot, and launched headlong at the man, daggers trailing before him like two hellward fangs.

Cornelius smiles as the rat somersaults away, and this time is prepared for the Fermin's extra appendage. As the tail whips out and makes contact with his ankle, he shifts his weight forward into a a deep lunge, sabre sweeping across with the full force of his weight and the momentum imparted to it by the further deepening of his stance. The Fermin's tail may as well have been tugging at a tree, and he is flying straight into the sabre's cutting path. Cornelius' eyes blaze as he sees a chance to bind up both of the Fermin's daggers with his sabre, intending to then rest the tip of his dagger against the Fermin's throat, thus giving him a chance to accept the loss. Perhaps optimistic, but the man seems confident that the line and strength of his sabre's cut will require a double-daggered parry.

Robin keeps shoving as many coins into his pockets as they will hold, grinning to himself as he thinks of warm beer and raspberry tart. It would seem that for the moment at least, the two combatants were far too occupied with each other to worry about a harmless little hobbit.

Robin said, "Don't kill each other too fast now."

Noose sailed through the air after uncurling his tail from the firmly rooted leg, and found himself in quite the predicament. The long arm of the saber is the sinker here, when paired with the dagger's slim reach. The black rat's eyes catch the movement from Cornelius' shoulder, and deduced the movement from the torque observed. He would have rather take hold of the man's swordhand than deflect with steel, but this was just not possible from the end of the sabre. In mid-air, and truly in the blink of an eye, both daggers flash out to deflect the brand, knocking it low enough to allow his body uninterrupted passage. As expected, this left his own guard low and thus proferred a window for Cornelius' dagger to enter, but in his airborne state his body could not be slowed. He bowed his head in as safe of a posture as he could, expecting the gauche to be waiting for his neck, and careened into the man's chest, his own knives still crossed in an X manner so as to restrain the saber.

Cornelius grunts with the impact, feeling the downward pressure on his saber as the Fermin further ruins a perfectly good waistcoat, having cut it, bloodied it, and now smeared it with mud and what smells like sewage. Truly, the man's tailor would not be pleased with him. Using the biomechanical strength of the lunge, and suffering a cracked rib for his efforts, Cornelius brings the Fermin's forward momentum to a complete halt, allowing his dagger to turn enough that the Fermin can feel the blade along his throat "I say old boy. Between the clawed face, the cut belly, and the ruined waistcoat, I'm kind of peeved, but if you are willing to concede the loss, I'll use the gold to replace my attire, shout you and your pack another meal, and we can call this whole deuced affair a clean slate. What do you say?"

Robin notices the battle drawing to a momentary standstill, and as a result redoubles his efforts in pilfering all the gold he can.

Cornelius hears the jingling of 80-odd coins in a small person's pockets

Noose breathed heavily into Cornelius' face -hot, fetid breath. The touch of sharp steel on his neck was more than enough to persuade him to concede, albeit begrudgingly. It was somewhat humiliating for the Fermin, but there was no denying it. It was not a stalemate, it was a defeat. He was quite checkmated. "I don't like clean," he said through gritted, scum-scoured teeth. "But you win this day." Feet now firmly planted on the ground, and daggers taken from their confining position upon Cornelius' own weapon, Noose relents his offensive posture.

Cornelius whispered something to Noose

Cornelius springs away from the Fermin before bowing "Much obliged old bean. Came rather too close to death there, and wouldn't care to repeat the experience. Don't think I'll come out as lucky next time"

Robin looks rather comical at this point as he continues shoving fistfuls of gold coins into pockets which look as though they might burst. Every couple seconds his eyes snap away from the gold to make sure that he was still safe, but from the looks of things, the two fighters were just about done, a winner having been declared, and so with one more good handful shoved into his bulging pants, Robin turns and waddles toward the bar, too weighted down with gold for much else.

Cornelius takes a moment to glance at Robin, before smiling, and pretending he saw nothing

Cornelius collects his winnings, still remaining carefully aware of his surroundings

Noose performed an akward mimicry of the motion, it clearly not being one ingrained in Fermin society. He did not respond to Cornelius' words, but simply swiped a grimy paw over his wounded shoulder. The blood had began to coagulate, and it no longer ran like it did when first opened, but it still smarted. Perhaps some thicker garb might prevent that in the future. Noose glanced over to his ratpack, which had begun stirring and rubbing their faces sleepily. They seemed rather disoriented and blinded by the light, as if never having dozed upon the surface before. The one known as Scabies looked to Noose quizzically, his expression speaking his mind well: What happened, boss? "Get up, fools!" commanded the sable rat, kicking one of them to hasten his pace. "We're getting some grub!"

Cornelius waves them all in the direction of the Tavern "Food is on me, chaps!"

Cornelius strolls into the tavern, ruined waistcoat be damned