RP:Drinks, Newfound Friends, and Lycans
Synopsis
Rhagnur is hired by a group of hobbits to collect gold from a lycan, Syf, squatting on their lands, or to scare him off. The two form a fast friendship through their shared interest in alcohol and proceed to drink at the local tavern, make some more friends and then go on a hunt for some goblins to reclaim Lita's missing shoes. As fate would have it, they wind up the hunted instead of the hunters and must fight off a group of werewolves that don't take kindly to outsiders on their turf.
Delicates Farm
As you come from the assiduous, bustling heart of town towards more of the outskirts, you find yourself coming upon a rather large amount of land being used as a prodigious farm. From here you can see that the land in front of the farmer’s home is being used for seasonal vegetables such as cabbages, carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce, while behind the house there is a large cornfield going back as far as you can see. Fruit is also said to be grown upon this land, but you cannot see it from your current position. There is a rather tanned Halfling working the corn fields and several Hobbit children tending the tomatoes. The younglings stop their work and wave as you pass with their partly toothless grins. There appears to be a small shop for the produce grown here inside the farmhouse to the West. East will take you back towards the heart of town.
Syf is minding his own business, lying down with his head rested upon a mound of hay. His knee is up, the other leg crossed over the knee as he half sings, have hums a random song he had heard during his travels. He's not particularly good, and it's rather vile. No matter, for it is often interrupted by obnoxiously loud gulps from a bottle of some kind of alcohol. Syf is partial to Dwarven Black, but with how empty his coin purse is - or the fact that he has no coin purse - that's likely not the case. At any rate, the drunk continues on pleasantly enjoying the midday sun and is content to relax here until the last bit of rays disappear beyond the horizon... whereupon he'll roam the woods looking for a feast in the most primal of forms. Something he relishes in. The only thing left to him to enjoy in this world he despises so.
Rhagnur HeavyHammer was also minding his own business, all the way back in Kelay Tavern where he had just rested his haunches down after making the trek from the Cenrilian port just a few days prior. His travels abroad have had him away from these lands for quite some time, and he was glad to have the chance to venture about the areas he once frequented in his earlier days of his youth. But, as per usual, chaos was ever ripe in the air and just as he was finishing his drink, enjoying the warmth of the hearth, when a lad of enchantment's hobbit vassel town came abruptly into the infamous establishment looking for aid in ridding their land of an unpleasant monster roaming about, taking up an area for itself (or so the lad would make it seem), leaving the peaceful ale drinking, leaf smoking halfings unsettled enough to reach out and hire some muscle to rid themselves of this unsavory and unwanted guest. Well, the runeguard was all about ready to ignore the dire request for a hero, until the mention of gold was given. Ah, a dwarf's weakness: Greed. After a brief exchange, and another trek, Rhagnur and the young hobbit lad leads them to the meeting point. Not from around here, it takes the young hobbit shyly pointing at the vagabond resting in the haypile for the dwarf to put two and two together. "You paid me to come scare off some drunken fool?" A quick flash back to a post in Kelay Tavern about a squatter creeps to the dwarf's keen mind. Shaking his head, the stout framed warrior makes his way over to the fella, and after seieng the bottle of dwarven black in his hand, says. "Aye lad, I've a spare bottle of some finer spirits than that if you don't mind soddin' off these parts before ya cause these halfings to fill their trousers more than ye already have." Beneath his thick and well maintained beard is a smirk, hoping the stranger catches his attempt of a peaceful resolution to this otherwise silly situation. Damn hobbit are just scared of a taller fellow messing around in ther land. Heightism at its finest, if you ask this dwarf.
Syf cants his head over to the dwarf only after he makes his statement. He could smell the dwarf, enough to separate him as a different race entirely from the hobbits who mill about cautiously when he's around - even in his drunken state. He can smell the metal on the dwarf, dust from gems, earth and strength. Something quite different from the stink of the sweaty, dirty little people that call this township home. Syf's features are sluggish, over-exaggerated, when he responds. "It's just a field. I don't right understand why these buffoons think I've got no right to lounge about where I please." Syf shrugs his shoulders and stands up, free hand to tug at his trousers to pull them up due to the lack of a belt. He takes a swill from the bottle he's holding, swishes it around his mouth and then spits it on the ground. "I have rights, y'know. Just the same as them." He's visibly swaying this way and that as he talks - were one keen of eye, they might catch on that he's playing at something. While he is a drunk and enjoys his alcohol as much as the next drunk, he's not quite as empty-minded as he lets on. "But!" He hiccups, tilting his head forward as he does so as to peer at the dwarf beneath bushy brows, "Is it good booze?" In all reality, he chose this field because of the lack of other lycans roaming about, pissing on everything. He can't stand the urge his kin feel to mark literally ever damn thing with their stink.
Rhagnur can smell the stench of liquor all over the man, as well as dirty dog for some reason that isn't something he'd wish to linger on, so he doesn't As the stranger explains his stance on his rights, the dwarf understands, he comes from a land of ancient and strict laws and has seen many legal battles erupt into full clan blood wars that have lasted generations, especially when it comes to land disputes. "Ayye lad, but you've spooked the cattle and if it not be me, it'd just be some other poor sod, and I doubt they'd have a fine a taste for dwarven spirits as I." here, he'd pull out a fine aged meade he has stashed away for his private use in one hand, while he sneak out a bottle of hard liquor, a dark whisky from a land across the sea, in the other. "Ye prefer local, or have the nerve to try this foreign brew with me as we go find another spot to take a piss in." Here he'd chuckle, and wave off the hobbit lad and say. "Tell yer kin I've handled the matter, and that it'd be wise to stop pokin' their noses into strangers business if they not be havin' the nerve to at least talk to the man first." The young hobbit, wholly outside his own comfort levels already, tunrs a pale shade of white and nods rapidly before running off to report as he is told. Here, the dwarf turns back to his new drinking buddy, and says. "I've time before I start back to Craughmoyle, why don't we find a better spot and test these spirits out?" He figures drinking is about as good way to break the tension as any, especially given the man's current appearence. "Lest you've somewhere betetr to be?"
Syf lifts his head high at the sight of the booze, seemingly reinvigorated and entirely sober, it would seem. "Now you're speaking my language, dwarf." He pats the stout man with his hand before snagging the bottle of dwarven whisky for a quick taste. Afterwhich, he hands the bottle back, "Aye, I suppose we could find a different area to stay at a while. Lots of forests to lay claim to for the eve." Rhagnur's got something about his character that's brought the lycan out of his brooding reverie enough to at least satiate his curiosity in the man. He's got tact unlike many of the dwarves that he's encountered in his years, which might hint at something of a noble birth. Or at least a worldly experience garnered outside the otherwise oft xenophobic common dwarf. He might prove a useful ally in the future.
Kelay Tavern
Built and rebuilt, torn apart and set like stubborn bone, this tavern is the pinnacle of Hollow's entirety, wrought around the premise of peace, equality, and consummate amity. And of course, the old place had seen all of the three, but so much more. Dire markings of claw and steel cut deep into wall panels and floorboards. Set against the land's usual motif of destruction are signs of comfort. Twisting shadows and smoothing out a careful blanket of light with soft, quaint fires, a candelabra dangles down by thick cords, gripping the circular holder. Each twists up, converging upon the center, where they snake about one another and form a thick, secure anchor to Kelay Tavern's high, accommodating ceiling. The candelabra rattle now and again from the inn patrons overhead, pouring down globs of wax to the center of the room, which is wide and unobstructed. Cheaply carpentered tables and chairs grow outward around the bare dancing area, keeping to the rounded theme, and also keeping to a dwarven barkeep's avariciously born taste for 'economical' furniture. Hardly any expense has been wasted on the actual upkeep of the public center, as can be garnered from the smell of deep pine, rich tobacco, and even richer spirits. Stairs twist away dimly near the high bar. And atop that side rests the inn logs, quill, and ink. This establishment's fine keeper, Mesthak, can be seen smiling out from his post at the bar, straight across to the room's always crackling stone-wrought hearth. Behind him, atop lofty shelves, sits an array of dark, amber, and clear liquids. Food smells waft from somewhere near at hand. A carefully printed and hung sign details the purchasable items here in the place of merriment, loss, laughter, and life. Also, tucked into a corner near one of two windows closest to the tavern doorway is a thickly papered bulletin board. A sign has been added next to the board that reads, 'The management requires patrons be fully inebriated at all times and that no curing spells be performed in this tavern-Thank you'.
Rhagnur continues to tell his recounts of glorious battles he has fought in, wonderous treasures he has found and beautiful buxom lasses he has left broken hearted in his travels abroad in search of wealth and adventure throughout his younger days, all of course amplified by the strong effects of the even stronger spirits the dwarf and vagabond have been sharing for a few hours now. They left the farmstead in the hobbit vassal town what seems like ages ago, took to the forest to find some peace, but quickly grew bored and started running out of drink. So the mismatched pair decided to take their blossiming friendship (forged through that hard liquor) back into town. Mesthak shoots the other dwarf a look over, who shoots one right back from beneath bushy eyebrows (its a hidden dwarf language, their shifty eyes) before he turns to his newly aquired drinking buddy and says. "Grab us a seat lad, I'll fetch us some of this old greybeard's finest drink, aye... and maybe some roasted duck!" The dwarf's face shifts to a look of sheer pleasure at the thought of a well roasted, herb seasoned duck right now. " Yes! A roasted duck! ... ye... ye wantin' anything?" He asks, having to narrow his gaze to make sure he was still talking to Syf still, his vison blurring slightly due to the creeping effects of that foreign liquor. Pointing to the two Syf's, trying to figure out which one is which, the HeavyHammer dwarf says. "You two can split one yerself."
Syf nods his head to Mesthak upon entering with Rhagnur. He knows the dwarf well enough, who had heart enough to part with a glass free of charge for Syf the day prior when he was down on his luck - being extorted by brazen hobbits. Who would have guessed Syf would plummet so unceremoniously to such depths? Probably everyone. It can't be helped, at any rate. Besides, he's made a new friend, another dwarf as chance would have it, and he's keen to continue drowning himself with ample booze. "Ah... duck sounds mighty fine, paired with some mead." At this point, he's intoxicated enough and only wishes to combat his wildfire of a metabolism from sobering him up before he's good and ready. Mead oughta do just that. He offers Rhagnur a smile, then pats his waist line, imitating a search for something, before he comes up empty. With his hands splayed out to either side of him, palms upturned, Syf shrugs, smile to turn into a toothy grin, "Save I have no coin, friend!" He laughs and half falls, half plops into a seat nearby. Nancy is given a wink in passing.
Lita isn't overly fond of Kelay these days. Or rather, people. People in general lately are a thing she's shied away from. But until she learns how to magically materialize Cal's delicious little kreteks from thin air, she still has to trek into town for deliveries. She pads barefoot through the front door, a bundle of mismatched black armor pieces under one arm, smears of various colors across some of the pieces. She settles the bundle onto the bar top and eyes a boistorous dwarf who's waddled up to the bar. She wrinkles her nose as the character orders food and drink and she offers her opinion as she leans her hip against a vacant seat. "The duck, yes. The mead however, far from anything fine." She offers a playful wink to Mesthak, who's rolling his eyes at her already. "Fair trade?" She asks sweetly, nudging the armor towards the barkeep. He mentions her having to wait and she rolls her eyes at him but doesn't have much of a choice.
Soraya permitted herself so few luxuries in life that the loss of a book felt more than terrible. Heartbreaking, truth be told. Absolutely world ending. Having a meltdown in a tavern over such losses wasn't wise however, but leaving a note seemed appropriate. It's prewritten, folded neatly in her pocket once she walks into the tavern, and quickly affixed to the public board once she reaches it. There wasn't much left to do but retrace her steps for the sixth or seventh time, and cross her fingers that someone with a sharper eye than she not only found her book, but returned it to her. Soraya considers searching beneath nearby tables, but surely she didn't leave the book here. Perhaps it slipped from her bag mid flight and is somewhere in the woods, covered in dirt...She cringes at the thought, then slumps into the nearest vacant chair sideways, so she can drape her arm on the chair's back and her wings aren't squished. Somebody sounds boisterous, thinks she, looking to the bar.
Rhagnur is a dwarf, and thus the potent effects of the liqur he and his newfound partner in crime have been partaking of for the last few hours is having a effect upon him, but not as hard as he may be letting on. People tend to think a drunk dwarf easy prey, and no better way to catch a would be enemy or threat offguard then to suddenly -not- be a drunken dwarf, aye? Either way, the runeguard's defensive nature, and inborn desire to fight all the time, isn't stronger than his good mood at the moment so the rather alluring tones of the woman's voice who talks to him about the poor quality of the meade here is met with a raise of his still empty tankard and a "Well met lass!" Before he'd turn to Mesthak and say. "I'll cover her drinks too, so long as you don't serve us that swill she speaks of and give us all soemthing good, ya swindler!" The good hearted nature of the dwarf is met with aannoyed, but understanding, smirk from the aged barkeep who doesn't get many of his own kind here in Kelay these days. It is here that Rhagnur is met by a sweet scent of almost all of his favorite smells, ranging from fresh ale, to roasted boar to the burning coals of the forge, to the crisp fresh air of the Xalious mountains. This sensation seems to come from the winged woman, a whatchamacallit thing, riight? Think the dwarf to himself. Avian! Yeah, one of them lot! Beena while since he has seen one, and he has to fight the urge to snag a feather for himself as she passes. But, the woman seems troubled, and since his good mood is so high, the dwarf can't help but ask the woman from atop his perch of his seat at the bar. "Aye, lass, you alright?" Here, to amke sure he isnt too drunk, the dwarf asks the woman next to him if he is even seieng the woman at the board, and isnt just drunk off his arse. "She seems a bit upset, yeah? We should make sure she is ok."
Syf may or may not have found a book on the side of the road... and he may or may not have used it to stoke his fire later that eve, then after to wipe his... well, never you mind that part. Regardless, Soraya has made no mention of a book to him, so this is all just foreshadowing... irony, or some such. Y'know. The lycan eyes Lita over the rim of his tankard as he takes a long drink. After which, he sets it down atop the bar and asks her, "Do I know you?" He says to her. No. He doesn't. And she doesn't want him to know her. At least not in the manner he's suggesting, given his stupid grin and raised eyebrows. But alas, Soraya has grabbed his attention indirectly through Rhagnur, who makes mention of the distress she appears to be in. Syf ain't no to-the-rescue sort, so he shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly to Rhagnur. "Could be she's thirrrrrsty?" He slurs, "Parched, miss?" He says to her, offering a seat near the group.
Lita is of the understanding that anything that is not Simon's honeyed whiskey out of Rynvale is swill, but she's not one to turn down a free drink. She leans a bit over the bar as Mesthak pours a round of drinks and takes one of the mugs for herself, sipping at it as Mesthak looks over the armour she's brought in. He raises a brow at her and she rolls her eyes again. "Gimme." She drawls as she holds out her palm. Begrudgingly the barkeep hands over a wrapped parcel and she murmurs a thanks, taking another drink of the ale. Good enough. At least the dwarf here seemed to be having a swell time. And then here was his buddy sidling up to the bar to remind her why she wasn't much a fan of people these days. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of him but she'd keep well enough to herself. "Doubtful." She answered, burying the taste of impending regret with another swallow of ale. She follows the pair as they turn to watch the bird-girl find a seat but doesn't linger as long. Though whether that's due to her sobriety or not would remain to be seen. She lifts her mug to nudge Syf's tankard of ale as she manages, "Offer the girl a drink, would you? Don' be rude."
Soraya procured a glass of water at some point between sitting down and the acknowledgment of others of her presence. She held it in one hand to drink it, while fingers on her other hand walked along a non-existent map on the table, retracing her flight from Schezerade to Kelay, Kelay to Cenril. She's reluctant to reply to the slurring man and surprised by his offer. Now, this bird didn't leave Schezerade often, what with her duties in the skyward city taking priority over all else. The few times she visited towns and cities on the ground always left her baffled. People were, well...grounded. Her eyes fall to the trio. Looser. Easygoing, for Syf. Happier, she assumed, eyeing the dwarf. Enviable, for the wingless Lita. She accepts the offer, taking her glass along with her. “...Astray, I would say. Not parched, but I thank you for your offer.” Is her reply to Syf once she has resettled.
While a decent amount of Meri's time might be spent in the Kelay-Sage area these days, the tavern was not a place the blonde felt the need to loiter and linger. Today the woman was here with the intention of picking up an order of beer to restock the treehouse. Half of the faces that were currently present were unfamiliar to Meri. Soraya caught Meri's attention, recalling her from one very bustling Yule Ball. This vague familiarity causes Meri to greet Soraya with a wink and a grin in passing. It was Lita who would manage to claim a bulk of the tattooed lycan's attention though. Nevermind her task of picking up that bulk beer order, Meri would slide right on up to where Lita had posted up. The dark-haired woman is given a once over to examine her current state, "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, love." Meri looked like she was in good health and was dressed in her usual rough and tumble style that Lita is probably quite familiar with given the years they have known each other. "How the heck are you?"
Rhagnur listens to the avian inform them on her situation, and he is far too inhebriated to grasp anything she is saying properly, but she seems ok and that is good enough for the dwarf to lift his tankard in salute as he says. "Praise to Loda for that then, aye!" Before he takes another swig of Mesthak's brew before the barefoot woman next to him grabs his attention, or rather its the off chance the dwarf looked down and saw the woman was barefoot, causing a growing concern for her well being to swell within the dwarf. " Lass.." he says in a hushed tone, as well as he can anyway, as he tries to privately ask her. "Lass... what happened to your shoes?" The drunken care for strangers is a side effect of potent spirits, aye? " My cousin is a shoemaker, I could have him make you such fine shoes!" Here he turns to Mesthak, almost offended that the dwarven owner of this establishment had not taken care of the woman's obvious serious lack of shoes himself. "Mesthak!" He tsks towards his fellow kinsman. "How you just lettin' her feet go bare like this? C'mon then, tell Nancy to give 'er a pair of shoes!" The over concern for Lita's lack of shoes has suddenly become a dire situation in the intoxicated mind of the dwarf, who truly, in his own way at the moment, thinks all of Lita's life problems can be solved by a good pair of shoes now. "Lass.. its *hic!*... its ok, I'll make sure you find a decent pair." All this is a drunken rant for sure, mayhaps not even said as clearly as he thinks it is in his own mind, but for better or wrose, the good hearted dwarf does mean well.
Syf is, for all intents and purposes, overwhelmed by all of the people gathered around the bar. He's not found himself in the company of so many people since... well. About the nudge from Lita to his tankard - "She's not the drinkin' sort, I'm afraid." He whispers rather loudly across the top of his tankard. He's almost stewing in that liquid himself, with how his face hovers over it like a prisoner does with their food. "Need you some assistance, winged creature? I've a nose for guiding people." He doesn't know what an Avian is, clearly. Or he does and simply doesn't care about being seen as rude. It's at this point he notices, perhaps due to the mention of his nose, a particular scent that perks him up. It draws his chin, almost in the booze, up enough to afford his eyes an easy look over to Meri. Lycan? But she has another scent... something that causes his stomach to turn sour, his brows to furrow in confusion. Undead? He brushes the scent off and resumes his otherwise outwardly drunkenness - this drink is not nearly strong enough to curb his rampant metabolism. He's sobering up already. Curses. "Give me something stronger, Mestharm," He's close enough, because Mesthak shakes his head, knowing the Lycan is talking to him. "C'mon, we're mates, Meshael." It's at this juncture he produces a book - half empty of pages, mind you - and smiles to the barkeep, "I'll trade you this here... uh, novel?" He drops it to the floor, quickly forgetting about it when Mesthak gives in and begrudgingly pours him a double. "You're a godsend, Mesthaaa-" His words are cut off by the drink as he takes a long gulp from it. Shoes? What's Rhagnur on about? Dwarves, Syf chuckles to himself. He has half a mind to run shoeless, shirtless and pantless, save he might garner more attention, and not in the good way, than he seeks were he to go that route.
Lita is swiveled from her half-seated position at the bar and on her feet as the artist approaches her. She's not partial to many people but Meri's definitely on the short list. She lifts an arm for a half-hugged embrace of the woman. "You've no idea." She agrees, tugging a loose blonde curl betwixt her fingers as dark eyes look the artist over head to toe. "Always more the glad to see you, doll. Fancy you, makin' a trip down to see us lowly folks." She teases. Clearly this is commentary on her own lack of social skills these days. Years. Same thing anymore. Her grin broadens at Syyf as he mentions having a nose for guiding people. There's a sudden image of him being drug about on a lead rope not unlike a hound dog on a trail, or chasing his tail. She doesn't exactly advertise her traits as a vampire but she doesn't go to the trouble to try and hide it either. She glances back at the drunkenly dwarf as talk of her bare feet has suddenly consumed his slurs. "What?" She gasps in mock amusement, using Meri's shoulder as support as she lifts one foot and wriggles bare toes at the dwarf. She looks at him and then down at her toes, back and forth a couple of times in shock as if her shoes had somehow mysteriously been magicked from her feet since she'd walked into the tavern. Mesthak is rolling his eyes at the entire display, knowing fair well of Lita's proclivities to be barefoot. Nancy, bless her, is looking a bit lost however and Lita slides a few coins across the bar towards the maid as she passes, offering a playful wink. "Hush, you." She drawls at the dwarf finally. "I enjoy shoes about as much as you're enjoying your sobriety this evenin'." She teases him. "Save me from this, love." She begs of Meri, still watching Rhagnur.
Soraya affords Rhagnur a grin and a timid lift of her glass in time with his tankard. Praise? Well, she'll mirror the action to be polite. “Yes, Loda. Of course,” she comments. “Praise to Loda.” She sips her water, then smiles at Meri over the rim of the glass. That evening of the Yule Ball was a whirl. Unconsciously, she pats the halo braid binding her hair. Aya really must find something less plain to match the crown she won, but white on white on white seemed to be all that she owned. Winged creature? Better than angel, she supposes, but only by a hair. She gestures to the board, where she left her note. “I'm afraid I lost a book that I purchased recently and I – Oh! Oh dear...” Her thought trails. Heavens, this man is drunk. The dwarf is hollering about shoes. Did Lita misplace hers? The book Syf reveals does capture her attention, but she blinks, missing it tumble to the floor. She hears the thud, and spies it. Sure enough – green cover, spine decorated in gold...and oddly much thinner than she remembered. She bends to retrieve it, and the state the book is in elicits an almost mortified gasp. How could she possibly be so careless and lose it, and how could someone possibly be so...cruel. The avian mumbles something about just saving up to buy another one, and thumbs through the remaining pages. She wants to ask Syf where he might have found the book, but fears the answer.
Meri was sober, unlike Syf, so the lycan female is easily able to pick up on the fact that another werewolf is present. There is a subtle glance to acknowledge her awareness of what he is but this detail is not something that Meri dwells on for long. Nor is it something that is going to cause her to abandon the side of her vampiric friend. Besides, not everyone appreciates having such details brought to light in a public setting. It was no secret that the general population did not always respond kindly to lycans. The same could be said of vampires, except Meri clearly appreciates Lita's company. The blonde has a very short list of people that she is willing to show any amount of affection to but Lita was on it. That half-hugged embrace is met in kind. "Me? Making a trip down to see you lowly folks?" Meri's red lips turn up into a sly grin. "I am seen by the masses quite often, thank you very much. If anything, I ought to be sayin' that of you." As tempting as it is to gab over the various events that have transpired since the two women last met, like divorces, engagements and the various adventures she has found for herself, but a certain dwarf starts rambling on about Lita's need for shoes. Meri laughs at this drunken rant, sharing a look with Lita and issuing a one-armed shrug. To the dwarf, "I saw her in a pair of boots once. It was quite a shock. She must have lost them somewhere in her travels though." Her blue-eyed gaze remains pinned on the dwarf but her words are directed to Lita, "Ain't no saving you from this, love. This is what happens when you socialize with us commoners."
Rhagnur is right piss drunk, and so the jests around him are wholly missed as he only hears an absolute confirmation from the newly arrived woman that the barefoot woman was indeed in a peril of the shoe-lacking type. Like some unwanted adopted dad does the dwarf's concern grow, as he is basically sure that Lita had to have been robbed of her shoes and thus suffering due to some foul villan's obsession with shoe thievery. "Oh lass...." Says the dwarf in a somber tone, a tear swelling in his eye as he feels so bad for the poor woman. Wiping away that tear into his thick brow, the dwarf quickly takes off his own steal-capped boots and offers them to the shoeless woman in some act of selfless sacrifice to help the woman out. Mainly because Meri said she wore boots once, so now, thanks to her, the dwarf is convinced some vile criminal has stolen Lita's boots! "What is this world comin' to?" he looks in shock, truly in awe at how terrible the world is when people will just rob you of your boots! " Ya know, I hear people have been robbin' drunks right out their shirts and sleeves and pants here in Kelay!" The dwarf, native to Craughmoyle mainly, just can't understand humans and their chaotic ways. Then it hit him, the possible true enemy that lurks about. " Was it goblins lass?" Asks the dwarf in a serious tone, the ancient enemy (well one of them) of the dwarves are often blamed on missing shoes and other small things. It must of been them! "Blasted runts! I've the mind to march right down to that wrecthed hive they call a kingdom and give them whats for!"
Syf has lived hundreds of years in the forest as a filthy vagabond, mostly in werewolf form. He's had little time to acclimate to the nuances of the culture of Lithrydel in this day and age. However, he's not one to begrudge another for the curse they've found themselves stuck with, either by will or otherwise. Given the status of his curse, and perhaps due to the lack of his... social conditioning, he can't help but feel his hackles raise when he's found in the company of a vampire. Neither the vampire nor werewolf are particularly bity, though they're both perhaps a bit barky... Syf's writer couldn't help it, so he doesn't make an ass of himself further in that regard. The Avian with the book draws his attention again, now that he's reclaimed his stupor, whereupon he eyes the book in her hands. "It wasn't a good read, I'm afraid... but I made some alterations to it, added in a new plot and removed a large swathe of it's incessant rambling." He grins at her, "And -those- scenes are much more... vivid." He laughs, pounding his tankard on the bartop. Were she to look, Syf has scribbled all sorts of nonsense between the lines, creating a rather immature story about two star-crossed lovers that is so obsence it would make a sailor cry. And the sketches. Oh, the sketches. Best not to dwell long on them. "For the love of a buxom wenches booty, what is that STINK!?" Syf blurts out, interrupting his conversation with Soraya, looking around with a face that tells the story that he's been accosted. "Where have your boots gone, Rhagnur?!" There are TWO people in this tavern with no shoes! What is this world coming to?!
Lita might have once been touched by the dwarve's adorable display of chivalry and humanity. It might have once been sweet, even in its drunken state. She's not so cold-hearted that she can't at least appreciate it. She feigns appreciation with a hand over her heart, the other raised to gently push the boots back towards the man. "I couldn't, truly." Never mind that the thought of wearing shoes made her skin crawl, she tugs at the hem of her dress and adds a playful, "They just wouldn't match my outfit. And worse possibly, on top of having ones shoes stolen, would be a fashion faux pas!" She offers the dwarf a thankful smile before nudging Meri with a light elbow to keep her silence. She might have heard trickling rumors of Meri's various adventures. She's kept her tabs on the important things. She might not have been overly involved, but she's been lurking. Mostly. She manages a little shrug to the truth of Meri's words and her smile brightens some at Meri's remembering the likes of boots. There'd been a time or two, but not often. "Anytime I wore boots I found them quite overrated." She says finally of the shoes. She finds a pout at Meri's unwillingness to come to her rescue all of the sudden though. "Ah, well, this explains my newfound enjoyment of the hermit life then, I s'pose." She teases. "Come, sit a minute and tell me at least that you're wildly happy." She flickers dark eyes to the avian as the girl collects her book from the floor. One might only hope that it's been hosed off a time or two since having been in Syf's possessions.
Soraya 's heart sinks with each page turn and each word Syf slurs out. What remained of the book is thoroughly ruined. It's dirty. The fingertips of her white gloves are stained with what she hopes is just dirt and alcohol. She never even had the opportunity to read any of the pages until now, really, with all of its... unpleasant revisions. After buying it, she had envisioned cracking the book open at home with a cup of tea after work, but now...“This was the book that I lost,” she says quietly, likely unheard over his blurting. To say that she's angry and upset would be an understatement, but instead of voicing such things, her face settles into a frown. She really must be more careful with her belongings. In the meanwhile, saddened as this bird may be, it -was- found and returned to her in some horrible, roundabout way, so Aya supposes there is some silver lining. And she promised a reward. With some reluctance, she chooses to honor this and removes a small bag of coins, twice price of the book, offered to Syf once he turns her way again, if he does. “I,” she stammers. “Thank you sir, for finding it.”
Meri goes wide-eyed for a moment when the dwarf literally takes the boots off his own feet to give to Lita. These antics earn an outright laugh from Meri. Her expression was not meant to come off as mean, as she was not intending to poke fun, she was just genuinely amused by this response. Syf was right about the stink though, rest in peace to Meri's delicate sense of smell. "I am not sure that you two even wear the same sized boots, I think you best have a seat and put them back on your own feet." The blonde settles into a seat next to Lita, though she would not be able to remain for long. The blonde made a promise to Mirshann, that she would not have to be stuck with babysitting duty all day. Still, she was not about to miss the chance to spend a wee bit of time with an old friend. "It's been a year. Callum took off. Just gave Fleur and I the boot, I couldn't even begin to tell you why. But I guess the why doesn't really matter too much now. It's in the past and the future is definitely looking much brighter." Meri shows off the black diamond engagement ring on her finger as explanation. The ring is not flashed for long, for after Lita gets a chance to examine in Meri is reaching into her satchel to pull out her sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. She's not about to start drawing, she's instead jotting down a quick note for the vampiric woman. Directions to where she is living with Magik these days. The page is ripped out of her notebook once she is finished and offered over to Lita, "You will have to pay me a visit soon, so we can catch up proper." Shortly after she passes the directions off to Lita, a look is given to Mesthak, trying to nonverbally suggest he ready that beer order that she had initially dropped in to pick up.
Rhagnur is not upset his offer was declined, as in his own ale-infused mind the woman is probably embarassed by having been robbed. Those damn green skinned devils! The pity the dwarf feels for Lita's situation turns towards an ancestral hatred for goblins that starts to boil over as he puts his own boots back on per request of, well most everyone present. Once that spectacle is over, the dwarf grabs his possessions, mainly the dwarven urgosh that was resting near his seat, and he hops down from his perch to start towards the door, calling out to his companion as if they've been friends for ages past, this of course bing Syf. "Aye lad, I've some business with some green skinned devils." The words come out almost more of a deep, rumbling growl than actual words. " And by business, I mean I aim to have them theivin' bastards meet my blade!" Like this was some epic warcry, the dwarf assumes the vagabond would just follow him. They were drinkin' buddies, right? Basically that means they'd follow each other into the bowels of the earth to kick open the gates of the goblin kingdom and set fiire to the proverbial beehive that is that wretched and foul kingdom called Kregus. And, well, the dwarf is now on a drunken quest to retrieve Lita's stolen shoes from the clutches of the Goblin King, who the dwarf is adamant is the true cuplrit of everything bad in the world.
Syf is thankful that Rhagnur's boots are back on where his boots need to be. Them toesies stink something fierce. But the dwarf is quick to rise and ready himself for battle with some goblins, and well... Syf likes fighting as much as he likes drinking and the pleasures of flesh. Anything to occupy his mind. Unfortunately for Syf, it would appear Soraya, Lita and Meri are not keen on the idea of the latter, the middle has already been had so that leaves the former left to him. Goblins it is! When Soraya offers him a coinpurse, Syf is quick to turn it down after he downs the rest of his ale and winks to Mesthak. "A rogue like myself dare not accept your coin, m'lady. It would however, warm my soul knowing that you would take pleasure in reading my works this eve." He grins to her, then performs a remarkably well-practiced bow to all three ladies as though he hadn't just been imbibing half of Mesthak's stock. "Hold onto your beard, dwarf." He trips over his own boots - aha - but catches himself on Nancy who he momentarily stops to admire, before quickly following Rhagnur out the door. While he doesn't share the dwarf's distaste in goblins at present, he can definitely get behind the idea. "Let's go find us some goblins!" His words can be heard even after he exits the tavern.
Lita had always known Meri to be the bigger person in their personal affairs. Lita never could forgive a good heartache but she was always glad to see those she adored in better spirits. She'd met Callum only a couple of times but she still wouldn't be able to say if his leaving left her surprised or not. Maybe Meri was right and it just doesn't really matter too much now. She takes the blonde's hand to ogle the flashy new ring a moment before taking the offered note and slipping it to her pocket with a thanks. "I will." Maybe for once she'd mean it. She should really be better about such things, after all. She looks over her shoulder to watch the dwarf and fluffy companion take their leave and she eyes her own ale still mostly full on the bartop, thinks better of downing it. "You know, mistake as it might be, getting my hands a bit dirty doesn't seem like such a bad idea just now." She slips from her stool and offers the blonde a peck on the cheek. "You'll forgive my leave?" Eyeing the order Mesthak is placing on the bar for the artist, all the same. "If I promise to visit before too long?" Soraya is relieved in a way that Syf didn't accept the reward. It meant she'd have enough to buy a replacement, along with another book. She purses her lips and pockets the coin purse again, then prepares to leave. Not for Kregus to slaughter goblin kings, but a bookstore. She'll leave the edited version of her book behind. After the pair of drunkards are out the door, she slips out and takes flight.
Meri offers a smile to Lita, it was sincere and meant to convey that she would most certainly be able to forgive the woman. "Of course, but don't be making promises to me unless you mean to keep them." Meri would love it if Lita would actually drop by for that visit, yet their years of knowing each other has taught Meri that it was entirely likely that the vampiric woman would fall back into her reclusive habits. Would she see Lita again soon? Would it be months? Another year or two? These musing were bittersweet but she could never begrudge the other woman for her wanderlust. "You know where to find me when you are ready for another chat." Lita would be left to take her leave while Meri would collect that order she had initially dropped in for and make the short trek back home, where both Fleur and Mirshann were probably both awaiting her return anyway.
Old Forest
The forest seems to only become more unruly now, as trees grow to gargantuan proportions. Their boughs reach to the sky, blocking out the twinkling of stars and the showering rays of the sun. The stocks of these plants are gnarled and menacing, in some places nearly resembling scowling visages. The twittering of birds is lost in the dense brush; the world so tightly compacted, so as not to echo at all. Faint light can be seen north and west, and far east of here. Southward is as dark and desolate as the surroundings, although the forest seems to have reluctantly parted recently, offering a small walkway, through which a noticeable amount of foliage has been ravaged.
Lita parted ways with the fellow artist and was suddenly left with deciding between heading back towards Venturil or following the path of the drunken dwarf and its sullen companion. Maybe it was having seen Meri that was making her feel more charitable with her social time. But she slunk off to the east after the afforementioned duo instead. She kept a few yards behind them, just in case one of these pair might accidentally stab themselves or her in some misguided attempt to save the world from shadows.
Syf, immediately after exiting the tavern, is on the hunt! Actually, he's just aimlessly walking, half following Rhagnur and half following his stomach. Which is leading him into those trees right there. Is that a deer he can smell? Oh, what he would give for some good venison. He's certain the dwarf wouldn't mind a quick stop to collect some... rations, yes. Rations for the journey. What a great idea. "I think I can smell some goblins over in this direction," He calls over to Rhagnur, "They may be the ones that pilfered the ladies shoes!" The goblins he can smell, of course, being a deer. The vagabond is garbed in clothes not suited for a life in the wild, which is evident enough in the myriad holes throughout his shirt and woolen trousers. At least he's got boots on, though. And fear not, for there are no weapons to be found on his person, so the lass has naught to worry about in regards to him skewering anyone by accident. On that matter, he hasn't even realized that Lita is following them, because he would assuredly be hitting on her at this. Very. Moment. Vampirism aside, she's a woman and he's a carnal creature with absurd proclivities - like tempting fate. And as fate would have it, he trips over a root that thrust up from the ground all of a sudden! Syf falls over without a lick of grace. "The root! It attacked me!" He kicks it in irritation before rising back up to his swaying height. Really, it's just an ordinary root that he hadn't seen, but lets not get sidetracked. There's a quest to be had.
Rhagnur has been itchin' for a fight, and the liquid courage coursing through him at this very moment paired with the desire to not only slay some green skinned menaces but retrieve the poor lass' stolen shoes has the runeguard turning to the direction Syf originally points to and draws forth a hand axe from his belt and launches the weapon with startling clarity and deadly aim towards what he assumes is the goblin the lycan proclaimed. It doesn't help the damn wolf's clumsy nature and decree of being attacked are all lost in the haze of alcoholic fervor that currently grips the dwarf's mind that focuses all its attention on the concept of some unseen goblin horde that it has conjured up for him to fixate his attention upon. A deep roar erupts from the runeguard as he brings about his dwarven urgosh with ill intent as he declares. "Ayye lad, the hordes of hell be upon us now, git off yer ass!" And, for better or worse, the dwarf charges forth with wreckless abandon into the unknown, intent on fighting all the goblins this land could ever offer, or die trying.
Lita doesn't have the best track record with men. She'd just as likely to stab Syf by accident for hitting on her as she is to be flattered by any of his attentions. Not that she'd have to work too hard apparently, as he's promptly taken down by a tree root sticking out from the ground. Clearly there was a cheeky dryad looking out for her someplace. "Aye, it had ever' right to in yer state!" She slurs, closing the distance towards the lycan to help him to his feet once more. Though suddenly distracted by a berserk little dwarf thrashing about amidst the bushes with his axe. Wonderful. But who is she to take such joy from another soul. "Think you've just about got 'im there!" She calls out to the dwarf, biting back a laugh.
A dwarf. She sniffs at the air, testing it further yet. A vampire... The lycan they were after travels in peculiar groups. Gromac can be heard grunting from behind, perhaps scoffing at the idea of a lycan travelling with a dwarf and vampire. Nevertheless, Elarai beckons the pack to fan out and remain unseen. Most are in their base form, but a few of the lycans have opted to don their true nature. "It's time we force this lone lycan out of our territory. He's disrupting the dynamic we've worked tirelessly for." Elarai states over her shoulder to Gromac, her second. Gromac nods his wolven head in assent, "I'll lead the pack, you return to the young." He snarls in that familiar, guttural tone of a werewolf. Once Elarai grants him her blessing, Gromac half runs, half scurries across the foliage-laden earth and into the forest - after the trio they sought.
Syf raises a brow to Lita, whom he had not noticed was alongside them in their journey all the while. Never you mind that, Syf! He is quick to give a laugh at her statement, "Say, likely you're right, but I fear if this is some fates deigned retribution, I'll be tripping on gnarled roots from here until the coming of the end." He brushes himself off, but is quickly pushed aside by the brash Rhagnur who has it in his head that he will single-handedly kill the lot of goblins and take all the glory for himself! I mean, you've got to respect the dwarf's style - he's got grit! Syf being the sensible man that he is can't stand for such nonsense. "Those are my kills, you damned dwarf!" He leaps forward, further into the forest and on the heels of Rhagnur, ready to punch his would-be victims to death.
Rhagnur is a furious storm of flying beard and vicious axe blade swings, the ferocity in which he fights evident of his dwarven heritage and experience as for even though his is right drunk off his arse, he somehow finds true blows that would surely fell any actual goblin. The truth is his blows have been landing on the thick vegetation to which he seemignly has now cut a path straight towards where his handaxe had been thrown to not find a goblin's corpse but that of a doe. It seemes to have died quickly, more evidence to the dwarf's lethality, but the gruff little warrior swears out loud its just "Goblin trickery" before he continues his search for his true foe. Onward he keeps going, searching for the foulest creatures his kind know, minus orcs, trolls and ogres of course. Giants tend to be up there as well, especially the gualon breed, but Frost Giants are too haughty and just too alrge for dwarven liking. Dragons, of course are a race the dwarves has a long history with, but nothing still compares to the kill on sight nature dwarves and the green skins have with one another. They just love to see the other ones dead, always have and always will. "I'll drink from the skull of your bloated wretched, inbred king this night!" Declares the dwarf to, well, the trees I guess? Either way the wrathful warrior seems hellbent on slaying goblins, or... well something this day.
Gromac and pack have closed in on their quarry, or at least as close as they dare get without giving away their presence to the trio. He watches the dwarf go on a rampage against the forest, unprovoked. What is the little man doing? His ears twitch in irritation at the spectacle. They were traipsing through a forest which did not belong to them, hunted and killed one of their pack's game, and they dare to have the audacity to not pay homage to the ones that claim these lands. The very thought of it angers Gromac to no end. Elarai would be pleased with him if they managed to kill these trespassers. It is in the moments that Rhagnur reclaims his axe from the deer that Gromac releases a beastial howl, signalling his kind to move in on their prey. The lycan Gromac, accompanied by four others, burst out of the forest in a frenzy, surrounding the intrepid trio. "You've stumbled into the wrong woods," He growls down from his full, towering height.
Lita hasn't seen the decent side of battle in a year or two. She'd purposefully avoided people and confrontation. So she's a little off her game when it comes to noticing the nuance of other predators in the area, namely ones with padded little feet that may be tracking them for nefarious purposes. It helps that the cartoonish drunken styles of this unlikely pair is somehow infectious and easy to get lost in. Or maybe she's just spent too much time in her isolation and doesn't know the difference anymore. Seeing the lycan to his feet once more, she follows after the dwarf as he chops his way through the brush, keeping a good distance away so as not to lose an ear or a finger in a wayward swing. She wrinkles her nose at stench of the doe's blood when they draw closer and she falters a half-step, glancing away momentarily to find her composition once more. "Drag that thing out to the edge of the path. We can get it to the butcher so it's not gone to waste, yeah." No sense in a deer losing its life for nothing. Somebody should at least benefit from it. Her thought process had little care to do with paying homage to anything, rather she wasn't such a fan of wastefulness after having lived in the deserts for some time. She can hear the dwarf growling and grumbling complaints- and likely curses- as he moves to retrieve his axe from the fallen deer. Lita turns a bit, shaking her head, only to finally hear and then see the group of lycans show their faces. Her smile washes from amused to annoyed almost immediately and fingers of her right hand curl slightly against the hem of her dress, finding the weight of the silver dagger sheathed beneath the dress's hem against her thigh. "In our defense, only one of us stumbled." She says, glancing back towards Syf.
Syf looks appalled. Stumbled? He did no such thing! It's not something he would willingly admit, but anyone that knows him would agree that he's not the most graceful when on the bottle. And what is it with people and believing they've any right to lands? Syf sees no crown placed haphazardly upon the lycan's head, nor any of the others who accompany him. How can these be the wrong woods when they feel so right? "You again." Syf grumbles, "I told you last time that I don't want to join your weird furry orgies. Go away, we've goblins to hunt!" Syf smacks Rhagnur on the back, as if telling the dwarf to back up the statement. Regardless of the fact that he might be a bit intoxicated, he's not so stupid as to be oblivious of the very real threat that they represent. A wary eye is afforded over to Lita, whom he spies is similarly aware of the situation that they've landed themselves in. The wolf fights to free itself of Syf's self-imposed shackles and he's forced to fight back a guttural growl that fights to escape from his lungs.
Rhagnur is a veteran warrior by this stage of his life, far from the green thumb adventurer he was in his younger days. The joys of careless goblin slaying that are brought on by the drink are quickly washed away by the reality they all find themselves in now. Its a feeling, an intuition one could say, that real warriors or anyone who has ever been in such situations know, this was real danger. Its sobering, to say the least, and well, that too just makes the dwarf unhappy. He was having fun, now some would be king of the woods is before them, proclaiming his authority like every brigand he's come across. Spitting out onto the ground as Syf closes the distance, the runeguard handing the man his handaxe he had dug out of the doe previously as the dwarf brings forth his urgosh to bare with a clarity that could catch some off guard with how he seems to have snapped out of his drunken stupor, saying to his newfound allies. "Shoulda left us to our goblin hunt, ya mangy muts. Why don't ya sod off and leave us be, lest I be makin' the lass here some fur trimmed boots." The gruff dwarf is ready to scrap, as he knows by the tone of this supposed leader of this pack of mutts that submisson or a fight were their only options, and.. well, Rhangur just isn't in the mood to kiss no ring, no matter who it is. "Last chance, pup."
Gromac grins in the way that only a werewolf can, maw opening wide in a display of visceral anticipation of a feast to be had, saliva dripping forth from wicked fangs. As it would seem, these three lost fools have offered themselves up as easy prey. No matter that they may be armed, the pack is ready to feast. "Talk is over." He motions with his elongated arm and the pack descends in frantic chaos, charging in from all directions to simply overwhelm and outnumber the trio. They break off in groups, two per for Lita and Syf. Gromac decides to whet his appetite on Rhagnur himself, who at least appears to be the most threatening. Gromac tilts his head to the side, eyeing the dwarf up and down, before suddenly springing forward, lashing out with maw and claw alike, showing violent disregard of life and intent on ending things as quickly as they began. The other four similarly act in kind, attacking Lita and Syf in tandem.
Lita might not mind a fancy pair of fur trimmed boots. Not to wear, mind you, but maybe just to put out on the front forch like some fancy ornament or decoration. Some people hang artwork, to each their own. Surrounded by werewolves with a drunken dwarf. Living every bit of the dream here, I see. That fight-or-flight response was gettin' awfully itchy in a particular directive and it took a lot not to just book it. Not her problem, not her fight. Doesn't look like she's gonna get to make that decision though, since there's a couple of them barrelling down on them now. No time to check to make sure whether or not the other wolf and the dwarf can handle their own. The little dagger slides from its sheath and she crouches as the pair run towards her. Luckily she's lithe. She springs upwards from a tuck as the first one to reach her lunges and with her arm outstretched, the dagger finds its way between the beast's open maw and plunged upwards through the roof of his mouth. She barely manages to free her hand before he's snapping away at the handle of the blade, desperately trying to claw it out, barking and yowling as she brings her knee up into its ribcage and her opposite elbow into his spine, sending him to the dirt. The second one is scrambling to find its footing once more and in the chaos Lita makes a break for the branches of the nearest tree, crouched there as the beast snaps at her from below. She hisses at the thing, already formulating a plan as the thing realizes it can climb up the tree right after her.
Syf rolls his shoulders while simultaneously stretching his neck. It would appear that they would not be let off easily this day. The offered axe is taken with a simple nod to Rhagnur, as he turns to confront the two that he finds himself squared off with. He doesn't spare words, no. The easygoing Syf shrugs off his faux-personality in favor of what he truly is beneath. Instead of waiting for them to attack him, Syf leaps at them. He trusts Rhagnur to be capable, but the woman is a wildcard and so he feels he must end this quickly so as to better protect her from their depraved machinations. He plants the axe squarely in one of the lycan's shoulders, which is rewarded with a wash of crimson, whereupon he loses his grip of the axe and is smacked casually to the side. Syf scrambles back into fighting position and manages a glance to Rhagnur, then to Lita before he is descended upon by the other Lycan. He offers his arm up in defense, registering a wave of pain to shoot through his entire body. Syf's roar of pain turns into something more distinct, twin to the roar of Gromac a few minutes prior as the vagabond drops the mortal guise for that of monster. While the lycan is attached to his arm, he uses his other to claw out the neck of his would-be assailant. More blood. It flows like all the alcohol the years have seen him consume. Syf brushes off the smaller lycan, the rage all-consuming. He bounds forth just as the axed-lycan removes the weapon from it's shoulder and picks him up in one fell swoop, aided by the surety of strength his curse lends him, then throws the beast at the one climbing up the tree after Lita. A sickening 'crack' can be heard as the two collide, but he knows the fight is not finished.
Rhagnur rolls back his shoulders to ease the ever growing tension and onset of age from his bulky frame as his emerald gaze settles upon the lone lycan that decided to choose him as his prey. A poor choice indeed, for the foolish pup. Thick and calloused digits twist beneath the leather of his gauntlets that grip about the haft of that dwarven urgosh as the anticipation of the battle to come sets in. It is a magic all its own how time seems to slow down, and how a battle can seem to wage on for lifetimes and yet all pass within the blink of an eye in reality. As Gromac studies him with his predatory hunger filling those wicked eyes, the dwarf mumbles a silent prayer to Loda for strength. The amulet that rests tucked beneath his chaimail shirt and leather overcoat is a private love the man has. Yes, the dwarf is surprisingly religious. The beast comes forth with the ferocity that is expected of his ilk, something the dwarf has seen enough in his life to not take lightly. Each claw is cpalable of rending flesh from bone, and tear gaping wounds within even his thick hide. Thankfully the mithril chain-shirt he wears beneath his travel attire is hardy enough to absorb most of one claw slash that the dwarf is unable to fully side step. Gromac's face twists in pleasure, or so it seems to the dwarf, as the beast probably thinks its speed and strength will win it this battle, as the lycan lunged upon him so quickly the foolish pup mistakenly saved the dwarf the time he would have taken to get this close. Barreling forward like a canonball Rhagnur literally uses his head, smashing his thick skull into the chest of the lycan and driving him back just enough so that he could bring about the axe-head of his weapon in a viscious vertical slash towards the lycan's midsection in an attempt to bury the blade deep within the creature's flesh. But, the dwarf does not stop there, he is a seasoned warrior and presses forward in anticipation that this lycan is not some unexperienced fighter. Should the blade miss its mark the dwarf would use his lower center of gravity and couple it with the momentum of his swing and the lycan's own movement creates to drive his right shoulder forward in a bullrush type maneuver to not only create space but also set up a follow up attack should the lycan take the bait of the dwarf's "opening" he just created by suddenly driving the butt of his urgosh, which is more of a spear than anything, back with surprising celerity in an attempt to catch the lycan off guard and drive the spearhead right through his ribcage.
Lita catches the wolf's - Syf's - movements from the corner of her eye. The body of one lycan being hurled towards the one clambering up the tree after her. They're not graceful things by any means, instead singularly focused on the task at hand. She swings down from the branch she's on, swings her weight sideways and lands her feet against the lycan's chest, shoving her weight into him with a power that shakes the tree beneath his weight as he yelps. The other one, who'd been hurled, reaches for her leg, sharp claws digging into bare skin and she grits her teeth, curls forward to reach both hands around the thing's arm and as she pushes herself back away from the trunk of the tree again, she pulls. There's a delicious moment where time stands still. Fear cascades across the lycan's face and she can practically taste it. It lends itself to desperation and he brings his free hand up to try and stop what he knows comes next. Her foot against his chest, pinning him to the tree as she straightens her body and her hands pull as hard as she can. That moment of silence is shattered by the sounds of tearing muscle and sinew. His blood is warm, rank, and she murmurs a curse under her breath as she fumbles back towards the ground below, catching her weight on her right knee and forearm, the lycan's right arm still in her left hand, its fingers still curled around her left leg. she shakes it loose, more annoyed than anything, the adrenaline coursing fire through her veins. She'd need a drink after this. She stands finally, turning to look for the one who may or may not still have her dagger lodged in its head. She liked that knife. She'd be wanting it back. Absently, she brushes a bit of blood from the hem of her dress. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Dry cleaning wouldn't save it at this point. She dropped the lycan's arm after a moment, looking down at it as if wondering why she was even holding such a thing. Eww. Her knife's nearby, though no sign of the lycan she'd plunged it into. Just a trail of blood where he'd run off apparently. She leans her weight onto her right leg, crouching to pick up the blade and wiping it against a clean-ish bit of fabric on her dress as she stands again. She turns to catch sight of the dwarf handling his own with one of the pack. Apparently not as far gone with the liquor as he'd wanted everyone to believe. Good to know. "What the hell did you two rope me into exactly?" She asks as she regards Syf now, somehow both amused and exasperated as the silver blade dangles from betwixt her fingers.
Syf has to visibly fight off the urge to rush the woman as well, but her scent... the look on his face is rather painful as he recoils and 'shoulders out' of his lycanthrope form so as not to give in to his baser urges. He nods his head to her when all is done, as if to denote that she's earned his respect today. The wanderer looks over to Rhagnur, who has apparently gutted Gromac with the pointy end of his urgosh. Gromac, in recoiling, asses the situation and is quick to sound the retreat before scurrying off into the woods once more. Syf watches unphased as the other lycan runs off. "Just some territorial chest-pounding," He says to Lita, glancing down to her leg in an attempt to ascertain the gravity of her wound. His own arm looks rather mangled, but alas - it will heal in due course, especially given his rapid lycanthrope regeneration. The ache is dull and throbbing, but it's not worth mentioning. "I suspect that is not the last encounter I have with that pack."
Rhagnur flicks his weapon to the side so the blood is tossed off to wet the forest floor before following up with once more spitting on the ground at his feet, its a dwarven kind of insult thing. "Bah, buncha runts, next time I'll nueter that one and hang 'em by the fire." His gaze never leaving the direction the pack retreated to. He looks over to the woman, then Syf assessing them all and making sure no one was seriously hurt. Guess the cat, or.. wolf rather, is out of the bag about his drinking buddy. "Knew you smelled like wet dog when I first came across ya." Its a jest, but a factual one, as Syf does have quite the odor himself. "Bah, I need more mead and a good bed.." He looks to Syf, and says. " You tryin' to sleep in an actual bed, or you just gonna find another haypile?" Basically, you coming with or not? Here, Lita would be asked. "Don't think you need someone to hold your hand either, but you're welcome to join us on the way back." He nods his approval of her carnage, nothing gets a dwarf's blood going like a badass woman.
Syf looks around for a moment, then finds the axe lent to him by the dwarf. He scoops it up, wipes it off on his pantleg and then offers it back to Rhagnur. He never was good with weapons, rather he chose to rely on his own strength and size in times long since passed. "A bed and bath sounds good. And perhaps a warm meal might do me well." This attack has helped him a bit, albeit just a bit. He knows now that he can't wander these woods in a drunken stupor any longer. "Let's all be off then." The trio depart from the woods and head for the nearest tavern where room and board can be found.
Lita scoffs. "Territorial chest-pounding?" she mimicks the lycan's words. "What, you not the joining type or just not the playing-nice type?" Neither really mattered to her, she just couldn't resist the chance to get a good rib in edge wise. Later, she'll be a little disappointed at how easy it was to slip back into the darkness of taking the life of another, regardless of circumstance, especially in a fight that she had no business involving herself in. But what was done was done. Lita might have shirked the offer of heading any new place with the lot. She could just as easy slink her way back to the seclusion of Venturil, or the familiarity of Rynvale. Either would have suited her just fine for a place to sit and stew a bit. But she perks up a bit at the lycan's mention of a bath. "Please tell me you're at least staying in Cenril? Kelay has shyte by way of amenities." She doesn't wait for a response to her complaint, just turns east towards Cenril, a slight limp on her left leg as she walks with her weight on her toes for now. She resheathes the dagger under the hem of her skirt and nods towards the dwarf. "You two a'least got names or do you prefer Tweedle Dee and Dum?" It was in jest and she'd be nice and let them pick which was which.