Permission was given and the tension inside Davey Jones' Locker
became more focused as people paired off against each other. From the
sidelines two men quietly held pint mugs in their hands and watched the
action unfold. All others were involved in the game - whether as entrants
or eagle eyed stewards making sure the rules were followed. It didn't take
long for things to heat up.
Gurgling in the manner typical of one who has been fatally struck
through the lung, Kaleban's opponent fell to the floor and proceeded to
expire in a slow, painful manner. A steward rushed up, took in the scene
and stepped roughly on the fellow's neck - as the noise could possibly be
upsetting the other competitors, but mostly due to his bloodthirsty nature.
"Disqualified for using lethal force inside the gaming area," he
declared with pistol pointing at Kaleban for emphasis.
Arms raised in case of any twitchy trigger finger, the gypsy
acknowledged that he was out of the running and handed in his chit. He'd
done his part, the others had one less to beat and he was free to get up to
skulduggery behind the scenes - far more his preferred lifestyle choice.
Leaning down to the body he retrieved his spear and wiped it on the mans
coat while surreptitiously relieving him of any rings, coinage or other
items of interest. Two burly chefs came to take the body away, fortunately
uninterested in the missing finger now flung beneath a table and its late
passenger presently resting in the snug confines of Kaleban's jacket.
At another table, Daskar was beginning to wonder what he was doing
in this situtation. His mind, never up to much in the way of cerebration,
had been even more hampered by the constant draughts of life extending
elixir he'd been taking since he'd been told of his medical condition.
Although the Black Death, or whatever variant the pustulent creatures had
infected himself and Brutus with, seemed to be held back by the brew there
was only a limited supply left, some of which needed to be used in the
winning of this competition.
Never one to dwell overly in thought, or, in truth at all, Daskar
eyed up his opponent and began to make short jokes. Certainly, the fellow
was a whole five foot tall, but he still looked like a dwarf to the errant
wood chopper. The beard, the bloody great battle axe, the jingling mail and
all definitely added to his suspicions. Dwarves, along with specific other
non humans, weren't allowed in the contest, supposedly due to their inhuman
constitution, although most likely because the organiser was a speciesist.
Although his limited intellect affected his repertoire it did the job well
enough and soon he was dodging an overhand strike from the psychotically
inclined axe wielder who'd by this stage jumped up on the table. Not
wanting his skull split in twain merely to remove another from the game, he
kept up his avoidance technique of dodging behind furniture and hoped that
a steward would note the dwarvish swearing before the entire contents of
the room were reduced to kindling.
"Illegal entrant," yelled a steward over the noise of a splintering
table. "And spillage too," he added, pointing to a spreading puddle of
liquor upon the bare boards. "Bloody blue green hellfire!" At this several
other stewards fell upon the transgressor and removed him from the premises
a piece at a time, much to the regret of the cooks standing eagerly by.
Behind the bar the huge form of the publican's dog growled quietly
to itself and leapt the obstacle easily, padding over to the spilt liquid
rapidly channelling into cracks in the floor and lapping up as much as
possible. Beside it, Daskar finished up his drink and placed it upon the
remains of the table upside down, as the rules required. His round won, he
sat back and watched the other players continue with their efforts.
Sidling around the corners of the room, Ivor continued to watch
everything going on around him while remaining as hidden in shadows as he
could manage. Oblis traded face strikes and head butts with a large Nubian,
managing to get the fellow to spill his drink and be disqualified after a
particularly spectacular move that was certainly more fortune than skill.
Not being an especially proud man, the thief was more than happy to accept
Lady Luck's gift. Brutus also attempted to win the round through a mixture
of violence and trickery, but ended up actually drinking his wounded
opponent under the table.
"Amazing, someone's actually remembered the drinking part of the
thing," remarked one of the spectators. "I was beginning to wonder why I'd
made the effort."
"I told you that one on one combat in any arena is likely to fall
to blows," replied the other. "The precedent is there, and so long as it's
not fatal... Oh look, they've found the other Tremere."
As Brutus wearily placed his final mug on the table a number of
shots rang out as stewards discovered that Ivor had indeed been correct in
his whispered suspicions. Three bodies fell with neat holes through their
brain pans.
"Damn cheating wizards," muttered one of the stewards as the
unmoving forms were dragged away to the kitchens. He patted the hulking
form of the animal beside him which had confirmed the identities of the
men. Wagging its tail, the dog followed a trail of aniseed balls into the
kitchen, licking up each one as it found it.
"Pretty nasty move there, only two of them were actually wizards,"
said the first spectator.
The other shrugged. "It was within the rules, and at least the
dog's happy," he replied.
With various fatalities and dismissions from the competition having
reduced the numbers greatly, Kaleban enhanced his comrades chances even
further. After making sure that he wasn't to be seen returning down the
staircase he made his way swiftly to the opposite side of the room and
watched the pale smoke head from the higher levels, mixing with the already
hazy atmosphere. Before long a number of other contestants, along with some
stewards found themselves releasing the contents of their stomachs on to
the floor.
"Terrible how that kind of thing just snowballs, isn't it,"
chuckled the second spectator. He and the other watched as the moaning
bodies were dragged aside and water thrown upon the mess on the floor. The
front door was opened and the scent of the sea breeze mixed with those of
booze, blood, sweat, vomit and the nausea inducing smoke, eventually
forcing the latter away entirely.
Kaleban's group, protected by anti seasickness medicines, had been
unaffected by the smoke and found themselves to be facing off against an
equal number of foes. In an attempt to repeat his previous performance,
Oblis attempted a violent attack, knowing that he'd have little chance
drinking more than the sheep herder opposite him. The man merely blocked
his attack with the back of one burly arm.
"Are you here to drink, or what," he asked in a companionable tone.
Oblis replied with a whippet fast strike to the other side of the
man. A cup fell to the floor.
"Attacking the cup and not the man," cried the steward for their
table. "Disqualified!"
Cursing, the sheep herder stabbed forth with his feather festooned
spear, going for the heart of the man who now stood before him. Both he and
Oblis were swiftly ejected from the game room by heavy handed stewards. The
sounds of their continued combat sounded from outside.
Also deciding to stick to his former strategy Brutus was amazed to
find himself beaten at drinking by the tall, redheaded northman. Unable to
place his glass properly on the table and instead watching it tumble
sideways to the floor, he watched in disbelief as the winning tumbler was
consumed and placed down. Grinning, the victor unfolded his rangy form and
promptly passed out, removing himself from further competition also.
"Well fuck," said Brutus, looking down at the fellow's comatose
body. "I need a drink after that." Scratching under his armpits he barely
made it to the bar and pulled up a chair and a drink beside the two
watchers.
Having forgotten his previous strategy and in fact his entire
reason for being there for the time being, Daskar continued to pour alcohol
down his throat. It was only when an unfortunate muscle spasm caused him to
loll wildly to the side and miss the table altogether that he rememered.
Just before the portly fellow in the red robes opposite him managed the
final, game winning drink he raised a loaded crossbow from its resting
place and skewered him.
"What," he said, looking up into the surprised eyes of the steward
a moment before all went black.
Both the spectators sighed as Brutus was grabbed by a dark
enshrouded form and bustled off to escape.
"Look," said Mr Badger, "the Lasombra's cheating. No surprise
there." Cocking his head to the side he listened to the thumps and bumps of
unevenly fought melee.
"No no, it's alright," replied Handel, showing his friend something
from the book he held, taken off a greasy little twerp early in the
evening. "We made him some kind of wizard, right? He's allowed to do that
sort of thing."
"I still say it's cowardly. Oh well, it's all over anyway. Violence
won out over drinking ability in the end, really." The menacing figure
looked at his drinking vessel, which was in need of yet another refill.
"Only problem is, I can't remember which team was yours and which was
mine."
"Nevermind, it passed the time. What say we just buy each other a
drink and call it even?" Eyes twinkling with amusement, Handel grinned
hopefully.
"S'alright with me." Badger gestured to the bartender, Dominated
and Dementated like all the others to believe himself in some sort of
fantasy medieval setting.
As the drinks were placed before them, Handel swirled his Rum
thoughtfully before taking a swig. "You know, there's probably more to this
'roleplaying' thing, but I don't think we did too badly for starters."
Badger nodded and patted the book while looking around the remains
of what had formerly been one of the premier Toreador nightspots. "I reckon
so, DM Handel." They clinked glasses.
"Right you are, DM Badger." Liquid flowed down throats to the
accompaniment of the screams from the kitchen as Kindred and Kine customers
alike were introduced to the mincing machine and the bacon slicer. Behind
the pair knives, guns, stakes and various implements of destruction covered
the floor mixed with the blood and viscera of the losers.
