In fact, there turned out to be no dinner at all. While Icharus and I were enjoying our aperitif, he, allowing me to natter on about the new mule, heavily armed orcs burst through the doors. There was much shouting and alarm by everyone, (except Icharus who went incredibly still, gathering energy to himself like one of my coiled springs) there was a shouted, “Get down! Get down! Get Down!” and my survival instincts took over, dropping me to the floor and scrambling me under the table.
Chaos ensued. Icharus waded in with Ox at his side, more orcs came into the fray from the back, arrows flew, mad streaks of ice went flying. I watched it all from my spot under the table. I do not have violence in me, I can, if I have to, but I am better able to keep watch and distract at Icharus’ back… don’t judge… it works well for us. It was so much chaos, so many noises and booted feet, grunting and clashes, thwunks and groans.
Then two elves stepped in the doorway. They wore black scarves over the lower half of their face and ridiculous red caps on their heads. One carried a large axe with glowing runes on it while the other carried a large tube-like device which he pointed at the White Hand who had been enjoying the bisque before violence broke out. A loud thrumming drum noise preceded a large hole in the Hands’ head. He dropped and an orc scrambled over and began to rifle his body. The orc must have found what he was looking for because he held something up, shouted and made for the door at a run. An arrow sprouted from his thigh and then Icharus cleaved him with his sword, he almost made it to the door.
The fight continued, with most of the orcs left trying to retreat. I left the safety of my table fort and began working my way through the havoc. I figured that whatever it was these people came here to take was interesting enough to waylay a White Hands in public, no one probably really wanted them to have it, and since I wasn’t busy fighting anyone I elected myself to retrieve it. I wasn’t fast enough however, because one of the elves beat me to it. I did get my hands around his ankle in the hopes of tripping him, but he was much lighter on his feet than I had hoped.
The battle moved out into the street with the retreating elves, it was ugly. They had crossbowman across the street waiting to pin cushion anyone who tried to follow, but of course, Icharus did. The man loves a good fight, that is for sure. I watched from the safety of the doorway as the elves disappeared down an alleyway and Icharus waded into the crossbowman. Very shortly however, the militia showed up and put a quick stop to the whole thing. Everyone was rounded up and taken back into the inn.
This is the part that still makes me angry. The militia were accompanied by a member of the clergy. He did not have white gloves, but, I’m certain he is connected if not an actual member of those dreaded White Hands…. and he knew of both Icharus and I.
Now we have been insulted, condescended to, and blackmailed into taking on the task of finding the object those hoodlums took. I feel as if I have a steam engine for brain matter as it is so hot and so fogged inside my head. Icharus and I are not alone, however, we do seem to be the only two the bastard clergy are familiar with. Coerced into this little adventure along with us is an elf who was responsible for the ice storms and another human who made pincushions out of several with his bow.
I have no idea how to go about this task. We do know that the attackers were trying to look like members of the Red Caps, an elven anti-tech group, except that they were using tech. That tube that shot the White Hand had clock work mechanisms on the back of it…. and that, my friends is technology…. and now I do have a way to go about this task…. bear with me, must sketch before the images are gone….