Fool's Choice
Twelfth of Olweje-hamba (Olweje Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
"My word alone should be enough to clear up any misunderstanding," you answer looking the man dead in the eye even as the tip of his cudgel begins to sway in the air as though moved by some unseen wind in the heavy still sun-backed air. "Rest assured then when the time comes for me to speak to Kefele Akumu I shall mark well who made that path easy or
hard."
"Well ain't you proud as a
Horned Lark in Elnu-tide, coming here with a hand up your ass just because you have a fancy sword and old armor you looted outa some grave. Well we ain't dead men here, but as my name's Arram yer about to be."
At least now you have a name, you think and mark it well. Mean what you say and say what you mean your father had told you when you were a boy and while the wide world had taught you that you could not always afford to live by it you still try to do so more often than not. The thug's master will hear that he had gotten in your way when you were merely...
The whistling of an arrow pierces your thoughts as sure as it does the dirt at your feet. Only then do you realize the the swirling of the club had not been simple bravura, it had been a signal to men on the roof.
Two more arrows fly harmlessly over Wanderer and Tom's heads, then a weighted net flies from the roof of the windowless hall and Snares Wanderer even as he roars with fury and draws his club from its rough sling on his back. You do not need to speak the tongue of the Knikut to know that the warrior plan to tear Arram and his fellows limb from limb.
For his part the purple-faced thug is more than happy to oblige. Shouting obscene encouragement to his fellows he charges as two more of his like follow him out of the narrow door. Copper-bound oak sparks off your shield, once, twice in a blind flurry that would doubtless have overwhelmed one not armored in body or will, but to you he seems much like a fool who misjudged the foe and would soon pay with his life for it.
So much for peace, you think as you turn the second blow aside. If you were to slaughter more of the Purples' thugs and yet the thought of fleeing before such a craven attack burns in your gut like acid. You had come here to end a feud not start one and yet the only reason none of your blood is on the cobbles is that the archers are poor shots.
Shouts and cries arise from the riverbank as the herders realize this is something much more serious than the odd scuffle or mugging. Go or stay you need to end this quickly.
What do you do?
[] Try to end the fight as quickly as you can, kill if you have to. The cowards deserve no less
-[] Write in plan
[] Try to incapacitate, perhaps you can still salvage this somehow
-[] Write in plan
-[] Write in
OOC: Welp, you tried intimidation and... this happened.