Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places

((niiiice XD)) 

((Clearly a matter of UTMOST PRIDE. The Iron Throng of Karak Azul shall be mustered!))

 Sieglinde kicked the pile of fungus at the entrance to her tent, causing it to yelp loudly.

"Wake up Zet. Grab what you need, we are going on a mission. Bring only what you need, we will be travelling light into the middle of enemy territory."

"Oi? Wherez to boss?" The goblin picked himself up off the ground, spreading around the dirt on his leather jerkin to make himself more presentable.

"We will be travelling to Ekrund, to an area controlled by the Redhammer Clan. They have an item of importance we need to steal, so we will try to keep our killing to a minimum so as not to alert them to our presence. I have an idea of how to get into where I need to go, but it is going to be hard reaching the place. It seems an army of greenskins is rampaging near the place, and they are as likely to attack us as they are the dwarves. Do you think you can guide us past them to a place called Redhammer Pub?"

((Wrong thread, argh.))

((ZET! 8) He did the butt-scooch for Pharrael once. Pharrael was delighted and amused! Oh, the good old days!)) 

The mountains and swooping valleys that huddled around the Redhammer pub possessed a savage kind of beauty that appealed to Pharrael. The air here was clean, crisp. It chased the fog from his mind when he had not slept well, and made sharper the senses. Faulki’s coat fairly glowed in the midday sun that beat down on them yet held none of the heat he expected. The war lion loped along the tracks ahead of him – them, he corrected himself. 

His father dawdled in the ditch beside them, delicately picking his over debris and holding his robes up in an absurdly feminine manner. 

He does it to irritate me, Pharrael reasoned, and it is working.

“What are you doing?” he demanded of a sudden, startling even Faulki, who sneezed. Baeos balanced precariously on a jagged rock, singed from the blast of an engineer’s toy.
“I’m having fun,” his father retorted smoothly, tilting his face into the sun. Pharrael thinned his lips.
“Why do you insist on following me? I have told you, over and over, you cannot come to the gathering with me. You-”
“Will Lady Wintermoon be there?” Baeos interjected innocently. 

Pharrael leveled his axe at the man like an extension of his accusing forefinger.
“Why do you keep asking of her? You…stay away from the Lady Wintermoon, or so help me…”
Baeos tapped his lips, apparently not listening at all.
“She is rather charming, no? Not that I expect you to have noticed.”
Pharrael stayed pointedly silent. Baeos barreled on regardless.
“Not spoken for, is she? Working around – or through – a husband is always such a chore. Not to mention a bore.”

Pharrael re-slung his axe across his back with a mumbled curse. He thinks to raise my ire. Well, I know the steps to this dance as well as he.

He cleared his throat, affecting a lordly mien, the very epitome of a fop, bound to incite is father to anger.
“Why, I cannot possibly fathom why you would be interested in such a thing,” he said with a light sniff, “When you yourself are a married man! Tsk tsk, father dear. Perhaps you have set your sights a smidgen too high. For the lady is not a prize to be won, nor a flower to be picked. Or chopped.”

He could practically feel his father’s burning gaze in his left flank, and inwardly smirked with triumph. The smirk, however hidden, shrivelled as they neared the pub. Faulki uttered a low growl.
“Did you hear something?” 

Ormir felt constrained-- this probably had as much to do with the painful gyro-straps crisscrossing his chest as it did with the fears of his wife's recovery. He adjusted the belts and buckles and grumbled, "When I was a beardling we didn't have any of these fancy flying machines..." to which the Slayer-engineer who was doing the outfitting booted him off the edge of the cliff face.

As he started to fall he heard the engineer shouting "Start the motors!" Wind blew Ormir's beard up into his face as he frantically pulled the ripcord, trying desperately to get the alcohol engines started. After a few horrifying moments of free-fall from the peak of Karak Azul, the gyro sputtered to life.

Ormir sullenly cursed its inventor, its maker, and its owner as he careened away from the World's Edge Mountains and headed across the open badlands to the Dragonbacks. Wind blasted his face, leaving him chapped and numb. "Damn pub better have a supply of Bugmans Finest when I get there," he muttered with ill-humour. The engines in the gyro spluttered. Ormir grunted and started pointing it downwards, in the hopes that if the thing gave out, he'd be close enough to the ground to survive the fall. "Never shoulda let Makaisson back into the Guild..."

It was snowing when she arrived in Ekrund.  Big fat flakes that drifted down from the sky.  She tipped her face up, taking a moment to enjoy the peace before the inevitable booming voices of the dwarves filled the evening air.  A slight smile curved her lips as she listened to the yelling a moment, as always intrigued at how the dwarves could argue so boistrously over the different types of ale and which was better served on a snowy night such as this.
Shaking her head with a soft laugh she went to collect her mare.  The snow had changed things, she had no desire to camp out in such weather.  She could, she supposed, spend the remainder of the evening at the Redhammer Pub.  They had a warm fire, at least, and she was certain she could handle the drunken dwarves if they got too rowdy.  If not, the warcamp was close enough that she could return here and find a place to sleep.  Tomorrow she was certain she could find enough to keep herself busy, and the next day as well.  There was a neverending stream of greenskins to kill here.
Lyrit let the mare pick her own way down the snowy path, trusting the horse to find a safe path.  The Redhammer was not far, and she would be glad of the warmth when she arrived.  Wryly, she wondered if she would have been better off staying in Lothern another night.  Perhaps, but hindsight was always more clear, and it was too late to go back now.  Perhaps a couple days with the dwarves would be good for her, they could be a fun lot when in the right mood.  Or this could go very, very badly.  Only time would tell.

((Thanks for the fun read during lunch.  Like this kind of co-RP stuff even if I have to admit I've been remiss in writing anything at all here as I had intended in the first place  =D  Due to this, I don't feel comfortable jumping in either, so delight me with the tale or tell me to get sucked in if you like.))

The whirring sound of a machine puttering down into the valley alerted Pharrael to the dwarf’s presence. Spinning on his heel he turned to witness the little man’s arrival with a wry grin. The tiny man was a strangely distinctive spec in the distance, leaving a trail of inky smoke in his wake.

“Ormir, do not scare me like that…” he uttered to himself, then with a start realised he was alone with his lion. His father had scampered off behind a line of trees.

“Oh horse shit,” Pharrael gaped, then, “Faulki, you useless sack of fleas, you were supposed to be watching him!”
The lion let out a long snort, clearly unimpressed.

((bris should totally join in, I demands it)) 

((Okay short one as I have five minutes left on break, not that anyone is counting.  Also, laughing at the title because Bris after 10 years of being a widow finally got a lover, but hopefully it isn't the wrong place.  And I'm not telling yet!))

Briseadh raced her mare straight throug the greenskins and those nasty little snotlings just to see if any of them could knock her off her horse.  One managed to hit her, but it bounced off the shield strapped on her back.  She was already in a fantastic mood, so this sad attempt made her laugh as she raced her horse the rest of the way along the tracks.

She wasn't sure who would be at the Redhammer this eve, but it appeared to be quite busy and she recognized some of the horses.  It sould be an interesting evening indeed.

She entered with a spring in her stride that had been missing the past month and stopped to take in the busy tavern. 

((I KNEW IT I TOTALLY KNEW. Excuse me whilst I do a little victory dance *dances* better tell us who and he/she better be coming to badlands 8) )) 

Zet rubbed his backside, soar from Sieglinde's kick. "Blu haired boss always with the kickin.."  thought the gobbo with a huff.  As the halfling slaves brought the squig herder's gear in lavish display, Zet eyed his collection of squig shrooms.  He geared up quickly, feeling Sieglinde's gaze burn through him as she waited. 

"Dem hills are full of stunties, boz.." Zet squeaked.  "You can't throw a rock wifout hittin won.."

"The objective is to approach undetected, get the item and return.", Sieglinde grumbled.  Zet's blank stare up forced Sieglinde to sigh loudly.  "Wez gotta be sneaky.." Sieglinde said quietly to her little green follower.  The dull light of understanding flashed in the greenskin's eyes.  "Roight!" Zet said with a smile. 

Sieglinde had to fight her urges to murder the greenskin four or five times during the several hours of travel.  The mountains started to give way to Redhammer Valley.  The pair spied the chaos below.   One of the dwarf steam trains has been derailed by the greenskins.  Greenskin looters were smashing creates, harrassing wounded dwarf passengers and carrying on like greenskins should.  To their right was the outskirts of the Redhammer settlement.  Both dwarf and greenskin were skirmishing, but neither side was overpowering the other.  Zet used the rocky terrain to get further down the  mountain side and closer to the settlement. The dark elf was already with him before he was able to  wave her over. 

"Wot now?" whispered Zet.
 

((YAY ZET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now I guess we wait for good ol' Sieggy)) 

 ((Just got internet up and running, will post something soon :) ))

((huzzah, wb!)) 

Sieglinde looked down at her little green companion thoughtfully. He had an ability to survive the most dangerous situations without even a blink, yet also managed to do so in the most annoying manner possible. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear Mork, or was it Gork, had both blessed and cursed the little fellow at the same time.

Today had been yet another example. Zet had somehow led them through a veritable maze of dwarves and rampaging greenskins to get to their hiding spot near the target pub without having been seen once. He had led her almost right up a path that led to a hidden dwarf war camp. She had only noticed the hidden cannon when she heard it's fuse lit as she was standing in front of it. Fortunately, at that very moment, the entire war camp had been distracted as the loudest cannon ever could be heard going off in the distance. In unison the dwarves all pumped their fists into the air and yelled "Helga!" Thankful for the short reprieve (and yes Sieglinde snickered to herself when she thought that up), the pair finished sneaking past the war camp. Right into the lair of a sleeping ice troll.

Lyrit had greeted Briseadh warmly upon her arrival at the Brewery, catching up on the latest guild news and events.  Still, she was surprised that Pharrael had not yet shown his face.  Or Ormir, for that matter.  She might not always like what the dwarf had to say, but she understood him a little now. 

Leaving Briseadh at the bar, she strode outside, silvery hair gleaming in the setting rays of the sun.  Dark violet eyes looked out across the landscape, the ever present greenskins being held expertly back by the dwarven warriors garrisoned here.  She had learned long ago not to lend her aid here unles they asked for it.  Stubborn dwarves and their pride.  She shifted her greatsword in her arms, eyes focusing on a distant form.  She smiled when she recognized Faulki, even at this distance.  The pink armor did not suit him.  At all. 

She laughed, a light musical sound that drifted on the breeze, and wondered what was holding Pharrael up...

Pharrael had to amble along in a half crouch beneath the trees in order to follow the tracks.
“Where did you go, you wretch,” he muttered furiously, feeling a kink forming in the small of his back. With a sigh he scooted out from under the low branches, unsettling a dropping of snow as he did so. Pharrael took a moment to stretch and look about for his lion. Faulki’s pink form trotted far ahead of him, apparently oblivious to the situation and vastly more interested in reaching Lady Wintermoon.
Pharrael’s jaw sagged open.
“I am an idiot,” he gasped, and made a made dash for the Red Hammer pub.

***

Baeos watched the Lady emerge from the inn in much the same way that summer rushes in to take the center stage of the seasons. He was content to watch her for a time, fingering a little stick he’d captured on his sprint, for once glad of his son’s oft times daft mind. But alas, time was a wasting.
“My Lady,” he breathed her name as if it were that of a god’s, stepping out from the protection of the trees. “Fortune must be smiling on me today that I have found you here. Alone.”

The smile faded from her face as quickly as it had come, the light laughter of moments before fleeing her eyes and lips as she turned towards the voice from the tree line.  She watched Baeos carefully, as one might judge a potential threat, shifting her balance ever so slightly so that the blade cradled in her arm sat more evenly.
"Strange that you think me alone."  she said, her free hand sweeping out gracefully to encompass the multitude of dwarves about.  She did not mention that Briseadh was inside the building just behind her, as there was no need. 
"I am surprised to see you here, Lord Baeos.  I did not think you enjoyed your last foray to these lands and to this particular establishment.  If you have come to speak with your son you will be disappointed.  He is not here."  She did not dare look in the direction she had last seen Faulki, lest Baeos see her glance, and so she continued to regard the Asur cooly, waiting.

Indeed, Briseadh was inside enjoying a mulled wine.  She smirked as she pondered how her next encounter with Ormir would be like.  The last one had not gone so well.  Even so, it hadn't been all that bad.  Once the war was over she was going to remain at home for a change and she highly doubted she would see a dwarf anywhere near the place.  Actually, the only time she had seen dwarves in the area was for a wedding not a long ride from where she had recently moved.

A smile graced her lips at the thought of where she now lived and more importantly the Asur that had captured her heart.  She remained lost in thought for several minutes on this wonderful topic before realizing that no one she knew was still in the inn.

She strolled to the door and stepped outside to take a look around.  She spotted Lyritelena talking to Baeos.  No doubt it was not a conversation her friend relished.  She remained on the steps and let her eyes roam further over the landscape and she couldn't miss the fast approaching Faulki heading straight for her friend.  She chuckled in amusement and waited to see what would happen next.

Ormir approached the pub at speed. The heavy wooden tanks of his gyrocopter had sprung a leak a few leagues back, and huge amounts of fuel was being dumped every second into the engine. The thing spluttered and shrieked like a star falling to earth. He wrenched hard on the controls, attempting to steer clear of the roof of the Redhammer Pub. His feet brushed against the slate tiles and golden inlaid dragons-spines along the roof as he went screeching overhead. A trail of thick black smoke billowed out from behind him.

Spotting a pile of snow on the nearby hillside that he hoped would cushion his fall, Ormir plunged downwards. The rotors didn't stop turning until his beard, eyes, and mouth were already full of sooty and oily snow. He lie there, wet in his flying furs for a long while, watching the smashed overhead rotor spin in a lazy circle. "Now I definitely need a drink," he grumbled.

Briseadh heard the noise long before she saw what it is.  It had the sound of a gyrocopter gone wrong or at least some of it sounded like the dwarven contraption.  It was nearly upon the tavern before her eyes caught sight of the irradic flight.  At least, it was a dwarf and not some suicide goblin; however, this dwarf might kill himself trying to land.

She reflexing ducked even if in the protective entrance to the tavern as it careened over head with a noise that made her cover her ears.  She wasn't sure if she saw the Sword and Scroll colors or not in all the smoke, but she would bet it was Ormir.

She jumped off the steps to watch where it landed with a geyser of snow.  Marking the spot, she grabbed her horse and headed that way.  Even if she still wanted to smack the dwarf upside the head, she wasn't going to let him lie out there too long.  Of course, he would probably have some comment about needing an elgi's help.  So be it.  He could get all grumpy with her and get it out of his system on the way to the tavern for a drink.  She only expected the sturdy dwarf in all his platemail to be dented and bruised, no more.  Maybe a bit bedraggled.

Despite knowing that had to hurt, she laughed as she made her horse plow through the snow up a hill towards his crash site.

Ormir felt himself growing soggier by the moment as snow beneath him melted and seeped into his furs. He sighed and grumbled about better ways of traveling; by wagon, for one. By train, for another. Even good old walking. As he saw Briseadh begin to crest the nearby ridge he sank deep into his snowy pit, and grumbled further. Wonderful. Now an elgi would see him helpless as a turtle on its back. He reached into his belt and pulled out the small spanner he kept in case the machine went haywire and started furiously working on the ratchets. His desparate hope was to free himself before the elf found him and made some arrogant and ill informed comment about flying machines, or maybe machines in general. Oh, why couldn't it be like the good old days? At least then you knew where you stood. If you saw an elf, it was likely either to belittle them or carve open their skulls!

She frowned seeing that the dwarf appeared to have gone face first into a snow bank.  At least, he was still moving as he tried to do something with the gyrocopter while he still lay in the melting snow.

She slid off her horse and offered a slender hand to the dwarf.  She didn't say anything, but honestly thought the dwarf could fix the thing easier if he wasn't half buried in a soggy mess.  He really didn't look all that appreciative that it was an elf that showed up.  So be it.  He could either take her hand and get in a position to fix it easier or keep working at it the hard way.  Even she could tell it wasn't easy the way he had to reach for the spot he was trying to fix.

 Sieglinde was furious. Zet had decided to climb the slumbering troll for some reason, and she didn't know how to stop him without possibly waking the thing. She knew the two could finish off the creature if needed, but was worried that the noise from battle might attract unwanted attention. Zet climbed the troll skillfully, using knobby warts and flabs of skin as makeshift hand holds. The monster didn't seem to notice thankfully, as if it was used to goblins crawling all over it. Moments later Zet was standing on it's shoulders and holding an item up with glee. The troll gave a fitful sneeze, and instictively swatted the pest that was standing on him, sending the goblin flying into a snowbank. Zet popped his head out, a big toothy grin on his face. He showed Sieglinde what he had found.

"Look boz, horse feather!"

Horse feather? Horses don't have feathers she thought irritably. Or do they? A sinking feeling came over her as she realized some horses do have feathers. By the Hag Queen's pierced belly button, this would make things a lot more difficult if Asur were being flown in to aid the wretched little dwarves. 

"Indeed. Well done Zet. You were lucky that troll didn't eat you though, they are as likely to eat you as to ignore you. Still, good to know that some of my less than interesting cousins may be here. No doubt trying to inspire the dwarves with some of their dreadful poetry," she snickered. With any luck the dwarves were long put to sleep, but she knew this was rather unlikely.

"Hey blu aired boss, dat building da one yuz been lookin for?" 

All this time, and the stupid little creature hadn't noticed her hair was black, not blue anymore. She sighed to herself, knowing the futility of pointing this out, having had this conversation many times before. At the bottom of the hill below them, she could see the side of the roof  pf the pub they were supposed to find. Behind it were rather large kegs, being guarded by a group of rather unfriendly looking dwarves. In front of the building were more guards, and a steady traffic of people going in and out of the building. She could easily tell the graceful walk, as well as not being height impaired, of her cousins in the crowd. There weren't many, but their presence infuriated her.

"Alright Zet, time to give me the package I've been having you lug around. With Khaine's favor, it should allow me to get inside and get what we need before they notice anything!"

((Horse Feather!    !!))

Baeos shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the other woman who had stepped out of the pub and had since run off to inspect what he assumed would be the sizzling remains of the dwarf.
“My son? I wouldn’t worry about him, my dear,” he drawled stepping forward, the snow crunching unpleasantly under his heavy boots. “Right now he’s probably…oh, a half mile that way.”

Baeos gestured vaguely, then swung his full attention back to the pale woman. The bareness of her throat irked him something awful, but he kept himself in check with an effort of will. Smiling amiably, he took another step forward, watching her expression as if he could divine something important from the imperceptible changes. The way her mouth moved fascinated him, and he doubted she was even aware of it.

“Oh yes!” he chirped, suddenly remembering, “I have another gift for you. This one I am sure you will like.”
 
***

Pharrael was sweating. Even in the cold, he was sweating, and every single gobblin and snotling seemed bent on diving across his path. Faulki was being typically useless. Pharrael glowered balefully at his shiny pink backside as it grew ever smaller. He could see Lady Wintermoon now. It was hard not to, she fairly glowed in the sun. Ormir went hurtling overhead, not entirely to everyone’s surprise. The smile that almost reached his lips died as he saw his father from the corner of his eye. Though Pharrael practically towered over the man, as did a lot of women, his presence was as uncomfortable as that of a spider’s.

Baeos was holding something out to her, something that glinted. Pharrael couldn’t say why this panicked him, but he found himself charging up the tracks with renewed gusto. And shouting, and waving of arms. Even Faulki paused to give him a look.

Lyrit did not back away as Baeos stepped closer, though his presance made her skin prickle with alarm.  She would not let this man intimidate her, and she shifted her stance subtlely, slim fingers flexing on the hilt of her sword.  She heard the whining drone of the gyrocopter overhead, followed by a crash somewhere nearby, but her attention never left Baeos.
"I have already told you that I cannot accept your gifts."  she said, trying to keep her tone patient and serene.  "It is not appropriate for me to accept such things from a man who already has a wife and family."

It was the shouting that caught her attention, and she found herself turning her gaze towards the source and off of Baeos for a moment.  A small frown crossed her features as she saw Pharrael running, shouting, and waving his arms.

Faulki heard the shouting. Faulki knew instantly that the Idiot was being an idiot. The Snake and the Lady were engaged in a standoff, as only people know how to do. Faulki thought the Lady should just lunge for the throat, it would make everyone’s life easier. He had been told not to do that. The command still smarted to this day. He understood why the Snake liked her, she smelt good. Too good, maybe. Maybe. Faulki gave a disgruntled sigh, and turned to see what the Idiot was doing.

He saw that the Idiot had well and truly outdone himself this time. The fool was running up the tracks, flailing like a bewildered colt. Faulki thought this was somewhat amusing. Then he thought about it some more, and realised it wasn’t funny at all. He turned back to the Snake, head low to the ground. Instinct told him to put himself before Lady. If the Idiot knew remembered anything he had taught him, then he would flank the Snake, allowing Faulki to press the pale man back into the Idiot’s swinging range.

If the Idiot remembered. But then again, he was the Idiot.

((haha Zet XD)) 

((This is the best post of all time.))

EDIT: The one above. Not this actual one.

((I love it!!  Faulki thinks of Pharrael as "The Idiot", heheheheh.  LOVE IT!!!))

((Yes, it was awesome how Faulki thinks of Pharrael and Zet is definitely funny too.  But what is Ormir going to do now?  MUWHAHAHAHHA!  Briseadh is still standing there holding out her hand to the grumpy old longbeard.  ;)  ))

((you know it's true 8D! Glad everyone likes it ahahah. Yes Ormir needs to post next I think /sagenod)) 

Ormir swung the wrench at the body of the gyrocopter. There was a hollow thud as the socket snapped and let the harness free. FWUMP! His ice-encrusted beard cushioned the fall somewhat as he went down face-first into the snow. With the nearby elf watching, he rose quickly to his feet, surging up from the snowbank. "What'reya starin' at elgi?" he said, red faced. He stomped around in a circle, trying to warm himself. His riding furs were nearly frozen solid.

Fear suddenly struck him as he began burrowing in the snowy mound. "My armour!" he gasped, digging in the snow. Soon enough, he had made a small tunnel into the snow-drifts. He did not emerge.

She simply shook her head and pulled her hand back.  She could have given him a rousing kick in the butt when he started burrowing for his armor.  If it had fallen off on impact it would not have surprised her in the least.  Of course, that would mean some fixing of that as well on the dwarf's part when he did find it.

She looked in the deep hole he had made.  That at least proved the prowess of a dwarf when it came to digging. 

She leaned over the hole and shouted, "Listen you miserable old git, I'm still going to be here when you crawl out of this hole with your armor.  We don't need some stupid green skin running off with gyrocopter now do we?  I'm playing guard for it whether you like it or not." 

She laughed as she straightened and looked around.  It wasn't like he had a choice at the moment, now did he?  She didn't move far from the gyrocopter or the hole having found a good place to stand guard right there.  Unless it could come down the mountain on a sled, it wasn't coming from behind her.  Only thing that should be moving in that area was Ormir.  Hopefully he didn't make the area cave in considering the depth of snow and plenty of digging room for an ornery dwarf.

She could almost make out some of the area around the tavern, but what got her attention was Faulki in a stance that showed he was not amused with something.  Then she spotted Pharrael running up the tracks like a lunatic.  More laughter erupted from her at the sight.

Ormir emerged, victorious, from the top of the hill, toting a large bag behind him. He grumbled, "Damn straps, it dropped from the stowage hooks when I came down." He sighed and sat down on the city crust of his little snow-mine and rubbed his forehead. "What in the name a' Grungni and Valaya is going on down there?" The old grumpy dwarf frowned, peering down at the tracks.

((ROFLAMO - old grumpy dwarf eh?  Even you call your char that.  Love it)

It took Lyrit a moment to fully absorb what she was seeing.  Faulki was now looking her way, his furry face very intent and the most ferocious she'd ever seen it.  Pharrael was running, sprinting actually, waving his arms about in an attempt to get her attention.  Drawing a swift breath, she swung her gaze back to Baeos as she took a step back away from him.

"What did you come here for, Baeos?"  she asked, her gaze narrowing just slightly as she studied his face, trying to read him.

((I love how we're 40 posts in and we STILL haven't actually run into Seiggy or Zet)) 

 
Pharrael reached Lyritelena with just enough energy to pivot on his heel and backhand his father mid sentence. The man fell backwards with an almighty scream, shrill as a woman, and went down into a mound of snow. Panting, Pharrael turned to Lady Wintermoon, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
“I… Good eve my lady?”
Faulki made a sound that seemed suspiciously like a chuckle as his father dragged himself back onto his feet, hissing and spitting. Pharrael scowled quizzically at him over his shoulder.

“You…wretched…how did I father…how dare you…No cake for you!”
Pharrael blinked, taking a moment to process his father’s eerily familiar tantrum.
“Sorry, I am no longer a child, that threat will not work on me,” he said hoarsely, feeling the crash seeping into his limbs as the adrenaline began to subside. 

Baeos opened his mouth to further spew his grievances and Pharrael found his fist moving of its own volition in the direction of his father’s nose. There was a wet crack that resounded with alarming clarity, followed by a squeal of horror, then another crack, and finally blessed silence. Pharrael uncoiled himself from where he was crouched over his father’s unconscious form and turned to see the Lady’s decidedly unimpressed expression. 

“Oh, tis alright, he is not dead, my lady! I just thought he needed a bit of a time out. I think I shall haul him inside and leave him to thaw by the fire. These tantrums of his…very unpleasant, but easily dealt with…” he paused, trying to find the right words, “I…I suspect he is quite infatuated with you. Why he thinks he will succeed with you is beyond me…but enough of that.”

Pharrael indicated the pub behind them, “shall we, my lady?” Faulki didn’t need to be told twice, and flounced off to find himself a spot by the fire.

Lyrit just stared, astonished, as Pharrael struck out at his father.  The older elf's girlish screams brought a frown to her face and she shook her head, decidedly unimpressed.  When Pharrael turned back to her she arched a slender brow questioningly, about to speak, when Baeos began to splutter and curse.

“You…wretched…how did I father…how dare you…No cake for you!”

Lyrit quickly lifted her hand to her mouth, covering up a giggle that threatened to bubble forth.  The urge to giggle, however, quickly died when Pharrael punched his father soundly in the face.

"Pharrael!"  she exclaimed, more in surprise at his actions than in any sort of defense for Baeos.  If she was honest with herself, she'd been dangerously tempted to do the very same thing moments earlier.  She simply shook her head, her expression torn between exasperation and amusement.  "I think you might have broken his nose...  he'll not thank you for that."

"Yes, let us all get inside then."  she said, bending down to help drag Baeos inside.  If the elder swordmaster had a few more bruises after being dragged up the hard stone steps, well, served him right!  "Yes, I am not certain I understand it either, though I often wonder if he continues this pursuit just to annoy you, Pharrael."

As they dropped Baeos before the large hearth Lyrit idly wondered where Briseadh had gotten off to, and hoped that Ormir hadn't suffered too badly from his crash.  She flagged down the dwarven barmaid, requesting a bottle of red wine and two glasses before moving over to Pharrael and looking up at him.  "I think you have some explaining to do, my friend.  Though I think it might be best if we wait for the wine to arrive."