Part 2: The Brawl
The skink rode into the town of Powder Keg later that afternoon. It was a small town with only one road, one water tower, a poor collection of haphazardly constructed buildings, and one barely legible sign. On the sign was crudely written:
TOWN OF POWDER KEG
DAYS SINCE LAST BRAWL: 3
This did not bother the skink of course, as he rode into the town and stopped in front of the town saloon, and tied his cold-one to the fencepost along the railing.
The saloon was run by an exceptionally fat ogre, with the apt name of Big Gus. The ogre glowered from across the bar at the skink when he entered, wiping down an exceptionally dirty bar-mug with a soiled bar-rag. Several gnoblars under Big Gus’s employment also tended the bar, as well as serving the rowdy patrons throughout the room. Two identical gnoblars played the chipped piano in the corner, under a sign that stated plainly “Please Don’t Eat the Pianists.”
The saloon floor was crowded, filled with many unsavory types such as skaven, orcs, and goblins, most deeply consumed with the various billiards, poker, and blackjack tables spread throughout the room. Though they all pretended to ignore him, there was not a single patron or worker in the saloon who didn’t notice the skink enter through the swing-doors and take a seat at the bar.
“Whiskey?” said Big Gus gruffly, continuing to wipe the mug in his hands as the skink sat in his stool.
“No thanks,” The skink answered, surveying the orc snoring loudly on the barstool beside him.
“Wad you have?”
“Grasshopper.”
The skink heard the ogre grumble audibly “city folk” as two gnoblars appeared to serve his drink. One pulled a large, lime-green grasshopper from a box beneath the bar, while the other turned the grinder to crush the insect to dust and scooped the remains into a bar-mug. The process only took a few moments, once complete the gnoblars heaved the mug of milky-green liquid in front of the skink.
Big Gus continued to clean the dirty mug, obviously bored his attention had moved away from the skink when his order was made, and back to the game of blackjack over at the table nearest the bar. Half the goblins on one end of the table were accusing the other half of cheating and vice versa; but so far the disagreement hadn’t escalated beyond name-calling.
“Lots of brawls in here,” noted the skink, seeing where Big Gus’s attention was focused.
The ogre snorted derisively in response, continuing to watch the game as he cleaned his mug.
“Last fight was a bunch of black-orc wyvern-rustlers. Darn near took out the entire front of my saloon, had to close down for three days. Cost me a fortune, blasted dwarf carpenters. Just reopened this morning.”
One of the goblins had discovered several cards up his opponent’s sleeve, and was now attempting to convince the others that the cards in his own sleeve were completely legitimate. Big Gus returned his attention back to the skink at his bar.
“Anything else you need, stranger?”
The skink took another swig from his grasshopper before he replied.
“I am looking for Blue Bart.”
“Never heard of him,” Big Gus replied.
“Grechit has heard of the one you look-seek for!” hissed a low voice behind him.
The skink turned to find a small, shabby skaven with a straw hat. He leaned in towards the skink as he continued, his eyes glistening emphatically as he held the skink’s rapt attention.
“Grechit has heard of Blue Bart, yes! Blue Bart is an outlaw, bad-bad around here yes! Wanted by the blue-coats he is. Robbed the bank he did! Buried-hid the gold out in the Badlands!”
“Pay my slave Grechit no mind, lizard-skink,” another skaven interrupted.
The second rat had darker fur, still dirty but not as covered in filth as Grechit. He wore a mockery of a top-hat on his head and a broken monocle over his eye. He held out a hand to the skink as if to shake, but quickly dropped it when the lizardman did not take it. He bowed instead with a flourish of his hat.
“I am Skeezik, owner the medicinal establishment just up the road,
Skeezik’s Malady Apothecarium, perhaps you have heard of it?”
The skink took another swig from his grasshopper as he eyed the rat suspiciously. Big Gus muttered “medicine-show freaks” behind him at the bar.
Skeezik continued as if the skink had answered “yes” and ignored the ogre.
“Like I was saying, ignore Grechit, sir stranger.
“The legend of Blue Bart the Pirate is well known around this our humble village-town. He was the richest pirate ever to raid the Cactus Coast. When he retired, the legend states, he forced his skeletal-crew to carry his loot far across the desert, and bury it in a hidden-secret location not far from where we now sit!
“Truly a fascinating story. Are you one of the many treasure-seekers hunting the legend? If so perhaps I can interest you in a bottle of balm for your scales as you continue your quest-journey? Or perhaps a potion of beetle-grubs from my
Apothecarium to assuage the…”
“Ignore this fraud, noble lizard-beast,” interrupted a third skaven, “…for he means to steal-rob you of all your coin.” This one wore a brightly stitched and equally dirty vest, with a bow-tie and a hat quite as gaudy as Skeezik.
The third skaven bowed low, elbowing top-hat wearing Skeezik out of the way as he jostled for the skink’s attention.
“My name is Nurgbill, proud owner of
Nurgbill’s Snake Oil Emporium, an
honest business which places its customers far above gribbly business-practices of certain
other disreputable stores. And this is Gurch, my office assistant.”
The sales-rat Nurgbill motioned offhandedly to the monstrous and ugly rat-ogre behind him, who also wore a bow-tie and carried a case of glittering potions and remedies of dubious origin. The skink heard Big Gus mutter “lying rats” as the ogre continued to wipe down his bar-mug with the dirty rag.
Skeezik attempted to cut the new skaven off and regain the spotlight, but Nurgbill simply shouted louder over the sound of the general saloon, which had grown in pitch due to the impending violence at the goblin poker-table.
“The truth of Blue Bart is well known in the history of these parts.
“Many years ago, the humans from the Old World launched many expeditions to search for the fabled Lost Cities of Gold. Most expeditions failed, but Blue Bart, actually known in those days as Bartholomew, was a proud Estalian conquistador-mercenary from the city of Cadavo. He amassed a great deal of gold before the great Slann decided to put an end to that unfortunate city… but Blue Bart escaped prior to the cities end-destruction!
“He escaped to the far north, with his men and horses taking shelter in a location not far from this very town, but the anger-wrath of the lizardmen knows no bounds, as I am sure you are aware! The minions of Lord Mazdamundi caught up with him, and left his bones and his treasure to rot under the desert sun in a long forgotten-lost location…”
At this point Nurgbill was overwhelmed by his competitor Skeezik’s cries of protest, and both set upon the other in loud screams of “lies-lies” and accusations of falsehood. The skink, having heard his fill of skaven storytelling, left the squabbling sales-rats to their quarrel and returned to the bar. He was about order a refill on his grasshopper-infused drink, when he heard the scratchy voice of the slave-rat Grechit over the din once again.
“What is this that Grechit sees? Grechit sees the scaly-man has gold in his bag!”
Before the lizardman could stop him, the slave rat had pounced, ripping the cloth-covering off the long package on his back.
Inside the package was a rifle, whose barrel was made of smooth and polished metal, and a stock made out of shiny, solid gold. A set of glass-mirror sights were affixed to the top of the barrel in the form of a primitive scope, and the sides of the weapon were covered in block glyphs and symbols, unfamiliar to anyone in the bar except possibly the skink himself. The weapon made no sounds but almost seemed to hum with power as the skink held it in his hands and attempted to yank it away from the slave-rat.
The entire saloon froze (except for the bickering poker-playing goblins) for only a few moments after the golden rifle was revealed and brilliantly showered the entire room in gold-bathed light. All the patrons stood with mouths agape as the rifle clattered to the floor and fought over between the skink and the slave-rat.
Then all the patrons sprung into action.
The sales-rats piled onto Grechit: both Skeezik and Nurgbill grabbed either end of the golden rifle in an attempt to wretch it out of the skink’s grasp.
The rat-ogre Gurch ran to the aid of his master, but clumsily tripped and instead threw his box of merchandise directly at the skink. It missed and hit the bar instead, showering the gnoblars behind the bar in acidic boil potions, who presently ran screaming into the back.
The two gnoblars at the piano quickly took stock of the situation, and began playing a conspicuously louder and more fight-music-oriented-tune for the benefit of the rest of the patrons.
The orc wyvern-rustlers, who had been monitoring the escalating sales-pitches of the rats from the corner, made their move. Chairs flying and tables upended, they roughly pushed their way through the billiards tables between themselves and the bar in a mad scramble to enter the fray.
The goblins at the poker table had meanwhile reached their breaking point. In a final insult two far, the lead goblin balled his fist and slugged his competitor across the face. This sent the goblin flying across the table directly into the orc stampede, tripping up the orcs in front and cascading them into the blackjack table.
The rest of the orcs, forgetting their original objective, turned on the goblins and proceeded to pick up the remaining furniture (that was still intact) and began throwing it across the room at the goblins (and each other).
Big Gus continued washing his mug, grumbling about all the poker chips being lost between the floorboards.
A shot rang out over the commotion, causing the fighting to cease.
In the swinging doorway stood three shadowy figures, tall and thin, and wearing broad-brimmed Stetsons and uniforms of deep blue, almost purple. The center figure walked out into the light of the chandelier above, in full view of the saloon patrons with his pistol raised to the ceiling.
The skink, twisted amongst the bodies of the frozen ratmen, heard one of the skaven squeak from somewhere beneath him, “Cheese it, it’s the Law!”
“Nobody move!” shouted the dark elf, now with his eyes narrowed and scanning the saloon, looking for someone. His pistol was still raised to the ceiling, but he was prepared to aim it at any patron in a moment’s notice. The skink recognized him: it was the dark elf leader that had accosted him at the old well, miraculously recovered from his wounds from a few hours prior.
“Who started the commotion here?” the uniformed dark elf demanded to know.
“It was him officer-sir!” shouted Skeezik, immediately getting to his feet and pointing at the skink, “…the one with the golden rifle!”
“Yes-yes! It was him officer-sir!” agreed his rival Nurgbill, who enthusiastically continued throwing the glowering skink under the metaphorical wagon, “…we were simply conducting honest-legitimate business when this one began making grandiose claims and spinning stories out of…”
The dark elf lowered his pistol at the skink and the two ratmen. The skaven immediately raised both their hands and took a step away from the lizardman. The Druchii grinned as he gave his instructions to his cronies.
“Take him.”
*******
Big Gus sighed grumpily as the dark elves pulled the skink out of his saloon. The rats had disappeared, the orcs had begrudgingly gone back to their original table in the corner, and the goblins had returned to their blackjack table, the previous transgressions forgotten.
“Lurg! Stiggle!” the fat ogre bellowed.
“Yes boss!” Two gnoblars appeared from beneath the bar.
“You gnobbos go change the town sign again.”
“Yes boss!”
The ogre put down the dirty mug and picked up a new one to begin cleaning with his soiled rag, as he watched the gnoblars scurry out the saloon doors pulling a bucket of white paint between them.
