So What is the Attraction of Taverns Anyway?
Redthread had to admit he didn’t quite see the appeal his companions had for taverns. He suspected it had much to do with scale; the animated mommet had long since grown accustomed to living in a world built to a larger scale, but taverns enhanced some of the worst aspects. Sticky puddles of spilt drinks and food that were minor obstacles to step over or, at worst, cause a slightly sticky boot sole to the regular patrons were obstacles to traverse around or else have the sticky, often unpleasant smelling fluids soak into the cloth of his body. While he could clean himself quickly with magic, that did not make it less pleasant.
The patrons themselves, who already often had a problem noticing him, had their senses dulled, and their staggering, weaving walks made them more difficult to predict and avoid. Not that he was in danger of being hurt, he was remarkably strong and resilient for his size, some would say unnaturally so. He could easily catch the foot of a human or half-orc, even throw them to the ground. Still, he had no wish to harm anyone, and if he wasn’t ready and braced, the simple difference in mass could send him flying.
And yet he had to admit, it was a fascinating place to learn more about the people, races, and cultures that shared this world with him. He was currently trying to determine why these places always seemed prone to draw out violence. He was drawn from his introspection by a shout, something about faces and fish, only to see his own companions in the preliminary posturing of a ruckus with some locals. He stepped forward, seeking to diffuse the situation, only to collide with Tempest’s boot, for which he was neither braced nor prepared. A short airborne jaunt landed him in a bucket. The bucket was fortunately empty, dry, and no worse smelling than the general ambiance of the tavern. With a sigh, he settled in to read from his Church’s cannon, he would heal any damage to the combatants in the aftermath.
As it turned out, the violence was largely avoided and he and his companions left without much trouble. It seemed a fine night until they were again accosted by townsfolk, though this time seemed to be a robbery! Dancer hurled some silver coins as a distraction as he shouted to run. Redthread took advantage of his small size to hang on to Dancers cloak, not wanting to get separated from the others.
Soon they had left the crowd of townsfolk behind, but a sudden sinister feel to the night heralded a new threat. Redthread saw a brief flash of light tried to overwhelm Redthread’s senses, and while he mainly resisted it his grip still grew slack enough that he slid from the cloak to the ground with a soft sound. His mind clearing, he realized that had been a magical attack, and these no mere townsfolk. He rose, calling on the divine power of his three goddesses and a coruscating beam of light erupted from his hand towards the attacking caster. For a moment the beam shimmered against an invisible barrier protecting his assailant, but their power was no match for the divine beam as a spreading network of cracks in the barrier preceded it shattering, the beam striking its target. While the barrier hadn’t held, it had absorbed enough of the blow to prevent his attacker from being struck down completely.
Nearer at hand his companions were embroiled in battle, and he did his best to draw damage away from them. The situation was devolving quickly, with Dancer moving further and further from the party, and Tempest suddenly look of wild alarm and confusion signaling he may have come under attack from the spellcaster. In fact, Tempest struck him before quickly retreating.
Noticing the wounds on his companions, it was time to switch from retribution to renewal. He laid a hand on his chest, repairing the damage he had taken, then sending forth the power of the Primatic Ray to heal Tempest. The light washed over him, bright red threads of light drawing his wounds closed into neatly stitched lines before vanishing, along with the wound. Whether by his magic or not, Tempest also seemed to gather his senses. In turn he healed Third Mate, the red threads of light also closing his wounds, and the two warriors renewed their attacks. The enemy withdrew, vanishing from sight, but not before Dancer lost consciousness with acid burning away at his chest. Redthread healed the worst of it, then temporarily stitched a small piece of Dancer’s spirit with the positive energy plane, allowing it to repair the damage until the Acid dissipated.
While no lasting damage had been done, Redthread was troubled. No small amount of magic had been displayed by their attackers, not something your common thugs or pirates would typically have access to. Maybe it was happenstance, but Redthread felt like this had been lightning on the horizon, heralding the storm.
