Abelarde was a little overwhelmed with the events that had unfolded during the course of the evening. It was quite a bit to take in. First, the windfall of money. Then, Abelarde had overheard some people talking and discovered that the Waystop was actually owned by a drow who had fled the cruelty of his people and wanted to make something better of his life. Motives be damned, Abelarde did not want to spend any more time in that building than he had to. After being visited by a ghost, as far as he could tell, the night couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Until he and Toby sat down at their table and found some gronk with an attitude just itching to try himself against the great Toby.
Normally Abelarde would have tried to diffuse the situation. But he didn’t care if the business establishment of a drow was destroyed, so Option B was to go for a walk and let Toby do what he did best.
In order not to draw attention to himself, Abelarde went to the bathroom and slipped out the back door. The alleyway was empty, and standing between the ancient buildings he could see the bright stars in the sky. Even the moon, full and white, almost seemed like a dim sun shining down on him. “I can take a hint,” Abelarde muttered to his new deity.
He turned around when Abelarde heard the back door swing open with a grunt, and a large man stumbled out, quite doubled over. A victim of Toby’s redecorating plan, no doubt.
What looked like blood running down the big man’s leg was actually urine. He was peeing and walking at the same time. What an amazing talent, Abelarde thought to himself. He stood there, stunned, and watched the burly mess try to pull himself free of his pants to keep from completely soaking himself right through his hide armor. After a brief struggle, the big man gave up.
Abelarde noticed that the big man was now looking at him, while he looked back. Sadly, there was enough light to make out the ruined features of the man’s face, including the empty socket that once held his right eye. “Hey, ain’t you that Whitby guy?” the big man asked.
“Uh, yes. That would be me.”
“Well la dee dah,” the bruiser scoffed. “Yer friend is inside causin’ all sortsa damage to folk.”
Abelarde slowly took a step back, putting distance between himself and the urine-soaked hooligan. “Yes, he has a tendency to do that very thing.”
“He’s doin’ all manner of nasty thing to people. He took a bottle away from this one guy and, well, I ain’t gonna say where he shoved it but I don’t think that feller can drink through that part o’ his body.”
The brute’s remaining eye locked squarely onto Abelarde. He took a squishy step toward the paladin. “Maybe if’n I go in there with yer head, he’ll stop fighting.”
What a terrible idea. “There’s really no guarantee that’ll happen,” Abelarde tried to explain.
The one-eyed pee-soaked bull drew a huge battle axe and charged.
Abelarde quickly summoned his own armor, drew his blade, and for the first time in a long time, attacked on the front lines.
Minutes later, the brute lay face down in the dirt. Abelarde, quite battered himself and not thrilled with the concept of things like ‘getting hurt’ and ‘bleeding’, tended to the drunken brute’s injuries and walked back to the Waystop’s rear exit.
A large rock, one that had been propped up against the wall, suddenly flew up and smacked Abelarde in the side of the head. Alarmed, he hugged the wall and looked around. That’s when he saw the big man groan and roll onto his side, just before what looked like a glowing sword come flying from somewhere above him, almost separate the big man’s head from his shoulders, then fly back up to the Waystop’s roof.
Abelarde swallowed hard and looked up. He couldn’t see anything up there, and wasn’t about to find a way up onto the roof to find out. He pressed his back to the way, kept his eye on the darkness, and changed direction towards the street.
About halfway down the alleyway the glowing blade flew out like lighting and screamed towards Abelarde. Luckily, the blade struck the wall just above him, and bounced into the opposite wall. The blade fell to the ground, and as Abelarde rushed to where it lay on the ground, he could hear an elven curse that barely needed translation to be fully understood.
“Wow.” Abelarde picked up the bastard sword and felt the blade glow like the sun. It might have been a touch of irony, but in the end it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the blade was now in his hand, not buried in his skull.“I hope Toby is finished playing ‘stab the patrons with a table leg’,” Abelarde said with a sigh and pulled open the door to the tavern.