Wolf-wrestling
From Donk: Once again, the slimy khazad tried to cheat the Donk out of his hard-earned winnings! Their excuses are as flimsy as their wares. The Donk gave that flabbergasted flatulizer what-for, until he was quaking in his boots! In other new, Destroyer's new BOOTS OF DESTRUCTION are attached and working! Now to train him in his new tactic of combat...
Festival Grounds
The sweeping Festival Grounds serve many purposes. For much of the year they serve as practice grounds for training knights, for the games of children who pick up ball, bat, and begin a game of stickball. During other times, they're filled with colored tents, with performers for some of Alexandria's many festivals.
Along one side are a set of permanent bleachers, and at either end an archway. Each archway is carved in the style of a grand entry and marked with images of of Daeus, with rearing horse and flying pennon. Here, the god stands depicted in his roles of defender and knight-warrior. Recently, the Lancers of Serriel have taken to practicing here, along the knights and warriors of other orders, and a small number of them take a select pride in the upkeep of the grounds, alongside the Daeusites, Navosians, Gileans, and other mixtures.
Littering the grounds are places for archery, target practice. Here too, scheduled a few times a month, is the space given for ridden sport, organized recently by the arvek nar. The reining champion's name is displayed in an upright lance at the end of the field, a silent challenge for next month's contender.
Cold wind whips past the stands. Today, a small crowd fills the stands, most of them khazad. Along the ground are a few offerings to Reos and other traditional khazadi gods, and in the center of the field, along one half of it (it's a huge field), are a pair of rings. In each of these rings, khazad compete, stripped down to the waist (or with a light shirt), in tests of warcraft and endurance.
Khazad sits to the side of the bleachers, beating out a regular beat on a set of drums. Large and fitted with a heady skin, the khazadi-made instruments are obviously on loan, though the sound reaches from one end of the field to the other.
A white reptilian head appears at the entrance to the arena, peeeking around the corner. As the tall and lanky lizard steps in, hugging a bag of ... well, /something/ to her chest, Tavissha slinks along the edge of the arena, wide blue eyes watching the sports as she goes. Her tail twitches back and forth to the beat of the drums, though she hasn't noticed it's a kinsman doing the beat. Blindly, she makes her wandering way toward bleachers out of the way.
Strolling along the edge of the parade grounds, Jareth walks alongside Thyrson. Stopping by one of the stands, the warrior joins in one of the prayers to Reos, speaking in his own human-accented Khazdul. Once that's done, he continues walking along his towering companion, "I do suppose doing this one a cold, windy winter day makes sense. The best part of it, for me, will be watching it with a mug of mulled wine."
Thyrson leans on his staff, hands curled around it painfully. He laughs, shaking his head. "This seems like a short people's sport to me. Always proving that they're worthy." He shakes his head. "Me? I'll have the wine." Leaning an elbow on a high bleacher, he does stop. "But if they're going to do it, I'll watch." Then, he yells: "Poke him in the belly! Right between the beards!"
Jareth can't help it after that declaration. Some of the wine comes out of his nose as he laughs out loud. Wiping himself and apologizing to the people who got the tops of their heads sprayed by nose wine, he takes a few breaths to steady himself amid fits of coughing.
"Ooooout!" one of the refs bellows. The man stomps forward, then shoves a mug into the victor's hand. The victor, a young-nearing-middle-aged khazad grasps the mug and hoists it high, saluting Thyrson as he does. "REOS!" he shouts, then drowns the lot.
Not long after, a young khazad reaches for the mugs. Watchers on the ends of the bleachers grasp the handles and then hand them on down, in line fashion. In khazad tradition, winners are given ale or spirits to honor hearth and home--and to test their endurance. Audience members...are offered the chance to participate.
The ale passed down is dark with an even, though heady taste to it. Khazad. Of course.
As they do, Kuumvu slows the drums to a sleepy sort of heartbeat, ka-thrum, ka-thrum. He seems too, to be looking for someone.
"Destroyer! One more shoe, come on!"
Whiiiiine!
"Do not give the Donk that kind of guff! You are to wear these Amazingly Majestic Winged Shoes of Battle for the Glory of All Donk-kind!"
In the middle of the Festival Grounds, (don't ask why) a rather unfamiliar sight is available to the public: A gnome in full armor trying to shove bright yellow and orange booties onto a completely unwilling wolf. So far, he's managed to force three booties onto the wolf, who he's pinned on his back by straddling the wolf's torso. But Destroyer is wiggling and writhing and whining at the top of his lungs. NO ME GUSTA!
Tavissha stumbles and blinks as ale is passed past her, blinking out of her reverie. That also means she notices another Sith in the area, and she yawps a little and scrambles back. She might turn tail and run ... but the sight of Donk and his booties and his wolf gets her to just stare. And drop her bag. (Clank clank!)
Thyrson reaches down and gives Jareth's back a sharp whack. "Careful." He lifts his mug back at the victor. "Reos!" A broad smile, oversized. "They look so cute and happy doing this, though." Dwarves. Cute.
While the ref continues to sort out the next combatants, the food vendors take the opportunity to step forward. There aren't many of them--it's not a huge event. In fact, there's only one. But, a squattish khazad stump-walks his way to the side with a huge cart--and throws open the top of it.
Near instantly, the smell of smoked meats hit the air. He hoists a turkey leg towards Tavissha, then hoists it up to the crowd. "Home made, forge-smoked! MEATS! Meat pie, meat-on-a-stick...heh. Meats! Guaranteed to settle down even the most famished wolf...!" He's eyeing Donk. SO eyeing Donk.
The drumbeats stop, and Kuumvu uncurls from behind them. He's long of form and longer of tail, and dressed in the clothes of a minstrel...and now with ample mud and grass stains on his butt. He gives Thyrson a disbelieving look, then looks out at the field as though trying to imagine...wait. ...what?
Whistling, Garrin is strolling right on into the fair grounds. He appears to be in a remarkably cheerful mood. Tarienite, you know? They always are happy about *something*.
Jareth straightens up, "Remember being inside that thing that wore the skin of a purple worm in the tunnels of Khazad Duin? The Khazad there with us weren't so cute." and steps forward as the food hawkwer makes his wares available. Coming back, he hands the Jotun sorcerer a steaming meat pie before biting into one of his own.
Thyrson winces a little, stooping to accept the pie. "Thank you." He nods. "No, they weren't. Maybe it's the city that does this." A grunt. "Khazad sappers under Gettys were no joke either."
Some people had actually started to cheer the gnome-on-wolf battle going on in the middle of the grounds. Must be another competition, eh? Pitting the common man against the vicious beast! How grand!
Although once the scent of that turkey leg wafts through the air, Destroyer immediately stops his struggling. His head lifts, ears perked and turned towards the scent. And he flips over, knocking Donk off him.
"Yawp! Destroyer, you shall not best the Donk!" Donk yells, grabbing onto Destroyer's tail and digging in his heels. Two small furrows get dug through the earth as the wolf drags his owner steadily towards that turkey leg stand.
The crowd laughs and cheers louder!
Tavissha's attention is drawn back to the meats, eyes widening. "...um...I...I would like...one please," she says, in soft-spoken, accented tradespeech. "How much? ... Maybe one for... the wolf as well? Erm."
The current winner tosses his mug away. It hits the earth with a soft thunk! of glass against grass. And then he turns and looks to the ref. Spreads his hands.
Seems there's no challenger just yet, so things will be quiet for a little while longer.
Kuumvu looks from the field towards Donk, then gives a long, low whistle. "Ssa. Bets! Taking bets--wolf or gnome? Two-to-one, on-the-wolf! Wolf! Gnome! Who'sss betting?" Now? Now it's ON. Donk's honor is at stake!
"Raise the odds. Twenty to one in the wolf's favor, at least," calls Garrin, laughing. HE waves towards Kuumvu, then tips his floppy hat at the folks he recognizes. "'Ello!"
Jareth purses his lips at the new sport being touted for everyone to wager on. Looking over, he sees the Gnome and the wolf dragging him to the food hawker. Taking a deep breath, he admits to Thyrson, "I am terribly tempted to offer a crown at odds of twenty of one against the Gnome. But, Daeus wouldn't look favorably on me if I did that, I suppose."
Thyrson takes a happy bite of pie, looking towards Kuumvu wth a smile. He leans down, "He seems crazy. Don't bet against crazy."
"Three! We'll go three-to-one!" Kuumvu raises his voice, and the call, after Garrin speaks up. One of the khazad organizers takes off his hat, and tosses it onto the ground. He'll help collect the bets, that means.
And given the khazad view of gnomes, in general? (Hint: Poncy, unmanly tunnel boogers with not enough chest hair) ...coins go flying into the hat. Lots of coins. A small mountain of them.
In Destroyer's favor.
The vendor hands Tavi a pair of turkey legs, richly smoked with the skin pulled taunt and darkened with peppers and other spices. And after a moment, maybe two, "Here's a third. On the house, miss." Stacking the deck? Noooooo...
Tavissha takes the pair -- no, all three legs, and bows her head. "Thank you!" And, skirting away from Kuumvu rather obviously, the tall sith scampers down toward the field. "I have...legs! For your wolf!" she says hopefully.
Destroyer is undeterred by the gnome on his tail, trudging right along. When Tavissha gets his attention, he focuses on her like a magic missle. His whole body turns and he LEAPS forwards, pulling a surprised Donk off his feet and onto his face in the dirt. Then Destroyer charges at the poor Sith, mouth open and teeth flashing, going right for that meat...
Jareth, still watching the epic struggle Donk is engaged in to keep a hungry wolf away from meat, nods in agreement with Thyrson, "Very well. I hope that Sith'makar girl over there gets to walk away with all of her fingers and hands though."
Thyrson nods, making a light in his hand. "Well, let's see how this goes. It won't get out of hand, though." Har.
When Destroyer lurches forward? More gold pours into the hat. POURS into it. It clanks like the beautiful, golden money it is, and one can almost hear the famous khazadi chorus: Gold gold gold gold! ringing with each toss. Kuumvu waves his hands a few more times, encouraging the bets while the khazad 'official' looks on...
Jareth finishes his meatpie and washes it down with a mug of ale, "By the way, did you hear about the giant ape that ran amok in the docks district?"
"Ahahaha," is what Garrin says. HE's quite pleased with this idea. "I think three to one is being charitable to Donk in this case. We all know that Destroyer has the cleverness edge. I hear he can open doors with his teeth. Donk may not be able to do that!" A nod follows. Then he gets some ale himself.
He finally reaches where Kuumvu is standing, too.
Tavissha yelps and flails, throwing the haunch at the wolf and scrambling back before falling on her tail. "DON'T EAT ME!" she wails.
The official waves his hands in a cutting motion, an indication that the bets are now at an end. Despite this, a few eye the wolf and gnome, and look as they'd like to put just one more into the hat.
Kuumvu's tail twists, untwists behind him as Garrin speaks. He looks over at the pair, then, about to comment when he notices Tavi falling on her tail! "Ssa--!" Anything else gets choked off.
Spittle falls from Destroyer's lips, a predatory glint in the creature's eye. At the last moment it leaps upon the meat like a lion on a gazelle, tearing off juicy meat in huge bites.
Donk finally gets a chance to stand. He lifts up his head, spitting out mouthfuls of dirt onto his orange beard. "KAFF! BLEH! PTEH! Ugh... had enough, eh? The Donk has worn you down? Well, take THIS!" Donk grabs onto Destroyer's back leg, grunting and straining to lift it up high enough to slip the last bootie on the oblivious wolf's last foot.
Thyrson turns. "No? Giant ape?" He starts towards the pie vendor. "You want another pie?"
The one official looks at Donk. He looks at Destroyer. He looks at the gold in the hat.
He takes a slow, measured look at the other khazad there, the other khazad whose gazes say, in that stony look only khazad may have: If you declare that gnome a winner, you are a dead man.
Oooooh, boy.
In the meantime, Tavi has another sith'makar chattering at her. A brightly dressed sith'makar, in a minstrel's outfit, and one wearing bangles and rangles, bangles on his wrists and ankles, bright, shiny things that glint in the chill evening sun and just add to the chaos of words suddenly pouring out at her: "You-drop! You-okay? You look like you took-a-fall. Are you-okay?"
The vendor sort of just...holds...one of the meat-legs in his hand. Loosely. Like anyone could go up and grab it.
HE'd put money on Destroyer, TOO.
Jareth nods at Thyrson's question, "Please." as he follows along, "Yes, a giant ape. I was helping deliver some supplies to the Ox-Strength Tavern, since Myrana still had an axe to grind for that refugee girl I sent to her from the sewers. I paid the girl's tab as far as food and drink and lodging were concerned. If she may have absconded with some of Myrana's unmentionable, how is that my fault? Anyway, I was there with Svarshan, and he had to take this drunk goblin kid away. There was also a young Xian lad, by the name of Remethaer, who'd had a few tips of the mug as well. All of a sudden, this giant white ape comes charging out of some warehouse. I'll give you three guesses as to who it grabbed and ran off with. The first two guesses don't count."
"HAH!" Finally, with Destroyer distracted, Donk manages to slip that last booty on the wolf's foot. "There we are! Now the Donk will see if this is worth the outrageous money he paid for them..." A few quick ties of the laces, and he's secured the booty onto the wolf quite satisfactorily.
A strange buzzing sound start to emanate from Destroyer. The limp wings attached to the little footsies begin to move... then flap... then whir, until they're just a blur in the air. Destroyer doesn't seem to notice... until he finds himself being lifted OFF the ground. The wolf yipes, head up, legs going wide as he wonders WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW??
Thyrson nods. "And how is the lady Myrana feeling after her encounter with the ape?" It's a nice enough question for a man bearing pies for two. "Who owned the warehouse, anyhow?"
Jareth shrugs, "Not sure who owned it, but the Guard have been made aware and are looking into a possible ring of illegal smuggling." before accepting the pie, "As for Myrana, she's fine. We both took a tumble off the roof of another warehouse, but she got to cushion her landing with yours truly. I do swear, she may as well come with her own ransom note."
Everyone. Nearly every. Single. One. Of the khazad. Had put money on Destroyer.
Oh, it's easy to tell.
It's easy to tell by just how much that official is sweating.
And he's sweating rivers. The middle-aged man swallows, and tugs at his collar. And clears his throat. And shuffles his feet, before reaching over to the vendor's cart, and lifting a very, very large mug.
And downing it.
And you know what? After that? There's absolute (stony) silence. A few of the crowd glance at Jareth, but, y'know. Khazad. Gold.
Gnomes.
...or maybe just, y'know: gnomes.
Kuumvu's trying to revive Tavi, possibly by waving shiny bangles in front of her face.
The vendor just outright adds an extra pie slice to Thyrson's order. He's a man bearing pies for triplets, now. Triplets. "With luck like that, he sounds like he need this worse than me, lad." Then, muttered, "...damn fool official..."
Thyrson takes the third pie as a tithe. Fetching fee. He's also got a very large appetite. He looks over at Jareth. "Maybe you should just pre-rescue her, or just let her sit on you. It would be more efficient."
"HAH! IT WORKS!" Donk cheers. At first. But his enthusiasm wanes when he realizes that Destroyer is flailing about like one of those Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Men, desperately trying to get his feet to touch the ground again, whining and yelping.
"What... no, Destroyer, that's not... No, stop. It's just... would you..." Donk's protests don't get through to the wolf who, in one last frantic twitch, flips himself onto his back. Which DOES mean he collapses to the ground with a loud whimper. Donk sighs and climbs on top of Destroyer's belly, standing on the wolf and looking down at him with disappointment. "Honestly, Destroyer. How can you not deal with a little magic. What will the Donk do with you??" he asks, throwing his hands in the air in exaggeration.
Which, from the crowd's point of view, looks like Donk climbed onto his foe and threw his arms up in a victory stance! HUZZAH! THE DONK IS VICTORIOUS!
Oh. Brightmetal.
THROATCLEAR. The official clears his throat. He tugs at his collar, then squares his khazadi shoulders..."I'm afraid that..."
Gazes turn stone. Stonier.
He sighs, and leans down to whisper something to Donk. Though before he does, he's heard to mutter, "Why does this allus happen in THREES, eh?" Threes. It's like a magic number. Or something.
Tavissha comes to, to shiny bangles dangling in front of her. "Wh...YEEP!" Behind those bangles are a sith! She yelps and squirms on the ground, flailing gangly long limbs in a panic.
"How many-fingers?" Guess how many?? Kuumvu holds up three fingers in front of Tavi. It's totally three. Three. Like a magic number. "You knocked-out. Partied-too-hard, ssa?" He crouches down near Tavi, then. Holds his fingers up. "Drank-too-much. You okay? Hey. Garrin. You come-help-with-this?"
Jareth gives a sarcastic laugh, "Hardy-har-har. It could have been worse though. It could have been some mutated ape with tentacles. Nonetheless, the Xian lad did mention that the warehouse from which the ape appeared did belong to some competitors of his father's. Some unsavory sorts and such. All kidding aside, the beast did try to eat her, and it gave me a few bruises and cuts of my own. I'd left behind my plate armor, and simply had a shirt of mail on under my tunic. Nonetheless, it met the business end of my blade here, and Remethaer had one those Thunderbelchers, which pretty much sheared off the back of its skull as it tried to flee."
Tavissha blinks owlishly. "What? No-no-no, I didn't party-- no! There was a wolf--where's the wolf?!" She looks around frantically, still clutching the remaining two drumsticks in a panic. Eep!
"Eh, what's that?" Donk brings his arm down, tilting his head towards the khazad. "Eh? Hmmm? Yes? WHAT???" He leans away, staring down at the dwarf like he'd just said something horribly offensive. "'Prove' his mettle? 'Prove'?? The Great and Powerful Donk Yauti has no need to prove an iota of his worth to any man, woman, or slobbering monstrosity. The Donk..." He thrusts a finger in the air. "Is ALL-POWERFUL! He does his combatants an honor simply by holding back enough that they may get in a few hits and are not killed simply by the Donk's piercing gaze! However..."
Donk steps off Destroyer, who's blinking and starting up at the sky in bewilderment. "If there are any who are suicidal enough to be humiliated by The Donk on the field of battle... step forward and be counted the most foolish amongst your friends! If you have any."
Kuumvu rocks back on his heels. "Wolf-is..." he twists around, the movement somewhat more snakelike than not, and stares a while at Donk and Destroyer before turning back around. "Wolf-is-down. He had a...hard battle, sa? But I am glad to-see another of-the-People here. It is good-to-sssee you. I thought you might-be-hurt." And here he offers a hand to help her up. Because. Garrin is lazy. TOTALLY lazy. And isn't there yet.
Oh Brightmetal. For the thir--er. Second. Time.
The official looks earthward, as though there were some answers to be found in the stone. And looks like he's counting to three. He really does. He really, really... He clears his throat. "We...hold these. Every month. If you think you can challenge our Champion," and his tone holds that he clearly believes Donk CANNOT... "...you're welcome to...attend. IF. That is...you're--"
"Able!" supplies one of the spectators. The official nods his head, and then holds up his hand. Thick, broad, they're just as stocky as the rest of him. "The gnome clearly won! But if ya want a chance to win back...you'll show up at tha next one." A look at Donk. "No offense, lad. But there's no way yer gonna win this one." Dig. Dig, dig, dig.
So Garrin is staring. And he's laughing. He's laughing so hard that tears are pouring out of his eyes. This is, well... come on.
Can you really blame him?
Thyrson glances. "I'm sure, somewhere, there's an ape with tentacles dreaming about Myrana." He coughs, shakes his head. "Stupid merchant conflicts." He exhales. "That's good, at least."
Tavissha blushes and tries to push up of her own accord, but really, Kuumbu's proffered hand is quite helpful. She scrambles up, and brushes herself off compulsively. "Um, oh, yes, it is...good to see more kinsmen here too. There are more than I expected, that's for sure." She pauses, looking over at Donk, and paling, if that were even possible for a white lizard. "Oh, goodness, no, not me," she yeeps, edging toward Kuumvu. Hiiide meeeee
Jareth frowns, "Merchant conflict. That's what bothers me. It seems like there have been increasing problems with the trade coming in by ship and by caravan. No declarations of war have been made, and yet, this is more than just banditry and pirates. There's something more...sinister about all of this, and it seems like a giant rampaging ape running wild in the streets of Alexandria is the least of the trouble that could come about."
Donk holds up a finger to the official, attempting to silence him. "You mean if the Champion were able to challenge the Donk! Yes, he would certainly have to at least make the Donk break a sweat to earn a title like that." He sniffs, and shoves his thumbs in his belt. "But first... The Donk clearly heard something about betting. And where is the Donk's take?" He lifts up onto his tiptoes, shoving his moustache towards the officials face, eyes crazy-wide. "HMMMM??"
Kuumvu gives the sith'makar equivalent of a grin as he helps Tavi up. Once she stands, he steps back. "Kuumvu. Like the sssound of drums. ..." and... "...you are kind-of-pale. Is everything good?"
For his own part, the official raises his hands...the man seems to be regaining some of his footing, some of the shock after seeing a snarling wolf barreling towards...
Ahem.
"We'll sort that out the event, lad. If you fight th' Champion, there's a chance for an even bigger cut. ...if you. Think you can do it. And I don't think you can." He reaches down to adjust his coat, 'obviously' ignoring Donk as he does. Dig. Dig, dig, dig. "Me offerin' this is a sort of...CHARITY, you know? A gnome? Versus a...khazad? Please."
By now, some of the crowd has begun to disperse. Some break into groups, others head back to the bleachers. A few, likely merchant-family-tied, glance at Jareth and Thyrson, and the conversation they're having.
Thyrson nods to Jareth. "There's always something sinister in the air." His expression clouds. "Given that the ascendant primary goddess of darkness and evil seems to have something against this place? It's... inevitable." Sucking on his cheeks, he nods. "I agree."
"I-- I am alright. A lover, not a fighter. I am Tavissha." A claw brushes self-consciously over her bone-and-leather vest. "I am...an artissst." She might stumble a little on the word, tail tucking around her nervously. She edges a little more away from Donk too, although with her tail wound around herself like that, it's quite the little shuffle. It's a wonder the tall sith doesn't trip over herself and fall flat on her face. Remembering herself, though, she hesitantly offers a turkey leg to Kuumvu. "You... you want?"
"Oh, yes." Donk waves his hand about, dismissively. "It's clear, the Khazad is FAR outmatched. That is why the Donk is "requesting" his payment right now." Yes, he makes the airquotes. "For it's well-known the khazad are sore losers as well, and Donk does not want to have to spank more than one dwarven fanny before he gets his gold, you understand?"
Jareth notices the attention of some of the Khazad attendants, "I apologize, friends. Wild speculations on my part. However, if you have had issues with your trades, please let the Guard know. If nothing comes of their being made aware, then please let the Adventurers' Guild know."
"You looked sort-of pale. Is that paint, then?" Kuumvu asks after a pause. He looks curious as the paler sith'makar introduces herself...though too, what sith'makar would turn down food? Free food, at that? He turns the turkey leg over in his fingers. It's a smoked, heavy thing, the skin pulled taunt from the smoking process. Black flecks from spices dust it surface.
Nothing personal...heard rumors, though. Shipments containing things they're not. But--" one of the khazad says in reply to Jareth. He breaks off, though, then looks at his friends.
A few others LOOK like they'd say something, but. Khazad solidarity, you know? They sort of shrug. Uncomfortably.
And the official...he purples, a bit. It shows in spots along his cheeks before he grabs his beard...and slowly smooths it down. "We're a registered Guild...Master. Donk. I don't think we'd tarnish--"
"Forth, am I to assume this...gnome is claiming he placed a bet on his own behalf? And is wanting to profit from it?" This? All the sudden from one of the older members of the audience. An older, but broad-shouldered khazad, he looks as though one time he may have been a warrior of Jareth's calibre, though that's been a few hundred years or so.
It's the memory of that, though--that shows through here. And the fact that he just cracked his knuckles.
Thyrson glances at Jareth, and just smiles broadly. He licks his fingers, and blinks. "See? I wasn't wrong about that gnome."
WUh oh. Garrin stops dead in his laughter as he realizes trouble could, in fact, erupt. HE makes his way towards Kuumvu and then says, casually, "Well. You know. I think things may be about to get ugly. I'm betting that I get away."
"EXACTLY!" Donk thrusts a finger in the air. "Guilds, always trying to cheat the common man... and the not-so-common man out of his well-earned gold piece! That is why the Donk demands cash, up-front, BEFORE expenses are assessed for damages!" He slams a gauntlet into his palm.
Peering at the khazad, Donk raises himself up to his full, intimidating height (just below the official's chin). "The Donk would not go so far as to bet on himself. It's clear, when the Donk bets on a contestant, they will clearly win. Then everyone knows who to vote for, and it all becomes uneven, you see. The Donk is claiming his rightful part of the stakes for having won a match upon which there was gold staked!" He rounds out that clear, accurate, and morally-upstanding sentence with a loud SNIFF!
Jareth nods as he sees the reluctance, "I understand. If I can help, in any way, then please do let me know. My friend here..." as he claps Thyrson's shoulder, after reaching very high to do so, "...are accomplished at getting results." and then looks to the elder Khazad addressing the gathering, "I suspect Donk here misunderstands the way things are done. Your guildmates and countrymen were betting on the wolf, and won." before turning his attention to the Gnome, "Correct? You wouldn't be the type to place a bet on a fixed outcome and then try to collect hard-earned coin from several scores of Kahazad, right? You're more the type who enjoys the cold air of a winter's day and some good sport, all in good fun, and who wants to be able to chew his own food with his own teeth for the foreseeable future."
Thyrson stoops to be clapped, and nods. "Its true. Getting things done is a joy unto itself." A pause. "Or just toss it in an asylum." Gnomes don't have a gender.
"N...noo.." Tavissha merps at Kuumvu, about paint. "I...I must be going." Before this whole Donk ordeal suddenly involves her. The gnome is tiny and terrifying and can probably eat an entire sith'makar in one bite. Even a tall one like her. She scurries to her dropped bag of Stuff and clutches it, wodging her last turkey stick into her mouth for safe keeping.
The old warrior looks at Donk. LOOKS at him. Looks at the official. Looks at Jareth and Thyrson. "...this matter may need some sorting. ...Forth--the rest of you. This is a Guild matter, and we ought to sort it before it becomes more of an embarrassment than it already is." The warrior cracks his knuckles again and holds out his hand. He places it on the man's shoulder, and leads him off...mob following. That hand might've been for protection.
It's not a very NICE mob right now. It's a tense mob, and they leave as quickly as their khazadi feet will trod, though some of them, the old warrior included, nod to Jareth and Thyrson in thanks. A few even mutter a word or two. There's GOLD to sort out, of course. GOLD and gnomish TREACHERY. Because gnomes. Clearly. Are very treacherous. Despite Donk's words? They still seem to think he cheated. For some reason.
For his own part, Kuunvu, had he eyebrows, they would be hanging around three feet above him. "Sa, sa." Except he's tense. He clears his throat a few times. Steps in front of Tavissha.
Donk beams at Jareth, white teeth flashing out from the middle of his orange beard. "Finally! Someone who has at least half a brain! Of COURSE the Donk wouldn't cheat! He has no need of cheating! As he just said... he does not bet on himself. It is unfair. HOWEVER!" He shoves a finger at the guildmaster, almost sticking it up his nose. "He does not let double-dealing bookies place bets on his head without giving up his fair share of the winnings!"
As for who won that battle... Destroyer is currently still on his back, bootied feet waving helplessly in the air. And Donk is still standing.
Tavissha gives Kuumvu the biggest, shyest, skittish...est eyes. "Mmphh?" she merps around the turkey leg, hugging her bag to her.
"Soooo," says Garrin, to Kuumvu and then he grins towards Taviisha. He's not tense, exactly. He takes his hat off and uses it to brush himself off, the dust of the dya and all that, before adding. Then Donk speaks more and he says, "Oh yeah. This is gonna get ugly right fast."
"Think maybe?" Kuumvu asks. He's standing in front of the other sith'makar, his tail moving animatedly behind him, not unlike a serpent's as it whips from side to side. "Sa, I think. I think he crazy...maybe both. ...you should come-visit sssometime!" Total change of tone. "I...I do-not-have a Hearth. But Garrin-and-I meet together sssometimes."
"...Mmrph?" Tavissha's nodding along about Donk being crazy, when her eyes widen and she just stares at Kuumvu for a long moment. She looks like he just sprouted wings and pixie dust antlers. "...mr...phhhrmrm..." she garbles.
"Yeah, just a bit," says Garrin to Kuumvu with a cheerful look on his face. "More or less, yeah. I hang out and watch the fights frequently. This has nothing, at all, to do with being surroudned by armed people when something I did gets back to me. Not e ven a little." HE glances from side to side.
"The pub on Blue Roossster Lane," Kuumvu says to Garrin, then looks over to Tavi. "Quiet, but good-for-ssstories. Would like it if you joined uss." He doesn't seem the type to turn away a chance to socialize. What, bard? What, other sith'makar? As the mob vanishes, his tail continues its movement a while. It's not going to settle yet.
And his eyes are a little bright as he looks that way. He glances at Thyrson, and back to the mob.
Thyrson folds his arms, "Look, there's no need to get angry. There's just not."
"...mmphm," Tavi says, blinking and nodding. But once the coast is clear, she ducks down and makes a break for it, scampering as fast as she can away from the arena and ... /social interaction/. dun dun dunnn