One Lost Soul
Moon
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2013
Name: "Quick-Step" Racoan.
Race: Dúnedain
Attire: Traditional attire for his sect of the Rangers.
Weapons: His bow, machete, axe, and long sword.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle)
Tagging: Anyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.
Racoan didn't move fast enough to stop that blow, though if asked why he'd claim it was because he didn't understand what was going on. For all the Ranger knew, the warmlander might have done something to have it coming. He'd been around too long to assume that everybody bullied in life had clean records. Violence was still a problem, though. So with the cracking sound of one's fist meeting another's jaw, Racoan decided he would do his best to end this before it became a full brawl. He could only hope the large fellow in armor would back him up if things got tough. People talked up the Rangers too much: this one knew there was no way he could take on an entire tavern-full of these sorts all at once by himself. Racoan acted.
It was a fast move, with a shift of his weight he'd placed himself on one foot, and the other sailed for the inside of the Lossoth man's knee. It was the kind of blow that could potentially hobble him for months. Maybe longer. After all, a fight wasn't the sort of thing for somebody squeamish about causing pain. He planted that foot and rotated on it, at a range close enough he hooked his leg around the man's neck. From there he threw his weight towards the ground. He wouldn't kill the man but with the way that Racoan was squeezing his throat, the man would have a difficult time breathing until the Ranger let go. From his - new perspective on the ground, he could see several angry looking locals coming out from the cheering crowd. It seemed he was choking their dear friend and they were probably aiming to show him the apparent error of his ways. With their feet. To his face. This was something he wanted to prevent.
Nearly sprawled out on the floor, he had looked to the large fellow in armor - just in time to see the Lossath man he was choking out draw a knife to try stabbing at his leg. He grabbed the wrist, cranked the hand, and slammed the offending arm against the floor. Stuck in this position he looked to the fellow in armor next to the young warmlander woman who the bard had seemed so enamored with.
"Help?!" He quickly amended, "Don't kill them, warmlander!"