Ira could feel the tension rising in the air. His nostrils
flared drawing deep breaths into the great bellows of his chest. He blinked
once, slowly, and took a second to calm himself though the predatory grin
stubbornly remained on his face. Slowly he cast his eyes about taking the
measure of his surroundings. His head remained perfectly still, some small
instinctual part of him convinced that the slightest movement would push things
over the tipping point and set the confrontation into full swing.
His would be assailants spread out, as best the cramped confines
of the bar would allow. One moved to his left. A lean, wiry fellow who moved
with his back pressed tightly to the wall and eyes fixed unblinkingly on Ira. As
though harbouring a fear that his lone assailant would somehow spring an
elaborate ambush on him. To the right there came a high pitched whine causing
him to flinch.
Ira turned his attention to a thickly bearded man on his
right as he finished pushing a table from his path with another kick giving
himself more room to manoeuvre. He hefted his club to his shoulder brushing the
ceiling with its head before thinking better of it and dropping it down into a
more sensible stance. Glancing at his allies self-consciously to see if his
mistake had been noticed.
The third was the largest of the group, almost as large as
Ira himself. And certainly most confident of their number. Perhaps even a
little cocky. He stood just out of reach slapping the club into his open palm in
what he clearly though was an intimidating manner. His head bobbed in time with
the clubs unsteady beat as he slowly worked himself up towards violence. Ira
found himself drawing a comparison to an oversized and particularly viscous
looking pigeon.
The last of them remained at the bar beside the leering
Francis. The pistol in his hands held low and partially concealed within the
folds of his coat as though he was embarrassed to have it. Ira doubted he would
make use of it as anything other than a last resort. The guard would be taking
to the streets by now and the sound of a gunshot would draw them like moths to
a flame. It was one thing to explain away a tavern brawl but with the cartels
grip on power still fresh and untested they Briarwoods took a very dim view of
anything that carried even the slightest scent of armed insurrection. The Guard,
of course, were extremely enthusiastic about keeping their new patrons happy.
Still it was best to settle matters as speedily as possible. It was always
possible the man was willing to take the gamble or that he was simply a fool.
It would be terribly embarrassing to end up with a stomach full of lead shot
because he had misjudged the man character or wits. If he arrived for his next
meeting with Ms. Acedia with a sizable hole in his abdomen he felt certain he would
never hear the end of it.
His situation satisfactorily assessed he turned his
attention back to the thug with his tap taping bludgeon.
“Its strange” he said his voice a little thick with emotion
but still broadly understandable “I don’t believe we’ve met and I doubt Francis
has this many friends. So to what do I owe this impromptu visit?”
The pigeon man curled his upper lip into a smirk and Ira
felt his smile grow fractionally wider. Yes definitely a little cocky.
“Still asking questions are you?” He stopped tapping his
club and raised it a little “You should have learned to mind your own business
mate you would have lived long….” As he spoke he jabbed the tip of his weapon
towards Ira’s chest to emphasis his point. Ira watched the length of wood
extend towards him extending just over the invisible line which he had mentally
draw across the floor between them.
That was a mistake.
His arm shot forward and his fingers coiled about the smooth
polished wood gripping it tightly. The pigeon man’s eye widened in shock mouth
still hanging open as his self-congratulatory speech teetered off to end in a
tiny yelp of surprise. He tugged fruitlessly at his club even as Ira took a
single quick step towards using the slack created to draw the club closer to
him. His muscles tensed driving the club forward like a piston and sinking the
handle deep into his opponent’s stomach. The air left his in a single great
gust followed a moment later by his dinner. His hands went limp and Ira tore
the cudgel from his grasp bringing it up with terrible force to smash his lower
jaw. The Pigeons man’s once bobbing head snapped back as he began to fall
backward.
Ira flipped the club end over end with a deft flick of his
wrist catching it by the handle and half turning hurled it towards the pounding
footfalls he heard approaching from his right. Without waiting to see if he struck
his target he coiled his legs beneath him and darted to his left. His feet
struck the floor with a resounding boom raising columns of dust from the
woodwork as his cadence increased and his speed built. Behind him he heard the satisfactory
clunk of wood on flesh followed by a stifled curse but his attention fixed
unwaveringly on the target before him.
The lean man watched in horror as the Ira thundered towards him
like a raging bull sweeping aside chairs and over turning tables. He panics
looking about for an escape route but only finding the time to press himself
more firmly back into the wall before the approaching juggernaut in upon him. Ira
dropped his shoulder into a tackle feeling the club swat ineffectively against
his back even as lifted the thug from his feet and slammed him bodily into the
wall. He felt ribs flex and break beneath the force of the impact and a
strangled scream rang in his left ear as the man drooped across him like a sack
of manure.
Hefting his new burden he planted his left foot on the wall
and pushed off with a snarl. Off to one side he saw the bearded man shake off
the dazed look on his face and wipe away the blood trickling into his eyes from
the angry red welt opened up on his forehead. The focus of his attention is on
the gunman at the bar still standing next to a now horrified looking Francis
whose piggy eyes are now as large and saucers as Ira ploughs through the remaining
furniture towards him.
The gunman however remained worryingly calm setting his feet
shoulder width apart he raised his pistol cradling it in both hands and taking
careful aim. Ira moving too fast to change course could only curse and twist
his impromptu human shield towards the gunman contenting himself with the
knowledge that the man would only have time for a single shot before he was
upon him. It was only as the gunman’s finger tightened on the trigger and a
harsh green light flared from the weapons barrel accompanied by a loud
discordant hum filling the room that Ira realised that he may have made a
mistake of his own.
The aether weapon discharged with a resounding boom the
energy trapped within its mechanism unleashed in a thunderous wave of force.
Ira fancied he could see the air before him distort as it rushes towards him
before feeling himself lifted from his feet and hurled bodily across the room
to collide with the far wall. The plaster shattered and then the boards beneath
splintered as he was driven back into it them before collapsing to the floor.
His ears were ringing and he felt blood trickle from them on
to his cheeks. He struggled to focus his vision as the gunman walked slowly
across the room, still perfectly calm as he stepped around scattered debris and
over hole in the floor where the boards had been peeled back by the blast. With
quick economical movements he ejected a small chamber of copper and glass from
his pistol permitting it to fall tinkling to the ground. He held his weapon at arm’s
length as it released small gouts of steam from vents in its sides hissing
softly.
Ira had just enough time to consider that as much as he
loathed the cartels street lamps he would, on the whole have been much happier
with life if their mechanists had limited themselves to improving civil
infrastructure. He felt he had a great deal more to say on the matter but as he
struggled to rise to his feet and shadow fell across him and he look up just in
time to see the bearded thug swing his club down hard into his face.
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