Battle of the Squig
I have been in Ubersreik just a few short days and quickly found my way to a drinking establishment I don’t mind so much. Most of these pubs are crawling with idiots. They sell backwash for a glittering shilling and call it Brandy. This establishment has fewer idiots than most and the Brandy is… drinkable. I’ve been back five nights in a row.
On this fifth night, I drank ale. Half-way through my pint, I heard above the din (which was not hard as the voice was booming and speech slurred) a dwarf damning an elf in the most striking way as I ever heard. Something about honor and an elven fiendishness to bristle the fine hair on anyone’s neck. It was the most lucid sentence I had heard in weeks.
Beside the dwarf was a hooded fellow - a considerably handsome fellow at that. (If you repeat that to anyone, my fist will meet your nose until it bleeds.) He was not saying much but seemed to be encouraging the dwarf through nod and drink. I had been so inescapably bored, and deprived of intelligent conversation, I made my way over to them.
They were, I think, startled by my intrusion but I wore ‘em down. From what I could tell the dwarf, Grüngar, wanted to impress his uncle but an elf merchant was making that difficult. The elf had also stolen some rocks…or something. I have forgotten the specifics, but once it seemed the dwarf was being ill-used by this elf, I didn’t much care about the specifics. The hooded fellow, Falko (“Falko, Falko Spitz” - *eye roll*) was not forth coming about much of anything. Curious how a guy like this an a dwarf end up drinking buddies.
Grüngar kept circling the idea of teaching the elf a lesson, but like a vulture who, upon finding a meal, decides he is not very hungry. Frustrated by the lack of action I said,
“Well, what are you going to do about it?!”
Grüngar and Falko locked eyes. Trying to decide, I guess, if
1.) they wanted to do something and 2.) if they should include me.
“I want in,” I said.
We met up late the next evening. Grüngar and Falko went inside the merchant elf’s shop. I stood guard outside - not exactly what I had in mind, but at least it was something different. Also, I don’t know how a dwarf or a striking yet suspicious figure like Falko would fair at putting any guards at ease. It is better they left it to me. I’ve spent enough time as a recruit to know just the right things to get The Watch to piss off. The ones in Ubersreik don’t seem to worry themselves too much with actual work anyway.
After one such incident of assuring a Watchman of - “just performing my duty to the Watch, sir", and “all is well, nothing amiss, sir.” - I heard a cacophonous tumble of crashing bottles, rolling tins, and male screeching. I peeked ‘round through one of the windows: a fat, two-limbed creature with a mouth full of jagged teeth, yellow eyes, and back pocked with stony protrusions. It was spitting toward Falko and Grüngar, in a field of broken glass, its saliva promptly disintegrating the floor beneath. From my estimation, it did not look like they would make it out without help.
I abandoned my post outside, getting to the door in time to see Grüngar, and then Falko, each kicked back to floor in defense. I charged and missed. But thankfully bought enough time for Falko to swing the final blow that caused the beast to retreat. Falko was in poor shape. He seemed to take the brunt of the squiggy blows.
What in the name of Verena is a Cave Squig doing in the shop of an elf?
