It was bizarre, Wurzag reflected, that no matter how many adventures he had and no matter how terrifying or life threatening the situations involved, he inevitably ended up in a bar in Lomedor. It was like some sort of masochistic, karmic wheel that ended each revolution with a drink, a brawl and several broken ribs. This particular bar held a great many memories of both good drinks and bad injuries, and though the Qu'ellar was well known for its less then salubrious image and even less savoury patrons, the last brawl had developed into a full scale riot that had spilled out into the surrounding streets. An official count of dead and injured had never been made, but the number certainly fell into the 'more than a few' category of Wurzag numeracy.

He stomped his way up to the bar and dropped a few coins in front of the bearded tender. There had been a different barkeep on duty every time he had visited the Qu'ellar and he had never seen a single individual on more than one occasion. He strongly suspected that the tavern had a high turnover of staff and idly wondered if any tender in the pubs history had ever made it to retirement age. Given that a knife-wound to the back was largely considered natural causes in this quarter of the city it seemed extraordinarily unlikely.

"Give us an ale an an ale an an," he paused and looked momentarily thoughtful, "ale." He finished with a grin. Putting a noticeable dent in an orcish constitution took a much larger amount of alcohol than most people knew. In some circumstances a tolerance for intoxication was an enormous benefit. Most of the time Wurzag considered it a colossal pain; it made it very expensive to get drunk.

The barman produced a trio of mismatched, foaming tankards and pushed them across the bar toward the half-orc before squirreling the coins away into one of his many pockets. Wurzag noted that the man had an inordinately huge number of pockets in his wide apron and strongly suspected that many of them concealed more than coins. If he had learned anything from his predecessors then he had a small arsenal concealed about his person and enough noxious substances to tranquilise a horse. Wurzag grinned in appreciation and tottered off to find himself a seat.

The occupants of the first table glared at him with open hostility from beneath their bushy brows. The half-orc had never gotten on very well with dwarves ever since one of them had killed his pet ferret and these dwarves were no exception. He glared back at them and shambled off to find more appropriate company.

The second table was occupied by a scantily clad warrior woman wearing little more than a leather thong and chainmail bikini. She was surrounded by a number of drooling thugs that would have looked predatory if they had not sported quite so many bruises. Clearly the woman knew how to handle herself and had been doing so with joyful abandon since the early evening. Wurzag paused next to her and grinned, "ye knows," he said conversationally, "I ain't never seen da point in da armour for girls, it dunt really seem to protect yez much an attracts all da wrong sort of fellas." The woman swung a fist at him that would have caught him squarely in the nether-regions had he not been ready for it. As it was he spilled some of his ale down himself as he skipped out of the way. "I'll sit meself somewhere else den eh?"

The next table, which was half concealed in the shadowy corner of the room had only one occupant - an elf. Wurzag had had some fairly good experiences with elves recently and wasn't above chancing his arm with new acquaintances. All of the new people he had met so far had lead him on fantastical journeys and amazing adventures, or at least to new places to drink.

Wurzag parked himself in a seat and immediately realised that this particular elf had two unusual characteristics. The first was that he was black. That in itself held no special significance; Wurzag himself was a sort of brownish green so he was not about to make judgments based on colour. The second was that this elf was very, very tall.

"Well ain't you a big fella!" He said to his new companion by way of greeting, "ain't seen an elf as big as you before, yer muvva must be dead proud." He gulped down some ale and then set the tankard down with a thump. "Pretty quiet in 'ere tonight," he continued with a little spray of foam, "last time I was 'ere der woz a massive ruck, it were amazin'," the memory of the many injuries he had sustained returned to haunt him, "but yez know, a change is as gud as a rest."

He grinned happily at the dark-skinned elf.

Sargtlin had come, once again, to the Drital Qu'ellar Pub. He was sitting in a chair at a shadowy table, one left in the corner away from the rest of the people there. Whenever he visited that place it was usually on business, but today he decided that he going to not try to get a job that night. He knew that soon his Lupine friend, Vhid, would be coming as well for he had been on a hunt but they were going to be meeting at the pub that night, and when he did, they would leave. But before then he was slightly surprised at the sight of a, what appeared to him at least, Uruk-hai, a half-orc, coming into the bar.
"An Uruk-hai? He could prove to be some real enjoyment." he thought with a devilish smile on his face. He was for once hoping that a brawl would start, which it almost inevitably did, just so that he could fight the Uruk-hai. He had fought some before, each one a very enjoyable fight, they were usually very strong, fast, and brutal. He kept his eyes on the half-orc as he made his to the bar and bought three drinks. He had forgotten about his own drink that was in front of him, for he did not care for it to much.
"Three eh? Seems like he enjoys drinking." he thought to himself as he watched the Uruk-hai walk over to a table that was surrounded by men. He couldn't tell if the original occupant was there, but he had earlier seen a barely clad woman sit down there. But he could hear the Uruk-hai talk to someone in the midst of the crowd and he knew that she was there, for he saw her fist swing out to hit the Uruk-hai, but the half-orc had skipped out of the way in time, spilling some of his drink on himself as he did. Sargtlin pulled up the hood of his black leather cloak as he saw the Uruk-hai walk towards him. He watched as he sat down in a chair at the table that he was at, then he heard the Uruk-hai talk to him.

"Well ain't you a big fella! Ain't seen an elf as big as you before, yer muvva must be dead proud."

He smirked at the latter part of the words.
"An Elf, no. My mother dead, yes, but not from pride." he said to the newcomer. He saw the Uruk-hai lift his tankard and drink some of it's contents, which he didn't want to know what they were, and then he set it down with a loud thump. He continued talking to Sargtlin.

"Pretty quiet in 'ere tonight, last time I was 'ere der woz a massive ruck, it were amazin', but yez know, a change is as gud as a rest."

Sargtlin looked up at the Uruk-hai's face, looking straight into his eyes.
"Oh? Are you so sure about that? Well, would you enjoy that it turn into another brawl, because I can start one very quickly." asked Sargtlin with a sinister grin on his face. He quickly whipped out one of his throwing knives and buried it's tip into the wooden table top, seeing whether the Uruk-hai wanted a brawl or whether he wanted to just talk, thought right now he was fine with either. Before hand though, he decided to lower his hood back down.

Wurzag stared at the quivering knife and blinked. Then he gulped some ale and sniffed. There were some pretty heavy implications embedded in the table right there and the half-orc wasn't entirely sure he wanted to investigate them. He opted instead to tackle the curious issue of his companions heritage. "So," he began carefully, "if yooz ain't an elf, wot are ye?" He quirked an eyebrow and peered carefully under the concealing hood the man wore. "Cuz ye look like an elf; ye got pointy ears an pointy cheeks an a pointy chin. Elfs generally 'ave pointy stuff." He returned his gaze to the dagger. "Dat's pretty pointy too."

He finished off the first pint of ale and stared thoughtfully into the foam of the remaining two. It was clear that this, he made a conscious effort to think person, was in the mood for a bit of a punch-up. The man was obviously armed and probably knew how to use his weapons judging by his warrior attire. Wurzag sighed at having yet again left his sword back at the tavern, if it came to a fight he would be woefully unprepared. He loved that sword, but it was a huge, unwieldy thing and strutting around town with it strapped to his back quickly became troublesome; the back-scabbard tended to get stuck in doorways and it made it incredibly awkward to visit the privies.

Still, he brightened, a little thing like being outnumbered, unarmed and with no hope of victory had never stopped him before. He could always use a famously orcish tactical withdrawal if the situation started to go awry.

"Anyways, sorry to 'ear about yer muvva, it ain't easy bein' a nipper wiv no wun to watch yer back." Growing up in the orc tribe with only a foul-smelling, ill-tempered, cantankerous father had not exactly been an idyllic childhood, but then as Wurzag frequently pointed out to Taryn, adversity was a character building experience. Usually it came out as, 'quit yer noise an ged on wiv it,' but the meaning was much the same.

A thought occurred to him, "'ere," he said leaning in close and speaking in a conspiratorially hushed tone, "if yez lookin' fer a scrap I reckon dat lady over der," he gestured to the warrior woman, "wud be well up fer a fight if yez went over der an tried to pinch 'er arse." He grinned, "I reckon dem fellas 'ave been tryin' all night but she ain't too shabby wiv 'er fists." He waggled his eyebrows and inclined his head toward the injured thugs surrounding the female warrior at a safe distance.

Sargtlin saw the half-orc looking at the deadly blade stuck in the table, still quivering in the wood. He watched him gulp down some of his drink that he had purchased, then he spoke to Sargtlin.

"So, if yooz ain't an elf, wot are ye? Cuz ye look like an elf; ye got pointy ears an pointy cheeks an a pointy chin. Elfs generally 'ave pointy stuff."

"I, am a Drow. You might be able to say I'm and Elf, but I'm not." he said in response to the half-orc's question. He watched the Uruk-hai's gaze slowly return back to the sharp knife sticking in the wood.

"Dat's pretty pointy too."

Sargtlin smiled sinisterly at the words of the half-orc. Sargtlin was feeling rather laid-back that night, more laid-back than he usually did in pubs even, which is where he was most relaxed.
"Some how, even I can enjoy relaxing every once in a while. Right now a fight is fine, and just relaxing is fine." he thought, then he reached to the hilt of the knife that was in the table and slowly brought it out of the wood. He watched the light from a fire burning a little ways off reflecting in the cold blade of the knife. As he was gazing into the cold blade he heard the Uruk-hai's voice again.

"Anyways, sorry to 'ear about yer muvva, it ain't easy bein' a nipper wiv no wun to watch yer back."

Sargtlin quickly sheathed the knife into it's sheath on the inside of his leg.
"I find that usually I don't have to watch my back, because I'm starting down someone else's back with a knife in hand." he said to the half-orc with the same cruel and sinister smile that his face had been adorned with earlier, "Anyway, spare your tears over me, for I was the one who killed her in the first place." Before he had time to think to himself he heard the Uruk-hai's voice again.

"Ere, if yez lookin' fer a scrap I reckon dat lady over der wud be well up fer a fight if yez went over der an tried to pinch 'er arse. I reckon dem fellas 'ave been tryin' all night but she ain't too shabby wiv 'er fists."

Sargtlin did almost laugh at the bruises covering the drunkards and thugs bodies.
"Perhaps, but I prefer tossing knives into throats, it's more fun. And either way, I'm not sure which I want to do more, just relax or fight. A sword fight I'd prefer over just a normal fight, but I don't think many of these drunkards would be up to swinging their sword around without killing themselves in the process." he said in response to the Uruk-hai. He shifted his position on the uncomfortable, creaky wooden chair.
"By the way, what would your name happen to be?" he asked the half-orc.

Something about the creature was rather unsettling; he reminded Wurzag a little too much of the vile bandits he had once disagreed with so long ago. The way the man smiled at the idea of injuring another and took pleasure at the concept of killing were not desirable qualities. He even admitted to having killed his own mother, though Wurzag would not make any sort of judgment on that since there were plenty of times he could have happily strangled his father. Still, the half-orc found himself starting to dislike his new drinking companion; he was arrogant and smiled a little too much like a predator for something that walked on two legs.

"Names Wurzag," he growled, "Wurzag 'elmsplitta, but most folks just call me Wurzag, or nuffin at all if I'm fightin' in da pit." He scratched his head and tried to remember if he had ever heard of a drow before. The name didn't sound familiar, but then he had never been very good with names. Or numbers. Or most other things not related to fighting and drinking. He decided to examine the facts and work upward from there.

Firstly, the man looked like an elf. He had elven features, a flowery turn of speech and carried himself with the same sort of haughty demeanor. Second, he had black skin. Wurzag was not aware of many races that had such unusual pigmentation. He had encountered a few humans from the hot-lands with darker tones, but they were quite unlike this individual and tended to dress in airy, flamboyant style. Third, he carried an array of well-honed weaponry and obviously knew how to use it if his words were to be believed. Finally, he seemed to enjoy death and killing and had no qualms about murdering members of his own family.

With tantalising slowness a memory fought its way to the surface through the mired layers of Wurzag-thought. It was not that the half-orc was stupid, it was simply that his mental processes tended to only work one way and were very, very direct. In fact, Wurzag-thought was very much like catapult stone; it only traveled one way and usually made an impact at the other end.

Suddenly, it came to him.

Drow!

He had once had a half-drunken conversation with a mercenary in a bar in a village somewhere south of Lomedor. The man claimed to have journeyed with a party of warriors into the warren of caves beneath the earth and there discovered a number of black-skinned elven creatures. They had not been interested in talk or trade and proceeded to butcher his companions with sadistic glee. He had barely escaped with his life after hiding beneath one of the hacked corpses and had heard their jeers as he fled, 'flee before the drow!' they had yelled and their cruel laughter followed.

Wurzag had thought the man a fool, but he had been amused by the name he had given the black-elves. It tumbled unbidden from his lips before he'd had time to properly analyse how insulting it may be. Little things like racial etiquette tended to go somewhat over his head.

"You're a fuggin mullet-pixie ain't ya!" He grinned triumphantly.

Sargtlin listened to the Uruk-hai as he spoke to Sargtlin.

"Names Wurzag, Wurzag 'elmsplitta, but most folks just call me Wurzag, or nuffin at all if I'm fightin' in da pit."

He watched the half-orc, Wurzag, scratch his head after he had spoken, as if trying to recall a memory.
"Wurzag, eh? My name is Sargtlin Olath." he said to Wurzag. Sargtlin saw that the half-orc was thinking, about what he didn't know.
"He seems, odd, I'm not entirely sure what to think of him. He has some qualities that I very much like, and other's that are not entirely favorable." he thought as he heard the Uruk-hai suddenly speak again.

"You're a fuggin mullet-pixie ain't ya!"

Sargtlin was slightly bewildered at first.
"What?" he said with a strong touch of displeasure in his deep voice, for he seemed to not take the comment as a compliment. He was caught off guard at first, for that was one name that he had never been called or even heard before. He shifted his position in his seat, gazing darkly at the Uruk-hai.
"So, perhaps you would care to repeat that comment?" he said, his left hand resting almost carelessly on the pommel of his sword. He knew that if he wished to take this Uruk-hai's life if would be a fairly simple task, for the half-orc was completely unarmed, or at least as far as he could tell. He would be quite happy if the half-orc did repeat the comment, and if he didn't then that would perhaps be alright. If the half-orc did repeat it, then he would probably start a fight, which Sargtlin enjoyed. If he didn't repeat it, then he could continue to relax, for a change. There was a glint in his eyes, a wicked glint, one that was eager to get on with a fight, but he knew that if the half-orc was not foolish enough to repeat the comment then he could still keep himself under control.

"Wot? mullet-pixie?" Wurzag replied with a puzzled expression, "yeah, it were a name I 'eard ages ago when I woz travelin' down souf somewhere," he flapped a hand in a random direction that may or may not have been south. "Funny story actually," he began on his second pint, draining half the tankard in a single swallow. "I 'ad been moochin' about down dere lookin' fer a few silver an sumfing to fight an I ended up in dis dodgy lookin' dive," he glanced around the Qu'ellar and recognised the irony of the description, "yeah, a bit like dis, only wiv more dirt."

The fact that the moniker seemed to have offended Sargtlin seemed not to register at all. Wurzag was blissfully unaware of complexities such as racial slurs and the idea that a few words could be considered a deadly insult never even occurred to him. None the wiser he forged ahead with his tale, pleased that he had a reason to relate one of his more amusing anecdotes.

"I were in dis bar anyway an der woz dis fella sat in da corner shiverin' like a wreck. I fought 'e might 'ave 'ad one too many if yez know wot I mean an figured 'e wud be a laff to 'ave a drink wiv so I parked me arse an started yakin' an dis fella just starts wakklin' on about da 'murderin' mullet-pixies in da caves' an 'ow dey killed all 'is mates."

He paused in his tale to down some more drink.

"Anyways, I says to 'im, 'wot da fuggin 'ell is a mullet-pixie?' an dis fella goes crazy! Starts jabberin' about 'ow 'im an a bunch of mercs 'eard from some merchant about guld in da caves near da town. Bein' da clever sort dey decided to go an bag dat guld fer 'emselves an mooched on down into da tunnels. Wot dey found woz bunch of fellas wot looked like yooz an dey weren't too pleased to see 'em."

He chuckled to himself as he related the tale.

"See dese mullet-pixie fellas decided dat da guld was aready ders an hacked all 'is mates up good an proper an 'e 'ad to 'ide under one of da bodies to get away. Course, I reckon dese fellas knew 'e was der all da time an woz just playin' wiv 'im coz it ain't 'ard to tell a ded bloke from a livin' one an dey chased 'im out of dere caves an told 'im to watch out for da drows coz one day dey woz gonna get 'im."

Wurzag smirked, "anyways, dat merc fella woz proper crazy by da time I left dere an wouldn't stop bangin' on about 'ow da drows woz gonna get us all or sumfing. Last I 'eard dey 'ad locked 'im up in some 'ome fer da ditsturbed." He pointed a thick forefinger at his head and nodded sadly. "Shame when a fella gets like dat, probbly betta to just killz 'im an be dun wiv it."

He polished off the second drink and gazed hungrily into the foam atop the third.

"Anyways, dats me story about drows an mullet-pixies, wot do yez reckon?"

Sargtlin wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not when he heard the Uruk-hai's voice speak to him again, but he decided to stay his sword until he had heard out the Uruk-hai's words, then he would decide to kill or not.

"Wot? mullet-pixie? yeah, it were a name I 'eard ages ago when I woz travelin' down souf somewhere. Funny story actually, I 'ad been moochin' about down dere lookin' fer a few silver an sumfing to fight an I ended up in dis dodgy lookin' dive, yeah, a bit like dis, only wiv more dirt. I were in dis bar anyway an der woz dis fella sat in da corner shiverin' like a wreck. I fought 'e might 'ave 'ad one too many if yez know wot I mean an figured 'e wud be a laff to 'ave a drink wiv so I parked me arse an started yakin' an dis fella just starts wakklin' on about da 'murderin' mullet-pixies in da caves' an 'ow dey killed all 'is mates."

Sargtlin watched as the Uruk-hai paused to take a drink from his beaker.
"Well, I've made at least a few decisions about this Uruk-hai: he's blunt, quick to talk and slow to think. But that last part he says makes me think that he's talking about the home of most of the Drow. I never grew up there, for my clan as they said they were, were outcasts from the...I believe they called the homeland the 'Underdark' or something like that. I very much need to visit there sometime, if I'm not killed as soon as they figure out where I came from." he thought as he heard the Uruk-hai begin to speak again, chuckling part-way through.

"Anyways, I says to 'im, 'wot da fuggin 'ell is a mullet-pixie?' an dis fella goes crazy! Starts jabberin' about 'ow 'im an a bunch of mercs 'eard from some merchant about guld in da caves near da town. Bein' da clever sort dey decided to go an bag dat guld fer 'emselves an mooched on down into da tunnels. Wot dey found woz bunch of fellas wot looked like yooz an dey weren't too pleased to see 'em. See dese mullet-pixie fellas decided dat da guld was aready ders an hacked all 'is mates up good an proper an 'e 'ad to 'ide under one of da bodies to get away. Course, I reckon dese fellas knew 'e was der all da time an woz just playin' wiv 'im coz it ain't 'ard to tell a ded bloke from a livin' one an dey chased 'im out of dere caves an told 'im to watch out for da drows coz one day dey woz gonna get 'im. anyways, dat merc fella woz proper crazy by da time I left dere an wouldn't stop bangin' on about 'ow da drows woz gonna get us all or sumfing. Last I 'eard dey 'ad locked 'im up in some 'ome fer da ditsturbed. Shame when a fella gets like dat, probbly betta to just killz 'im an be dun wiv it. Anyways, dats me story about drows an mullet-pixies, wot do yez reckon?"

At the end of the half-orc's tale, Sargtlin smirked and began to speak to the half-orc.
"Well, let me say that that is a good description of most of the Drow that I've had the," Sargtlin said, pausing part way through as he sought for a good word, "Privilege to be with. Most are very cruel and good hunters and killers, and they wouldn't have a bit of remorse or pity at killing a whole band of sell-swords as you say."
"Especially the Drow that I grew up with, but they were meant as killing machines." he thought after he had finished talking. Sargtlin had never actually been to the Underdark, the home of the Drow as he knew it, but he had met several Drow along his travels, some of them he actually got along with quite well, others he had decided that he wanted them dead, and shortly afterwards they were found in a bloody pool, sometimes with a blood trail from Sargtlin going away from the body. He decided that for now, his sword would stay in it's sheath, for now.

(OOC: Sorry for the delayed post.))

Wurzag nodded as his strange companion described his own people in a way that left little to the imagination. It didn't exactly do the drow any favours in Wurzag's eyes, but then he had already decided that Sargtlin could be less than savoury when he wanted to be, and from what the dark elf had said, that was most of the time. He leaned back in his chair which creaked ominously and gulped a little of his third pint. "So den," he said having successfully and unwittingly dodged offending the man, "wot do yez do when you ain't 'agin' around in dodgy bars an talkin' to 'alf-orcs?"

He had already decided that the lanky drow was some sort of warrior, though if he were a lone mercenary he seemed somewhat unapproachable for regular clients to want to make the effort. Merchants that wanted their caravans guarded tended to go with people they either knew they could rely on or at least looked moderately trust-worthy. Examining the ebon-skinned creature before him Wurzag decided that Sargtlin failed on both counts. Added to that was the fact that if the Qu'ellar was his usual haunt then he was about as likely to find a respectable merchant as Wurzag was of learning to fly.

"Yooz eva done any pit fighting?"

In a sporting environment with nothing more than few silvers and the entertainment of the crowd at stake the half-orc would not have minded seeing the drow in action. The man had already admitted that he did not fight fair, but Wurzag could deal with that; in the arena everything was acceptable and only those with an eye for battle or exceptional luck would succeed to fame and fortune. Wurzag hadn't quite achieved the fame or fortune yet but he wasn't about to be deterred, it was only a matter of time. Probably.

"Just out ov curiosity," Wurzag continued as an idea occurred to him, "'ow many of yooz fellas are der runnin' around up 'ere? Only yooz is da first one I as seen in da flesh. Before dis I fought yooz was all some rubbish story made up by dat drunk in da bar so der can't be dat many of yez right? Or duz yez all 'ang out some some big, secret drow place?"

Wurzag had never fully explored Lomedor beyond the battle arena, the square and many of the bars. The temple of life was as exotic as he had ever got, and even that had been less than fascinating since it was full of small furry creatures he wasn't allowed to eat in case they were a God. It wasn't entirely out of the question that there was a great big drow boarding house somewhere in the poor quarter and people had simply neglected to tell him.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Sargtlin watched the Uruk-hai lean back in the creaky chair and sipped at his third pint of the beverage. Then he spoke to Sargtlin again.

"So den, wot do yez do when you ain't 'agin' around in dodgy bars an talkin' to 'alf-orcs?"

Sargtlin was not used to such talkative company, or an company for that matter. He was usually the most solitary and alone by choice people he knew, though with the arrival of Vhid that was lessened, but was still very true.
"Most of the time I spend thinking to myself and wandering, or hunting by as my job. Though I hunt animals, I have type of prey that I prefer over animals." he said in response, his eyes glinting with his addiction to blood. He gazed at his hand as he talked, imagining it covered in blood. As he stared at his hand, he heard the voice of the Uruk-hai talking to him.

"Yooz eva done any pit fighting?"

Sargtlin remembered some of the battles that he had in an arena, though few he still enjoyed them.
"In Termáre Dagor you mean? Yes, a few times, I've had a few bloody battles in there." he said to the questioning Uruk-hai, beginning his inquisition again.

"Just out ov curiosity, ow many of yooz fellas are der runnin' around up 'ere? Only yooz is da first one I as seen in da flesh. Before dis I fought yooz was all some rubbish story made up by dat drunk in da bar so der can't be dat many of yez right? Or duz yez all 'ang out some some big, secret drow place?"

Sargtlin stared hard at the Uruk-hai, almost as if trying to pierce through his flesh with his eyes alone.
"I don't know very much of the Drow, but what I do know is that most of the Drow live in an enormous underground world called the Underdark. It is welcome only to the Drow. I have never actually been there myself, but I have heard the tales from my Drow clan as they said they were, for their ancestors were outlaws in the Underdark and were cast out, left to wander Arda as outcasts from their own race. I am the only one of the clan of outcasts that still lives, the rest lay dead, rotten. There are a few others like me, cast out or by their own decision have left the Underdark and roam the surface of Arda." he said to the half-orc, staring at him before beginning his own inquisition.
"So what about you? I have seen very few Uruk-hai, in fact you are the forth Uruk-hai I've seen. I've seen plenty of Orcs, but very few half-orcs. I admire the fighting capabilities and efficiency of the Uruk-hai that I've met and had the pleasure to fight. So is there any special place where the Uruk-hai gather?" he asked.

"Well da Undadark sounds like a barrel ov laffs!" The half-orc rumbled, "must be fun for da rest ov da people wot liv down der, 'avin' to put up wiv gettin' chased by drow all day!" He tried to imagine bands of mercenaries chased hither and too through lightless tunnels by gangs of marauding drow warriors wielding spears and tridents. "Dunt fink yooz wud find any 'alf-orcses down der but den, as you say, der ain't dat many ov us around." Thus far Wurzag had not encountered even a single example of his own kind, even among the tribes of his birth who had all been pure-blood orcs or goblins. "Dunt fink der is a speshul 'alf-orc 'ang out eiver, unless dey ain't tellin' me," he sniffed, "gits." He swirled the remainder of his ale and glared sullenly into the foamy whirlpool.

"So all you duz all day is finkin', wanderin' an huntin'," Wurzag said thoughtfully, "dat must get well borin', I can see why yez need to kick back an 'ave a drink in 'ere if dats all yooz duz all day." He thought back to his recent adventures with Taryn and Thal, the battle with the brigands and the almost disastrous confrontation with the Lich. He had almost died. Twice. Thinking, wandering and hunting probably had their benefits when compared to near death experiences and at least once the latter of the tasks was complete you had something to eat at the end.

"I caught a bear once," the half-orc continued conversationally, "it were dis big!" He spread his arms as far as they would go and flapped his hands. "An it weren't 'appy to be caught neiver," he shook his head. "Trouble was I dint know wot to do wiv it once it woz caught an we just sat der starin' at eachuver fer ages. I fink it wanted to eat me." He chuckled, "I wanted to eat it too, but bear ain't dat easy to carve while it's tryin' to bite yer 'ead off."

He gave the drow a shrug and finished off the third pint. "In da end I 'ad to wait fer it to get knackered out an fall asleep, den I bashed it in de 'ead wiv a rock." Wurzag frowned at the memory, "it woke up gud an proper den and legged it of into da woods." He sniffed, "nicked off wiv me rope an all. One day I'm gonna catch dat fuggin bear an get me stuff back an den I'm gonna kick it in de 'ead an eat it." He ended his tale with a nod that bounced his mass of dreadlocks around like a basket of snakes. Having temporarily exhausted his supply of drink he peered around the tavern for a likely source of refreshment.

The crowd surrounding the female barbarian had mostly dispersed and had been replaced by a single individual who was rolling around on the floor and clutching his groin. An occasional mewling sound escaped his lips as he tried and failed to suppress the pain of his obviously wounded manhood. Wurzag couldn't help but chuckle at the sight; the girl certainly knew how to take care of herself even in a place a sordid as the Qu'ellar. "Gud girl," he muttered and went back to his vigil.

Presently a halfling with a tray scuttled between the tables deftly scooping up empty drinking vessels and coins with nimble precision. Wurzag threw a tankard at him and followed his projectile with an order for mead and another ale. The diminutive servant dodged the makeshift missile and hurried off to comply. Wurzag idly pondered what possessed such an obvious target to want to work in a place as blatantly threatening as the Drital, but as the little man scurried away the half-orc's eyebrows raised in enlightenment. As he moved, the miniature pot collector slipped his nimble fingers into the loose pockets of the tavern's patrons and helped himself to their poorly guarded wealth.

The half-orc gave a barking laugh and returned his attention to his ebony companion. "Now I've seen fuggin everyfing," he said, pointing out the little man's antics to the drow, "dats da funniest fing I've seen since Taryn set some blokes 'ead on fire."

Sargtlin leaned back into the creaky wooden chair, looking at the Uruk-hai as he spoke.

"Well da Undadark sounds like a barrel ov laffs! must be fun for da rest ov da people wot liv down der, 'avin' to put up wiv gettin' chased by drow all day! Dunt fink yooz wud find any 'alf-orcses down der but den, as you say, der ain't dat many ov us around. Dunt fink der is a speshul 'alf-orc 'ang out eiver, unless dey ain't tellin' me, gits."

Sargtlin closed his eyes partway, beginning to feel rather relaxed and at ease.
"It would be rather odd to see anything except Drow in the Underdark, least ways from what I've heard." he said. He went so far as to kick his feet up onto the table top, the same one that earlier had had his knife blade stuck into the wood's grain. As he did, he heard the half-orc's voice again.

"So all you duz all day is finkin', wanderin' an huntin', dat must get well borin', I can see why yez need to kick back an 'ave a drink in 'ere if dats all yooz duz all day. I caught a bear once, it were dis big!"

Sargtlin watched the half-orc spread his arms as wide as he could, trying to show how large the bear had been, before continuing.

"An it weren't 'appy to be caught neiver. Trouble was I dint know wot to do wiv it once it woz caught an we just sat der starin' at eachuver fer ages. I fink it wanted to eat me. I wanted to eat it too, but bear ain't dat easy to carve while it's tryin' to bite yer 'ead off. In da end I 'ad to wait fer it to get knackered out an fall asleep, den I bashed it in de 'ead wiv a rock. it woke up gud an proper den and legged it of into da woods. nicked off wiv me rope an all. One day I'm gonna catch dat fuggin bear an get me stuff back an den I'm gonna kick it in de 'ead an eat it."

Sargtlin snickered slightly at the mental image of the description from the half-orc.
"Yes, I can imagine that it did want to eat you." he thought before speaking again.
"So, now you don't have a rope, eh? Pity, they come in handy for stuff like tying prisoners up with." he said, thinking about the many times that he would have liked a nice rope to tie his prisoner up with, if he had the rope it would have been much easier on each of the occasions that passed through his mind. Sargtlin watched the half-orc glance back over to the warrior woman. Sargtlin's own gaze wandered back to the crowd, but when his eyes scanned the area all but one lone man were gone, and the one man left was lying on the ground, rolling in pain. Apparently the woman had been teaching him a lesson, one that he didn't seem to enjoy. Sargtlin let out a faint chuckle at the sight, as he heard the half-orc mutter.

"Gud girl,"

Sargtlin watched as a halfling scurried in between tables, picking up used mugs, utensils, and of course coins. He watched as Wurzag tossed an emptied mug at the halfling, ordering some mead and another drink. Sargtlin watched the halfling nimbly dodge the projectile, probably having plenty of practice, and went off to comply to the order. Sargtlin watched the halfling deftly slip his fingers into the filled pockets of patrons, taking out their money and possessions with ease.

"Now I've seen fuggin everyfing, dats da funniest fing I've seen since Taryn set some blokes 'ead on fire."

Sargtlin heard a laugh come out of Wurzag as he began to speak.
"Setting a man's head on fire? That's something I haven't seen." he thought after hearing the words of the half-orc.
"Sounds like an interesting friend you have." he said, putting his feet back on the floor as he stood to his feet. He stretched his body after he had stood up, for he had been sitting for quite some time. He was wondering where his follower, Vhid, was, for he was supposed to be in the pub by a bit ago.
"I believe that I must be going now, Wurzag, but I imagine that I might see you again, perhaps even on the battlefield?" he said with a slight smile, then he turned and walked out through the pubs doors in search of his ally. He was hoping that he would see the half-orc again, preferably on the battlefield.