Book 3: Chapter 6: The Redlip Riot (2)
Malt and I ran around a corner and smack dab into a grumble of angry dwarves. Their swollen red lips caused them to blubber and spit as they wrestled in the middle of the street. Thankfully, they were too busy fighting each other to pay us much mind. That didn’t stop a couple from taking swings at us as we passed, but a few ‘warning taps’ from my warhammer using [Basic Slash] took care of that.
The market had been transformed from its earlier fun and cheer. Where before there’d been a long street of bazaars and open shop-fronts, there were now ripped up tents and foreboding metal gates. The cobbles were covered variously with beer and comatose red-lipped red-eyed dwarves. The occasional gnome peppered awnings and roofs, as they made quite a bit more distance on the toss. It looked like a warzone.
“You seem very level-headed about all this.” Malt commented.
“I’ve seen similar, and I'm trying to work on my perspective of late. Therapist's orders. ‘Take things in stride as they come and avoid getting bogged down’.”
“Good advice! What are you thinking about right now, if you don't mind me asking?”
“How did this happen?” I hissed, as we ducked into a doorway to avoid another band of roving drunks. They challenged a nearby grumble to a game of rock, pick, dwarf that quickly devolved into everyone throwing rocks, picks, and dwarves at each other.
“Are you askin’ ‘cause you don’t know, or was that rhetorical?” Malt chuckled as a screaming gnome flew past at escape velocity.
“Mostly rhetorical.”
“Well, in my opinion, the Dragonator definitely played a part. I’ve never seen an entire crowd get drunk all at once like that.”