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Heresh was just making himself comfortable. He had ordered another mug, and was absent mindly sharing stories with the Half-elf, even if the half-elf wasn't sharing back. He wasn't paying attention to the door, and missed the robed man come in, but the following group made sure they were known. Three men came through the door, each adorned in the armour of the local enforment, which consisted of nothing more than patch-work leather armour, old swords, and a rather funny looking chicken emblam.
"We are looking for a fugitive." annouced the lead man, placing his hands on his hips in an authoritative manner. His eyes carefully scanned the crowd, passing over the common patrons, the man hiding under the table, the half-elf, and Heresh, who was in mid swig of his new drink. "He is wanted for the robbery of Tillibrad Maychief's coach. Heresh almost choked on his drink, stifling the liquid down his throat. "There is a 1000 gold coin reward for his capture!" the others in the tavern seemed to lighten up to that comment, as the sound of several weapons could be heard sliding out of their crude sheathes.
Heresh shot his glance from side to side, and slowly placed his mug on the table. Then, he quietly slid himself down the stool, and onto the floor. The half-elf c0cked his glance towards Heresh, but didn't care much. Heresh began to crawl along the floor of the tavern, snaking his body between stools, chairs and tables, his arms tucked into his sides tightly, and his red jacket trailing the ground. He had almost made it to the door, when his nose accidently bumped into a rather inoppertune object. He looked up, a large childish grin on his face, and his eyes squinted.
"Hello!" He said casually. The lead man snorted, and placed his hand on the hilt of his weapon. Heresh chuckled nervously, then, in a instant was on his feet.
"You're under-" started the man, but was suddenly cut off by the sight of Heresh snaking past him, and his compatriotes, and out the door.
The three men followed. The man who had crawled under the table crawled out, and looked curiosly at the door, somewhat baffled by what had just happened. Suddenly, everyone in the tavern heard shouting, and the sound of blades being drawn, followed by four loud cracks, as if the sky was torn asunder by something. They then heard some quiet, childish, nervous, laughter, and the sound of leather boots running off. One of the patrons went to the door, and opened it up a crack. Outside, the three enforcers were laying on the ground, in a heap, the rather large bulky sign of the Green Griffin laying on top. Scattered around them, their swords were laying in the dirt. The man peered off down the road, catching the last glimpse of Heresh running off, knees raising high with each stride, arms pumping furiously into the night...
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