LogFAQs > #985608703

You've chosen B, a path of cunning and misdirection. A classic gnomish solution.

Instead of confronting the two brutes directly, you decide to appeal to their more primal instincts. You remain seated, your expression unreadable, and subtly reach out with your mind. You recall the scuttling, scratching sounds of the oversized wharf rats you've seen scurrying through the city's alleys. It's a sound that makes even the toughest sailor jump.

You weave the illusion, casting the sound so it seems to emanate from the floor right behind Grak and Borin's heels. It's not just a single squeak, but a frantic, multi-layered scratching and chittering, as if a whole nest of the creatures is about to swarm out from between the floorboards.

Grak is in the middle of bellowing an order at the bartender when the sound erupts. Two more of the strongwhat in the Nine Hells was that? His head snaps down, and he takes a clumsy, startled step away from the bar, peering at the grimy floor.

Borin, the scarred man, is even more reactive. With a yelp that is surprisingly high-pitched for a man his size, he hops up onto the rung of a nearby barstool, pulling his feet up as if the floor were lava. Rats! I hate rats! he squeals, his tough-guy facade melting away in an instant.

The sudden commotion draws a few curious glances, but most of the tavern patrons either didn't hear the localized sound or assume the two men are just drunk. Grak, seeing nothing, glares at his companion.

Get down, you fool, theres nothing there, he growls, though he continues to eye the floorboards with suspicion. He takes another step back from the bar, his movement clumsy and agitated. In doing so, his boot heel comes down squarely on the instep of a half-orc who had been quietly nursing his drink at the bar.

The half-orc is built like a stone wall, with a jaw that could crack coconuts. He had been ignoring the commotion until Grak's full, considerable weight landed on his foot. A low, dangerous growl rumbles in the half-orc's chest. He slowly turns, his yellow eyes fixing on Grak with a look of pure murder.
You, the half-orc says, his voice like grinding stones, have made a mistake.

Grak, flustered from the phantom rats and embarrassed by his friend, puffs out his chest. Watch where youre putting your feet, greenskin! he snarls, making a terrible situation infinitely worse.
The half-orc stands up to his full, impressive height, towering over Grak. The tension around the bar skyrockets. The halfling bartender ducks behind the counter. It seems your small illusion has inadvertently lit a much larger fuse.

What do you do?

• A. Stay put and enjoy the show. This is no longer your problem, and it's far more entertaining than your drink ever was.
• B. Try to de-escalate. You started this, after all. You could stand up and try to reason with the half-orc and the two humans.
• C. Take advantage of the distraction. While all eyes are on the confrontation at the bar, you could try to swipe a full tankard from a nearby table.
• D. Prepare for a fight. You slide your walking stick into your lap and subtly shift your weight, ready to spring into action if the violence spills over in your direction.
• E. Anything else.