A Really Disrespectful Brawl

Flynn took his sweet time gathering his senses enough to recognize my mug. Thankfuylly he sobered up proper quick, it wouldn't have been a good fight otherwise. He had appearently made some friends with the orcs at the table, of which I recognized none.
It was just like old times. I faced Flynn and two of his henchmen, while Chadwick faced one of his own and Jörthur blocked the door. The rest of the crew watched and helped where they could, but what impressed me the most was the mercenary and the crazed inventor.
Out of nowhere a giant metal construct came flying and cut down two orcs, the giant close behind stupidly smiling, keeping up his act. On the other side, another metal construct, that of the heavily armoured mercenary, heartily cracked an orc leg - that in itself a feat - and beat down another.
 
His orc companions on the ground, there was only Flynn left standing, but when push came to shove, Flynn showed just why he can never be trusted. That shitfilled barnacle first sneakily stabbed me in a fist fight, with some weird magic, and when he realized he was fucked beyond belief, he chugged a potion and turned invisible.
The inbred fucking orc fled the fight. I should not be surprised, he was always a craven, but to turn invisible and run is a new low. Jörthur, bless his heart, thought I'd won and congratulated me, leaving the door left open.
 
I chose to do some enchanced interrogation. The orc whose leg was broken was found, and with some applied force and some translating, I found out that the orcs was no more than an admirer of boastful stories. Seeing them proven false led them to hate Flynn just about as much as me, and that I was happy with.
I grabbed Flynns dear boarding axe, seeing as he left it being busy fleeing. A weapon this fine needs a worthy owner, and Flynn is not the one. I am.
 
Me and Brad immediately after set out on the docks to search the area after what I was pretty sure would be positioned in the docks, and I was proven correct. Far down the southern docks laid the Pitched Wanker, currently being loaded with cargo. Seeing as we left the rest of the crew in the tavern, we decided to lay low and return.
Pryter has obviously set out to equip himself with some aces up his sleeve, and I don't intend to die quite yet. We need more men, soldiers and a ship.
 
The morning after brought with it, to no surprise, a disappeared Pitched Wanker. I scouted the area where I and Brad had seen the ship the last night, and spoke with a local harbor crook. The shit was an expensive one, but he had good information. Now I know the warehouse the Pitched Wanker use to store supplies. It will need to be properly investigated later on.
 
Anytime now, the guards of this city will come and bring us to the king. I do hope he'll pay us for the drake, and perhaps give us some insight into what is going down at the docks. It is direly needed, this city is just tying itself into knots in front of me.