Ty, sitting in the Boarshead and nursing a bottle of wine, smirks; for his own entertainment, he is rolling a pair of dice on the wooden table repeatedly, noting the results each time. After rolling a pair of snake eyes, he picks up the dice and looks side-to-side. He has heard the rumours that went around, and is listening to Rando speak with a bemused expression on his face. After Rando is finished, he picks up his bottle of wine, takes a pull, and sighs contentedly, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Rolling the dice out on the table, he then looks at no one in particular and speaks in a conversational voice.
"Ridiculous. The Captain of the Guard is trounced by some Dwarven Priestess, and it's a matter of war? Since when does the entire town 'ave to care if the head of the militia gets roughed up by someone? Shouldn' the freakin' Captain be able to defend 'imself? Isn' he Norwick's most . . . Able warrior?"
Ty pauses, drinking against from the wine and picking his dice up to roll round in his hand, absently. He continues to casually converse with the air.
"There're no laws posted in regards to religion. Nobody stopped those who worship evil Gods from wanderin' 'round, before. Suddenly – oh, no -- it's a Banite, and we're supposed to care? Big deal."
Juggling the dice from hand-to-hand, Tyche leans back in his chair and props a leg up on the table. His eyes follow the dice in their circular path, and he talks more to himself.
"I think it's funny, really. The militia picks a fight with someone they can't 'andle, and now everyone who has that dwarf's back is out for the militia, and Norwick is going to stand a chance?" Ty throws a hand up in the air. He, then, catches one of the die as it falls toward the ground. "She beat up the Captain! The best man. Best to just bow down, take the bruises, and let 'em leave the town alone . . . Hells, I heard it wasn't much of a brawl, either. Trounced 'em, solidly . . . Damn politics . . . "
Ty snickers, pocketing his dice, then drinks from his bottle some more, finishing it off to the last drop. Belching quietly, he pushes his chair back and stands. Stretchign his arms out in a gesture that encompasses the room, he smiles widely, shouting in a verbose tone.
"Bring on a war, and luck be with the lucky."
Ty strides out of the bar with a slight swagger, followed by the sound of his own laughter and the bar noise.
