Where Davor and Ajax enjoy their meal, there's a ripple of thunder like a crumbling mountainside, and the breeze rolls through the porch hard enough to ripple their napkin and stir their hair.  The cool air is refreshing, if a bit on the humid side.  The servant girl stays out of sight within the cafe, but they can hear the movement of several pairs of feet as the thatch edging rustles above them.  The sloop Aeran was supervising takes advantage of this rush of wind-- perfect timing, they're setting sail at a humming pace thanks to the overland-cooled storm billowing down from the crags-- this time of day, that's where the updrafts end up, as hot air collides with and rises up the jagged peaks of the volcanic spires up the north coast.  The small craft can be heard in the distance as it scoots out of the harbor, its small crew emitting a cheerful whoop in satisfaction that is drowned by the rush of wind at the approaching storm.<br/><br/>((Please roll Perception checks.  Reminder: Please use InvisibleCastle's dice roller, specifying the campaign name as Smolderlands...the S is capitalized.  Paste the link as part of your response, because it doesn't come into play this round.))<br/><br/>The men are privy, despite the wind, to a reasonable approximation of what's happening within.<br/><br/>*<br/><br/>Inside, Aeran's new acquaintance, emboldened by her flirtations, places his hand between her thighs and kneads the flesh up near the junction of her legs.  When she squirms on his lap, he groans excitedly and his free hand goes to cup her bottom unabasedly.  He looks like he's getting impatient, but something about the look in her eyes warns him that he wants to keep trying to make her happy, just in case she's not all ready yet... "Well... my tales of the faithful are few and droll, m'love, but I hear told that..."<br/><br/>The needly-eyed compatriot breaks in, "Oi, it was me told you--"<br/><br/>"Shaddit!" Dogal spits back, before resuming his gap-grinned assuring smile.  "I hear told something about the<i>Mole-Razzak</i>..." ((religion or history knowledge check welcome for any in earshot))<br/><br/>The sound that follows strikes instinctual fear into the inhabitants of the tavern as surely as if a dire viper had just reared its head mid-bar; it is the hiss of blades unsheathed and the soft coo of wooden chairs being scooted on the plank floor.  From the corner of the room where the strange arrivals have been sitting, three men in half-plate and raised-hood cloaks step toward the edge of the bar Aeran occupies with her present company.  The big guy, who thusfar has been apparently contemplating the gravitational forces of Aeran's chest, suddenly springs to life and hoists a hook-tipped knife, his chair slung back a dozen feet and crashing into a table with the force of his motion.  Bottles crash to the hard floor, and there's a few surprised grunts and even a shriek from one of the merchants' wives.<br/><br/>The three men are hosting two-handed blades, each with a sloping, broad curve down.  It's apparent that these four-foot tabas blades' size and weight would probably make them exceptional for chopping just about anything.  They are forming a fan to sweep the room, but, as of yet, have not moved.<br/><br/>On the plus side, in the silence the follows, Dogal isn't quite so priapic.