Wood scratched against wood as chairs were pushed back and several locals staggered to their feet. Mathron felt his jaw tighten as he realized he'd now be facing an entire bar of inebriated angry men who were set upon mashing his face in.
"My quarrel is with only the man who deprived me my meal." Mathron stated bluntly, but saw it did little to defuse the situation. Mathron sighed, and reached for his holy symbol. The followers of Thor do not run from any fight, and if these men wished for battle, Mathron was willing to oblige. As the mob began to close around him, Mathron whispered magic words, praying for his God's might in the up coming skirmish. His prayer seemed to be answered almost immediately as the Elf began glowing with a pale white light. This however did nothing to stop one of the attackers from crowning Mathron with a wooden chair, which broke over the paladin like a wave crashing upon the shore. Strangely, Mathron seemed unaffected.
Mathron felt his training take over has he shifted his weight and pivoted to meet his now chairless attacker. Taking a quick step into the man's proximity Mathron landed a sharp cross on the man's jaw, dropping him. With a swift step back the mob was upon him, clambering over themselves to try and get a swing off at lone 'protagonist'. Mathron back pedaled, ducked and weaved avoiding blows. When the perfect moment struck Mathron lunged forward and connected with several telling blows to the closest drunk. The man's face distorted under the rapid blows from Mathron's fists, and soon the man was trampled by a now frothing mob more intent than ever upon tearing the Elf to pieces. Mathron deflected blows from all angles, only occasionally finding blows coming through to him while he continued to break teeth and ruin faces.
After several minutes of heated blow exchanges most of the mob had been serviced in the face repeatedly by Thor's justice. Many realized they were severely outclassed by this wandering warrior and staggered back to their drinks, while others crawled off dragging near unconscious comrades. Mathron approached the prone and trampled drunk who had started all this business. Placing a hand upon the drunk's forehead, Mathron gently whispered a request to his mighty God, causing the wounds upon the drunk to glow with a bright light. The man stirred as his wounds closed with unnatural celerity, slowly regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw Mathron.
"You owe me a meal and an ale. Do not make me beat you again."
About a half hour later, Mathron walked out of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, content and full of hot lamb and ale. Leaving town, he made for the woods to set up camp. It was here that he crossed paths with Gilorhem, the Mad Dwarf.