Everything erupted far to fast for Percival’s liking. He was going to tell the goat he wanted to go with him…the goat would have many shiny things he was certain…however suddenly and without warning chaos descended on the whole room. 

“Get him goblins” a cry echoed through the tavern. Percival didn’t see the shouter but he didn’t care. “Get Him” was not a thing he particularly enjoyed. That command never ended well. Instead he grabbed his full mug of ale and raced towards the back door. 

“Thankyouverymuchbuticantstaygethimnotagoodthingneverendswellandgoodluckmistergoat.” He shouted his response at lightning speed over his shoulder as he ran. Goggles. Good to know. If he remembered he would find a pair for himself. They made your eyes shiny. The girls would love his eyes shiny. He briefly got distracted by the thought of hordes of goblin females fawning on him and his shiny new eyes. So much so that “oof” was the next thing he said. This was because there was a robot in his way, but Percival was so busy looking over his shoulder and dreaming about goblin orgies that he slammed full speed into the automoton. 

“God save the King” was all he had time to mutter before blackness overwhelmed him. He wasn’t out long, just a bare minute, but when he came to he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Noise was all he heard. Lots and lots of noise.

[i]Right. Fight. That was what was going on. A fight. Get him Goblins. Nope. Need to run.[/i]

Those thoughts raced through his head and he stood up quickly. A goblin was standing just in front of him looking dazed and hurling banana bread at people. Odd. Percival cracked him on the head with his mug, grabbed the remainder of the loaf of bread, shoved it into his mouth, and ran out the back door. 

Nimble and quick he scrambled up the wall of the tavern and half-skittered half-ran across the roof. It would be safe up here. He would follow the goat and find goggles of his very own. 

He wasn’t sure where he had found the match, but suddenly it was in his hand. He eyed it curiously. Matches loved him. For some reason they were always jumping onto him. He’d tried to ask them what they liked about him but never got any answer. 

He stared at it and lifted his mug of beer to his lips. A few scant drops was all that fell out. Barely enough to taste. Damnit. Well he was on a tavern after all, he’d just go below and steal some more. He forgot about the fight going on below him and began to scramble back down the front side of the tavern leaving the curious match, lit, on the thatch roof behind him. Forgotten just as the tavern brawl was forgotten. 

He dropped nimbly to the ground and opened the front door upon the chaos of a bar room brawl at precisely the same moment the thatching above him caught fire and the smoke began to fill the air. 
“Um there’s a fire on the roof” he said as loud as he could to those gathered inside. He spied a full flagon of beer which had miraculously gone untouched in the brawl and grabbed it. “Never mind, I’ll just put it out with this.”