Keebler´s underdeveloped and decaying brain registered the tavernkeep´s hostility and jolted his pathetic excuse of a body awake with the power of misplaced anger. Why was the man so keen on shouting up a storm when Keebler, in a move of efficiency and intelligence, had licked up most of the spilled ale? In the time it took him to formulate this rationalization for his never-ending rage, however, the rest of the gnomes had left him in the dust to deal with the mess. His thick eyebrows crumpled into an angry mess. 

[color=#ff9966]"Why I oughtta!..."[/color] he wasn´t sure what he would do exactly, but it sure felt good to scream. He ran off as well, despite the keep´s raging in the background. In times like this, it was like his body had a separate energy reserve for escaping from the consequences of his poor decisions, and the man was out of the tavern in a wink, like a blurry blob of fat and hatred. 

He noticed the others were far ahead of him, and to make matters worse, more physically inclined. Or to be more accurate, they were just less physically disadvantaged than he was. His fury turned to desperation as he realized he´d need their help.

[color=#ff9966]"Oi!"[/color]

[color=#ff9966]"Wait up!!!"[/color]