Nearly half a dozen men fumbled out of their chairs and came rushing at (and past) Constans after he connected that first solid punch, the entire bar erupting into chaos. The Tranquil, more prepared this time, ducked and back-stepped as two lurching men grabbed at him simultaneously, one mule-like kick buckling the legs of his first attacker and sending him crashing into the table nearest the fireplace. The men at that table, already leaping from their chairs, took hold of the unfortunate local before the crowd swept him out of Constans' sight. The other man grabbed a rough handful of Constans' shirt and yanked him backwards. He stumbled, arms flying out to catch his balance; his fingers found another man's belt and latched on, dragging the startled drunk toward him with a below of surprise but stopping his downward momentum just enough. He drove his elbow into his attacker's stomach as he caught his balance, abruptly released the man he'd used as ballast and spun to drive another blow into the local's midsection. The second attacker doubled over, but Constans lost track of him near-instantly when the third man he'd accidentally accosted, sloppy drunk and enraged by the unexpected assault on his trousers, slammed a fist into the Tranquil’s cheekbone. It was a solid blow and drove the young man back against a table, shattering more crockery and making his vision swim.
From the corner of his eye Constans saw the ruddy face of the first belligerent drunk, Martin, looming down toward him; stunned from the blow he'd just received, he roused himself just in time to roll off the table's other side, barely avoiding a blow. Martin howled and cradled his hand, and Constans saw no more of him, now sprawled in an awkward position over the edge of a chair. The man who'd just punched him came at him yet again, staggering, and Constans kicked out with both legs to batter him back. It worked, and he used the half-second of respite he gained as the man careened into a dwarf (he had no idea how or why the dwarf, whom he had seen earlier sitting all the way across the room, had waded this far into the fray so quickly, but the man did not seem interested in attacking Constans so the Tranquil gave it no more thought) to jump to his feet and retreat, ducking and weaving awkwardly through the press of bodies. A man without pride sees no dishonor in fleeing when outnumbered.
At that moment a fist latched firmly onto his collar. He tried to wrench himself away automatically, only to find himself in the iron grip of his own stern brother. Blinking owlishly back at Lukaer with apparent calm in the face of the madhouse scene surrounding him, Constans submitted to his brother's jostling without needing to be further convinced. He looked around curiously as he thought he heard his name called out, half-drowned by the din, both brothers rubbernecking for the source. There, he was certain he had seen the Warden Rhocanth's face flash through the press of bodies for just a moment. His brother was calling for Rhocanth now, yet although only he of the two Ledaals present knew which direction they ought to go to find him, Lukaer's grip was strong and Constans meekly allowed himself to be herded away.
The pair reached the edge of the crowd after only a few brief, hazardous moments, creeping out along the bar (abandoned by an enraged bartender already himself in the center of the fray and wielding, of all possible options, what appeared to be his own sock with something blunt and heavy stuffed down into the toe) when the real explosion hit. A mass cry of alarm went up around the room as something sizzled through the crowd, men flying back into others a perfect circle as if bludgeoned back by some invisible barrier.