Friday, 18 May 2012
A Fateful Meeting: Malmir the Charmer
A sudden chord is struck across the fret of a gaudy mandolin. The notes seem to quiver in the air. The sound, sudden and sweet in that filthy street, attracts the eyes of wanderer and wastrel alike but few display anything but contempt and mistrust for an elf. Malmir stepped forwards, the short, beautifully carved bow stave tied to his back rattled against his packed quiver. Theatrically, the elf released the neck of his instrument, letting it fall backwards against his right leg as his lithe fingers gripped the pommel of his sheaved blade.
"If there is a chance of work then I would be more than willing to share any danger or deprivation with honest fellows, retrospective of height or gender!" Malmir said, his eyes flicking wryly at Wanda and Harbull. Glancing up, the elf met the hard eyes of the human male. There appeared to be little sympathy there, though that could just have been innocent, rural stupidity Malmir thought.
"I have not dwelt here long but I know the street the hawker mentioned. It is to the north of here past a tavern called 'The Hanged Man'. It would be a simple task to lead ourselves there and take the contract, though time is, as always, of the essence."
The elf cast his eyes wide and held out his left hand to enforce his point, Wanda followed his gaze and saw other armed groups, some obviously professional and well equipped, others less so. She noted that the elf's right hand never left the pommel of his weapon.
"Any other young sellswords willing to join us quickly?" Malmir addressed the rough crowd as a ringmaster might serenade a boisterous, well armed audience.