Into the Asylum: Fishing

With a sort of terrified resignation, Kirsten reached out a hand to grab the elf, knowing it was already too late.

The pit opened. He fell in.

Ah well, she reasoned, at least it wasn't a  bolt from a siege crossbow. Doubtless the gang wanted to keep any idiot locals who tried to break in alive for questioning. Besides, it wouldn't do to accidentally impale a passing witch-hunter or town official coming to offer a bribe, would it?

"Everyone stay still!" The elf cried weakly. "There maybe other traps! I will survive, though I have a nasty cut on my forehead where I hit the wall on the way down."

"Yeah", she muttered, "No shit Elfie." Hopefully, when he eventually got himself out of that pit, he'd be good enough to leave his ego and impetuosity behind. Then, louder, "I thought you people were supposed to be patient."

Werner's voice grabbed her attention: "Kirsten, if anyone shows up, explain to them we have a drunk down there, the gods know enough people fall down holes if they can't handle their alcohol"

That was good thinking, something she hadn't quite expected from the big labourer. Don't underestimate someone's intelligence just because they're big, she reminded herself.

She muttered her agreement, standing at the edge of the pit and glancing up at the door. Someone was bound to investigate that. Even if they hadn't heard the clatter of the fall, surely they'd have an alarm of some kind rigged to the door. Even if it was nothing more than some scrap iron tied to a rope?

Harbul nattered on about spikes, rats and Ranald knows what else, but the halfling had a point. Malmir had been lucky. It looked like the gangs really had wanted to take intruders alive after all.

Elf-in-a-hole, she chuckled appreciatively at Harbull. That was a good one.

"Don't climb in yet Werner. Even if you boost the elf out, how do we get you out later?"

She looked around, it was too much to expect that anyone would have a rope. Sighing, she removed her jacket, exposing a once-white linen shirt that was far too sheer and clinging for Kirsten's comfort in mixed company. She felt herself blushing once again. This better not rip my jerkin, she thought, holding the garment out towards Harbul.

"Everyone, pass your cloaks or jackets to Harbull." She smiled at the halfling, "We need you to make a line for fishing the elf out his hole."