Sunday, 3 June 2012
Crouching like a wardancer, Malmir swept gracefully into the hall, his eyes quickly assessing the bloodied, bulky forms for signs of life. He doubted that there'd be any. Experience had taught him bitter lessons in the past, trapped doorways not withstanding, and individuals who ransack squalid shitholes teeming with society's ne'erdowells would be dangerous men indeed.
Dangerous men tend to leave few witnesses living.
In the halflight, Malmir observed the human woman stumble and struggle to a nearby alcove. The sour reek of vomit assaulted his nostrils violently. Relaxing his fingers on the arrow nock, the elf felt his bowstring weaken as he stepped silently towards Kirsten, he crouched down alongside her in the darkness and laid his palm against her shoulder.
"You did well," he said, "that sword was out of its sheath as silently as the spirits of a forest glade. Few could have done better! Hold it together, now..."
He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He'd seen men built like bullocks shit themselves at the first flash of a sword blade, let alone a corpse, and this young woman had done well to react as she did.
"Looks like this room has been thoroughly looted too, but you never know..." Malmir declared in a whisper. "Kirsten, see if you can detach that torch as it may prove useful in this gloom. I'm going to poke though the debris and check the bodies while we wait for the others... I may find something useful. Secondly, the way a man meets his end leaves clues for the living. Let's see what weapons our foes are wielding, with that knowledge we may be able to craft and more informed defensive strategy."
Silently, the elf removed his hand from Kirsten's shoulder and twisted away into the darkness...