Wednesday, 4 July 2012
Another Door: Malmir observes...
"There is no way in Lothloren's boughs that I am going to be opening this particular door first!" Malmir smiled, his eyes peering at the stinking, grimy wood as if a leering face would suddenly leap out at the him. "We can best assume the entrance is trapped. Better investigate that knob Kirsten, give it a subtle twisting this way and that won't you. Be careful of the shaft though, you never know what it might spring, eh?"
Despite his joking manner, the rest of the companions could see that the consequence of being so far underground, in cramped, filthy quarters on the usually tightly controlled emotions of the elf. He was unused to the weak light, the stench and the strange scratchings and scurryings that echoed menacingly from the darkness all around them. His fingers, long, pale and lithe, writhed nervously across his bow grip and toyed the feathered rear of an elegant arrow. It was obvious that the elf was desperate to move on quickly and descend once more into action. It seemed that the sudden explosion of activity, such as when he had attempted to disarm the wounded man, help expel the tension that build up so quickly between his shoulders and across his smooth, handsome forehead.
Harbull sniffed. Then regretted it. The reek of human (and probably nonhuman) filth caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust and positively turned his stomach. He hated feeling this way; cramps in the belly always restricted the quality of food that could be ingested. At this rate, he'd be eating half rations for the next few days- if they ever got out of the accursed dump and, of course, if he and his friends could locate smoked mackeral, wholemeal bread, pickerlilly and parnsips soaked in brandy.
He licked his lips in anticipation. Then regretted it! He hoped that was sweat on his top lip and not some noxious dripping from the oozing walls.
Wanda moved unsteadily forwards, her slippered feet gliding uncertainly across the stained boards that transversed the deep, slimy channel that yawned below them. Fall in there... she thought... and there was little chance of recovery. Meekly, she raised what was left of the lantern and raised it high enough to illuminate the entrance. She felt the reassuring bulky forms of Johann and Werner crowd in behind her as her light spread out across the makeshift bridge. The wood was roughy hewn and deeply scored, like heavy objects had been frequently dragged across them. Here and there, strange shapes glinted in the half light against the wood. "
Could they be blood trails?" She asked, her voice sounding curiously hollow in the underground chamber.
"Or just human filth trodden deep into the grain?"
The elf, who had been watching her rather absentmindedly, bent down to investigate. Using his superior senses he endeavoured to decipher the stains across the oaken bridge. Could they be a trail? It was hard to be certain but severing a human arm and carrying it any distance would undoubtably leave a splattered trail that even the most ignorant of eyes could follow, even in semi-darkness. As Malmir was pondering the boards, the shapely feet of one former wharf waif turned adventurer strolled into view. Her attention firmly fixed on the doorway and its mysterious fig leafed pattern.