Wednesday, 25 July 2012

The Coiled Spring: Storm of Arrows

The action to Malmir's front was a blur of desperate movement. Leather clad bodies tumbled for cover, formerly lax hands scrabbling frantically for hilts, bolts or straps. A chair toppled, a candle guttered, a pewter  goblet full of wine split suddenly and smeared the stone floor with deep bloodlike crimson. Cards, their edges tatty and greasy, fluttered like filthy feathers in the commotion. Malmir saw a single card, the Hanged Man, fall to the ground to be instantly soaked with reddish liquid; the elf could not tell if it were blood or cheap Estalian wine that defaced the image.

In the tension, his shot had flown wide, though the point found flesh elsewhere. A leather clad thug was flung back by the force of the arrow. Without waiting to see if the target was down permanently, Malmir slid another missile from his quiver.

Selecting a fresh target in the melee, being careful not to risk a companion, he loosed again.

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