The elf watched Kirsten pounce upon the table, her blade glinting in the gloom like a vicious, silver tongue. A tongue that had now tasted blood.... A crimson smear on the blade caught Malmir's eye; the first spurtings of the man's death, he thought. Malmir considered his target, he was down with an arrow protruding from his ankle. Dark blood welled below him, the spreading pool smeared across the floor by his victim's thrashing feet.
He was out of the fight for now!
Darting a glance to the right, Malmir glimpsed Johann take a nasty slash across the face with a blade. Blood ran down his jerkin, staining the grimy shirt beneath. The boatman's eyes flashed with searing pain and violent hatred. To the elf's experienced eye, his friend appeared to be losing this particular fight. Aid would be required.
Malmir dropped his bow and drew his sword.
He surged forwards to join the melee around Johann, slashing articulately at the ganger's bristled throat...
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