Malmir's almond eyes narrowed as he considered the skittish labourer. For all his bluster he was little more than a muscled bully who obviously relished lording in up over his feeble minded human thugs. Real steel, brandished with intent, was often enough to persuade these types to give up any relevant information that they may know. It was clear to the elf's experienced eyes that these fools knew nothing. What was it the Orfeo used to call these types - tools or turds! White cart drivers was another term he would have used. Not for the first time, Malmir found himself wondering where his erstwhile companion in wine, women and song was now.
The speaker wouldn't hold the minstrel's gaze and the elf quickly snorted his derision and stalked away. A boss had been mentioned and Malmir was instantly reminded of the rather unexpected sight of Wanda, perhaps the most timid of the group, standing rather aggressively over the prone form of the pompous foreman. Answers would be required from both her and the prostate human. And those answers had better result in satisfaction in the minstrel's mind. Something was askew here, his elven intuition told him enough to be certain. There were worse things in the world than the crude, brash souls the inhabited this vile, dripping subterranean place. Cruel and impossibly ancient beings whose insideous desires so easily coerced the weak imaginations of feeble humanity.
Malmir had a terrible, nagging notion that those blasphemous powers were far closer than he had previously thought!