Glancing down at the prostrate form, Malmir's quick eyes established that the muscular man still breathed. Quite how, without making any obvious wounds to the thug's body, Wanda had managed to floor the brute was anyone's guess, thought Malmir, before his breathing caught the subtle scent of magic. Satisfied that his companion was safe, the elf strode back into the larger room to witness the relaxation of the stalemate. Warily, the labourers had banded together behind the solid form of the foreman. His sausage thick fingers still playing absently with the trigger mechanism of his crossbow.
"What did you mean a moment ago?" The elf asked, directly. "About preferring to fight us here, rather than face the threat that awaits? What has happened here?"
Eyes narrowing, the foreman seemed to mull the question over. Then, in short, angry gasps, he spoke.
I think the mexican standoff resolved when you left the room.....so did they.
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