Tiring of the conversation, and with his head beginning to pound incessantly, Malmir quietly withdrew from the scrummage of a debate with his companions and cast his almond eyes around the squalid surroundings.
He had to do something!
Action soothed the strain of being underground. Though loathed to admit it, the minstrel was beginning to suffer a nagging agoraphobia that caused his limbs to twitch. This spasm, as yet beyond the perception of the simple minded dregs of humanity that surrounded him, was beginning to cause Malmir some concern.
In his experience, an effective cure was to be active.
To do something.
Anything!
Being unable to think of any other option, the elf padded over to the decapitated corpse and earnestly set his experienced eye over the body. If there was something to find, some clue or sign, he hoped to find it.
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