Kirsten looks around.

"What a waste." Kirsten observed, shaking her head sadly and eying up the now ruined rug. "That would have fetched a fair price in Altdorf." Or, better still, it would have looked great in her parent's rough hovel, hidden in the town's alleyways and byways, out of sight of visiting merchants.

At that, she placed a hand on Wand'a shoulder, squeezing gently in a show of support and gender solidarity.
"Well done Wanda. Well done."

She stood slightly back from the headless corpse, her eyes surveying the whole room and occasionally hissing at someone who obstructed her view.

"Try to stand still for a bit would you, and don't touch anything till I'm done. I'm trying to figure out what happened here. Beyond the obvious, I mean."

Kirsten Shows Mercy

Kirsten gestured with her crossbow towards the door the thug's companions had just left though.

"Try not to wear a groove in the stones on your way out."

Once satisfied that the thug had departed, she turned to address the others. "This caper is becoming considerably more dangerous than I had anticipated."

And that was saying something, to say the least. But thoughts of a university education in Altdorf beckoned. Surely they'd admit a woman who could pay as hefty a bribe as this job promised to pay?

"I don't like being separated like this. We should re-group and discuss our next move."

Meanwhile... Johann gets an itch

Johann was somewhat relieved that Werner had broken the increasingly awkward silence. For some reason only banalities about the current state of the weather had popped into his head while he sought for something menacing to say.

It was getting difficult to keep himself fired up, ready for combat and as the minutes crawled by, adrenalin crept away from his limbs, leaving a hollow and empty ache in his joints. Johann wrinkled his nose - his hostage's stench wasn't getting any better either.

Then there was the itch. He must have caught some small barb in his jerkin, or else some rough thread had worked its way loose. Whatever it was, it was now tormenting a spot in the small of his back. Not wishing his captive to think him fidgety or distracted, Johann shifted his weight roughly and spoke,

"Aye, the big man speaks true enough. We have no personal interest in your affairs, whatever they may be down here. Let our bosses talk it over, while we all have a breather. I dare say our little friend may be of assistance with your mate down there, were you to lower those weapons..."

He tried not to grimace as the spot on his back began to tingle once more.

Honour Among Thieves: Wanda's (Shallow) Well of Patience

Wanda clucked in frustration as the poor man coughed up the last of his life. Damn it! The simpering fool couldn't stay alive long enough to do the decent thing and answer the blasted questions!

She clenched her fists. So many unanswered questions. Fine - so the one-armed bandit in the other room remained unidentified. What had happened? Had he tried to cut his own arm off? Did someone else do it out of fear? She hadn't seen the corpse, but Malmir's telling of the tale didn't suggest that the man had been forced into surrendering his arm. Who was he? What was his name?

A thrill of resentment ran through her as the elf wiped his boot against the dead man. She was angry with dead man, but what gave the bloody elf the right to demean him so?

Only...humans... could do that.

She shivered at the implications of that thought. If it was one of the others, that would have been fine. But no the elf! Arrogant sod! She spun around, expressing her distaste with a cold shoulder and stared at the puddle of oil, the merry little flame dancing, oblivious to the fate of those in the room and it's own, inevitable fate.

And then there was the whole problem of this cursed gem. How were they supposed to move it? The box didn't appear to be magical. There was also this six hour limit Oldenhaller had described. when did that kick in? How long had they been down here? If what the man said had been true, then even mere contact with the gem would...well, what? What would it do? She wasn't sure. The fool had died before she could work out what had happened to the arm. Damn! Damn! Damn!

What's this? Werner appeared out of nowhere and thrust a crossbow at her. "Here, " he started, pointing to the device. He started explaining it, the trigger, the quarrel and how it fired.

She closed her eyes and sighed, wishing for some deep well of inner peace and patience. No doubt his intentions were good. After all, all she had was a knife. The truth was that she was out of her depth with this sort of thing. Magical education included a large part of learning about risk analysis. Don't play with fire unless you understand fire. Simply put, she stood more chance of shooting one of the members of the party than anyone else she came across.

She waited impatiently for him to explain, before taking the crossbow. He stooped down to remove a belt from one of the bodies - something to do with the crossbow, he had said - before he reached back and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said absently, passing the crossbow (and belt) directly to Kirsten. "I believe you asked for this?"

Wanda made eye contact with Kirsten as she passed, each with a raised eyebrow, before Wanda rolled her eyes.

Kirsten understood: Men!

Honour among thieves: Into the sewers?

Malmir tapped his boot against the corpse's forehead before wiping imagined filth from its leathern toe.

"He's dead then." The elf commented, nonchalantly before turning away with disinterest. "Quite a tale, "he continued lightly, as if there was no dead man at his heels and his companions were nestled in some comfortable snug in a Delberz inn, "I wonder if its true at all. I suppose we have no options but to proceed, but this gem concerns me... A jewel that can, somehow, disease a man, curdle his blood and turn his flesh to rot is not something to pursue lightly. Yet, someone has clearly taken the damn thing and I wonder if they have left a trail to follow?"


The elf smiled suddenly; his lips parting to show his perfect, straight teeth. His clear, almond eyes glinted in the fading light with mischief as he turned to speak to Kirsten. "I feel it best if you take the lead and I concentrate on, how do you humans say it? You're rear? Yes, I'll follow you with my bow and cover you while you lead us through the darkness into the sewer. My eyes will certainly be best placed there."


Malmir spun on his heel and scooped up his bow. Attaching the cord to its horn tip he indicated that he was ready to move on. The party gathered themselves together, assuming positions in the line that were now becoming habitual before setting off into the gloom leaving the corpses to their eternal slumber and slow, inexorable decay. 

Honour Among Thieves: Kirsten Muses.

Kirsten nodded. She hadn't seemed the least bit put out that the gangster had seen through her ruse. She'd just stood on her tiptoes. shrugged, nodded her head, and flashed a blushing, somewhat mortified smile at her companions.

What ever will they think of me now, acting the doxie like that ?

"It was worth a try." She mumbled, not really willing to look any of them in the eye.

She listened with admiration as Wanda drew information from the man with all the grace and poise of a barber drawing a splinter from a wound. The older woman seemed to have an instinctive grasp of the mans' desire for vengeance. She wondered if it had something to do with her magical education.

Kirsten pondered that while Johann offered what succour he could.

"I'd best go first," she spoke up. "They way is likely to be trapped, and I doubt any of you would know thieves signs if you saw then." She beamed. "Fortunately, I do."

She turned to Malmir, extending her hand. "May I have the crossbow, unless you think it would be better for Harbull to have it in case we are followed?"

She didn't think that was at all likely, mind you. But the little fellow would probably feel better with a decent weapon in hand.

Leading the way out of the room, she surreptitiously turned her gaze back after a few steps, trying not to look directly at Malmir. Hoping (was that actually the right word? Hoping? He was an ELF for Ranald's sake) to catch him eyeing her the way he had previously. It was not that she wanted to encourage the elf's interest, as such. But after so long in men's clothes, her hair, nails and face deliberately dirtied to avoid notice, she was finding she rather enjoyed the attention. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel lovely and desirable -and clean- before she'd taken the time to wash at Oldenhallers. Dirty, street-waif Kirsten would never have caught the eye of a creature so elegant and charming the elf, that much was certain. If she could attract the elf of an elf with so little effort, then perhaps, with the right sort of schooling, she might land herself a richer, more powerful catch one day. A Graf perhaps. Or a merchant-prince.

Wanda looked so elegant and well turned out. She'd watched the older woman closely during the meal, noting how she held her glass. Cut her meat into small, dainty pieces before eating. A girl would need to know such things if she were to find a better place in the world.

Reaching the next, dangerous stretch, she thrust such thoughts aside. There would be time for dreaming later.

Honour among Thieves: Johann's Last Rites

Johann tightened his grip as the wounded man's whole body shuddered and heaved with a deep wracking cough. As the fit subsided he leaned forward again and spoke softly once more into his charge's ear,

"If it brings you any succour, consider yourself amongst those you might consider friends. Your death will not go unmarked."

The man stiffened with the effort of his final breath before settling back in final repose.

Johann looked up from the body he still cradled,

"Malmir and Kirsten, will you head up the party - keep your eyes peeled for these secret signs. Lets go hunt some Valentinas..."

Honour amongst thieves.

As Werner controlled the flames Malmir examined the crossbow in the flickering light, an inelegant weapon, not a weapon for elves his own short bow was quicker and to him more deadly.

Kirsten tried in equal measure to seduce and intimidate their captive. Save your act girl, unless I get healing soon neither threat nor promises can sway me.

Harbull attended the wounded man held tightly by Johann. The Halfling quickly examined the puncture wounds on the victim’s torso. Try as he might there was no way to stem the blood, perhaps if he had some spiderleaf but he had neglected to bring any. He looked to Johann and then across to the two girls. He solemnly shook his head, why waste more time than necessary on this living dead man, he was no friend.

Wounded as he was he saw. He relaxed a little, “so I’m to die am I?” He laughed. “They are welcome to it.”

“To what?”, enquired Wanda.

“Save your breath, kill me now or sod off.” Coughed the reply.

Wanda thought for a moment, “you may die but we could avenge you.  I think our mission may bring us in to conflict with those who did this to you, if you help us you strike back at them.”

The man thought for a moment and nodded.  Answering Wanda’s questions he detailed how the gang had come into possession of a gem, supposedly cursed.  Their boss had taken ill shortly after and indeed something terrible that he would not detail had befallen him, something which lead to his arm being hacked off and burnt. This was some days ago and the boss had gotten steadily worse,  the arm not healing. The Valantinas had attacked that night, under a flag of truce.  The paper fig leaves were the calling card of their ‘clean-up crew’. They had taken the gem and were welcome to it.  If the group exited here they would enter the sewers, a short trudge following some secret signs he detailed would lead them to the Valantinas part of the Asylum.

An Offer of Help: Wanda Simmers in the Darkness

Wanda couldn't help but wonder at Kirsten's grace and agility. Even as she lay crumpled against the floor, Kirsten had rolled onto her feet, hinted at an apology, and gripped the older woman's hand to pull her into a sitting position.

And where Wanda was left feeling like an old woman, her hip and ribcage protesting bitterly at their recent treatment, Kirsten's body expressed nothing but youthful vigour. One minute a swift saviour - the next a sensuous silhouette. Wanda groaned to her feet, unnoticed in the enticing pageant.

In that instant, Wanda couldn't help but feel sorry for Kirsten. What had happened in her life that she had these abilities? Needed these abilities? How many times had she sought cover in the dirty dampness of dark stone floors in order to avoid death or pain? How was it that Wanda had been able to live a safe and relatively care-free life she had lived, whilst Kirsten was required to employ her womanly wiles just in order to get ahead? It was evident to Wanda that she had done just this sort of thing before - the girl knew what she was doing. Switching from blade to beauty to blade again. So young, too.

Wanda shook her head.

Taking in the scene, she noticed that Werner had started preparing some torches, whilst Malmir checked the crossbow.

Her eyes came to rest on the wounded gangster. Her sympathy for Kirsten evaporated slowly as another, unknown feeling came. Shame? She was surprised at how, even now, the wounded sod's opinion counted for so much. Slapstick was the word he had used. Bastard! Her jaw set as she appreciated the justice of the situation. It was absolutely right that she was alive and standing and he lay bleeding on the floor.

Rage - that was a more familiar feeling. How dare he put her through the stress of all this carnage, fire a crossbow at her and then have the audacity to call her slapstick, even as he lay dying? In fact, he was bloody lucky he knew something useful. Well, supposedly knew something useful - because, if he didn't, the whole party wouldn't be able to stop her kicking the idiot to death.

Which raised an interesting question. What would they do with him if Harbul was able to prevent his death? Would they let him go? Would they take him with?

Would they kill him?

An offer of help: Hot under the collar...

Johann caught his breath. Not from the headlong dash into danger, nor from the impact of his landing by their would be assailant. His ring-side seat had meant that Kirsten's performance had almost had its intended effect on him as well as the wounded man he held. By Haleth, that lass had some front - in more ways than one, he thought.

Shifting his weight slightly so that his grip on the wounded man changed imperceptibly from restraint to support, Johann swallowed to shift the lump that had gathered in his throat and threatened to make his voice hoarse. He leaned forward and spoke gruffly in his charge's ear,

"... and don't try anything else funny - our little friend tending to your wounds may not bite, but I can't vouch for the wildcat over there."

An Offer of Help: Kirsten finds a seat.

After picking herself up off the ground, silently mouthing an apology at Wanda as she did so, Kirsten began dusting herself down for a moment. Her eye's searching the bloody floor of the room for her discarded knife.

Now where did I? Ah, there it is.

Stooping to retrieve the soiled weapon from the buttocks of a dead man, (where it had so impressively -and accidentally- landed after being tossed aside), she made the mental switch from the "real" Kirsten to the habitual killer she'd often pretended to be. When Kirsten stood at her full height once again, her blushing features had been replaced by a stern mask. She stretched languidly, like a cat, arms above her head; until the bones in her shoulders cracked. Stretching her baggy, masculine clothing over the sleek, attractive, curves  concealed beneath .

Kirsten-the-street-waif would not have so-casually displayed her attractive and -very- feminine form. Certainly not in the presence of so many men, near strangers all. And certainly not in the presence of a man-eating elf , let alone one whose eye's had been following her in a way that Kirsten knew all too well. But Kirsten-the-Killer would pay little heed to who saw her curves. Kirsten the Killer needed no one to protect her from predators. Kirsten the Killer was a Predator herself.

Rotating her neck slightly, arms still above her head, knowing she could not fail to attract the dying man's attention with this display, she fixed the gangster with her best approximation of a feral grin. It was a damned good act, she told herself, worthy of a traveling player. After all, she'd been perfecting it for the full eighteen years of her life.

She just hoped this blood-splattered survivor was not one of the gangsters who knew the real Kirsten. Otherwise she'd have made a display of her "wares" for nothing. What would her companions -especially Wanda- think of her then?

Concealing her disgust behind impassive features, she moved closer to the wounded man, plomping her shapely behind down on the nearest corpse with a casual air that belied her horror at such casual desecration. Settling herself in, making herself as comfortable as possible on the dead-mans bony-back, she flashed that feigned, feral grin once again. She hefted the throwing knife in her hand, tossing it casually a few inches in the air and catching it again with the same hand. Not high enough to risk having the blade spin around and impale her hand (Ranald no! The trickster god had blessed her with quick hands, but she was no street-juggler), but enough to impress none-the-less.

"Can you now?" she quipped, in the softest, most disquieting voice she could muster. "Tell you what, you look just about spent. Tell us about this little spat," she made a motion with her knife, as if to encompass all the death and carnage in the room, "And we might just let you live after my friend here finishes patching you up. Better be good though. I'd hate to think he was wasting his time -and our bandages."

An Offer of Help: Aid in the Dark

Malmir scooped up the crossbow that had clattered into the corner. He looked back over his shoulder to see Johann holding back the arms of the wounded man; not that is was really necessary for the man looked like a corpse already. Returning to the weapon, Malmir gave the piece the once over. Any damage? A weapon such as this would be useful in the dark. All he'd need is a few more quarrels.

He was aware of his fellow companions moving slowly into the room, their outlines a dull orange in the flicking flames. They spread out, filling the room and marking the exits accordingly. As they did so, the prone figure let out a liquid cough, blood running down his chin in thick, sticky streaks. Feebly, he tried to wipe the blood away on the back of a battered sleeve but achieved nothing more than smearing the stuff across his bristled chin.

Harbull, as if sensing his moment had come, scampered forwards, his herbalists' back gripped firmly in his hands. Without a word to the others, he bent over the dying man and began his work.

An offer of help.

The lantern swung upwards, hit the ceiling and spilt much of its contents floor ward. As is the nature of lantern oil it ignited on the way down past the lit flame and caused a great flare of light.

Deep shadows were cast as Malmir quickly tried to disarm the wounded man. Bow stave collided with crossbow in an unlikely melee and the bolt was loosed thankfully to embed in a broken crate. Moments later Johann cam crashing in to grapple the wounded man.

Wanda picked herself up from under Kirsten in some confusion. The light was dimmer now, a puddle of spilt fuel burn on the packed earth floor casting flickering shadows. Almost too stunned to speak all she could hear was a chocking laughter in the gloom.

The dying man spoke grimacing against the pain caused by his laughter, "so your not Valantinas then. Such incompetence, I'd be fully dead by now and with none of the slapstick. Still your up to no good and need all the help you can find. I know things, get me to a healer and I'll help you."

More Rooms, More Blood: Harbull In The Rear

Bringing up the rear Harbull was only just entering the room when the shouting began and the lights went flying.
He couldn't see the source of the concern but he did see Kirsten leap at Wanda and take her to the floor... he also saw Johann and the Elf jostling with something... perhaps they'd found some pilfered foodstuffs or a vat of wine? Maybe a wheel of cheese?!!!
He doubted the females were fighting over cheese though...
How long had it been since their fine bit of eating at Herr Oldenhaller's table?
...
No such luck it seemed... just some half-dead hoodlum making an attempt at a last stand.
For a moment he wondered if Wanda had been wounded somehow... but she seemed fine, bruised maybe, but no blood in sight.
He glanced at Werner, standing tall and calm amidst the confusion, before turning his eye back to the path behind them, happy in the thought that his friend was free from harm.

More Rooms, More Blood: Wanda - Meet Floor.

For the second time that evening, Wanda's hands and the lantern parted company.

For a split second, Wanda sensed the change in the dynamic of the group. Without knowing why, she realised that something was wrong.

Kirsten ploughed into her long before she would ever know what it was.

And now, as sudden adrenaline ran riot through her system, time slowed. She watched the gentle arc of the lantern as it plotted its journey upwards. At the same time, she became aware of her feet, now at the bottom of her vision. They had left the floor and splayed outwards, her body folding around Kirsten's all-encompassing presence as the two sailed backwards through the air.

Was there shouting? It sounded like there was some shouting. Had she the time, Wanda would have laughed. How detached she felt from proceedings.

The lantern struck the ceiling. Wanda made out the distant tinkling of broken glass - it sounded muffled, like it was under a blanket. Gouts of flame rained from above.

Sudden light. Sudden darkness.

Their combined forms crunched into stone, air bursting from Wanda's lungs as they yielding to Kirsten's shoulder. The sudden expulsion was followed by urgent, shuddering gasps, as Wanda tried desperately to claw air back into her system. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Through blurred vision, she could just discern the silhouette of the elf leaping forward in the light of Kirsten's discarded torch, bow forward like a lance.

Rage filled Wanda. She wanted to scream, to shout abuse at Kirsten and the group. The lack of air and dreadful weight on her chest conspired against her, her quivering lips emitting nothing other than a mewling yelp.

What the hell just happened?

More rooms, more blood.

After two rooms of carnage the group had gotten into a rhythm. First the Elf entered the dark room closely followed by Kirsten. They were staring at the corpses that littered the floor, a further four in the large dormitory area when the other companions arrived. The situation was the same, all of value gone, some bodies with bolts in them others with stab wounds. Each body had the same paper fig leaf on them.

There was only one exit  to the left of where they entered so the group followed the same process as before, this time a store room and three bodies. The men stood guard at the one opening towards the unknown. The halfling watched their backs while the two women and the elf searched the room. It was then that Malmir spotted one of the corpses move, slowly, with difficulty it was trying to raise a crossbow.

The Empty Box: Kirsten Puts the Boot In

"Well" hissed Kirsten. That was pointless and disgusting. Next time, it's someone else's turn to search the pox-ridden corpse."

She glanced down at her gloves and knife, considering whether to toss the knife or keep it for the time being in case she had to prod around in yet more muck. Finally deciding, she kept the knife in her gloved hand for the time being. Returning to the first room with the corpses, she bent over the closest and began cleaning her knife on it's shirt.

That's when she suddenly swore, straightened up, and spat on the dead gangsters face!

"Serves you right you miserable s***eating son of a whore! Hope you rot in whatever hell Morr's prepared for you, you mutt-ugly, pox-c****ed, louse ridden, cat-f***ing son of a b****h!

Somewhere between the "hope" and the "you" she'd started kicking the body. By the time she finished her second round of cursing and seemed ready to draw a deep breath to continue, the devilish fury in her eyes and face started to abate. Even in the depths of her rage she'd had the wisdom to keep her enraged cursing to a low hiss, but now, as she drew back for one final kick, she looked shamefacedly at her companions. The crimson faded from her face to be replaced by pink blushes and a weak, rueful smile.

"It's not as much fun as it would have been were he alive," she explained ruefully. "He was... not a nice man. Not a nice man at all"

Hurriedly, somewhat embaressed by her display, she brushed past the others and made her way  to the front of the group, just behind the leader, where she could make sure no-one fell foul of any more traps.

Richer Blood: To Follow a Trial?

Malmir sighed, handing the box back to Wanda. It didn't appear to be magical at all. Just an ordinary, engraved  wooden box. He wondered how much his companions knew about... No! They were best not mentioned, even in thought. Before he left his people, he had been instructed, along with his brethern of similar age, on the foolishness and ignorance of men. Naively they'd plough on through, unknowing and uncaring of what their furrow would bring to the surface.

Still, it was just a sensation. A strange, itching hunch that there was more to this task than simple burglary. Time would most certainly tell, all he (and his companions for that matter) could do was proceed. Malmir braced himself, though carefully so that his companions would not see, to enter the next corridor. Doubtless they were ignorant, but elves suffered from a mild form of what humans would call claustophobia; a childhood in spacious, warm forest glades and abundant treetop dwellings would cause that. Still, it was more than controlled thanks, in part, to his wide ranging experience as a wanderer. Taking the lead, bow in hand, ploughing through the darkness with the strong humans at his back did wonders to alleviate the nagging pull of his anxiety.

Johann mentioned that there might be a trail. Good thinking, though Malmir, for a human. He was more than prepared to lead the group once again; after all his eyes were superior as were his reflexes.

Keeping his concerns to himself, Malmir checked his arrow was placed firmly upon the string and stepped forwards into the gloomy corridor. Automatically now, Werner and Johann resumed there positions behind him and he heard the soft padding of Kirsten further back still. Honestly, he doubted they'd find anything living along the next corridor but it was better to be prepared.

The wizard, if that was the right word, lifted the lamp and illuminated the damp corridor. Scanning the floor with his elven eyes, Malmir searched for a grim trail of blood or crimson, murderous footsteps.

He stepped forwards.

The empty box.

 Wanda reached into her sling bag and retrieved the small wooden box. it was intricately carved, inside it was lined with plush red velvet. It would have cost a fair amount to make but was not ostentatious. She had held magical artifacts before, indeed there were items intended to dull magical effects radiated by some of the more arcane substances in her masters laboratory. However she had no sense of magical power with these known artifacts and no notion of the magical properties of the box. A skill she would develop no doubt but here and now, nothing.




Meanwhile the search of the small room found nothing either. No items of value, no further clues and no arm.

Richer Blood: In Which Wanda Reflects On Her Learnings

Wanda stood opposite Johann, supposedly manning the exit with him. Despite her mistakes, he had been kind and understanding - no small feat given that those mistakes could have endangered their lives. His life.

Her life.

She looked back at the body she had searched and thought about the bizarre print of a leaf. She had stuffed that piece of paper into a pocket, on the off chance that it might be useful. Was there some sort of hierarchy here? Some of them had paper prints, whilst others had a copper image which they wore?

Her mind wandered further still. She could still feel the dull flesh of the body in her fingertips. The extreme weight of its arms. How stubborn the joints had been. Once she had overcome the shock of the scene, she had been quite clinical in her thinking - she had carefully investigated the ragged stab wounds. She looked under its eyelids and at the disgusting pips that appeared to be its teeth. The whole thing was disgusting, but she had to admit - it was a great way to learn. Where else would she have the ability to see a dead man? To touch a dead man?

"Wanda?"

Her reverie broken, she looked up. Malmir materialised from the darkness, wasting no time in explaining the situation in the room he had just come from.

"...and someone has removed the thing's arm," he finished. "Anyway, I wanted to know if you sensed any magic with Oldenhaller's little box? Because if it's mundane..." he trailed off. "If it's mundane, I question the future of this enterprise."

Her hand covered her mouth as she looked up at the elf in shock. She was getting used to the idea of being surrounded by dead bodies - it was the lack of emotion with which the elf spoke that surprised her. He spoke of the body in the same fashion as one might speak of a broken shoe. It was almost as if the implications of the find were inconvenient for him, as opposed to downright horrific. And he was more concerned with the box, it seemed.

There must be method in his madness, she reasoned.


Please, she begged any god that would listen.