Malmir's grisly task...

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.

Malmir's Questions...

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.

Malmir moves...

"Enough of this..." Malmir grunted, releasing the arm of the hostage he had been holding. The small man, clearly little more than a teenager, fell to the floor and rubbed his aching arms. The elf's grip had been hard, manically hard even, and scarlet streaks were evident on the olive skin of the labourer. The minstrel cast his eyes about as was his habit and quickly took in the darkened shape of the doorway that Wanda had passed through some time previously. "I'm going to find out what's taking our friends so long, that is, unless anyone of you have any objections to that? If you do," he said, spreading his arms to indicate the burly forms of Johann and Werner, "then my companions and I will be willing to discuss it with you!"

Without waiting for a reply, Malmir strode towards the doorway.

A Bold Plan: Malmir hurries the answer up...

Malmir kept his aim true. His elegant arm holding taut the arrow aimed at the workman's throat. The unfortunate fellow shifted under its iron tipped gaze. The elf's eyes darted smoothly from his target to that of the intruder. He stood there agape after Wanda's impassioned speech. His face still wearing the mask of a contemptuous frown.
     His eyes glinted, flint like in the gloom as he weighed up the olds.
     "Answer her!" Malmir whispered with dangerous intent.
 
The intruder took a slow, considered intake of breath and began to speak...

Deeper and Down: Malmir Moves...

"Well, if its agreed, I don't mind moving as silently as possible down that passageway. Its certainly dark enough and from what you say the occupants of the other room have their minds elsewhere. They are unlikely to spot a shadow or two lurking in the blackness. It would be very easy to count bodies and establish if they are armed. So what do you say, Kirsten," the elf said dryly, his almond eyes looking her up and down suggestively, "shall we take a stroll into the darkness?"

Deeper and Down: Malmir's Plan

"Let's just walk in there. Look natural and charm are way in. The guards," Malmir coughed wryly, looking about him, "have been dealt with. The characters in there will assume they've let us pass. Kirsten and I can easily play a role or two and bluff our way through. It does make you wonder what they are shifting about in there though doesn't it. Stolen goods no doubt."

Deadly Quiet: Malmir Moves to Support Kirsten

Without speaking, the elf moved in support of Kirsten. His expression betrayed his new found respect for the woman. She wasn't just a possibility of a good time, she was a killer. He circled behind her, drawing back on his bowstring. Any trouble and the first thug was going to meet the sharp end of one of his arrows.

Murder in the Dark: An inhuman detachment

Malmir could never quite understand the curious condition that overcame humans after combat. They shook, blinked and looked remorseful for what they had done. Privately, Malmir thought this a terrible weakness. After all, the dead were the enemy, no difference here between a Tilean thug and a goblin wulfboy. He remembered his travels with his friend Orfeo. Now there was a human used to the sight of a fallen foe! No queasy knee knocking for him!

Still, Malmir wasn't having it easy. They'd been underground for some time now and the low ceilings, irregular walls and overwhelming stench of damp, human waste and decay was beginning to pull taut his nerves. Elves were not built for this work. Even elves who had turned their backs...

Action helped ease the growing sense of uneasy suffocation. He knew from experience that remaining static after a melee was foolish in the extreme. Any moment now more of these gutter thugs could be piling their way down the corridor and into the room and judging by the state of his companions they'd be quickly over run unless the alarm was called. Malmir nocked a fresh arrow and moved quickly towards the room's exit. He stared vigilantly into the semi-darkness, his elven eyes searching for any sign of movement.

The Coiled Spring: Storm of Arrows

The action to Malmir's front was a blur of desperate movement. Leather clad bodies tumbled for cover, formerly lax hands scrabbling frantically for hilts, bolts or straps. A chair toppled, a candle guttered, a pewter  goblet full of wine split suddenly and smeared the stone floor with deep bloodlike crimson. Cards, their edges tatty and greasy, fluttered like filthy feathers in the commotion. Malmir saw a single card, the Hanged Man, fall to the ground to be instantly soaked with reddish liquid; the elf could not tell if it were blood or cheap Estalian wine that defaced the image.

In the tension, his shot had flown wide, though the point found flesh elsewhere. A leather clad thug was flung back by the force of the arrow. Without waiting to see if the target was down permanently, Malmir slid another missile from his quiver.

Selecting a fresh target in the melee, being careful not to risk a companion, he loosed again.

Refusal: Malmir Strikes

Within a heartbeat of Kirsten's attack, the elf had struck. This was not the sudden, spurting movement of an awkward human, nor the gangling swagger of a brutish goblinoid but the a graceful, precise deadliness of motion that seemed all at once a blur of vibrant colours, and a stark, hard blackness. Malmir swept through the doorway, his bowstring as taut as his nerve but he had done this many, many times before and against far worse enemies than mere, degenerate humans. 

Feeling the hot, body heat of Werner and Johann at his back as they too sprang into action, Malmir released his arrow at the nearest, and most dangerous looking target, before stepping back confidently to allow room for the passage of his burly, human companions. Without thought, he selected a second arrow from his quiver and brought the fletch down quickly to the notch. He would loose and loose again until their opponents were down or he met his violent end.

Malmir Enjoys The View

"Sshh!" Malmir hissed through his teeth, his hands making sharp, aggressive motions for the others to 'get down'. Kirsten had only been a second through the door when the elf had heard the gruff voices of the men beyond the wooden frame. Slowly, so not to create a sound, he nocked an arrow and twisted the bow horizontally. In this position he could easily transverse the entrance with the bow string still taught, ready to let loose an arrow at one of the vagabonds within, dare they move a muscle against his female companion. He wasn't sure, but he hadn't heard the sound of blades being slide from scabbards or crossbows (clearly a favoured weapon down here) being cocked.

These men, most likely unskilled brutes, were presumably guards. Hopefully, they'd be lazy with drink or food. From his position, he could see little but Kirsten's slattern-like buttocks wiggling pleasantly. She's done that before, Malmir thought, and in a less vulnerable moment such thoughts would be promising ones indeed. The elf allowed himself a nervous smile as he waited in the darkness. After all, there were worse things to see before a violent demise.

Another Door: Malmir observes...

"There is no way in Lothloren's boughs that I am going to be opening this particular door first!" Malmir smiled, his eyes peering at the stinking, grimy wood as if a leering face would suddenly leap out at the him. "We can best assume the entrance is trapped. Better investigate that knob Kirsten, give it a subtle twisting this way and that won't you. Be careful of the shaft though, you never know what it might spring, eh?"

Despite his joking manner, the rest of the companions could see that the consequence of being so far underground, in cramped, filthy quarters on the usually tightly controlled emotions of the elf. He was unused to the weak light, the stench and the strange scratchings and scurryings that echoed menacingly from the darkness all around them. His fingers, long, pale and lithe, writhed nervously across his bow grip and toyed the feathered rear of an elegant arrow. It was obvious that the elf was desperate to move on quickly and descend once more into action. It seemed that the sudden explosion of activity, such as when he had attempted to disarm the wounded man, help expel the tension that build up so quickly between his shoulders and across his smooth, handsome forehead.

Harbull sniffed. Then regretted it. The reek of human (and probably nonhuman) filth caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust and positively turned his stomach. He hated feeling this way; cramps in the belly always restricted the quality of food that could be ingested. At this rate, he'd be eating half rations for the next few days- if they ever got out of the accursed dump and, of course, if he and his friends could locate smoked mackeral, wholemeal bread, pickerlilly and parnsips soaked in brandy.

Half rations!

He licked his lips in anticipation. Then regretted it! He hoped that was sweat on his top lip and not some noxious dripping from the oozing walls.

Wanda moved unsteadily forwards, her slippered feet gliding uncertainly across the stained boards that transversed the deep, slimy channel that yawned below them. Fall in there... she thought... and there was little chance of recovery. Meekly, she raised what was left of the lantern and raised it high enough to illuminate the entrance. She felt the reassuring bulky forms of Johann and Werner crowd in behind her as her light spread out across the makeshift bridge. The wood was roughy hewn and deeply scored, like heavy objects had been frequently dragged across them. Here and there, strange shapes glinted in the half light against the wood. "

Could they be blood trails?" She asked, her voice sounding curiously hollow in the underground chamber.
"Or just human filth trodden deep into the grain?"

The elf, who had been watching her rather absentmindedly, bent down to investigate. Using his superior senses he endeavoured to decipher the stains across the oaken bridge. Could they be a trail? It was hard to be certain but severing a human arm and carrying it any distance would undoubtably leave a splattered trail that even the most ignorant of eyes could follow, even in semi-darkness. As Malmir was pondering the boards, the shapely feet of one former wharf waif turned adventurer strolled into view. Her attention firmly fixed on the doorway and its mysterious fig leafed pattern.

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. 

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.

More Rooms, More Blood: Malmir Moves Quickly

The crossbow wobbled jerkily in the wounded man's grip, the quarrel weaving dangerously between Malmir, Werner, Kirsten and the dark, coarse ceiling. In less than a heartbeat, the elf was moving, his speed appearing almost un-natural to his human companions. Releasing pressure on his bowstring, the elf sprang forwards, sliding the smooth stave through his fingers until it stuck out before him like a thin, inverted club.

Jabbing with the stave, Malmir struck out at the cross point of the wooden crossbow... If he was lucky, he thought, he'd easily disarm the mauled man.

Then questions would be answered!

If he was unlucky..?

It was best not to think about that!

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.

Richer Blood: Malmir's warnings and questions

"Werner's right! Its best if we avoid that body." Malmir said. "Though the dead fellow's disease did little to hamper the actions of whoever cut off that arm! Why was the limb removed? A ring? A chained cuff attached to a box or case? Why not just sever the hand?"

Malmir scanned the room with his elven eyes as if the answer to his questions would be scattered somewhere amongst the drying blood.

"That box that Oldenhaller mentioned, who has it? He made reference to this gem having rather unpleasant qualities and that once in our possession it should be placed within its confines. Could we be looking at the previous owner of the gem? Is disease its gift to those that handle it? If so, why would a man like Oldenhaller employ us to retrieve it for him, eh?

To Werner, who had stood as a silent sentinel during Malmir's monologue, the elf seemed to withdraw into memory once more. His eyes taking on that familiar glazed look as he drifted through his memories for something. A clue perhaps? What did elves know of the world that mere men did not?

"A quick search here but don't touch the body or the blood. The air should be safe for a short time. I'm heading back to the others, I want to ask Wanda if she can identify if our box is a magical item or not. Things are certainly becoming interesting..."

With that, the elf turned and left the room.

Clues in the Blood: Malmir Searches the Corpses

"At least we now know why no-one bothered to answer the door!" Malmir grunted as he rolled the remaining body onto its back, its sightless eyes staring awfully up at the grimy, soot stained ceiling. His nimble fingers made quick work of the the dead man's pockets, seams and pouches though, of course, nothing of value had been left by the killer or killers.

Sighing, he reached out for the cheap, pewter disc that hung from around the neck of the cadaver. Slipping it from the corpse's neck, he examined the disc more closely. It was a made from a cheap pewter, crudely stamped with the imprint of what looked like a fig leaf and buffed with oil. Malmir had seen similar totems around the neck of dead goblins, clan symbols or signs of dedication to a powerful leader or deity usually, and he surmised that these simple pendants must of  represented loyalty to one of the gangs that Oldenhaller mentioned. Slipping the disc into his pocket, Malmir stood up and returned to Johann's side.

"Crossbows and blades," the elf said, almost eagerly, eyeing Werner's axe appreciatively , "at least we know what might be pointed at our skins, eh? The crossbow is a powerful weapon but slow to reload, we'd have to risk the quarrel and then get in close, quick. The blades I think we can handle. These bodies are well dead and have lain here undisturbed for some hours. Looks like someone else was here before us!"

Nocking his arrow once more, Malmir cooly considered the exits to the room. There appeared to be two; one appearing to be another corridor whilst the other looked like the opening into another room. Perhaps they'd be answers in there to what had happened, he thought.

"Werner, could I possibly borrow you and that axe, I want to search through that entrance, it looks like a small room and there may well be more clues to what happened here in there. Kirsten," the elf continued, turning to smile coyly at his companion, "any chance you could bring that torch, it would certainly prove useful to our search!"

With the smile still strong upon his lips, Malmir stepped forwards to explore the would be room.

Crouching like a wardancer, Malmir swept gracefully into the hall, his eyes quickly assessing the bloodied, bulky forms for signs of life. He doubted that there'd be any. Experience had taught him bitter lessons in the past, trapped doorways not withstanding, and individuals who ransack squalid shitholes teeming with society's ne'erdowells would be dangerous men indeed.

Dangerous men tend to leave few witnesses living.

If any.

In the halflight, Malmir observed the human woman stumble and struggle to a nearby alcove. The sour reek of vomit assaulted his nostrils violently. Relaxing his fingers on the arrow nock, the elf felt his bowstring weaken as he stepped silently towards Kirsten, he crouched down alongside her in the darkness and laid his palm against her shoulder.

"You did well," he said, "that sword was out of its sheath as silently as the spirits of a forest glade. Few could have done better! Hold it together, now..."

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He'd seen men built like bullocks shit themselves at the first flash of a sword blade, let alone a corpse, and this young woman had done well to react as she did.

"Looks like this room has been thoroughly looted too, but you never know..." Malmir declared in a whisper. "Kirsten, see if you can detach that torch as it may prove useful in this gloom. I'm going to poke though the debris and check the bodies while we wait for the others... I may find something useful. Secondly, the way a man meets his end leaves clues for the living. Let's see what weapons our foes are wielding, with that knowledge we may be able to craft and more informed defensive strategy."

Silently, the elf removed his hand from Kirsten's shoulder and twisted away into the darkness...

A Thorough Search: Onwards, don't blink!

Disappointedly, Malmir tossed the empty demijohn into a gloomy corner. Nothing! Whoever had ransacked the room had done a good job of lifting anything useful. One thing that he did find curious was the lack of people, or indeed, evidence of people. Though the room had been thoroughly, and in Malmir's eyes, professionally, searched, there was little evidence of any human (or inhuman) influence. No blood. No shit. No vomit even. Malmir knew all to well the smells of combat and this room was curiously lacking in that tangy, sharp stench, nor was there the heavy, foetid smell of sweat that indicated recent human activity.

This room had been empty a while. Then searched. Then abandoned once more. Strange, and a little unsettling, even for Malmir's elven sense of self preservation. Still, there was little to be had mulling over the vageries of life in the Asylum, Malmir doubted that conventional human activity was far from the norm in the bleak depths of this stinking sinkhole. Years previously the elf had visited another asylum, that time in the company of his friend, the fellow minstrel Orfeo, on a prearranged visit to 'entertain' a deranged noblewoman (known to them simply as the Dowager) from Gascony. He recalled little but the mad, drug induced playing of his comrade, the taste of  brilliantly expensive Estalian wine and, of course, the sensual delights of the lady's smooth skinned body.

Those had been the days.

Malmir wondered, rather absentmindedly, where his friend was now, or indeed, if he were still alive. Human life seemed so fleeting to him, like the flight of some tiny sparrow through the spring air, or smoke ruled rafters of a great hall. Blink and you'd miss it.

Blink indeed.

The elf watched Kirsten pad past him in the darkness. His elven eyes allowed him a slight circumspection of her body in the half-light. Smooth skinned he wondered? Or leather hard and taught, like a good bow string should be? Wryly, he shook his head. What a place to be revelling in the honest beauty of females? A stinking hole in the ground full of who knew what. Still, they'd better be careful, and if this young woman was willing to search out the next room he'd be more than willing to accompany her for mutual protection.

Drawing his bowstring, ensuring with a long, slender finger that the arrow was securely nocked, Malmir followed Kirsten into the gloom and made his way into the darkness.

Better not blink girl, he thought, for all our safety.