Artimeres struck out down Water Street, black leather boots clicking on the cobblestone road as he went. He's an odd fellow, and not just in terms of dress. His flamboyant outfit--feathered hat, flowing scarlet cloak, rapier in a jeweled scabbard, golden jewelry in the form of a half dozen heavy rings, earrings, and necklaces, his lute over his shoulder--are complemented and outdone by a confident swagger that is part of either his personality or drunken state. Possibly both. 

Artimeres turned toward an alley, and for the briefest moment he made eye contact with Graham. Though the dark elf's tail may have felt a twinge of concern as the two locked eyes, it would have been fleeting, as the dark elf seemed to pay no attention to him. He pushed through a crowd of a few locals on their way to the tavern and disappeared down the alley.

With Melancholy on post outside the alley, Graham crept up behind the elf, flail ready. He pulled his hood up to conceal his face, and struck. He swung, and though the strike was true, the head of the flail passed through the elf and crunched loudly against the cobblestones. Artimeres turned, flashing a brilliant smile, and was suddenly gone, as if into the air itself. As he disappeared, it may have occurred to the would-be mugger that Artimeres's boots made no sound against the stone in the alley. 

"Almost," came a voice from behind him, chiding. "I can't blame you two," the voice continued, seemingly from nowhere. "In fact, I admire your entrepreneurial spirit. Rather than kill you, I might even be so inclined as to make you two a proposition in a fashion, if you're interested. What do you say?"