“You were just telling us about the man, the elf, and the dwarf - all professional killers it would seem - that came to find the man’s uncle in this forsaken city.” Elthel, the young woman, said venomously as her companion cast aside the now empty potion bottle.
“I wonder, she continued, “do you all have the same mysterious uncle? Is he human, elf, or dwarf?”
“Elthel, please,” the half-elf man said, wiping at the corners of his mouth, “these… three saved us. Be it intentional or not. And… they just killed that oaf Gunalar. Well done master dwarf… either way…”
Iliskra narrowed her eyes as she looked the half-elf man over. He was still quite sickly pale and seemed to be under great strain even now despite the healing potion given to him. “I… believe that… dart was poisoned…” he said aloud, as if he had read Iliskra’s very thoughts. The young red-haired woman lowered her blades and crouched next to her companion, Iliskra catching a glimpse of the concern welling up across her features.
“Those bastards,” Elthel hissed, “they were intent on killing you one way or another.”
“Who?” Iliskra asked, Elthel looked back around - her face immediately regaining all its’ distrustfulness. The half-elf grunted as he adjusted his sitting position, unlike Elthel he seemed more willing to talk, “Gunalar, who you just killed. I… was a fool. He lured me to his lair under promises of… a partnership. And then… he and his men sprang upon us; myself, Elthel, and Aseilia and Vrein. The latter two… did not make it. And one of Gunalar’s cutthroats threw a… dart straight into my shoulder… just after I had escaped the others’ trying to… flay me like a freshly caught trout. I should have known that boar-headed clod would throw… his lot in with Shagarm over me…”
“We need to get you back to-…” Elthel caught herself, realizing she had nearly revealed either a name or a place in her concern.
“Who are you lot? Truthfully, if I dare press.” the wounded man managed to string the query out smoothly, eyes moving between Leon, Iliskra, and Ibdur.
“We are not actually looking for his uncle,” Iliskra blurted out very suddenly, nodding toward Leon, “we are… let us say refugees that just arrived here.”
“Refugees?” the half-elf all but barked, raising his head and brows in disbelief, “and you came here - willingly?” Elthel’s eyes were but slits by now as she squeezed the hilt of her dagger tight, ready to pounce.
“We came from Chandlerscross together, where we first crossed paths,” Iliskra said evenly, “let us just say we are not welcome there or in Scarsdeep as we are the type of folk to be on the… offside of the law.”
“And so you came here? Here? To this fallen city overwhelmed by marauders, Red Wizards, and mercenaries?”
Ibdur looked sideways at Leon, as if waiting for a command to attack.