The room beyond was dank and poorly lit. A scant few candles sat in brackets on the walls. A number of men sat at a table, chattering away. From the sound Murich guessed they were Brettonian. He sighed. Bretonnians were notoriously difficult to work with. Always slacking off and arguing over who should do what. A little fire in their bellies and they wanted to
take on the world, more trouble than they were worth.

Sitting by a dirty bunk across from the chattering group were an Elf and a Halfling. The elf had long flowing blonde hair and wore fancy, if dirty and worn, clothes. He was babbling flowery, alien words to the Halfling. The Halfling was bald and quite lean, by Halfling standards anyway. His clothes were also dirty yet much more simple. A distant look was in his
eyes and he merely nodded to the elf's statements. His gaze fell on Murich and his
expression brightened.

"Ho friend, come join us."

Murich no longer considered himself an Imperial, but old habits died hard. He didn't wish to get cosy with a bunch of backstabbing Brettos. He joined the two by the bunk.

"Hello there, who might you be?"

The Halfling patted his chest enthusiastically, "I am Bunt Foddefoot and this here is Zloremar."

Murich noticed how big a grin the elf had fixed him with. He decided to speak very slowly as he held out his hand.

"I am moor ick. Zloremar, yes?"

The elf grabbed his hand and pumped it firmly.

"Ya, am Zloremar. How is you bottom down with me?"

Murich became worried. He wasn't sure what the elf was suggesting but it sounded wrong. The kind of wrong that got you tarred and burnt. The elf continued to pump enthusiastically so Murich gently broke his hand away from the elfs grip.

"Yes, whatever!"

Murich's hostility was plain, it broke the elf's grin. He talked to Bunt in the flowery words again.

"What does he want Bunt?"

"Oh, don't worry. He doesn't speak man words very well. I think he is just asking how you are and if you'll sit with us. "

"Oh, ok. For a moment there I thought... nevermind!"

"Not at all, would you like some bilten?"

"Sure."

"Ya, like me the porking for my mouth. Gimme man anyday, ya?."

The Halfling shook his head and passed a strip to the Elf and another to Murich. They
sat and chewed the dried pork in silence for a while, enjoying the salted flavour. The elf kept grinning and staring at Murich. A little too much, thought Murich. He was feeling very uncomfortable.

He decided to distract himself rather than leave. "So, tell me Bunt. How did you two meet?"

Bunt swallowed his bilten and shuffled into a more comfortable position. "Its quite
simple really. I travelled the Empire before settling here. I was a chef in Elftown for five years, during which time I came to know Zloremar very well. He was my employer."

"Goodness, Elftown? You must have made a lot of cash!"

"Well, that's a later part of the story. As I was saying, Zloremar here was my employer. He was a marine sergeant with the merchant navy. Seems that one day there was a battle at sea and he took a nasty blow to the head. Knocked him cold and almost into the drink. He woke up ten days later, but he hasn't talked a word of sense since then. His Eltharin is alright..."

"Eltharin?" Murich interrupted.

Bunt nodded.

"The elf language, they call it Eltharin. Yes, his Eltharin is
alright even though he makes no bleeding sense. His Man words are much worse,
almost like he is learning it anew as he goes."

The elf piped up again, "Ya ya, am rough good. I like cats. Slender legs!"

"Okay, he is really starting to worry me. You two aren't filling me with swamp gas are you?"

The Halfling chuckled and shook his head. "Oh no. I can honestly say he has no idea how daft he sounds. I think he was saying what a good fighter he is, quick like a cat. Cause of his legs or something. He probably picked up on the word marine you see."

Zloremar cut in, "Ya ya, am rough good!"

Bunt smiled in amusement, "See?"

Murich was still unsure but willing to accept the Halfling's story for now.
He had good snacks to share. "So go on."

"Well, one thing led to another with his family and they liquidated him. All his money, including the wages I had saved with him, was taken and we were turfed out of Elftown. They didn't think he would last long in this city."

Murich nodded in understanding, "So you've taken care of him all this time. You're a rare one for this city, Bunt."

"Oh no, he's more taken care of me. I do the thinking and he does the fighting. He may be touched but he's still a dab hand at cracking skulls."

"I see. So how'd you get this job? You meet Amon?"

"Ah, no. We actually work for Mr Johns, his first name is Jaroslav. He had us hired out for debt collecting when he said he had a big job and needed us. The pay was better and the work looked safer so I signed us up. Pity ole Zloie here didn't quite get the jist ofit. When Mooks opened the door Zloie here went straight into hard britches mode, trying to force his way
in. Lucky I stopped him, Mr Mooks looks pretty rough."

"Rough is right, I didn't know they stacked Bret-dung that high!"

The two broke out in laughter, the elf soon joining them. The door slamming door
heralded the arrival of their taskmasters.

"Gentles, if you would calm down we can get to work", said Johns.

"Yeah, shut it gits!", added Mooks.

Quiet descended over the room. All listened intently.

Johns cleared his throat before he continued, "Very good, now. You two, move the bunk aside please."

He indicated a pair of the Brettonians. They grumbled and made a display of getting up and shuffling to the bunk. With a quick heave it was moved and a trapdoor revealed.