questions

"That's a very good question," Moonhawk said, as though speaking over a tankard of fine ale in a cosy inn, not chained to a cell wall.

"Does that mean you will answer?"

"No, Beltu, merely an observation," Moonhawk said, watching his eyebrows meet his hair-line, at the use of his name.

"I always wondered about the pain threshold of elves, looks like I will finally find out," Beltu said, a hand hovering over the blades and other implements on tray beside him.

"I'd start with that one." Moonhawk offered helpfully. "No, not that one, I'm an elf not an ogre, think delicate," she added seeing him pick a heavy blade.

"You're relaxed, for someone in your position," Beltu said.

"A; you can't hurt me; B you picked the wrong female, twice; Retta was a friend of mine, and me...well let's just say oops."

Beltu cut deep into Moonhawk's thigh with his heavy knife, he gasped in pain, blood flowed from his leggings even as Moonhawk's wound cleared.

"A transference spell, I hope you don't mind," Moon said.

Beltu slashed at her chest in anger, he screamed in pain as Moon's chest healed, his own tunic turned crimson.

Moonhawk rolled her eyes, "that'll teach you not to listen," she said as she used her psionics to free herself. "as to technique, I've seen hobgoblins with more finesse."

"Oh I listened," Beltu said, turning the knife on himself, he sank it hilt deep in the chest.

Moonhawk laughed, "well that saves me a job," she said, "did I not say the transference spell only worked one way? Personally I'd have tested the theory first, but that's just me. Oh and in answer to your question, no, I'm not afraid."


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