The Elf didn't move. How could he? Despicable behaviour was what he had committed, attacking a fellow citizen. He had learnt this lesson, though. The man left the hall cheerfully, no more jugs in his hand or mead on his lips. How strange. Had he succeeded, or failed?

As more and more information dawned on him, Ignaescious remained firmly where he had fallen. It seemed he would not be moving. The Elf was slouched in an uncomfortable position, a broken chair his mattress and a smashed mug his pillow. It was almost too comfort . . . 

He fell asleep almost too quickly.