Rirrym hobbled towards the door, pulling out his silver pipe. If worst came to worst, he could use the pipe to club whoever was on the other side of the door. Then he saw the glint of steel from Cromthal's sword. "Maybe you'd be better off here, by the door, if you know how to use that weapon," he whispered across the room, just loudly enough for Cromthal to hear. I just hope it's not an elf on the other side of the door, although I doubt an elf would make so much noise...
"What happened to you?" Cromthal asked, dropping his sword. The sword made a dull *thud* sound as it hit the wooden floor, and it was enough to make the sounds from outside stop for a few moments.
Rirrym held his breath for a few seconds, and time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Cromthal didn't move, and Rirrym wondered if he was paralysed with fear. He suddenly remembered Cromthal's question. "I stubbed my toe, but it'll heal. Now, if you don't pick up that sword again, we might not survive the night. Toss it to me if you do not think you can handle it. I might not be very good with a sword, but I'm willing to try if it gives us a chance of seeing the dawn."
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