Bibhi Ashar took off her light armor and shook her long hair. The heat was already unbearable even before noon was here. Though she was used to it for most of her life, she still wished there would be more cool days. Something in her physique disagreed with the heat, no matter how long she lived under it.
Selma, an older gladiator also belonging to Oseman, came over to congratulate her. "You are getting better and better, dear. The master will be happy."
"Thanks, but the master won't care for the morning fights, as usual." Getting rid of the rest of her clothes, Bibhi stood under the baskets with water and pulled the rope. The shower wasn't cold, but at least it took away sweat and dust. "This is your last season, isn't it?"
Selma nodded. "I'm getting too old for this game. I will accompany one of the next caravans as a guard, probably even before the season is over. Maybe I'll be of use for a few more years before I am allowed to retire. If I do not get killed first."
With a sigh, Bibhi grabbed one of the old towels supplied to them. Their master had a tendency to avoid caring for his elderly slaves. To go around the law that clearly stated the duties of slave owners to take care of the sick, wounded, young and old, Oseman rather sent them on dangerous missions before they became incapable, or, pretending it was a generous gesture, freed them when they were of no more use. And while the laws of the land were trying to take all possibilities into account, setting a slave free was allowed at any time, unless it was a sentenced criminal. There was a passage about providing the freed slaves with adequat provisions and money, but it had never been established what adequat was, and Bibhi had seen Oseman kick out an old, blind man with only a piece of stale bred and a copper. It would have been better to put the poor chap out of his misery right there and then.
"You think Nashab will beat this barbarian one?" Sitting on an old carpet, Selma cleaned and oiled her weapons. "Nashab seems to be a favorite, especially now that the story of his early morning heroism made rounds. They played it up quite a bit, too."
"He only stopped one of those idiots trying to make the city unsafe. There wasn't that much to it." Getting into fresh clothes, Bibhi watched the kobold slaves carrying her old ones to the laundry. Then she grabbed her armor and began cleaning it, sitting next to the older woman.
"Ah, anything to make the audience happy, I guess." Selma pointed to the exit of the women's changing rooms. "Look at that, they arrived last night. Freshly caught, so I heard." The tone of the woman now had a hard edge.
Two huge humanoids were led past the woman's area, each of them spouting tusks and orc-like noses, yet they were different in their build, with almost black skin, and their eyes gleamed strangely. They made no sound, but from the way they moved, it was clear they were dangerous. Not someone easy to be enslaved in any case. "What are they?"
"Don't know. No one knows. Supposedly, a ship from across the ocean wrecked and those are the survivors. You know the story."
"Yeah." Bibhi finished with her armor and started on her sword. "But they really look like it could be true."
"I doubt we'll ever find out. Unless, maybe, if the master buys them. They will be in the auction before the afternoon fights."
"Those, the master won't buy!" That was clear to the younger gladiator. "He's always out for presentable sensations, and that's not ever going to be presentable."
"True that. Ah, well, I need to get going training the young ones." Vaguely pointing in the direction of the training complex, Selma got up and ready. "The next generation to replace me, you know."
As Bibhi watched her leave, she made a decision. For the longest time, she had considered taking up one of the fortune tellers on his offer to show what it held for her. Her dream of a glorious life as a gladiator had just gotten a serious kick, and for the first time the woman realized she would not always be young and pretty and able to fight. And maybe she would never be famous. Bibhi finished her cleaning and stowed her stuff away for later use, then ran as quickly as she dared to the vast rooms of the fortune teller section of Castle Starmight.
As usual around this time of day, there were not too many customers. Mostly parents asking about the futures of their children, or brides and grooms to be to find out about right matches. Fortune telling did not come cheap, and so only the upper class could afford the service. For a slave, it would be impossible if not that about a year ago, Bibhi had prevented a robbery on Toran, the man she was now visiting. And as always, Toran was already expecting her.
With a wide grin of an almost toothless mouth, the small, slim man bowed to her and pointed to the pillows opposing his knee high table with the cards. "I knew you'd come today, my dear, and have prepared everything already."
"No wonder people avoid your profession if it is impossible to surprise you," the gladiator joked to get over her nervousness.
"People avoid us to avoid themselves," Toran corrected. "Now, please, let's see what the future holds."
"I haven't even asked..."
"That, my dear, is not necessary. I always know what people will ask, what they really want to know and what they need to be told. Now, shall we?" With quick motions, he shuffled one of the many packs of cards in front of him. Bibhi knew those fortune decks were all somewhat different and wondered why he had picked this particular one. And if he knew so much, why would he need cards at all?
The first card he turned showed the image of a young woman, sitting naked in a red lotus blossom, crossing her arms in front of her to cover herself and to push her long hair outward. Some sort of plants grew like wings from her back. Some buildings could be seen in the background, and behind that were the moon and the stars. "Is that to represent me?"
"Oh yes, that is you. Full of desire and wishes you think would never come true, growing wings from the fertile soil of your imagination." He turned another card. It showed a well with a fig tree, the tree growing inside the water. From behind the tree, streams of water were filling the well, in the front, the well let the water run to whatever. "There will be a constant flow of challenges and rewards in your life, you'll give as much as you take" Toran said, sounding satisfied. "I draw this card very rarely. It is a good sign."
"But the tree stands still, no? Only the water moves. Does that mean I'll be stuck in this city?"
"Oh, no, it means you are steadfast and hard to kill, just like the fig tree. Now, let's see..." The third card showed a young girl in white robes holding up a multicolored banner while riding, full gallop, on a female lion over some fertile lands. A large bonfire was seen in the back, with many figures dancing around it. "There will be a messenger, at a time of celebration or performance. She – or he, I can't be sure despite the picture but it matters not - might bring good news, but not only. And it will change your life as you will have to leave wherever you are at that point. Not too far in the future, this, I think."
Another card was turned. It showed, unmistakenly, an evil spirit riding on a goat or ram, it was hard to say as the picture was all in black and white except for the blood dropping from a chalice the figure held. "This is your master," Toran sneered, never having made a secret out of his dislike for slavery. "He will try and control you all the time, but you will find a way for you and your friends to escape his clutches for some time, although it will be a painful process. I do not quite understand the meaning of it, but that will be up to you to discover." He looked at her with a sort of worry she had never seen in him before.
Bibhi frowned. She was used to pains, every few weeks she had to take a break due to wounds she got in the fights. "Anything else?"
The next card showed a man dressed like a fancy dancer in the theaters, but instead of batons or balls, he held two swords while jumping in the air. One sword was pointed up, the other one down. Behind him was a broken prison from which flames were dancing. "Oh, this is your immediate future," Toran exclaimed. "The prison is to be taken literal, as are the flames. You all need to be careful. If you make the wrong decision, you can fall." He pointed to the downpointed sword. "Or you can shine." He pointed to the other sword. "But you in particular might despise yourself for it when the time comes." He pointed to the face of the dancer who, as Bibhi only now saw, was a grimace of what might be self loathing.
"That is all for now, dear. If the events in this card have transpired, please come back." He took the cards back up and shufffled them into the deck.
"Very well." She knew better than to argue with him, and asides, she had a lot to think about already. With a bow and a smile, she retired from his rooms.
The shower was warm, the water having sat in the containers all day, but Nashab did not mind. The sweat of the battle needed to be washed away before the healer of the arena could tend to his cuts and bruises. They weren’t bad. What was bad was Nashab’s mood. He could have won this battle. One little slip on something buried in the sand and he had lost his focus just for a moment. A rookie mistake, one he was not supposed to make. No one seemed to have noticed; the fight had been close and the audience was still elated, singing and shouting. If he would not know better, he would be suspicious about whatever it was he’d slipped upon. There was no point in blaming anyone else.
Using the last bit of soap he could find, he carefully cleaned and rinsed himself and then walked over to the healer. Bibhi waved to him and grimaced, obviously wanting to let him know she was sorry about how his fight went. He shrugged to let her know it was fine, even when he didn’t feel that way. While the healer checked him over, he heard some of the other gladiators talking. He was paying little attention until one of them mentioned the satrap and something about the new moon. “What was that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” his fellow gladiator nodded, thinking Nashab had caught most of it. “The strap really thinks the whole fear about the new moon is fabricated and now wants to bring in a famous group of adventurers from the north.” A bit of chuckling followed. “Because, you know, they will be unbiased and not corrupted.” Snorting and more chuckling all around.”
This was bad news for the master’s activities, and, by extention, for is acquisition teams. “Where did you hear this?”
“Satrap’s bard. Don’t think he was supposed to tell anyone, but he was drunk in the whorehouse and told Lizza, who told her mother hen, who told her lover, who told…”
Nashab got the picture. Likely, Oseman would also know by now and already planning ahead. As it would likely involve the troupe, Nashab began planning, too, as much as he was able to plan at all. He wasn’t good at it, especially not as panic began to set in. He had to try hard to not run and let the healer finish. He kept listening, but no more important information was available.
As he was running home, he thought the best solution would be to just do nothing and wait for those adventurers to leave. But what if they would find anything? What would the master do? But at home, he was confronted with Oseman and a few of his overseers laughing loudly about just this issue. They did not mention their nightly activities or anything, of course. Nashab was not sure the overseers knew about it either. But they were making fun of the satrap and the northerners he was to hire, claiming that many other groups had tried to solve the problem and had, for the most part, met their untimely end.
Relief caused him to smile. If Oseman was not worried, he shouldn’t be. Only when he was almost at his tent did he realize what Oseman’s mockery was hinting at. For any investigators to meet an untimely end, someone would have to cause it, and as there were no monsters around… It was not as if Oseman would ever dirty his hands himself in such a way. For the first time in his life, the albino felt like running away, and his hand fell to his illegal mark. It was impossible, but he could never kill anyone without a just cause.
"No, no, no, no!" Jumping up and down, the halfling with the throwing knives pointed a finger at the girl standing next to the rotating target in the middle of the tent. "How often do I need to tell you to turn the wheel in a steady pace? You count slowly and give it a push every 2 seconds. Not more. Not less. Not a bumpy push either! How, in the name of all gods everywhere, am I supposed to hit what is pinned on there if you are elsewhere with your mind?"
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The girl, younger half-sister to the knife artist, blushed a deep crimson red, struggling to say something not making her look completely foolish. But she was given no chance. Aventin the Dark, star of the nightly performances, walked over to collect his knives – most of them still close to where they were supposed to hit – and snorted at the blushing girl. "I bet I know who you were thinking of. Nashab, that's who. I don't know why you fancy him, really. I mean, him being an albino and all is not the problem, but him being a half-dwarf is. You are a half-hairfoot, in the name of all gods everywhere! Imagine that! What would happen if you two would actually pair up? A quarter-hairfoot-quarter-dwarf, the master forbid? But then, the master would not forbid, he always wants the strangest mix in races. Asides, I don't think you are quite old enough to harbor thoughts of romance and..."
"Now now!" Dyonmur entered the tent from the front entrance and chuckled. "Even if she's fancying him, there is no harm in that. Young people do such things. I know, I was young once."
Aventin, never one to anger for long, burst out laughing. "You are barely 25, you rogue misfit. Ylva could be your father."
"Hardly." Eating a gumu fruit – a sort of mix between an apple and a fig – the gnome casually walked over to Jaswen, who was slowly regaining her normal color. "I mean, he's an elf. And I'd not want to be adopted by an elf. All sorts of bad things happen when elves adopt gnomes. Or any other race."
"Is that so? Like what?" The halfling inspected the target wheel and frowned. His performance was getting old, he would have to think about something new soon.
"I am not sure and I don't want to find out." The factotum giggled again. "In any case, I came here to tell you the news. Unless, of course, someone else was quicker and you already know." Expectantly, the gnome looked at his two person audience.
"What news?" Jaswen asked, her eyes growing wide with curiosity. She was only 16, always hungry for news and very easy to impress.
"The master's ill begotten son has been arrested in Relorn," Dyonmur explained. "Last night, in fact. Been at a party for the wine merchant's eldest daughter's wedding... what's his name again?"
"Ralmur?" the halfling asked.
"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, he's been given a bunch of harem girls for the night – you know how he is. But he kinda accidentally," – he stretched the word – "ended up in the bed of the merchant's favorite new acquisition. In a locked off part of the harem."
Jaswen stared and got slightly red again. Aventin coughed and shook his head. "Had to come to that, eventually, no? When he's drunk or high – or even when he's not – he keeps causing embarrassment for the family. A wonder his father has not yet disowned him."
"It's his only son... in fact, his only child," the factotum explained what they all knew. "You know the rumors about the master's fertility. In any case, the master is not happy about it, especially as we all know what fate is likely to befall the son, powerful father or not."
"What fate?" Jaswen asked. "Can't the master just buy the young master out of it, as always?"
"Ralmur refused to allow that, so I heard. Maybe they even set him up. Who knows? Anyway, men being caught with their pants down in the closed off section of a harem usually get their pearls cut off," Flapplegirk explained.
"You mean...?" Again, the girl blushed.
"Yeah, that's what he means." Aventin scratched his head. "And the master can't allow that, as he needs his line to continue."
"Which means," a female voice said from the audience area, "he'll send one of the acquiring groups to deal with the issue. Which means, it will be us."
Everyone turned to stare at Afha Hiddi, the pale elf who had watched the doors to their last house to break in last night. "What, may tell," the halfling said, "makes you think that? Not about one of the groups having to pull the camel's tail, but why would it be us? The other groups work together longer and probably have the better mix of skills." He wished he would knew who they were, but he didn't dare say that.
"I've been in the kitchen, mending the dessert cook's favorite pot again. I saw the young master's men arrive with the news. The Mistress got angry with master, of course, saying it was all his fault and then he said he'd send us."
"He just said that out in the open?" Jaswen gasped.
"No, of course not, silly." Afha threw her one of those looks that so often made her feel even younger and dumber. "I set my eavesdropping spell on them." Afha had a lot of cantrips making her useful in many ways, but the lack of more powerful spells was grating on her. Oseman was carefully controlling what spells his few magically capable slaves learned. Even for Afha, who had learned to make do without a spellbook, it was difficult to sneak new magic in without anyone who shouldn't know noticing.
"Maybe," Aventin growled, " he just thinks we are the easiest to replace in case we are caught."
"Nonsense!" The gnome wiggled his finger at them. "Someone would notice our tattoos if we'd get caught and Oseman would never risk it. Not even for his only son. No, I believe he picked us because Tenelli is with us. Sneaking in and out somewhere or stealing keys is right in her well, so to speak."
"And we have several people capable of some kind of magic and thus able to use the stuff from his magic things collection." Afha pointed out. "I guess this will be another long night with little sleep for us, then."
"One night?" Jaswen frowned. "Relorn is two days of travelling with fast camels, at least. We've been there last year, shortly before the sandstorm hit, I remember."
"I'm sure the master will have a much quicker method of transportation for us, this time around," Dyonmur said, waving his hands. "A teleport, maybe, although that would require someone to know about us. Or a flying carpet."
Aventin paled visibly. "I'm not going on any of those."
"Not like you'd have any say in it, my friend." The gnome patted the halfling's back. "Best we let the others know right away, no?"
But an hour later, still no one had given them orders to travel.
Meanwhile, Mirmon was making his way through the city library, refiling the shelves with the volumes people had brought back today. He was grumbling under his breath loud enough for the custodian to hear. His master had a debt to pay and he had been the payment, so to say. For the next few weeks, he would have to assist the custodian of the library, one Mehman Farsif, doing all the boring tasks. Farsif, a fat man with little inclination to move or even climb ladders, was more than happy to watch him stride off with a cart of books after making sure the half-elf would know what he was doing.
He continued his grumbling until he was out of sight and earshot of the custodian. Then a smile spread over his face and he began to hurry up, sorting in books with amazing speed with the help of a handy little spell he had learned from a friendly outlander a few days ago
It was rare that he had access to so many books. The master's library didn't hold nearly as many and had no works about magic. In the last few days, Mirmon had managed to finish his work quick and hide somewhere with volumes about magical theories and spell research. Not that he had had access to any real spells, of course, those were in the locked section and his master had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn't go there. But he might eventually think of a way to sneak in. Farsif had a thing for alcohol drenched chocolate and tended to fall asleep. Eventually, he'd manage to make a copy of the keys, maybe with help from Evina or one of the others good with their fingers and knowing where to get copies for keys.
Like the other days, he was quick to finish and then sneaked off to a corner behind a statue of some sort of hero or the other, where he had hidden a copy about the effects of elemental spells on elementals themselves. He quickly lost himself in the volume and finished the last few dozen pages before he realized something in the library had changed.
It was, of course, always quiet in here, but the silence had taken on a new quality. The faint sound of Jonk, the imbecile in charge of keeping the library floor clean and the shelves free of dust, shuffling around and quietly mumbling to himself was gone, the silent exchanges over returned books or books about to be lend out had ceased. The door must be closed, because even the sound of traffic, already quieted by the anteroom, was no longer audible. No pages turned, no books were opened or closed.
Considering what to do now, he carefully placed the book on a small reading table and stayed behind the statue. He might have simply been locked in as it happened that slaves were forgotten, but it could not be that late yet. Judging from the sunbeams on the ground, coming in from huge, multicolored windows, he had not been sitting here more than an hour. More and more he was convinced something sinister was going on.
Before he could get himself to decide on anything, he heard familiar steps – and unfamiliar ones. One of the people coming closer was the custodian. The other feet must be attached to someone less heavy and much more agile, which was none too surprising. He could see either of them from where he was, but now he could hear them whisper to each other almost inaudibly. Given his half-elf senses, he could still hear at least some of the conversation.
"..sure everyone is gone? That oaf..." "...sent him to the barber... closed early, just the... why I took a slave, they do as..." "...sure of that? Some slaves are..." "...will be busy in the travel section... taking his time, lazy as he..."
Mirmon frowned at being called lazy, but the fascination with the unknown man's voice made him forget about it quickly. There was a raspy quality to it, the accent was outlandish as far as he could tell. He himself, not having been born a slave, still had a slight accent even after a decade of speaking the language. This person seemed not to be used to talk in this tongue, it sounded like it was a scholar using his book knowledge. That was not too surprising, considering all the scholars coming here. But why the secrecy?
The feet of the custodian appeared, as usual covered in soft sandals that wouldn't squeak on the wooden floor of the library. The feet of his visitor appeared a moment later, following the custodian closely. The footwear was curious; some sort of soft leather colored in strong greens and blues, in the style of the crackows of the north eastern part of the land, just that in this case the beak, as the long toes were jokingly called by those not wearing them, was rolled up and fastened to the top of the shoes somehow. The owner had very hairy legs and short robes, because from his point of view Mirmon could barely see the green hem. Odd energies surrounded the stranger and made him shiver. The two men passed him by and vanished in the direction of the closed off section.
Waiting a moment longer, the half-elf decided to follow. Carefully, on his hands and knees, he crawled out from behind the statue and crouched behind the nearest shelf. He could barely hear them anymore. Ducking from one cover to the next, he tried to keep up without being seen.
"So, this is it, then," the stranger's voice suddenly said all too loud and all too close. Mirmon dove under a table as he saw the backs of the two men not in front of the door to the spells and items section, but in front of the large mirror with the edge in a flower design Mirmon found so fascinating. Did they close the library just to look at it? Was there something special about the thing?
"Indeed. But many have failed to make use of it, and I don't see you to be any different, no disrespect." The custodian chuckled. "We'd be better off just getting you a copy of the book you want and not waste our time with it."
From where he was now, Mirmon could see the stranger was dressed in robes fitting the color of his strange shoes, albeit they were really short, more like how some female wizards wore them. And a wizard it was, no doubt, seeing how there were silver arcane symbols stitched on said robes, each of them radiating magic even without Mirmon actively trying to detect any.
"Has she tried?" The strangers voice sounded almost bored, as if he was used to people doubting his skills.
"Of course she has. If with any success or not, I cannot say, but I believe we would know if she or anyone else has succeeded. Now, come on, I do not want to waste all day on this." They moved again, and this time they did enter the locked room. And to his amazement, they left the door open behind them!
Maybe it should not have surprised him too much, after all, they didn't expect anyone else but him, a lowly slave, to be in here. And Farsif was expecting him to be busy sorting books for a while, unaware that he had a sorting spell doing the work of hours in minutes. He debated with himself, but only a moment. He knew they would probably lock him in, but there were always windows to climb through, he had helped carrying in bookcases once and knew that much. Without reasoning it through, he waited for the two of them to disappear behind a shelf and then slipped in, ducking into the other direction. He was curious what they were up to, but having a chance to be here undetected and probably learn some useful things was much more important than the likely unimportant doings of a wizard from the north.
Smiling like the cat who had gotten into the milk chamber, he went all the way to the other side of the room and smiled at the volumes. What to read first?
Later, in the early evening breeze, the troupe minus Mrmon was assembled, under the tarp of their community tent, one they did not have to share with the rest of the circus. Juiced water was at hand. Caramel covered dates, sugared oranges and imported white grapes, leftovers from the master’s reception of some important guests a few hours earlier, made the rounds between them. The bard was smoking a water pipe while telling a story he got off another bard. Everyone but Nashab was relaxed and happy. Especially Tenelli. The master had ordered for the dog Shasta to be chained by day and only be let out in a fenced area at night. Unless someone sabotaged the arrangement, there was little worry to be had about that beast anymore.
The incident at the park was almost forgotten. Oseman seemingly didn’t think much of it, attributing the whole thing to spying activities between the greater houses. He was probably right, he knew even more about their dealings than their bard did, and that was saying something. All in all, Oseman was elated to have his slaves help out in such a matter, the incident and Nashab’s assistance for the guards meant he would be talked about again, and this in turn meant more visitors to the circus. The lady Tenelli and Ylva had assisted had been to the show this evening, together with several of her family members.
The topic of the master's son had been discussed to death, but despite of being sure freeing the wayward son would fall to them, they had heard no word yet. The bard thought this was because Oseman was trying every other method first. But everyone saw it as some sort of adventure and not a real danger. People were broken out of jails all the time, and once the misfit was gone, the insulted party would agree to a fine.
“Stop making such a face,” Bibhi poked Nashab. “Losing one fight with a well matched opponent is no reason to play constipated camel.”
“That’s not it! Has none of you heard the talks? The adventurers coming from the north to investigate the new moon situation?”
From the silence falling over everybody, and judging their expressions, none of them but the bard had. Ylvar thought for a moment, understanding their worries. “Oseman is not the only one with shady dealings at new moon, and we are not his only team. Other teams, more experienced and less valuable,” he made a swiping motion, indicating Tenelly and Nashab especially, “than this one. Any such dealings would not have anything to do with us.”
“You seem very sure.” Nashab sat up straight and tried to shove his fear deep down. “But he might need all of his teams if those hired folks are really good.”
“I am sure.” Ylvar put some of the magic suggestion he was able to employ behind his words, and the albino relaxed while everyone else started eating again. “Let’s not spoil this evening, alright? Say, where is Mirmon?”
“Off reading more books I bet.” The gnome took out a flask of date schnapps he was so good in finding. “More for us, then.”
“The more he reads, the more he learns, the better for all of us.” Afha used her magic to grab the bottle and make it float over to her hand. “I wish I had his talent for learning things. I always need to force the spells into my mind, while he just picks them up, alters them in words and meaning whichever way he likes. Yes, I admit it, I envy him his talent.”
Bibhi made a clucking sound. “Considering the side effects his spells have, at least when he first learns or changes them, I think I prefer your magic. Especially as it does not randomly go off when you get spooked or are sick.”
“Yeah she has a point, do you remember…” they drifted off telling anecdotes, and in no time the bottle was empty. It was not enough to get anyone drunk, but everyone but Evina felt a little tipsy and positively elated.
Several books and more or less learned spells later, Mirmon felt dead tired. Never in his life had he had such an opportunity, and never before had he studied so hard. As a half-elf, he needed sleep like anyone else, just less of it and not hours at once. But he felt like he had worked for ages. He had expended all his magical power, creating light again and again in the darkening room. He hadn’t consciously noted the sun going down, nor had he heard the librarian and his guest leaving; to be safe from being found he had woven silence and an illusion around himself. These spells and, even in mind, trying out new things brought on a deep exhaustion. Slowly, very slowly, he realized it was late and dropped his spells. It was now dark all around him and he could see the ceiling high windows in this room again. Very little light came from outside, it was, after all, just after new moon.
“So,” he said, becoming aware of having put himself in a real hole of camel’s dung. No more words came to him. Half of his mind started to panic, the other half attempted to find a logical solution to his problem. Maybe no one would notice he was missing at home. Maybe he could just pretend coming to work tomorrow. But for that, he would still have to get out of this protected room first. Without triggering any magical or non-magical alarms. Knowing enough about this library, this was an impossible task. He would be found and there was no telling what would happen to him. Somewhere along these thoughts and his deep exhaustion, the half-elf fell asleep. Had there been a sound detecting alarm, it would have gone off because he started snoring loudly a moment later.