Filtmond

Chapter One

A groan rang out through the small room as Rhyldaer sat up, holding a hand to his aching head. He looked around at the room, recognizing it as the one he'd been staying in for the last few months. An innkeeper had been kind enough to give him a place to stay as long as he helped around the shabby inn. Suffice it to say, the Drow had taken the man up on his offer readily, as he knew he would not find such kindness again anytime soon. Most of the time, he acted as a sort of body-guard to the inn-keep, but he also cleaned the place and handled the bar. As long as he kept up with his duties, Rhyldaer was allowed to stay and eat at the inn for free.

There was a rustle of fabric as Rhyldaer sat up and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. How had he gotten back to the inn? It must have been the sage. Somehow, the sage had managed to teleport him halfway across the city and right into his own bed. The fact that someone could actually do that was worrisome. No one should be able to hold that much power.

The Drow stood, smoothing out the clothes he'd been wearing the day before. Judging by the position of the sun, it was mid day already. He made a point to wake up early every morning to do his chores, and he had the feeling the inn-keep wouldn't be too happy about him sleeping in. He undid the belt that held his swords, setting it on his dresser. The dagger he kept concealed in his thigh-high indigo boots was more than enough if something went wrong at the bar. After shifting his deep blue cloak so it no longer laid sideways, he strode out into the halls, making his way down into the common room of the inn.

“There you are, boy!” said the inn-keep, his deep baritone echoing over the drone of voices. “I didn't even notice you come back last night! The wife and I were worried, you son of a bitch.” He was always a crude man, and the Drow had gotten used to it fairly quick. “Get your ass down here and take care of the bar. I need to go check on the kitchen.” Without waiting for a response, the man stalked out through a door behind the bar.

Rhyldaer sighed, shaking his head as he hopped over the counter and took the seat his boss/landlord had occupied previously. He glanced around, ruby eyes taking note of all the empty stools. There wasn't anyone at the bar yet. There probably wouldn't be until sundown. He sighed softly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter.

Just as he got relaxed, he heard the tell-tale creak of one of the barstools, making him peek an eye open to see who it was. A human – a rare sight nowadays – sat there, flicking a few locks of brown hair out of eyes the color of dark chocolate. At first glance, they appeared black as night, but when the light caught them they shone like amber. He was a young man, no older than twenty-five. Brown, reinforced leather clung to his muscular frame as well as armor could cling, and it made the Drow wonder why the man bothered wearing it to an inn of all places.

“Good day to you, Micheal,” the Drow said, nodding his head. The human was a regular around here, but he never came this early. “What brings you around here at this time? I'm sure you could find something more interesting to do.”

“Oh, nothing's more interesting than looking at your pretty face all day,” Micheal joked, making Rhyldaer roll his eyes. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you. I've been looking for you for what seems like forever! Don't you love me anymore?” The brunette's eyes got wide, making them look glassy with tears. The human had used that trick to get into many a woman's bed, but knew it would be useless against the stony Drow.

Rhyldaer shook his head at the man's antics, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips up. “You should know me better than that by now,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “What did you want to talk to me about, my friend?”

“Well, I can't give you too many details,” the human said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to the bartender. “But you know that thing yesterday? That stupid 'everyone show up or we'll gut you alive' thing?” He paused, waiting for the other man to nod in confirmation. “Well, I was one of the ones that got picked by those winged bastards. I went to the church like they told me to, and there was this creepy guy there, right? He was all glow-y and shit. I can't tell you what he told me to do, but it was weird, man. I'm not sure if I like where this whole thing is going...” He glanced around as if looking for anyone eavesdropping.

“I know,” Rhyldaer said, keeping his cool composure and leaning against the bar again.

Michael blinked at him, a confused look crossing over his face before realization took over his features. “They picked you, too?” he asked, sounding somewhat amazed. “I didn't even know you could fight, man! Besides, I thought they would have ignored you and everything, since you're a Drow and all. No offense.” Rhyldaer just shrugged it off, knowing that the man didn't mean any ill by his comment.

“I agree with you, all the same. Something just doesn't seem right about all of it. Why now, of all times? As far as I know, we've been at peace with Wintrel for almost ten years.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael sighed, shaking his head as he ran his hand through brunette locks again. “Well, I guess this means we're rivals now, huh?” He gave a short chuckle, resting his chin on his palm lazily. “There goes my hopes of getting into your pants...”

The Drow hummed softly, figuring that a response would be unnecessary. The human knew that he only slept with people when he had to, not because he wanted to. It just wasn't in his nature. The unending need to breed with those you find attractive was long gone from a Drow's mind by the time they hit their first century. As it was, Rhyldaer was already in his third.

The two men chatted for a while longer, with Michael doing most of the talking. As the sun started to set, the human said something about getting back to his “score” for the night. Rhyldaer merely shrugged and nodded, waving to the man as he left. The bar was starting to fill, so the Drow was glad his distraction was gone.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Rhyldaer closed the bar sometime around one in the morning, going about and doing his chores after he was done. He swept, mopped, polished the glasses and silver, before finally heading up to his room. He stripped down to his loincloth, climbing under the sheets and falling fast asleep.

The next day passed by much like the previous, and the next, and the next. A week passed, then another, and a third zipped by. There had been no word from the mysterious sage at the temple, making Rhyldaer more than a bit nervous. The man had said that he would be contacted when the time was right, and surely enough time had passed to get everything set up.

The Drow looked up from his place behind the bar when he heard the door open, sighing when he saw the a group of three take a seat at one of the tables in the dining room. Rhyldaer stood, slipping over the empty bar to take the group's order. When he came back, he stared at the man behind the bar. Black and red velvet robes caught in the nonexistent wind, the hood drawn up to shadow glowing blue eyes.

“Drow,” said the small man, his shining eyes seeming to look right through Rhyldaer. “The time has come for your services to be utilized.”

Rhyldaer debated going down on one knee like he had before, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself or the glowing man in front of him while discussing an assassination.

“What would you have me do?” Rhyldaer asked, keeping his voice down. “Whatever it is, I will need time to prepare for the journey.”

The sage shook his head, a smirk that didn't reach his eyes crossing his face. “You don't need to worry about appearances. I've put a barrier around this room, so neither of us can be seen nor heard by prying patrons. As for preparation, everything that needs to be done already has been. Your landlord has been informed, and all the materials you will need for the task are packed in that bag.” He pointed a pale finger at a pack Rhyldaer hadn't noticed before. For some reason, he got the feeling it wasn't there before now.

The Drow held back a sigh, crossing his arms and closing his eyes to stop himself from saying something that would get him killed. “What exactly am I doing?” he asked after he collected his cool.

Smirking wider, the sage nodded, looking down his nose at the smaller Drow. “It is quite simple. You are to travel to a town in the outskirts of Filtmond. There have been rumors that one of the Litse lieutenants has taken up post there, and is trying to draw the town over to their side. We cannot allow our own people to be taken advantage of by their lies!” For the first time, Rhyldaer could hear a bit of passion creeping into the normally indifferent voice. Did the sage really hate the desert elves of Wintrel that much?

“The town is an important trading resource,” the sage continued after letting his point sink in. “Without it, the capital will be without a good deal of the fruits and raw materials that are essential for us to operate efficiently.”

“With all due respect,” Rhyldaer cut in when he got a chance, taking another glance at the pack still sitting ominously on the counter-top. “Traveling to the outskirts of the country will take months, even if I ride hard. What's to say that this lieutenant won't convince these people before that point?”

That smirk was back, twisting thin lips in the strange expression. “You will not be riding there, Rhyldaer of the Teken'ghym. Surely you have not forgotten when I transported you into your own bed a number of weeks past. Though, you will need to make your own way back. I'm not going to go chasing after you as though you were an incompetent child.” Rhyldaer nodded in response, looking over the situation again whist keeping this new information in mind.

It wouldn't be too bad. Even with his current lack of information about his target, Rhyldaer had been trained by the Drow, who were renowned for their skill with assassinations. Even though he hadn't gotten quite as much training as his sisters – as was tradition – he considered himself well versed enough to take out almost anyone that crossed his path. All the same, he couldn't underestimate the Litse lieutenant.

“I understand my mission sir,” the Drow said at last, finally dropping to one knee. Even as he felt the blow to his pride, the slight irritation was drowned out by the knowledge that the man in front of him could kill him with little more than a thought. The sages were one of the most powerful races in the world, along with one of the rarest. There were only ten that Rhyldaer knew of, and he'd never thought he'd meet one, even with his extended lifetime.

“Good to hear, my friend. Now, shoulder your pack and I will teleport you just outside the town. Head south-west, in the direction of the Wintrelian deserts, and you will come across a small village called Glerthro. The lieutenant, named Zyta Hirote'shak, is staying in one of the larger inns for the time being. His guards are mostly staying at the inn or other homes throughout the Glerthro. Take advantage of this fact. If there is any way you can get him alone, then do so. Even though he is Litse, he has had extensive military training.” He paused, running those glowing ultramarine orbs along Rhyldaer's form. “Although, I think that you may appeal to him in a way that will make it far easier to seek privacy.”

Pausing as he hefted the surprisingly heavy pack onto his back, Rhyldaer's stare hardened, his red eyes seeming to darken and freeze over. “I will not sell myself,” he growled out, his voice just as chilled as his eyes. “I have my honor.”

A chilling laugh echoed, and it took Rhyldaer a moment to notice that it was the sage. “My dear boy,” came the condescending voice, laced with amusement. “This has nothing to do with honor. You will do whatever I tell you, if you want to keep that pretty head of yours.” The Drow seethed at the threat, glowering openly. “Don't fret over it. I'm sure that you will come to your senses over the course of your mission. Do what you will, but remember that Nerina watches your every move, waiting for you to reveal your treacherous soul for her judgment. The pale hand was twisted into the now familiar sign, tapped against the robed chest before being lifted in the air. The eerie blue glow shimmered around the thin fingertips as they lowered, hovering just in front of the Drow's forehead.

“Complete your mission. If you fail, you will die, be it by the enemy's hand or my own. Once it is done, return to the capital and wait until nightfall. I will be waiting where we first met. There, the great Nerina will bestow her blessings on her faithful warrior.”

Faithful wasn't exactly the word Rhyldaer would have picked to describe himself, but he wasn't about to argue with the sage about it. “Of course, sir. I will take down lieutenant Hirote'shak swiftly and as quietly as possible.”

With a nod and a cold smirk, the sage tapped Rhyldaer's forehead gently, and the Drow's nerves barely had time to register the touch before he was falling into that endless blackness once more.

–

Unlike his previous experience with teleportation, Rhyldaer was fully conscious when he was thrown back into the physical world. The breath was knocked from his lungs from the sudden impact with hard, rocky ground even as he felt the small but sharp stones dig into any exposed skin. After his skin started to sting from the small pain, the sensation of nearly overwhelming heat followed closely. As a Drow, he was used to the cool dampness of underground caves and tunnels, not the dry heat of being so close to the desert.

The sands of Wintrel could just barely be seen on the horizon; a thick band of rolling gold that outlined the dusty gray landscape broken only by the occasional tuft of green from the shrubs that dotted the ground. It was both a beautiful and foreboding sight.

It was said that anyone that entered the neighboring country never returned, and was never seen again. There were many rumors that the Litse were able to become invisible, as no structure built by them had ever been seen. Though Rhyldaer knew this wasn't the case, it was a strange thought that so many people could live in such an unforgiving climate without so much as a tent.

Finally getting his wits about him, the Drow stood slowly, brushing off the white leather that made up most of his outfit. He would have to clean it the next time he got the chance. He readjusted the short cloak fastened around his shoulders before checking that both the short swords strapped to his hips were still there. The swords had been the two things he kept from his clan. They were enchanted with a special type of poison that caused whatever wound they inflicted to become infected almost instantaneously.

Glancing over to the desert with a scowl, Rhyldaer drew a compass out of the pack that the sage had set up for him. Turning towards the south-west, the assassin swung the pack over his shoulders once more and set out for his first assignment.

“This better be worth it,” he muttered to himself, plucking a small bit of shrub from his hair.

–

Glerthro was a small town, but a busy one. Caravans from all over the country used this town as a popular trading spot. Though it was close to the desert, a large lake made up the opposite border. The heat and the moisture combined to make a very good area for growing fruit and grain, as well as herding sheep, cattle, and pigs. There was diverse wildlife, so game was plentiful, and hunters made the small village a common stopping ground on their yearly rounds.

Though Rhyldaer knew all this from the stories he'd heard, he wasn't prepared for how many people there really were in the small town. There was no way to force your way through the crowds that swarmed in the streets, pouring over various stands in the market that seemed to line the entire town. He allowed himself to be dragged along, taking in what he could of the city.

With this sort of crowd, no one would be able to recognize him. Even though Drow were rare in these parts, Glerthro had its fair share of them. The city wound around in what looked like a huge circular maze, leaving plenty of escape routes for after his job was done. The buildings were low, with windows dotting each floor, making it possible for him to scale them if he needed to.

Overall, it was a perfect location for an assassination. Those damn priests knew about jobs like this a bit too well for Rhyldaer's taste, not that he was going to say anything about it. Even though he rarely did so, the ability to make snippy comments wasn't one he wanted to lose any time soon.

It took no more than a few minutes to locate the inn his target was staying at, though for anyone else, it would most likely seem like there was no one of importance staying there. To the eyes of a trained assassin however, it was easy to tell.

A few guards sat outside the inn's door, seemingly completely inebriated. They were mercenaries, that much was obvious. Three elven men and a human, doubtlessly chosen for this post due to how normal they looked. The wood-elves watched him inconspicuously, all three pairs of pale green eyes perfectly alert. They were skilled, or at least they held themselves as such. The Drow sauntered past, apparently paying them no mind and making sure to slouch slightly, hunkering his shoulders forward a bit to seem less like the practiced swordsman he was.

He kept the guise as he pushed the door open, looking around as though familiar with this specific rest spot. It was all but difficult to find his target, considering how far the lieutenant towered above the rest of the crowd.

Despite the stories Rhyldaer had heard of the Litse, it was still both terrifying and amazing when he laid his eyes on the man. It was common knowledge that the average height for a Litse male was about seven feet, but one never really realizes just how tall that is until they are faced with another humanoid of that height. Even sitting, Hirote'shak was just about as tall as the Drow while standing. If he stood, the top of Rhyldaer's head would probably barely brush the desert elf's sternum.

Rhyldaer couldn't help but swallow thickly as he contemplated his chances if something were to go wrong. They weren't high, that was certain.

He strode over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the raised stools. From this angle, he could watch his target with no problems, but it was out of the way enough that he didn't look suspicious. The barkeep came over, leaning against the bar casually.

“Hey there, what can I get ya?” the human asked with a grin as he polished a large glass mug.

Rhyldaer responded in as friendly a manner as he could force himself, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning in slightly in order to be heard over the low drone of voices around them without raising his voice. “Nothing too heavy for now. I need to be aware come morn. I don't want any of the vendors 'round these parts to cheat me out of what coin I have.” He'd found that half-truths always worked best. Not only were they easier to remember, but they were more likely to fool whoever you were deceiving.

“This your first time to Glerthro?” The barkeep asked as he filled the newly polished mug with a pale mead. “Don't remember seeing you before. You Drow are pretty easy to remember, too, since so few of ya ever come outta your caves by choice.”

“Far from it,” Rhyldaer lied outright as he took the offered drink. He took a large swig before setting it down to continue the conversation. He would have to thank his landlord when he got home. It was much easier to act normal when he'd seen so many people do so. “It's just been about a century and a half or so since I've stopped by.”

The human whistled, obviously impressed by the amount of time. “Damn! Well, you're looking good for your age then,” he said with a broad grin. “But what brought you back after all these years?”

The Drow shrugged as he took another drink from his mug. The mead was good, but it should have been expected. This little town had quite a bit of money circulating in it, after all. “Boredom I suppose. No real reason. There's only so much you can do in life, and after the first couple centuries things start to get a bit dull.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” the human said, his tone making it clear that, despite his words, he couldn't. Not that Rhyldaer was shocked. It was hard to comprehend living for hundreds of years when you were lucky to reach fifty.

The Drow allowed ruby eyes to drift over to the Litse lieutenant, not attempting to hide his gaze. The barkeep gave a mischievous smirk, leaning a bit closer and lowering his voice. “You curious about that monster of an elf over there?” he asked, his tone light and holding no real insult.

“I have to admit, I find myself... intrigued,” he answered, turning his eyes back to the grinning human. “From what I understand, they rarely cross the border, but I could be wrong. I almost never come down this far. Too hot for my tastes.”

“Hmm, you ain't the first to be interested. I was surprised myself when he came in asking for a room. I've seen a few of 'em in my time. They're bloody huge too! Tall as all hell, and even though they're pretty slender proportionally, I'd still call 'em broad at least. Bigger'n me at least, and I ain't a tiny guy, you know. See, you folks are tiny. Short and skinny, the lot of ya. Swear, the one day I see a fat Drow is the day I keel over and kick the bucket. But yeah, I think he's a big-shot in the Wintrelian military. He carries himself like it, and see his hair?” Rhyldaer glanced over at the lieutenant, taking in the long hair. It was a pale cyan at the top, fading slowly into a deep sea-green. “It's all cool colors. I've noticed that all the big people over there have cool colors for their hair. All the middle and lower classes seem to drift more into reds and yellows.”

Rhyldaer absorbed the information greedily, packing it away for future use. “Huh, I'd never heard that,” he said, wondering how much the barkeep would spill for free. “But if he is so important, shouldn't this place be crawling with guards? I've heard that individual Litse can protect themselves well enough, but no matter how powerful one is, taking on a whole mob is suicide.”

“Well,” the human leaned in even further, his face turning serious. “Between you and me, it is. You'd never notice it if you didn't know what you were lookin' for, but you learn these kinda things 'round here. Like that group of wood-elves over there?” he pointed subtly over to one of the tables in the corner where a group of blond and brunette elves sat quietly, at least one of them watching the lieutenant at all times. “They're part of his entourage. Probably all hired labor, but they're good. I'm surprised they even let you in with those short swords of yours. But then again, you don't really seem the type to know how to use them all that well, no offense.”

“None taken,” he said honestly. It was more of a compliment than anything; proof that his little theatrical performance was accurate enough to fool someone that had time to examine him closely. “But the secrecy is curious to me... Bah, it's politics. Even with all my years behind me, I've never understood the stuff.”

The barkeep laughed heartily at his dejected tone. “Man, you're really somethin',” he grinned, finally leaning away from the Drow. “So, you gonna need a room while you stay here? Since you're such a nice guy, I'll even give you a discount. Gotta make up for what the vendors are gonna gyp from you after all.”

Rhyldaer chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose I'll stay here, since you're just so convincing,” he said with a touch of lighthearted sarcasm. “Just for the night though. I'll have to move on soon.”

“Alright-y then!” the human said in a sing-song voice, sweeping a hand through short red curls as he reached down for where the room keys were kept. “Here ya go. It's normally three silver for a night, but you pay me two and we'll be good. Oh, and I need collateral so you don't end up running off with the keys.”

Rhyldaer reached into one of the many pockets lining his navy robe, pulling out the required fee. “Collateral, hm?” he muttered to himself, thinking of what he could leave that wouldn't affect his mission too much. That, and it had to be something he could leave behind. Checking out right after one of the lieutenants had been assassinated would be far too suspicious, and the Drow wasn't prepared to deal with an entire town guard, not to mention that it would make his jobs in the future more difficult since the Litse would be on the lookout for him. “Well, let me see what I have...”

He reached down to where he'd set his pack, hefting it up onto the counter. He probably should have gone through this earlier to see what he had, but the thought had slipped his mind. Untying the thongs that held the flap to the main pocket closed, he flipped it open and started sifting through it. There were your basic travel needs; extra small pouches of coins, a plain but accurate compass, tinder, flint, a rolled up blanket, some soap tucked near the bottom, even an ivory hair comb and a small pallet of... Was that the colored eye-dust women wore to help attract a man's attention? Apparently, he and the sage would have to have a talk when he got back.

A small glimmer of gold caught his eye, making him reach in and grab the object. It was a compass, but Rhyldaer could tell it was off by almost an entire half a step. The ebony needles were covered with what looked like a thin, clear bubble of crystal; intricate designs painted with gold leaf on the ivory face. Flipping it over, he examined the back carefully. It was gold as well, with a mix of small but valuable emeralds and sapphires placed aesthetically over the surface. A delicate gold chain extended from the southern point, a leather loop on the other end so one could attach the compass to their belt.

To Rhyldaer, the object was useless. He had no need for such a flashy object, and judging by the fact that he had a much more practical one in his bag, he assumed that the near priceless object was packed for just this reason.

“Will this do?” he asked, holding up the compass by the thin chain, letting it spin slowly. The barkeep's eyes went wide, a grin breaking out over his face.

“Holy goddess almighty,” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing the compass with gentle, careful fingers. “This is probably the most expensive thing anyone has ever flashed in front of me. Maybe I shoulda charged you extra, man...” He turned the palm-sized object over, staring at the face, before flipping it again to do the same to the back. “Don't worry, I'll keep a damn good eye on this. You probably wouldn't want something this valuable going missing.”

“No, I wouldn't,” Rhyldaer agreed, smiling with amusement. The poor barkeep would probably have a panic attack when he found out that Rhyldaer left without collecting the compass. He half wished he could stay to enjoy the show. He glanced away from the human, looking back over to the lieutenant sitting in one of the far corners. It was a small table, made for two, but the desert-elf looked like an adult sitting at a child's table. Thanking the barkeep and draining the rest of his mead, Rhyldaer took the key to his room and stood, swinging his pack over his shoulder.

The sage's words came to mind as his eyes traveled over the powerful looking form of the Litse. He hadn't taken a lover in quite some time, and Hirote'shak was actually very attractive. His form was long and lean; the muscles well defined. Skin darkened by the sun covered the harsh looking face and long pointed ears, stretching down over the bare chest and stomach until it hit the line of a thin, knee length kilt that was wrapped tightly just above the thin hips. The white, flowing material – which Rhyldaer assumed was cotton – was hemmed in a deep navy blue and secured with a golden brooch just below his navel. Simple but tough sandals covered his feet, secured around the ankle to make sure they didn't fall off.

The Drow's eyes traveled slowly back up to Hirote'shak's face, freezing when he took a closer look at his eyes. They were a warm honey brown that was closer to gold, and slanted up ever so slightly at the outer corners. These things alone were normal enough, but the thing that made Rhyldaer pause was the fact they were staring straight at him.

A smirk spread over the tanned lips, a pure white elongated canine peeking out. Those honey eyes narrowed slightly, but not in anger or suspicion. The way they seemed to smolder was captivating, and the Drow barely noticed when one long-fingered hand was raised and moved in a 'come hither' motion.

Should he really listen to the sage? Hirote'shak had obviously taken his study as appraisal, even though that was far from the truth. The Litse wasn't suspicious of him at all, at least, not that Rhyldaer could decipher. It would make things so simple. Just play nice, lure the desert-elf away from his guards and into his private rooms, bed him to make him relaxed and vulnerable, then slit his throat and run. A simple plan.

Of course, he could just lure the lieutenant up to his rooms under the pretense of sleeping with him, then kill him before anything could happen. That plan brought up several problems, however. For one, Hirote'shak would undoubtedly be on guard the whole time, and there would probably be guards stationed outside his door, or the next room over at the very least. Just from looking at him, Rhyldaer knew he couldn't use brute force to overcome the lieutenant. The size and strength difference was just too great.

With one option ruled out, there was no choice left. He inwardly cringed at the thought of having to submit himself to such an underhanded way of going about this, but there was only one option he had that would not only let him kill Hirote'shak, but let himself get out alive as well. He steeled himself for what he had to do, silently praying to Lloth that he'd made the right choice.

With a small, sly smile, he turned toward the Litse, striding over to the small table with steps that looked far more confident than he felt.

----------------------------------------------

AN: Well, hopefully the extended length (which should be the norm from now on) makes up for the time gap...

Reviews:

Antaris-- Glad you like it so far! I have to admit, I'm a bit of a sucker for the classic fantasy settings, and I've found that there's a lack of original slash in the category. Something to be remedied, that's for sure.

Kylee-- Thanks! Look forward to you reading more! ^___^