Life was good. I had it all: nice wardrobe, modest little place, solid reputation... and a killer job with benefits... and I do mean killer. Now...
I've always heard that you should start a tale at the beginning... and, well, that would place this particular beginning at about the middle of last season... I just finished a job, and am looking for a little down-time to recharge. You know; clean my blades, count the money, have a drink, maybe get horizontal. A body needs maintenance just like gear to stay in good working condition, and it's not difficult to get trade. Even with me being drow most guys are a sucker for big, dark eyes and a “gee-you-sure-are-strong” helpless look. Fools. They're only good for a quick toss in the sheets... Anyway... I'm oiling my favorite dagger and this grey-skinned pygmy with no hair on his head and puny ears comes up and actually sits at my table. I'm thinking he's a cheeky little fellow, for a corpse. Before I can send him on his way with a polite request that he become rectally intimate with a morningstar, he starts talking and what do you know? I'm interested.
Seems he has a problem with a squatter at his dig site, and wants someone- me in this case- to get rid of it. What draws me most is curiousity- he says it's an air elemental, but I'm wondering how accurate that might be. Living at the edge of the Menechtaurrun I get regular visits from stray elementals looking for a little something to toss around besides sand. Usually they kick around a place, make a mess, and move on. His seems to have taken up residence. Most people just clear out for awhile and wait for the elementals to go away on their own, thus preventing being flung about like a child's rag-toy every time they come withing touching distance. He informs me with a black scowl that the mine is his livelihood and he has a deadline, so the whole wait-and-see approach is about as palatable as boiled dirt. Though I can think of worse creatures to deal with (like gnolls), that whirligig routine can be a bit of a nuisance, and the fee I'm getting is a juicy incentive. To keep from being a living thistledown I've learned how to dispatch them quickly so this job sounds like cake.
With my usual sultry charm I tell him that his big fat mouth and total lack of stealth will only foul the job, so he should stay clear until I give him leave to return. He warms up so much to this that he informs me that the split of my backside won't fetch the worth of a kobold prayer bead if I take longer than the agreed-upon time. Though I'm not feeling particularly threatened, It's good to have a clear business understanding with a client. Time to get to work!
Now I'm pretty good at not being seen... or heard. I've received compliments from halflings, ok? One item from my wardrobe makes those enchanting qualities even more pronounced- it's a lovely mithril gown that moves like silk and suppresses almost any sound I could make. That's why I have no trouble at all infiltrating the main chamber. There's not much light, but my night vision is sufficient to show that the place is meant as a living area, and would benefit from the services of an entire cleaning cadre. The reason for the mess is making no attempt to hide, but instead dominates the center of the room- and is quite involved in turning a sturdy wooden bedframe into a pile of kindling and wood dust. Seems to me this whirlwind is taking a personal interest in destruction, but that's not my business. My job is just to evict it's butt. Do elementals have behinds? Nevermind. In order to do this, I have to get close enough without being detected to strike at it's most vulnerable spot, killing it instantly with the deadly point in my right hand. Failing that, hellooooo Lady Banish. Should my luck hold, I'll not need the banisher, but occasionally luck will turn... and it's good to be prepared. Worst-case scenario: things go buggy, and I use the spell bound into my mask. I did say I had a nice wardrobe, right? Well it's not all leather and mithril. This little treasure was... liberated, yeah... that's right, liberated from an ogre stiff. What? He wouldn't be using it anymore. It would be a crime to leave something so valuable to rot with his corpse. That is my last resort, though, as it would mean possibly returning my deposit... and just the thought makes me flinch. Best to just get it done.
Each bare foot precisely placed, balance perfect, immaculate in stealth and I am less than a pace behind it. Even, steady breathing. Maintain focus. That place where man-height would put his kidneys, there's the sweet spot. This is going to hurt me, too, since I'll have to insert the points of my daggers into the field of moving, churning air to kill it, but the expected wrench is worth it. The key will be not to tense up. Drawing back my right arm, and in absolute silence, the blade parts the air but then, incredibly, the pillar of wind is gone! In its place is a sleek, muscled back with a long, plaited lock of flax down his spine. His spine? This is NOT an elemental! It's a man?! Too late, the strike cannot be aborted, only redirected to a less lethal insertion point with a twist of my forearm. The tip shifts up to scrape across the lower curve of his ribs, skating across the bump of his vertebra, and leaving a shallow, bloody stripe across the taut skin of his back. I cringe when the keen tip first pierces his skin, as I can feel a small increment of his vitality being leeched from the wound.
His reaction baffles me. Rather than some kind of pain noise, or an attempt to flee, his spine arches and his head is flung back, and I swear on my soul, the sound he makes is SO not that of a man experiencing penetration with tempered steel. I admit that it distracts me, that sensual gasp. I fall back in confusion, flat on my bottom with daggers clutched to my chest but not yet thinking of flight. The man turns eyes to me that contain the heat of the desert dunes, and just that quickly, I am caught. I cannot say if it is magic or simple fascination, but I find myself bespelled, utterly unwilling to flee that tawny gaze.
I marvel that everything about him is shades of gold. His skin is that warm tone blessed by the sun, complemented by the paler glimmer of his hair and made devastating by the rich glow of his eyes. I cannot say when I have ever seen a more beautiful man... or when I have been so instantly enthralled by one. I feel as if my inner self is being exposed, pulled from within to be laid bare before him, and it quickens my breath. He closes the distance between us with a single step and crouches down at my naked feet, and never once does he cease looking into my soul. I wonder, for the first time, if my spirit appears as dark as my physical form.
“Dokkalfar,” comes the soft utterance. Without breaking our gazes, he reaches out and touches the tip of one finger to the curve of my exposed ankle. A subtle current passes from his touch into my skin, and the obsidian flesh tightens as my toes curl with an unexpected pleasure. I can feel my mouth forming a small “o” at the sensation, but he surprises me again. His touch withdraws and he reaches around to his back. A streak of blood finally draws my gaze from his to watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the thick crimson liquid from the pads of his fingers.
“Are you vampyri?” I feel foolish even asking, and even more so at the hesitant, breathy quality of my voice. I am woman, hear me... sigh? AUGH!
“I am Bralani,” he replies. There is some quality to his voice that makes him sound...defiant? I don't recognize his dialect.
“I'm Oloth,” my mouth feels dry, and my throat makes a hard clicking sound when I try to swallow. Come on brain, start back up again, please.
“Yes, lovely Darkness..” his voice simultaneously soothes and disturbs me. It's so smooth and gentle, but why am I so fascinated with him? It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to be absorbed.
“No, my name. I am Oloth.” As I speak he leans closer, obliterating the bubble of my personal space with an almost audible *pop* and hovering over my bent knees. Though I find him so appealing, there's a featherlight thread of fear in my pulse, so I lean back away from him and push with my heels, my hands tight about the hilts of my weapons.
“I am called X'xin.” He watches my mouth while he talks and I sink deeper under his spell as I taste the name. “kih-TZE-en.”
My mind is desperate to wrest control back from my wayward emotions- I am not a slave to my feelings, thankyouverymuch- and begins to sift coherency back in, but intelligent thinking flies away when he leans even closer and curls long fingers about my left calf. What comes from my mouth is an assertive demand that he release me immediately.
“Whuh-a-at are you doing?”
He continues to crowd me and I find myself retreating in tiny increments until I am prone beneath him, and he is crouched over me, propped up on one arm while the other skims a cool palm higher past my knee. Maybe I should have gone with the leather trousers instead of the open-air hauberk.
“I am going to kiss you,” he murmurs. For a heartbeat, my muscles do their best impression of warm honey, but then I see a spot of blood at the corner of those perfect lips, and panic blooms full-blown. Before he can move any closer, my body twists itself free in a move I couldn't have planned and I kick away from him to sprint toward the exit. Forget it. A threat of a kind I've never experienced and don't know how to deal with? This isn't part of the contract.
A shrill cry leaps from my throat as his hands catch my waist and he jerks me off my feet to spin me into his embrace. I cannot say why I don't slice him to ribbons with the daggers, only that the thought never even occurs... how then do I get myself out of this? His breath is warm and spiced with a coppery scent against my face, and it's then that I remember my final fail-safe: the teleportation mask lying slack at my neck. In desperation I drop the dagger from my right hand and whip the mask into place an instant before his mouth meets mine. Is it surprise or something more dangerous that enters his expression in that instant before I leave him? No matter, I am so outta there. When my ears cease their ringing from the hasty teleport, I return my remaining weapon to its wrist-sheathe and drop down into a shaky crouch by a rough-hewn table. I can ignore for now the continuous murmur of patrons in the open-air tavern in an effort to gather my scattered thoughts.
“What in Fernia is a Bralani?”
I don't realize I've spoken aloud until a wizened old woman gives a cackle and says, “Not Fernia, girl. Arborea”
I say something erudite. Something like, “huh?” and she proceeds to tell me a little about Bralani.
“Eladrin, they is. They don't usually mingle with us common folk. Oh, they's good people... mostly,” again, that irritating cackle, which I could cheerfully stuff back down her windpipe for her by now.
Her head bobs and that laugh once more gouges my eardrums. “They got they own ways of doin things, tho.”
No.. Really?
“Why you askin 'bout them, girl?” At this point, I remember the little fellow that hired me, and figure now would be a good time to... ahem... Renegotiate the terms of our contract... maybe at the point of my favorite...
... I am such a stupid, fumble-fingered...
...My favorite dagger is on the floor back in that chamber
My eloquence is once more displayed as I deliver a rapid, “'scusemekthnxbai,” and make my leisurely way at a dead run to the tavern where I had previously encountered my “client”, that lying little troglodyte.
I want that dagger back.
Though understandably irritable, I know my usual sunny disposition will overcome so I can have a cordial business meeting with my client. My faith in my own good nature is confirmed when he is still in possession of his lungs after I find him..
He snickers, “Cake, huh?”
Did you know, that when you restrict the flow of air in a person who's complexion is naturally greyish, that they attain interesting hues of lilac and violet? They also make some very entertaining noises.
“You owe me triple now you lying, filthy little gnome! That was no fekling elemental.” See? Calm, cool, collected. I've got this negotiation thing in the bag. Oh. Yeah, I do need him be able to talk. I'll just release this garrotte.
Once he can breathe again, he moans and wails, pounds knobby little fists at his greasy scalp, and shows other actions indicating polite contemplation of my reasonable offer. He counters with a suggested reduction of my fee, due to the fact that I'm here and the job hasn't been completed.
“YOU owe me a refund, cow! You haven't finished the job, yet!” A crafty look enters his eyes, and he attempts to use what he perceives to be leverage, “Not an elemental, eh? Should be easier for you, then. I'll pay half when the job is done.”
One of the tools of successful negotiation is a firm grasp of your client's needs, as well as the ability to use gentle persuasion to your advantage.
“You'll get a refund when mephits shoot out your bum! That... thing... is a Bralani,” There. Infuse just enough of a hush in my voice to convince him I'm feeling the challenge. No guilt in omitting the fact that I'd never even heard of eladrin before today. Recognizing “need-to-know” is another important tool in successful negotiations.
“Tell me everything you know about your squatter, and I'll let you off with only paying me double... and you'll put up the flash needed to service my gear. Unless you really would rather use your new mouth to breathe from?” See? Incentive.
He gives me confused eyes, at which point I use the tip of my thumbnail to describe an imaginary line across the column of my neck, while mouthing the words, “Smile. Wide.”
Success! Contract renegotiated, terms achieved.
His babble starts out as an unintelligible blur, but he quickly becomes coherent with a gentle nudge, another glimpse of the garrotte is all it takes.
It seems my client is a prospector whose big strike is just around the corner... yay. hurrah... He didn't dig that mine himself; he “acquired” it in a game of chance. Lucky break. Seeing his shot at riches beyond measure blahblahblah, he moved himself out to the site and set up shop without checking the history. Poor planning. What the previous owner didn't tell him (and, coincidently what he didn't tell me) is that the place came with a live-in tenant- X'xin. The elemental.. I mean.. hottie. freak... uhh... Bralani.
I got taken. I should have held out for ten times my normal fee, a percentage of his future earnings, and his firstborn. In all honesty, I'd have gone back regardless for my dagger, but it's the principle of the matter, you see. Ah well, water over the dam, time to prepare.
Seems there aren't many local sources of information on Bralani beyond what the Old Cackler told me. Ok, maybe if I make a list of reliable info, I'll have a better chance at success. They're from a different plane, so theoretically they can be banished... Check. They're intrinsically good, but unpredictable. Check. They can do magic. Oh boy, I'll say.. ahem... Check. They can change shape. That would explain the whirlwind-become-man... Check. They favor the bow. Check. And they can... Fly? Fly. Fek. I mean Check. Okayokayokay, don't panic, I can work this. I just need to make sure my planning is tight, and my execution flawless... no pun intended. This time, I think a little reconnaissance before charging in is in order.
The hauberk is left with the armorer for cleaning, and the teleport mask in the hands of a wizard I trust to do whatever it is mages do to renew the enchantment within it. This means no get-out-of-jail-free... If I'm caught I'll have to rely on my cunning and skill to liberate me. Joy. I have some skills but the more I learn about X'xin and his kind, the more I feel the need to cover every eventuality. I'm not totally without resources, though. From my nifty wardrobe come supple leather trews and a matching tunic that move with my body like a second skin. I never thought to ask the skinner what kind of animal donated, but the leather is tanned a deep grey with a line of shadowy rosettes that look like flexible scales down the spine of the blouse. Though it feels velvety-soft and thin as a mephit-wing, I have yet to be damaged by an arrow, dart, or bolt while wearing it. Beneath the sleeves are a pair of stilettos, each with their own endearing properties: Lady Banish for the left-hand draw, and a plain-looking dagger at my waist. The right-hand draw is left empty in anticipation of the return of my favorite. I have footwear this time, too- a pair of lace-on sandals with extremely thin leather soles that allow me to feel the terrain without being subject to every thorn and pebble. Okay, Oloth. Enough stall- erm, prep-work... time to do some scouting.
There's an added bonus to the kind of work I do. The Rush. Now, I'm not talking about drugs- Those dream-lily potheads with their glazed stares and slack jaws occur to me as an ideal example of natural selection: they're getting closer to removing themselves from the genepool one fix at a time, and I'm okay with that. But The Rush is just that. A rushing surge of life. Better than sex. What? Sex is... well, it's just a process. The Rush? Truly amazing. It starts as a tightness, a glimmer of anticipation at the base of my scalp that turns every hair into a sensory organ in its own right. Sometimes it builds slowly, other times it is a rapid process, but it never gets old. That glimmer becomes a prickling down my spine that spreads as a slick elasticity in the muscles just under my skin. I feel as if I can taste color and touch thought. The tantalizing slickness becomes a rapid flutter of sparks in the bloodstream, like being injected with liquid starlight. This sharpening of my senses makes everything around me so clear I can see shifts in air currents, smell the heart of a stone, and hear the moon crying.
The Rush is well and truly on me by the time I return to the mine. Each step is choreographed, even my breathing is synchronized to make every move blend into the pattern of the world around me. I'm in the zone and unstoppable... and it's totally wasted.
Once inside I am startled by the total absence of debris. Gone are the broken and battered remnants of furniture, the shredded fabrics and scattered bits of whatever... Instead there is a single piece of parchment, pinned open in the center of the hard-packed dirt floor by what appears to be my dagger. I can get a faded whisp of his scent- like the distant aroma of nomad spice- but there's nothing for him to hide behind- the room is bare. I mean beyond spartan. None of the heightened senses that have yet to fail me in detecting a threat give any indication of his presence. They do, however, warn of a trap. Now there's a surprise.
Thorough inspection reveals an almost invisible filament that trails from the crosspiece of the dagger up to a relatively low-hanging stalactite. Simple disarm, and I smirk a little as I retrieve my dagger and pick up the parchment. I'm not really paying too much attention as my lips move and I read the unfamiliar words aloud. I'm scoffing to myself about being underestimated, when I fall prey to that very sin myself. The tripwire was a ruse- the scroll itself is the trap. It's a teleportation spell, and I have just enough of a working knowledge of the written language of mages that when the last word is spoken, the spell is activated. The irony does not escape me as my vision blackens for that infinite second of disembodiment and I am pulled to an unknown destination. I am so very screwed.
I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this definitely isn't it. I'm in a bowl. A huge, granite bowl. The sides are straight up and tall enough that shadows rule at all times except during the peak of midday... and dusk is imminent so the next midday is a good long way off. The only non-magical way I can see to enter/leave is by climbing the sheer rock face. Or flying. Fek.
At the center of the bowl is a simple structure, little more than a lean-to with that golden man reclining in the shadows beneath the awning. He looks very comfortable, and completely unconcerned with my presence. Wily beast. I have a strong impulse to corpsify him, but that urge is tempered by prudence: I need him if I'm to get out. I'll just... be firm. Lay down some ground rules and insist they be followed. He's not evil, unless my sources have decided today is the day to make practical jokes on unsuspecting rogues, so he'll respect my wishes. Right? Of course he will.
Fek.
X'XIN
Can this be the end? For so long he's carried this curse, it seems as much a part of him as an arm or leg...but the thought of being free of it- Just the thought tickles a quiver of anticipation into his frame.
He must prepare. She'll be here soon.
OLOTH
All previous plans have now been rendered obsolete.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
Be spontaneous.
...Any minute now.
He moves! What is he... His back is to me. Is it a trick? What is the deal, here?
I suppose I'm going to have to approach him sooner or later, since he is making no effort to come to me. In fact, is he...? He's ignoring me!? Who does he think he is? Ruddy kidnapper brings me here.. oh wait, it COULD have been an accident that the teleport scroll was left there. With my dagger. And a trap on it. To this destination. Sure. Yeahno.
I've got to do something or I won't be able to live with myself. Time to stop being such a girl and go be proactive.
It's a short march to the lean-to, but I have enough time to palm my favorite dagger and finish a little pep-talk to myself. “Don't look at his butt. You're an accomplished, professional woman. Stop imagining how his skin feels. Think about dead kittens! Not whether he tastes as good as he smells, and for crying out loud... DON'T fall into his pants the first time he opens his mouth.”
Motivational speaking complete, I stop a couple of paces behind him and clear my throat to get his attention. He spins slowly on one heel, and while I'm ruthlessly quashing words that scroll behind my eyes like, “scrumptious,” “edible,” and “~wow~!” he's smiling. Wait a minute. I was kinda, you know, thinking he would be all... Aggressively affectionate? And here he's just looking at me, albeit like I'm a sure thing, but it's a look he hasn't earned. Let me just check to make sure I'm not dreaming. Ouch. Nope, I'm awake. This topsy-turvy day leaves me feeling a tad off-balance, so my tone is understandably snarky when I ask, “Just what are you playing at?”
“Playing? I assure you, this is not a game.” His voice is even better than I remember. Fek.
After waiting for him to say something else.. okay okay, after losing time looking at his mouth, I finally come up with the next question. “What do you want?”
Fully expecting to hear him say he wants to kiss me, it takes a couple moments for me to realize that's not, quite, what he says. “I want you to kiss me.”
Humiliation blooms heat into my cheeks. Yes, humiliation.. Not desire, or anticipation. Nope. If he expects me to cave on this... don't mind the clenching jaw, it's only because my cheeks ache with the effort not to pucker up and nibble him on the spot. Points to me for not giving that away with my voice, though. He doesn't have to know that I could eat him with a spoon. Besides- I never kiss. It's waaaaay too personal.
“Why should I?” There. Just the right blend of mild curiousity and irritation.
“Because you want to...?” Lucky guess! Oh, he was actually joking that time, and what a delicious chuckle he makes, I want to bottle it and pour it on my pancakes. “Seriously though, I have my reasons. As far as you're concerned, consider it the path out of here. What have you got to lose? Give me one little buss on the lips and you can go home.”
When he puts it that way, it does seem a reasonable requ... ok, truth? A kiss sounds delicious right about now. Which prompts another question, “Have you bespelled me?”
His laugh reaches out and squeezes my stomach into a twisty knot. Look, he might make my bones ache, but I'm not stupid. His laughter tapers off and he looks at me with an unreadable expression, “I'll take that kiss now.”
It is a dark, glimmering pleasure to purse my lips and tell him, “No.”
From there, things do not go well.
That did not go well.
He only wanted to test a theory- She could have said yes and he would have been satisfied with just one kiss. For now. Instead, she denies him, and agony splits his brain.
The curse. It is a madness and he can only watch from within as it makes him feel the need to destroy; to hear her cries of pain and smell the thick richness of fresh blood. The wind feels so fine in it's fury he cannot help but circle the slender creature that very well could have been his salvation. Deep inside he grieves to see her bravery- standing with weapons at the ready, as if she could stop him. Her weight is negligible as he lifts her into the vortex and bears her aloft spinning and twisting so that he can toss her against the granite and hear her break. Her skin will burst like a ripe fruit splitting and emerging with the gore will be his freedom from this torment. His inner voice roars denial and struggles to overcome, but is powerless in the face of the curse that has him firmly in its grasp. He is not concerned with her defending herself, as she seems completely helpless, confidence makes him reckless.
It is as he readies himself to release her with the force of the kamsin that the tip of one of her daggers slides deftly past the rage to pierce the substance of the elemental form, dropping him instantly back to that of a man as the burst of sensation sears his nerves and bows his spine. As his feet once more touch the earth, he is trembling with her lithe form aligned to his in a mockery of a lover's embrace- both of her hands are wrapped about the haft of the stiletto that is firmly embedded in the meat of his shoulder. The arms that circle her waist relax enough for her to push away, eliciting another delicious surge of reaction in him as she braces with her free hand to jerk that wicked dagger clear and spring away. A wave of weakness follows, bringing him to his knees. Oh yes, she may very well be The One.
While he is trying to summon enough saliva to speak coherently, she is a whirlwind of her own, all shadows and fluidity as she leaps to put distance between them.
She's panting softly and watching him with wary eyes as he presses around the wound, holding it closed so the blood will stop. The unbroken skin surrounding the puncture is ice-cold, and.. it really hurts. He begins to feel rather poorly. From a loooong way away, he can see her lips part, and hear her muffled voice coming as if from the end of a deep tunnel....
“You're a freak, you know that?”
The icechill is quick, and doing it's work. It is with no small satisfaction that I watch him slow down and shiver, then drop to his knees. Great big jerk! Serves him right for manhandling me. Elemental-handling? Whatever! He'll get over the effects of the poison without any help from me, but I may as well keep an eye on him until he does. Wouldn't do for him to kick off and leave me here, now would it? Maybe there are some blankets here, somewhere. I'll just go and see. You know, just in case. I'm not expecting an answer, so it's a little hard to believe my ears when I return from his hovel with a handful of thick blanket to hear his voice rasp out, “I know.”
His shivers have become so violent I'm afraid he's in danger of shaking himself apart, so I'm glad the blankets are handy. I'm not about to try carrying him, so guess what, pal? Your pallet is right here on the ground. He clutches at the blanket and it occurs to me that he's reacting stronger than I expected to the poison. He seemed so robust before, it just doesn't make sense... but then his shivers become convulsions and his face begins to turn an alarming shade of blue. Whoa, now! He must be frailer inside than I had originally figured, else the poison wouldn't be affecting him so much. No help for it, I'm going to have to nurse him through this.
His skin is by turns freezing cold and blazing hot. I know because his head is propped in my lap to keep him from braining himself on the rocky ground with the force of his seizures. It seems the only thing that calms him down enough for him to fight the fever is my touch. No, I'm not being arrogant. I tried leaving him to it, but he just kept twisting himself into fits, so here we are. If I ever want to get out of here- oh my, his hair is soft.. uhm... I mean if I ever want to get out of here, I'll need him alive. Time will tell.