Drow in the City Ch. 01

Note: The Forgotten Realms setting is not my creation, but the characters herein are my creation. This continues from Sune's Chosen: Commencement. Enjoy :)

*************************************************

Shadowsight gave Iliara a distinct advantage over her prey. He dashed from alley to alley, and Iliara, the golden-haired elf, was always above him, shadow-stepping from roof to roof. A wicked, playful grin was wide across her face as she balanced perfectly over the loose shingles of a building. Her prey, a lanky human thief, stopped, panting and doubled over, at the end of an alley. He put a hand against the stone wall that halted his progress and Iliara fell silently from the rooftop. She landed so perfectly balanced that, when the balls of her feet hit the ground, they made not a sound.

But her presence, cold and dark, alerted the thief. The alley seemed to darken a measure as she stood, breathing calmly, behind him, and he perked up, ears straining to hear noise that never came. Before he was able to turn to witness his stalker, the otherworldly chill of a dark blade bit into the back of his neck, severing his brain stem, killing him instantly. The dagger slid out as quickly and cleanly as it entered, devoid of any evidence of blood. The wound froze, locking rapidly coagulated blood in place and preventing the man from bleeding out in the alley.

With ruthless proficiency, she frisked him, checking for pockets and pouches that could hold what her employer had lost. Finally, she found it. A laugh almost escaped her throat when she realized how the thief had secured the stolen item. Iliara grabbed the man by his shoulder and hip and rolled him to his back, then pulled down his pants. To her amusement, a small coin purse was tied securely to his scrotum, which seemed a bit swollen from the constant tugging.

She untied the purse and pulled his pants back up, gently patting the man's groin as she stood and walked out of the alley, slowly loosening the pouch. The sparkle of dream powder greeted her and she grinned. Her head lightened a bit as she examined the fine powder, then, after looking around for witnesses, inhaled a small pinch. It was not enough to produce the full effect, but a heady sensation, followed by a slightly elevated pulse and energy surge gave her what she wanted. She tied the pouch tight and stuffed it into a pocket before trotting down the street, back to her employer.

As she expected, he was waiting for her behind his small home in a poorer section of Everlund. He was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself, and idly touching his crotch through his loose pants. She scowled inwardly, but on the outside she affected a friendly countenance. This part of the city always perturbed her; it was filled with weak, pitiful beings without the motivation to better themselves in any way, and were always rewarded by the Everlund ruling council with gifts of welfare and free food to help them "get on their feet." Their welfare only served to enable their self-destructive and meaningless existence.

But they were also her most frequent employers. Most of her business came from the Slums of Everlund, so she put on her pretty face, affected a subtly seductive sway of her hips, and brushed her hair from her pale face. When she was close enough, he perked up at her, then stood quickly when he recognized her. He blathered about in rapid, incoherent speech, that she presumed was in reference to her job. She pulled the pouch from her pocket and handed it to him.

Without hesitation, the jittery man opened the bag and thrust it to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. Briefly, his eyes rolled back into his head, then they returned to normal, and he fixed Iliara with a warm smile. "And the thief?" he asked.

"He will steal from you no more," she said in a soft voice. "My payment?"

"Oh, yes, yes," he said, patting his pockets anxiously until he found the pouch of coins. He handed it to her.

Iliara opened it, inspecting its contents. It was filled with a miscellany of coppers and silvers, some small gems, and a single gold coin. She looked at him over the pouch, her lips drawing tight into a frown. "Feels light," she said evenly.

"Oh...ah...it's all I have at the moment," he said, his voice taking a quiver of fear. She tied the pouch tight and pocketed it.

"Maybe I'll come in and have a look around," she said in a voice too sweet to be sincere. He started to protest, but she fixed a deadly glare on him and he almost bit his tongue in his rush to shut his mouth. She pushed open the back door of his small, ramshackle house and was assaulted by the scent of old, unwashed clothing and stale food. Mastering her revulsion, she stepped through his dining area, ignoring the clay dishes and burning candles. In his living room was a small, weak couch whereupon sat a waifish girl. Her eyes belied her girl-like physique with the experiences of at least two decades, judging by the glaze of apathy that drowned out the anger she probably held in her youth. This one, too, was likely on her path to becoming much like the man living with her.

Iliara moved on, into the sleeping quarters that the impoverished couple shared. The bed was no more than a pile of padding on the floor, and their clothing was hung on a pole that jutted out from the wall. The only thing of interest was the dresser that stood on the wall next to the door. She began pilfering through the drawers, but found nothing of interest.

"I...I'm sorry, Lady Shadowwhisper," the man said. "I swear I'll have more for you next time!"

"You assume there will be a next time," Iliara growled, drawing her cold dagger. She pressed the blade against the man's throat, letting him feel the unearthly cold burn his skin. The threat lingered, but in the end she withdrew her blade and sheathed it. "Let this be a lesson," she said. "Never short me again, or it will be your end."

With that, she summoned the shadows of the decrepit house and walked through the Fringe, the outer layer of the Plane of Shadow, back to the Dreaming Dragon. A smile creased her face again as she heard the lighthearted music of the tavern. Iliara had shadow-walked to the alley behind the tavern, where the innkeeper was wont to toss his refuse and garbage for the city sanitation workers to collect. Some of her more fond memories had been forged in that dark area in the dark of night.

She recalled her first mate had been in that very area. Iliara remembered the scant details of the night and the events leading up to their copulation. It was her first jaunt into thievery, led along by a roguish human named Tobin. He was well into his third decade, and she was almost at the end of her first century. By human standards, she would have been nearing the end of her second decade, while he was in his middle-aged years. They had spent the night, from sunset to the small hours of the night, breaking into stores and stealing whatever they wished. He had draped pearls and diamonds over her neck and even gave her a piercing in her ear, upon which even now hung the silver crescent moon he had given her.

The Dreaming Dragon was their refuge. He had already booked a room for the night, having planned the escapade out all day long before coming to steal her away from her overprotective mother. They returned when the moon was on the descent, and were laughing away in the back alley behind the Dreaming Dragon. It was also their that she had her first taste of pipeweed and dream smoke. Then he had put his hand on her thigh as they leaned against the tavern's back wall. With the din of sound coming from the tavern, they were neither heard nor seen the entire night. The touch had been her catalyst.

As an elf, she was very in touch with her emotions, and her heart was hers to give to whomever she wished. At that point, she felt this man would be with her forever, thieving and stealing until they were too old to pick a lock. Such are the dreams of young elven maidens. Iliara turned and pressed into him, her mouth hungrily attacking his. Her hands swept through his loose black hair and his hands, still clad in leather, fingerless gloves, rushed up and down her slim back. They kissed hungrily, tongues forcefully lashing each other.

The memories came back to her in a rush, every sensation, every sound permeating her consciousness. She pressed her back against the wall in the same place it had been decades ago, and thrust her nimble fingers into her tight leather breeches.

His hand grasped her buttocks, hard and rough. She grabbed at the waist of his pants, untying them and thrusting her hand down to grasp his member. Up until that point, she had only theorized with several of her maiden-friends about what a real cock would feel like, how to manipulate it, and other things. Now, her inexperienced hands simple grasped the shaft and began jerking it spasmodically back and forth. He grinned against her kisses and pushed her away, then pulled himself off the wall.

"You want dick, do you?" he had asked her. Even now she could remember his voice, thick with lust. She had only nodded quickly, and he grasped her by her tunic and pushed her face first into the wall. "Let me, then."

Iliara surrendered, planting her hands firmly against the wall and biting her lip as he jerked her pants down. She heard him rubbing himself vigorously as he started probing her damp folds with his free hand. His fingers were electric to her, exciting her every nerve ending. For a moment, she thought it wouldn't get better than that. Then she felt the broad head of his shaft press against her, and she gasped. He paused for only a moment before he thrust his member, slowly but surely, into her pussy.

She cried out in pain as her maidenhead broke, but that sensation was quickly replaced by pleasure as she felt his shaft sliding around inside her tight canal. Iliara gasped and cried out with every thrust as he impaled her from behind, pressing her firm breasts, still relatively small compared to the handfuls they were now, into the wall.

Her fingers worked tight circles around her clit as she leaned against the wall of the Dreaming Dragon in the present. Climax took her quickly, before she finished the memory. She panted, then sighed contentedly and tasted herself on her fingers. The rest of the memory involved his climax, a promise to retrieve her again at the same time the next night, and the following failure to follow through with said promise. She had never seen Tobin again since that day, and the bitter taste of her dreams being crushed by that pig of a man still brought bile to her throat. She would kill him if she saw him again, and he were still living after all this time.

Iliara composed herself and walked out of the alley, going toward the front entrance of the Dreaming Dragon, her erstwhile home since her mother's death two decades past. A tiefling crossed her path, which she thought strange, but not enough to give her pause. A human was next to her as the breached the entrance to the tavern, and she turned to follow. A white-haired maiden led the two with what appeared to be earnest need. The white hair flipped to the side, and Iliara saw a red streak down one side. What's more, the face beneath the luxuriant white hair was finely chiseled, with beautiful pristine onyx skin.

Drow.

The word stuck in her throat as the image of the Chosen of Sune flitted through her thoughts. By Shar! Chosen of Sune, here! Her orders took precedence over all other contracts she had taken since Abondel's visit a few days past. She rushed to her room, shut the door, stripped nude, and smashed a vial of black liquid against the wall.

"Yes?" a voice said as a face appeared in the viscous fluid.

"She's here," Iliara said breathlessly.

*****

"Don't see yer kind here often," the barkeep said as Lura approached the bar, Mikhail and Cyra in tow. "Name's Bernon, what's yer fancy?"

"Sune bless you, sir," Lura said. "I am Lura, bard and servant of the Lady Firehair. My companions and I seek lodging for an undetermined amount of time."

"Sune, eh?" Bernon replied, idly wiping down the pristine bar top. "I know of her ilk. Ye come here to set up shop?"

"Shop?" Lura asked, her fine ivory eyebrow arching.

"Ye know...to ply yer wares. Yer horned friend looks eager to get to work," Bernon said. A lascivious grin started to spread across his face.

"I believe you are mistaken, sir," Lura said, a knowing smile on her face. "Prostitution is forbidden by Sune. We do not copulate for profit, we do it for love and passion. She merely has an eager look because of the promises I gave her during our walk here."

His eyes widened at the sly smirk she gave Cyra, then wider as the tiefling stepped up to wrap her arm around the drow's waist. "Ahem...well, then...ye got yer pick of rooms. Biggest one'll cost ye a few gold a night, and ought to keep all three of ye comfy. Otherwise, I'll charge ye a few silver for a normal room."

Lura produced a sack of gold from an extra dimensional pocket hidden inside her robe and dropped it on the table. "We'll take the big one," she said, "and a fair amount of your finest wine in a few hours, if you're able."

He gawked at the bag, opened it enough to see the sparkle of gold, and felt its heft as he lifted it from the bar top. "Right away, of course, Miss Lura," he said. She reached out and grabbed his collar and pulled him over the bar to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Master Barkeep," she said with a purr. He looked stunned for a moment, then went back to furiously rubbing at the bar top. Lura cleared her throat, and he looked at her immediately, ready to aid in whatever she asked. "Our key?" He blushed a deep red and the tall man opened a cabinet by the door leading to the kitchen and pulled out a key with a large tag on it.

"Sorry, Miss Lura. Last room, end of the hall," he said quickly, his gaze catching on her generous cleavage. Lura smirked a little, flattered at the attention, and reached out, lifting his chin so that he looked in her face. "Er, eh...sorry again?"

"Relax," she said softly, her eyes smoldering. "You're cute, Bernon. Keep up the good work." She winked at him and turned to leave, her comrades in tow. He couldn't remove his gaze from the sway of her distinctly feminine hips.

*****

Knock knock. The boy the barkeep had sent up to the large room at the end of the second floor hallway waited again for any response from the barely-used room for perhaps the tenth time. Behind him was a two-wheeled cart with a small wooden crate bearing six dusty bottles of elven wine. All he had been told was to deliver the potent alcohol and treat whoever answered the door with the utmost respect and courtesy.

He raised his hand to knock again, but the sound of a shattering vase halted him. "Everything...everything ok in there?"

No response. He thought to knock again, but instead reached for the door knob. With shaking hands, he grasped the metal knob and slowly twisted. Locked. He fished in his pocket for the small ring of keys that unlocked each room and found the right key. He unlocked the door slowly, quietly, and pushed it open.

As soon as the portal opened, heat and potent incense assaulted him, followed with the pungent, sweet scent of sex. His heart pounded in his chest and he poked his head in. There, at the far end of the room, on the massive bed that was usually only reserved for wealthy merchants, a wiry muscled man was on his knees, thrusting madly into the raised bottom of a drow elf. Her face was buried in the crotch of a tiefling, who's legs were spread wide, wide enough to send the vase next to the bed crashing to the floor. He could see the drow elf thrusting her arm powerfully back and forth, and could tell by the way the tiefling was shaking that her hand was buried in the exotic half-breed's sex.

His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly shut the door. He listened intently, ear pressed against the door. Then, without warning, it was pulled away, and Lura was standing there, naked and doused with sweat. Her lips and chin glistened with what could only be the tiefling's juice. "Yes?" she prompted when he did not speak. It snapped him from his mesmerized state and he turned quickly to grab the case of wine.

"Bernon said to bring this up," he said quickly, holding it out to her. She smiled and turned to walk back toward the bed, and he followed quickly. "Where would you like it, Miss Lura?" He realized that the tiefling had mounted the human, and both were watching him as she slowly ground on his member. Both were smiling at him. Lura sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted slightly as her fingers danced on her glistening folds.

"Ahhh...Next to the...mmm...bed," she said, indicating a spot next to her with her free hand. He moved quickly and placed the case next to her feet. "Open a bottle for me," she breathed, watching him move. He had been living in Everlund for sixteen of his eighteen years and never had he received this much attention from any of the women in the city. His only liaisons were with farmer's daughters, and those were comely at best! None of them reached the magnitude of this drow and her tiefling companion. He dutifully popped the cork on one of the bottles and handed it to her.

"Let me smell it," she said. He moved the opening to her nose, and she inhaled deeply the tangy scent of the liquid. She indicated a set of glasses on a table across the room, and he went to fill them. Her obsidian finger slipped into her canal and she gasped, then let out a soft moan and laid back on the bed. Cyra, deep into her gyrations, bent toward the drow, her tongue diving eagerly into the more submissive drow's mouth. The two tongues danced around each other as their lips locked, and Cyra grabbed for Lura's breasts, squeezing the perfect orbs and tweaking her nipples. Lura rubbed at her clit furiously and she felt her legs clench. The kiss broke and she cried out as a small orgasm shook her body. The boy was simply looking at her with wide eyes and wider mouth, glasses barely held in hand.

Lura chuckled at the absurdity, and he smiled too, though his was one of bewilderment. She stood from the bed and took the glasses, then kissed him deeply, letting him taste her tongue and Cyra's juice that lingered in her mouth. He looked like a slight breeze would send him to the floor, and she set the glasses down on a bed table. Her robe was draped over a chair, and from it she fished out a small pouch of coins, the robe responding to her wishes and producing a pouch with the desired coinage already inside. She tossed the pouch to the bewildered youth and he slowly turned and left. When the door closed, he heard giggling and then his name was called. He opened the door and Cyra was there, her breasts nearly as large as his head.

"What's your name, lad?" she asked, grazing her fine, black nails across his cheek. Pale blonde hair framed her face, and accentuated the golden glow in her pupils.

"Samon," he replied shakily.

"Well, Samon," Cyra said, pulling him against her by his hips, "my name is Cyra. Maybe I'll come find you later. Maybe you'll find me." She kissed him, and he could taste the wine on her tongue, as well as a burning sensation, like cinnamon on his tongue. She turned and left, and he watched her tail sweep from one side to the other as her taut butt bounced with each step. He looked up in time to see her wink at him as the door closed.

*****

Lura was exhausted. Her legs were sore from being spread for so long, her buttocks ached from grinding viciously on both Mikhail and Cyra. Her jaw was tight from devouring Mikhail's cock and Cyra's burning loins, and both her pussy and anus were still recovering from being pounded by her human lover. She smiled, contented, and pleased, with a steaming bowl of stew with a frigid glass of water in front of her.