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