Drowning At Dusk Ch 01

Note: First off, I have to apologize for the very long hiatus. A combination of factors completely derailed my efforts to finish the Duchess of Lust saga. Computer issues, job changes, relationship troubles all combined made it difficult to keep writing. I made multiple efforts to finish off the Duchess of Lust stories over the years, but so much time had passed that I found my tastes and interests had shifted, and I'm worried I bit off more than I could chew with such a bigger, higher-stakes political saga. I still may end up finishing it some day, but before I made that attempt I wanted to start fresh with something new, to re-establish my writing habits and get back into the swing of writing erotica.

So to get my writing legs back, I'm back to the drawing board with a more straightforward fantasy adventure, centered around a dark and complicated relationship between an assassin and a mysterious dark elf.

This story is heavily inspired by my recent evil playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3, specifically the character of Minthara. This is not a Baldur's Gate fanfic, nor does it take place in the same setting or use the same characters. But the character of Minthara did spark some ideas for this story, though. You do not need any knowledge of that game or the characters to enjoy this.

The overall story will contain similar themes to my other work (open relationships, group sex, etc), but overall this one is a bit darker and more complicated from a character perspective. This is also my first attempt at writing from the first-person POV. I've enjoyed that POV, but may change it up for later installments.

This first chapter does not include much in the way of direct sex, but that will change with later chapters. Earlier chapters will include a scene or two involving dubious consent, but that will not be a consistent theme.

***

A simple contract. Were I not perched in a hiding spot overlooking a camp of armed mercenaries, I might have laughed. When would I learn that when a client promised a 'simple contract' it often resulted in a damned mess?

The Lord-Protector's steward had told me that the target was accompanied by a 'small band of brigands and beasts.' I'd thus been expecting a few tents, some drunken bandits, a couple growling guard beasts, and perhaps a single hedge mage if I were unlucky.

Instead I had stumbled upon a damned warband.

There must have been fifty tents down there of varying make. Thanks to my various infiltrations of military camps over the years, I recognized the standard-issue equipment of the Commonwealth army. Doubtless many of the rogues below were veterans, deserters, or just scavengers who'd picked over bloody battlefields. The ones of tanned hide and drake-scale were clearly of orc make, while a handful were made of a silvery, shimmering material that almost looked like silk. I'd only ever seen that sort of material used in cloaks imported from the Duskglades.

I glanced over my shoulder at the thick redwood forest of the Wildwood that I'd crept through. It would be easy enough to abandon the job; none of the sentries had seen me yet, and the verdant forest would provide ample cover for escape even if one caught me darting for the treeline. Aye, the Lord-Protector and his minions would be right pissed about the broken contract, but I'd angered patrons before and lived to tell about it. I could sulk down to the next province and find some other red-work to get me by.

I could almost hear the rumors and gossip from my fellow assassins, though.

"You hear about Esharyn? She took a nice, tidy little job to gut a bandit leader, but she sprinted away into the night like a coward."

Not that I really cared about my reputation among other hired killers, but if word got out to other prospective clients, work could dry up fast.

The moonlight glittered through the gaps in the forest canopy, reminding me of the vast pile of silver bars that the steward had laid out to show the second part of my payment. A fortune. Easily the single biggest payout for an assassination I'd ever undertaken.

I could live frugally for a decade off of that sum. And even accounting for the excess and hedonism that tended to follow in the wake of large payouts, I could have stretched that silver for years. New armor, new blades, new spell-runes. It could be an investment to allow me to rise even further in the dark and bloody trade that I'd embraced.

A means to leave this life behind, or to sink further into it.

Either way, it was too much damned silver to toss away.

I could do this. I had the runes, I had the blades, I had the skill.

Looking back down at the camp, I gave it and its environs a more thorough assessment.

The cliff faces near the camp allowed for ample ways to get down and out, and the lengthening shadows cast by the setting sun meant I could likely get down there without the need for a shadow-rune.

Despite the size of the camp, my closer inspection revealed heartening new opportunities. For one, the camp was an absolute mess. I'd seen carnivals more disciplined and organized. The tents were allayed in haphazard fashion, which meant the brigands likely hadn't set up established sentry routes or patrol paths yet. Chaos of that nature was a gift to someone like me.

If I played my runes right, though, no one would ever even see me.

All in all, I counted at least a hundred armed raiders milling about through the camp. Most of them had gathered around great cookfires, and I could hear songs and drums wafting up and out of the chasm. Only about ten were on active patrol, moving in wandering circuits around the edges of the camp with little clear pattern or purpose. Given the amount of tents, I had to guess that at least another hundred were already asleep in their bedrolls, either drunk from the revelry or exhausted from the march that had brought them here.

Brought them here for what, though? The Lord-Protector hadn't even specified. His steward had simply given me the contract, a description of the target, and a general location.

"Your target is a dusk elf named Xelari,"

the steward had said.

"Should be distinctive and easy enough to track down, given how far we are from her native glades. Bright green eyes, silver hair. Known for dressing in silksteel armor, and wielding an advanced runestone. She is likely to be wearing an amulet of bronze, copper, or gold, displaying a rune that looks vaguely like claw marks."

From my vantage point I hadn't spotted anyone by that description, though the tents made of apparent silk were the most natural place to check.

I fished a sight-rune from my belt, rubbed it between my fingers, and felt the icy waves of arcane power flow from the stone. My arm trembled, and I let out a sharp gasp as the icy sensation spread towards the back of my eyes. Blue light flared in the edges of my vision as the magic took hold, enhancing my sight, granting me visual acuity that a hawk would have envied.

The enhanced vision further confirmed that these were no mere bandits. They were far better-armed than any crew I'd come across; about half carried weapons made of shimmering dark steel that I guessed was of dusk elf origin. That Xelari woman must have brought them with her. But why waste such legendary armaments on mere bandits?

From what I could tell, about half of the bandits were humans: rough, wild-looking men and women covered in tattoos and scars, wearing scavenged and dented armor. I'd tangled with their lot in the past, and I'd even been just like them for a short time. They'd break easily if it came to a fight, especially if there wasn't silver in it for them. Still, better to avoid a confrontation given their numbers.

Most of the other raiders looked to be orc-blooded, of varying degree. Tall, muscular brutes with dark gray or green skin, with bald scalps or long, wild braids. I always had a tough time telling orc men and women apart; not that it would really matter, if it came to a fight. An orc was an orc, and they'd rip you apart all the same no matter their gender.

I always admired that about them.

The orcs had a touch more discipline than their human comrades; their tents were more neatly organized, and their drakescale armor was far better maintained. That made me wonder if they were actually warriors from a specific clan, rather than a disparate mob that had wandered north and fallen in with brigands.

I turned my enhanced gaze over the dusk-silk tents, hoping for a glimpse of my target. Before one of the tents stood a single sentry: he wore a long dark robe over battered chainmail, and bore a spear made of bone. From the look of his faintly pointed ears and the faint green tinge to his skin, he likely had meadow elf heritage. Around his neck was a bronze amulet adorned with a claw-like glyph.

Though it matched the steward's description of my target's amulet, I didn't recognize its origin. Was it some new elven cult or mercenary group? A magical rune or brand of some sort?

A raucous cheer from the edge of the camp brought my attention away from the robed sentry.

Four riders made their way into the camp, followed by several pack mules laden down with dead boars. Two of the riders were human, and one was an orc who was so large I grew concerned for the health of his horse.

Others might have found the brutish orc to be ugly, with his broad, angular features, hateful red eyes, and prominent black tusks, but a woman as well-traveled as me tended to be a bit less judgmental. All in all he was rather fetching for a black-hearted brigand whose boss I was about to kill. The most curious aspect to his appearance was the claw-shaped rune upon his cheek, which matched that of the sentry's amulet.

The sight of the fourth rider caused my eyes to widen and my heart to quicken. Though I still fully planned on driving my knife into her heart, I couldn't help but admire the luscious sight of her.

She had a delicate, heart-shaped face, and large, bright green eyes that regarded the camp with detached boredom. Her silvery curls were pulled back in a loose ponytail, and around her neck was a bronze amulet with the same claw-shaped symbol as the orc's tattoo and the sentry's amulet.

Xelari. It had to be.

The dusk elf sat tall and proud in her saddle, her curvaceous body wrapped in silvery, form-fitting armor made of the same material as the tents. Though the otherworldly fabric covered everything below the neck, the snug fit of it left almost nothing to the imagination. The armor was of such a make that a naked ride through the camp probably would have been less scandalous. Xelari wore tall, black riding boots, adorned with little spikes. I could just make out the flicker of runes along the fine leather: no doubt the footwear was enchanted in some way. I spotted no weapons on her person, which made me wonder if she was a spellcaster of some kind, or if some dusk elf magic had concealed her lethal tools.

As the raiders cheered and rushed towards the horses to claim the slain boars, Xelari simply rode on past them, looking absolutely bored with the entire affair. She did not so much as glance at her warriors, not even when they roared up at her in gratitude.

The big orc who'd ridden in with her shouted something, but I didn't have a hearing-rune activated, so I couldn't make out the words. Whatever he'd said inspired a louder bellow of cheers from the warriors, but Xelari herself rode on.

What a terrible shame. That pretty face of hers would have been a gorgeous sight between my thighs, and those curves would have been quite fun to explore with my fingers and tongue.

I watched her as she neared the tent guarded by the robed sentry. With a nod, the man stepped aside and she slipped into the tent.

Dozens more raiders emerged from their own tents and rushed towards the freshly-arrived meat. Even some of the sentries broke off from their patrols to go join in.

Easy, then.

With much of the camp's focus on the meat and the feast that was sure to ensue, all I'd really have to worry about was that robed guard...and Xelari herself.

The magic of the sight-rune faded, and after stowing it away in my pack, I checked the rest of my equipment. I had grappling hooks and climbing gloves to help with the climb down or the climb up, two shadow-runes to help conceal myself, a fury-rune to enhance my strength and speed in battle, and a charm-rune to scramble the minds and senses of nosy sentries.

None of those compared to the true centerpieces of my ensemble: a battered old crossbow covered in orcish writing, and a long, curved knife with a dull emerald embedded into the hilt. Neither of them were magical in any sense, and the crossbow in particular was an old piece of junk.

But they were tried and true. Lucky. They'd been with me on almost every job since I'd left the White Talons, and I'd take those weapons over a wagon-load of fury runes.

After my customary check of those weapons and the rest of my gear, I double-checked all of the clasps and buckles, then crawled towards the edge of the cliff.

The darkness of twilight, the extensive hand-holds offered by the rough rock, and the distraction of the feast down in the camp made the descent a simple affair. My boots landed whisper-quiet on the mud at the base of the cliff, only a few dozen feet from the nearest tent.

I took a single step into the tent and caught a red gleam out of the corner of my eye. Tensing, I glanced over to see a small red rune carved into the base of a cliff. An alarm sigil, perhaps. Another step forward, and my presence might have set it off, alerting whichever mage had carved it into the stone.

Gritting my teeth, I crept over towards the rune. Disabling such spells was a delicate task, and I had lacked the coin to purchase nullification runes before heading out.

Thankfully my long, arduous, and bloody days with the White Talons had prepared me well for this moment. I placed my hand against the cliff next to the rune, and used my knife to gently slice open the back of my hand, precisely mirroring the pattern of the rune.

Certain that I'd approximated it as well as I could upon my own flesh, I gently pressed my hand over the glyph. The blood on the back of my hand glowed, then sizzled. The sharp burning caused me to wince, but the sudden flash also cauterized the wound, leaving behind a faint burn where the red lines had been.

And that was that; the rune had been nullified, rendered active but blind to my presence. Under my breath I murmured a word of thanks to my old mentors; dour zealots they may have been, but they'd passed along some damned fine tricks.

Satisfied in my work, I readied my shadow-rune and crept closer to the camp.

"Oy," a rough, guttural voice growled from inside a tent near the perimeter. "Get up. Xelari and Tehrak brought back some fresh meat. Boar. Should be tasty. Cevlek said he knows some runes to spice up the meat, make it tasty."

"Is that the elf's idea of recompense?" snarled a second voice. "Boar meat? That's all we get for mucking about in this forest for weeks and weeks?"

"Easy there. That kind of talk will get you flayed. Or worse."

"If it weren't for me, half of these killers wouldn't even be here. She wouldn't risk coming after me." The man let out a long sigh, and I could hear something clattering around inside the tent. "For fuck's sake, though. How long has it been since we've taken a caravan? Three months?"

"Two, if you count the caravan we caught near that village out east."

"Aye, and that was some decent loot. Now we're linked up with Xelari and just wandering about like lost little dogs."

"She has a plan, I'm sure. If she finds that relic she's after, we'll get the rest of our pay and then we can get back to the raiding. Or to whoring and drinking. May not need much more loot after that. Come on. It'll be suspicious if you don't show up to the feast."

After a bit more grousing, the complainer finally rose and stepped out through the other side of the tent.

Relic? Curious. The Lord-Protector's contract hadn't stated anything about Xelari being after a relic. The contract had just made her out to be an unusual bandit.

Maybe once Xelari was dead, I could search her tent for clues as to this relic, then find it myself to win an even bigger payday.

Once those two brigands had wandered off, I slipped through the gaps in the tents, prowling closer towards the dusk-elf section of the camp. I knew the feast would take a while, so I took my time, and took no risks. As opportunities arose, I darted forth between the tents, lurked in the shadows for a time, then moved on once I was certain the coast was clear. Occasionally I heard snippets of conversation from the tents and from the passing bandits. Those little pieces helped to form a larger puzzle of what Xelari and her minions were doing there.

Xelari and her minions had come to that forest in search of a relic. Each fragmentary conversation I eavesdropped on had contained some contradictory piece of information. One stumbling drunkard had said the relic was the heart of a long-dead elf god, while another said it was an arrow capable of piercing the heavens and slaying the moon. Two had believed it was an ancient grimoire of a powerful necromancer, while another had joked the relic in question was in fact a powerful dildo, blessed by a goddess of lust.

It had taken some effort to suppress my snicker upon overhearing that little tidbit. That would have been quite the find, wouldn't it? Might have even been fun to steal that relic and fuck Xelari with it, were I not there to end the mysterious woman's life.

A larger group of bandits forced me to take cover in a tent, where its occupants had left out their weapons, empty flasks, and an intriguing pile of maps. As I waited for the bandits to pass, I flipped through the pages, taking note of the sections of forest that had been searched, and which sections were still marked as unexplored.

From the looks of the map they'd been hunting for weeks, toiling over an area that encompassed over two thirds of the Ulkan Wildwood. If the relic did in fact exist, it likely remained hidden in that last unexplored section. I'd traveled the Wildwood a few times in the passt, but knew of no ruins, temples, shrines, or structures in that section of the Wildwood that could have contained anything of note.

Memorizing that section of the map as best I could, I slipped out the back of the tent. As the scent of roasted boar filled the camp, I scurried the last dozen or so yards to the dusk elf section. From my hiding spot behind an overturned cart, I watched as the robed sentry stood stoic and perfectly still in front of Xelari's tent. The massive orc who'd ridden in with Xelari stepped past a group of his underlings, and stomped up to the tent.

Wary of that orc and of the famed vision of those with elven blood, I elected to sneak around the back. A thick cluster of ferns provided a perfect hiding spot, and I hunkered down beneath the fronds. Given the sentry on the other side and the possibility that I'd need to make a quick and stealthy getaway, I withdrew the shadow-rune and brushed my fingers over the dull gray stone. Shadows rippled and warped around me, writhing up like snakes from the ground and sliding over my body.

While I would not be perfectly invisible, the shadows would be thicker around me, and the magic would warp the vision of anyone who gazed upon me. Someone who stared for long enough might notice something amiss, but I'd be far harder to spot, and certainly much harder to hit with an arrow if I had to make a reckless escape.

I didn't want to make my move while the orc was inside with Xelari, so I remained in those shadowed ferns. And maybe I'd pick up a few more pieces to the puzzle in the process.