Indoril was overlooking the manse complex in which his sister had been holed up. It had been five hours since he had left the underground complex which the Cold Hands were using as a base, and in that time he had seen captains and lords arriving and leaving. He smirked. The lords had the typical Druchii air of entitlement when they arrived, confident in bearing and look, but they all left with scowls on their faces, and anger in their step.
‘Clearly my sister does not feel the need for male companionship ...’ he told himself.
Eventually, he saw what he was looking for - one of his sisters retainers captains, made clear by the rune emblazoned in pale blue across his black shield, left the complex hurriedly. His pointed helmet, black steel matching his armour, bore a plume of horse hair died blue which streamed behind him, and at his hip he wore a vicious looking sword. With consummate skill, the marksman tracked his target and once he left the safety of the main avenues, Indoril struck. Leaping from the roof he was on, he hit the floor and rolled, drawing his knife and grabbing the captain’s throat, pushing him against a wall. Resting the knife against the gap between helmet and armour, he stared at the elf silently for a minute, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
“You serve Aeria Nerefteen,” he began slowly, stating instead of asking. His Druchii ‘captive’ stared back with equally cold eyes, his mouth curled into a sneer.
“Yes. I do. No doubt you serve Indoril, the brother. Well, tell him this.
She will find him. And he will die.” He looked questioningly when the marksman with the knife at his throat laughed heartily, the blade moving dangerously.
“Indeed, I work for Indoril’s best interests. And your mistress should be run, for she will be a slave the day after tomorrow.
“You, however, might be able to prevent your own death.”
With a snort, the captain laughed. “She will kill you where you stand. Her skill with a blade is near legendary in Naggarond.” Indoril, growing irritated, shook his head.
“You clearly do not know who it is that works for Indoril. Better for ...” He was cut off by the cry of a guard, warning him to drop the weapon. The marksman sighed. The guard lowered his spear and settled his shield, before advancing. Two more were with him, and advanced.
With not a word, the assassin drew the repeater handbow he carried with his left hand and snapped off two shots, which took a single guard through the throat and eye, before dropping it and drawing his other knife. The two guards thrust their weapons at him in synchronicity, and Indoril dodged out of the way lithely, twisting between the two of them. He spun, using his cloak to entangle one of the guards whilst he struck out at the third, burying his weapon deep in his throat, dodging his attempt to block the blow. Spinning once more, he faced the last guard. They squared off, circling, and suddenly Indoril was aware his back was to the captain. Straining his ears he heard the sound of steel scuffing stone and the whisper of a blade being drawn. He took a breath, and rolled out of the way as the captain struck. The sword whistled through the air, lodging itself in the shield of the last guard. Quickly, Indoril spun around the guard, and leaned around him, slitting his throat. The body slumped to the floor, less than thirty seconds after the first shout was voiced.
The captain of a portion of his sister’s guard looked at him with something approaching horror as Indoril pulled free the weapon he had left in the guards throat. Without a word, the captain turned. A sigh, barely audible, escaped the assassins throat. He threw the weapon. It spun, end over end, until the hilt clanged solidly against the targets helmet. He sprawled onto the floor. Scooping to retrieve his handbow, he walked towards the guard, who struggled to regain his feet.
“Now. You see how I fight. More like me aid Indoril. He offers you a chance. When the time comes, you fight for him. You are offered a reward - a handful of retainers of your choice, the finest slaves from the markets of this very city for your pleasure, gold to make you wealthy ... And Aeria herself. Agreed?”
He could almost see the thoughts of the captain as these promises were made - more power, more wealth, and the naked form of Aeria chained before him on her knees, threatening and begging in equal measure. The pleasures he promised were enticing; he himself would love them, and the elf was his; even if he wouldn’t admit it yet.
“You will know, when the time is right. If you aid your masters brother, you will live. If not, you die.” The lie slipped easily off of his tongue - any who betrayed his sister would not be loyal to him, and thus must die as soon as power was his.
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The hours passed, and so did the confrontations. His sister had five captains with her, each with forty men under their iron-fisted command. Three of them - Larandar, Farnoth and Cavindel - spat in his face and then fell for his enticements. They were all promised the same, and their lust rose. To be the man who finally had Aeria Nerefteen, fabled for her resilience in the face of suitors bar her fist husband, who had died before their marriage could be consummated. They longed for it. They fell for it. Indoril grinned as he looked at the manse from his original vantage point. A light from the tallest tower, distantly high, flickered, and Indoril imagined his sister completely her nightly rituals, and he felt his own excitement grow. He snarled, and then turned, cloak flowing smoothly.
The assassin his way to a pleasure house, losing himself in the skilled embrace of countless girls, born as slaves, captured from the Old World - the young women of Tilea and Estalia particularly skilled - and elf-born. His world devolved to almost nothing beyond the pleasure he was experiencing, but a part of him couldn’t leave thoughts of his sister, even during the heights of his ecstasy.
‘She is mine ...’ he thought, grinning.
After the fun had been had, he took his own pleasures. A drop of his own poisons in the Estalian wine, and he grinned as the women screamed their pain or were locked in their own heads as the pain consumed them. He took his pleasure again, enjoying their pain as much as their bodies, and then took his leave through the windows before the house’s master found the damage to his women. His thoughts turned immediately turned back to his sister. The sun was rising on the day that she would lose all her power.
