NSFW
Once Indoril had decided to stake out the Sanctuary, he quickly left the complex of caves and clambered onto the pier once he had ascertained that the way was clear, using a pane of polished silver pushed between two slats.
Once he was in the fresh, freezing air, the Druchii walked quickly, but not obviously, across the docks until he reached the warehouse buildings. He made his way around the side of a larger one, where he knew a certain, exquisite pleasure house resided, which catered to the captains of ships docked in the city. He had used it before to espy on the comings and goings of targets, before he had joined the Cold Hearts. The madame was a beautiful Druchii woman with pale skin which stood in stark contract to her permanently-rouged lips, which were full and inviting. Her eyes were deep blue and when you stared long enough, it felt as if you were falling into them, worse than the creatures of the sea which all sailors of the Sea of Chill braved. If the assassin didn’t know any better - and he did; he had taken care choosing the establishment - he would have thought she had some foul Slaneeshi powers to entrance her clientele.
The windows on the ground floor were covered on the inside with deep, luxurious purple curtains, but those on the upper floors were plain glass. Indoril had to pass between two Dock Guards to reach the door, a clear indication of the power Madame Ilira had within the district. The door itself was intricately decorated black steel, and the cool feel of it seemingly hinted at untold pleasures beyond. Opening with the gentlest of touches on well-oiled hinges, the assassin found himself in a building far more luxurious than should have existed right on the dock-side. Booths with room for between two and ten occupants were present, with curtains of the same material as those on the windows to give those who sat there some privacy. Wine and other drugs flowed freely amongst the clientele, with many smoking jointly from hookah’s, filled with a new drug called roete. Indoril’s mouth twisted with distaste momentarily, but it soon passed. The fools would smoke, and lose their worries and cares. It helped him for the time being. With panther-like grace, he sidled up to various patrons and relieved them of their purses, cutting strings and plucking them from pockets. Soon, he found he had enough gold for his needs, and not a second too soon.
A feigned cough behind him made him turn, and there he saw Madame Ilira herself, and he couldn’t stop himself admiring her. Despite being more than twice his age, the Druchii woman looked stunning. She wore heeled slippers that added three inches to her height, making her slightly taller than most men in the room, and a form-fitted, front-laced black corset with silver ribbing and ties. A sheer skirt floated elegantly from her waist to the floor, slit up to her thigh on the left hand side. The corset pushed her average bosom upwards, giving her the appearance of being endowed to a greater extent than she was. Her skin was given the appearance of being warm in the firelight, but Indoril knew from experience it was much paler, and in the moonlight seemed to become luminescent.
His eyes continued upwards, finding her high-boned face which told of high birth even amongst elves, and her waist-length hair was coiffed to fall over her shoulders graciously. A hint of amusement touched her face as she stood, thin hand on her hip and elbow thrust out beautifully.
“Well, well. Indoril Nerefteen ... Or should that be ‘Lord’, now?” she asked tartly, tracing her index finger up his chest delicately, and then following the contours of his face. The Madame puckered her lips and then turned smartly on her heel, leading him towards one of the smaller, more intimate booths. She pushed him down into a seat and then sat opposite him, closing the curtain before leaning forward to emphasise her cleavage.
“How can I help you this evening, my lord?” Her tone was seductive, and she batter her long lashes.
“By giving me the use of one of your rooms overlooking the docks ... And three girls. Imperial, Breton, Estallian ... It matters not. As long as they are beautiful. You will be payed, well. They won’t be much use to your income after.” The madame pouted playfully, but her lips curled into a cruel smile when she saw the pouches of gold Indoril slid across the table.
“Of course, Lord Nerefteen. I understand.” She winked, and then opened the curtain. She summoned a beautifully clad woman with a single finger, into whose ear she whispered whilst staring deep into Indoril’s eyes. Nodding with a slight tremble, the woman turned to the Cold Heart and requested he follow her, before turning and weaving her way between patrons and other ‘employees’. As she climbed the stairs, the killer watched her sashaying hips sway from side and side, and was sorry when he reached the landing of the top floor. He was led into a luxury room, with a bed big enough for ten -
‘No doubt for the more adventurous patrons ....’ he thought with a wry smile - and a window which had a perfect view of the pier. He nodded, and turned back to the woman, an eyebrow raised questioningly. Moments later, two more women joined them in the room and all three were completely stunning.
He pointed at one, and stared at her intensely.
“Pour me wine,” he commanded. The next her ordered to stand at his shoulder, and the last to sit on his lap. As soon as she did so, she began to nuzzle his neck pathetically. He scowled, and whilst his left hand rested on her hip, he drew a dart from his belt, and scraped it along her thigh hard enough to pierce the skin. She gasped, and then smiled coyly, before coughing and collapsing onto the floor. The two other women didn’t say anything, but moved away slightly, and leant almost imperceptibly away from him.
“Go and wait on the bed,” he ordered them distractedly.
Standing, Indoril dragged a sideboard from one side of the room to beneath the window, and cleared it of the few items it had on it, and replaced them with the human woman’s unconscious body. He tore off the skimpy items of clothing and then jerked his right hand forward. A stiletto blade, hidden within his sleeve on a steel bar, shot forward and he grabbed the hilt, manipulating it slightly so it came loose of the bar, to reveal that it had a hole in the handle to allow it to spin and be wielded in the hand whilst still attached. With ease, he started to carve her flesh. She awoke screaming with agony, but the poison on the dart had sapped all her energy so she couldn’t move - and wouldn’t be able to for hours. As he worked, Indoril glanced out of the window every few seconds, keeping an eye on the pier.
