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The drow stalked down the open street. A heavy brocade robe spilled out behind her, its stiff folds holding their shape even as it was drug along the cobbles in a short train. The robe itself was red to the point of blackness, like burnt blood, or the colour artists would call sanguine. Upon the cloth was intricate stitching in an ornate thistle berry pattern; this was done in matte, black thread, adding depth and dimension to the fabric. Long, form fitting sleeves were hemmed an inch from the wearer’s fingertips. The robe’s high, stiff collar encircled the back of the drow’s neck, leaving the black skin on her throat exposed. The robe closed with three silver filgreareed clasps over the swell of her breasts. Below the clasps her long, smooth torso was also bare. Form fitting pants, made of the same matte black as the stitching on the robe, hugged her hips and thighs, then continued straight down from the knee. Soft, black leather boots with slightly pointed toes completed the outfit. The tops of the boots disappeared inside the pants.

While one noticed the drow’s striking body and clothing first, what held one’s gaze was above her collarbone. A long, delicate looking neck led the eyes up to her ears. Pointed and similar to the surface elves’ in everyway, silver earrings that matched the clasps on her robe dangled from their lobes. Tendrils of nigh-translucent hair hung down around her ears. The rest of her oyster-shell hair was bound up in an ornate headdress that spiralled it up and behind her head. With her hair swept up one had a clear view of a beautiful, if slightly avian, face. Silvery brows rose above icy, grey eyes. Almond shaped with the blackest pupils, they flashed steel that was only partially softened by the generous fall of pale eyelashes. A slightly upturned nose, cheekbones angled in reflection of her eyes, and full lips, turned from black to the darkest shade of violet.

Lips that were forced into a deep frown by their owner as she walked down the street. The cords in her neck stood out as she ground her teeth in obvious displeasure, “Mas’fryn, you are certain they will be there?” The drow addressed another who walked just behind her.

The one addressed as Mas’fryn was as alluring as the first, but not in an overtly sexual manner. She seduced with shadows, and the flavor of danger. Shadows themselves seemed to scintillate over everything she wore. A soft cape draped down from her shoulders, and her hair was bound back into a long tail that fell over the cape. The hilts of twin swords protruded from behind her back, and daggers on her hips. As quickly as light glinted off of them, it was smothered with blackness. The shadows even extended to her face, but one got the impression of the same high cheek bones, full lips and almond eyes. And when she spoke it was a sighing whisper, that seemed to dance about your ears, “Yes, Mistress, of course. I would not have alerted you otherwise.”

A low chuckle came from the other side of the first drow female, “You aren’t worried, Dilynrae, are you?” followed a teasing question.

Dilynrae turned her head to face the male drow walking to her left. He was as tall as his father, making him at least a hand and a half taller that Dilynrae. The robes he wore were almost as ornate as her own, but they were a full robe, extending in many layers of red and black to cover the drow’s form. A staff topped with a glowing, green orb gave his face and the blackened circlet that adorned his brow an eerie glow. Raising her eyes to meet his she replied in kind, “Not with you here to protect me, Nhaunder, no.”

With a self satisfied smile replacing her frown Dilynrae led their steps in the direction of the High Sorcery. Guards and minor priestesses turned to stair as the trio’s backs as they passed. They were obviously wealthy and powerful, to walk so boldly through the city’s streets. When they reached their destination, the three seemed to tense, but then broached the doors of the tower as one. Waiting within the tower, as promised, was a mage. The mage narrowed his eyes and then gave a slight bow of his head to the unmoving drow before him, “We will speak in my office.”

With no more ado they slipped down a side corridor in the tower. The corridor was polished marble as was the entire tower. Scones held small globes of faint blue light and ran down its length. After what Mas’fryn silently counted to be two hundred and fifty-three steps the mage opened a door with a murmured word and ushered them inside. “It is not common that I would deal with,” he paused.

Nhaunder leaned against a book shelf and gave the other mage a toothy grin, “Drow of such obvious power and good taste?” Arching a pale eyebrow he gave a short, bark of a laugh and then all humor drained from his face, “We do not deal often with worshippers of your bitch queen ourselves, however, the potential for benefit to both sides in this little,” he sneered as he spoke the word, “arrangement – was too great to ignore. For you or for us.”

The mage pressed his lips together in a thin line and closed his eyes, composing his thoughts. He opened his mouth and eyes at the same time, but silence was all that came out of his mouth as he found his eyes focused on Dilynrae’s generous cleavage. Drow were similar to their surface brethren in most ways, but their culture was based around more carnal pleasures, and as such, over the millennia their bodies had adapted. Full breasts and sensuous lips were not uncommon, and along with flared hips they drew attention to what was otherwise a slim, lithe form. Opening and closing his mouth he truncated his response to a short, “Yes,” and moved to his desk where he withdrew several sheets of vellum.

On each sheet was the name of, and complete details about, ten slaves. Beside each biography was seal of ownership, magically enchanted. The mage handed over the selected sheets to Dilynrae who inspected each one carefully. The details on the sheet changed instantly the condition any of the slaves did. Licking her lips and smiling, she handed the sheets back to the mage, and said, “Perfect. Everything is in order on your end then.”

“And your end?” the mage questioned. In answer Dilynrae held out her hand which was filled with a satin pouch by Mas’fryn. Dilynrae opened the pouch and dumped three ounces of perfect blood-rubies into the mages waiting hands. “Excellent,” he breathed, picking up an exceptional stone and filling it with magical light, “Truly stunning.” Blinking his attention away from the gems he made to hand over the three sheets.
At that moment, Nhaunder released the spell he had been casting; a shield encased the four drow. The mage blinked up in surprise, “What!?” barely escaped his lips before Nhaunder’s second spell held him still. Mas’fryn pushed the paralyzed mage aside and pulled out the remaining forty-seven sheets of slave documents that filled the drawer where he had taken the three from.

The mage laid prone on the ground, his eyes locked in position staring up disbelievingly. Dilynrae reached down and plucked a remaining ruby from his finger tips, “Oh come now, don’t look at me like that, you sought to rob us! So we are returning the favor. Three ounces of bloody rubies for thirty slaves!” she snorted derisively, “I could have purchased thirty priestess of your vermin ridden goddess for that price!” Straightening with the ruby clenched in her small fist, she sneered down at him, “Of course, we can not let you tell anyone about this. Mas’fryn?”

Dilynrae stepped back as Mas’fryn stepped forward. With no ceremony or wasted movement her swords was unsheathed, the mage’s head removed, the blades wiped clean and then sheathed. Nhaunder then whispered the words of a spell that caused the trio’s skin to crawl. Scarab beetles swarmed out of corners and cracks in the marble, within seconds the corpse was devoured and the beetles departed as quickly as they had come. Gathering up the documents that declared them the owners of five hundred new slaves, and their rubies, the three whispered a prayer to the silent lord who shrouded them in shadow.

No one marked their leaving the city, as they had marked the entrance; no one even saw them leave. It was not until several days later that a mage entered the office of his coworker and even then he noticed nothing out of place, just grunted with displeasure at having to look further for his associate, thinking him deep in the library.

As their new slaves cleared rock for which to expand their holdings Dilynrae stood naked in her bedroom. With her head tilted to the side she listened to the low rumble of the workers, feeling the vibrations of the stone through her bare feet. The rumble of the earth being moved was slowly replaced by another rumble. From her bed came a low growl that eventually resolved itself into words, “It will take them years to finish, do you plan to stand there listening until they complete their work?”

Turning to face the bed and her husband who lay on top of it Dilynrae narrowed her eyes and then shook her head, spilling her long, pale hair over her shoulders, “Does it displease you, Milithrar, that I take more interest in the workers than you?” she asked mockingly, and then placed an hand on her hip leaning down in challenge.

Milithrar snarled, baring his white teeth that stood out startling against his black lips. With a warrior’s quickness he grabbed her wrist from her hip and flung her to the bed, pinning her underneath him, “Displease me, wench? Do you want me to be displeased with you?”

Dilynrae widened her eyes in surprise and pain, and then unable to hold the façade any longer gave it up to rich laughter which were joined by her husband’s deep chuckles at the same time.