ENSLAVED BY THE DROW (M+/M) *DARK EROTICA* CHAPTERS 1-14

[DeeperThanRed]

Looks like the best method of survival among the drow is to not draw attention - something Elias neither has naturally nor is good at.

[Socksbound]

I really don’t think this bodes well for Elias. Drawing attention to himself is a bad idea

[Volobond]

Immediately when I saw Elias start to stand out, I knew trouble was beginning. There are definitely some places where being noticed at all is a disaster...

[Red86]

This is definitely one of those places you DO NOT want to stand out at. He's not only drawing the attention of his fellow slaves and going to cause them issues, he's gonna catch the attention of those of importance. Elias needs to slow his role but it may already be to late for that. Silly little human!

[bondagefreak]

SOME VERY INTERESTING COMMENTS REGARDING ELIAS'S DECISIONS.
I WENT AHEAD AND OPENED A POLL AT THE TOP OF THE THREAD.
I'D BE VERY INTERESTED IN SEEING WHAT YOU GUYS WOULD DO IN HIS PLACE.

* * * * *

HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER, GUYS. ENJOY.

@Pup Wingletang @gag1195 @Redman @DeeperThanRed @OrdinaryWorld
@Socksbound @thespy @JustKindaCurious @Volobond @ShadowHusky @Red86

[bondagefreak]

* AUTHOR'S NOTE *

GIVEN THAT THIS TALE IS DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF MY WORKS AND THAT IT MAY NOT BE OF INTEREST TO MANY READERS, I'M GOING TO RELY ON THE NUMBER OF COMMENTS I GET TO GAUGE THE AMOUNT OF INTEREST THERE IS. IF YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ, PLEASE LET ME KNOW BY SIGNALLING YOUR PRESENCE IN THE COMMENTS.

ENSLAVED BY THE DROW

CHAPTER 11 - A MOST BIZARRE ENCOUNTER

The stone floor was cold beneath Elias's bare knees, slick with the soapy water he had been spreading in careful circles. His arms ached from the constant scrubbing, and the iron collar rubbed against his neck each time he moved his head.

Around him, the ground-level floor of House Druu'giir's expansive complex stretched on; its onyx pillars carved with intricate spider motifs, impressive doorways leading to various workshops, and guards passing in menacing, hawk-eyed patrols.

Menzoberranzan's fourteenth house was built into an immense, multileveled rectangular structure filled with twisting corridors, soaring ceilings, and cavernous chambers. Though his duties seldom saw him venturing above the first floor, Elias was slowly but surely beginning to map it out in his mind.

The corridors and chambers were not only vast but also tightly controlled. Armoured sentries were stationed at various access points, their hawkish crimson eyes threateningly sweeping over the labourers and servants, keeping them in close check and regulating their every movement.

Leaving the complex was strictly prohibited, and the second floor - which was reserved for higher-ranking martial staff and elite soldiers - was off limits unless granted a special access pass by the Quartermaster himself.



For three days in a row, Elias was assigned to work alone in one of the quieter wings of the estate's ground-level floor. He refilled fungi lanterns with fresh fuel, swept stairwells, washed walls and scrubbed floors. It was thankless work, but in more ways than one, it felt good to be apart from the other slaves, most of whom had grown to either loathe or resent him. Not having to put up with the sound of their whispered taunts and poorly-concealed laughter felt like a small blessing.

To stave off the unending hours of silence, Elias hummed soft tunes and spoke to himself while he worked. He was doing just that when the clatter of approaching boots suddenly drew his attention.


A figure strolled through the otherwise quiet corridor; a drow, yes, but not like the others. His clothes were vivid and flashy; a baffling combination of bold reds and deep purples. A long cape swung flamboyantly across his back, and atop his head sat a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a plume so large it seemed positively absurd.

The flamboyant drow passed Elias before suddenly stopping mid-stride and cocking his head to the side, almost as though realising he'd just passed an oddity. "What have we here? A pretty little human, on his knees, scrubbing stone? How very...unimaginative." he mused, his tone hovering somewhere between amusement and scolding disapproval.

Elias froze, water dripping from the rag in his hand. He wanted to respond, but his training immediately kicked in. He had not been posed a direct question, so he kept his gaze to the floor and chose to provide no audible response.


The stranger stepped toward him, tilting his head in unfettered curiosity. "You are new here, are you not?" the drow asked, moving his eye patch from one perfectly functional eye to the other, as though it served no purpose beyond that of adding to his bewildering appearance.

Still on all fours, Elias allowed his blue gaze to very briefly dart upward before finally responding with a quick nod.

"Freshly plucked from the surface, then. How charming." the flamboyant stranger mused, crouching down to better inspect the blond human, the giant plume on his large hat bobbing wildly as he leaned in for a closer inspection.

"Tell me your name, boy." came the sound of his smooth-spoken request.

Elias's throat instinctively tightened. His mind raced, trying to decide whether this was a test or a trap of some sort. "I…I was told not to speak it." he answered, meekly keeping his gaze fixed on the stranger's brown boots.

A grin spread across the sharp-featured drow's face. "A wise response. Names have power, after all. Still, I wish to know it." he pressed, gently lifting the human boy's chin with one finger.

Elias briefly hesitated. "...Elias." he finally allowed himself to whisper, the sound of his own name feeling foreign to his ears.


He expected scorn or discipline, but the stranger merely repeated the name softly, as though savouring the lyrical quality of it. "Elias. Hmm. Exotic. A pretty name to match a pretty face. And where, pray tell, does this Elias hail from?"

"Luskan." Elias tentatively answered, his shaky voice so unused to speaking that it came out as barely a hoarse whisper.

"Luskan?" The flamboyant drow chortled, as though he actually recognised the name. "Ah, yes. I know the place well. A grim little city, full of thieves and pirates - but with such character. I stop by from time to time, when I tire of these dismal caverns." he let out, casting his gaze up at the high ceiling and emphasising the word dismal for dramatic effect.

Elias might've chuckled, were it not for the grimness of his situation. The extravagantly dressed drow was indeed correct: Luskan had plenty of character. Above all, it was a coastal city best known for its bitterly cold winters and its sizeable population of highly ambitious mages. Elias was surprised that this drow - or any drow - would be familiar with the place, but then it actually made sense considering the rather shady characters Luskan often tended to attract.


With an exaggerated sweep, the nameless stranger plucked the great feathered hat from his head, revealing a perfectly bald scalp that gleamed in the flickering lamplight. He placed the hat against his chest and dipped into a theatrical bow, as though Elias were some noble and not a slave cleaning floors on his hands and knees.

"Well, handsome Elias of Luskan, I shall depart and leave you to your duties. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

And just like that, he turned and strolled off; his polished boots clacking against the dark stone, his cape sweeping behind him, the giant feather atop his head swaying wildly with every step.


Elias remained kneeling, wide-eyed and dazed, staring blankly at the bizarrely flamboyant stranger even long after he had vanished down the corridor. Only when he heard the telltale crack of a drow whip landing on a shrieking slave’s back did he remember where he was and gather enough composure to return to his silent scrubbing.

He worked steadily, but a bit slower than before, his mind quite literally spinning with a mixture of both confusion and wonder. Who this drow was, he had not the faintest idea.

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[OrdinaryWorld]

Well, someone's interested

[Red86]

So who is this flamboyant Drow that has peaked some interest in Ellas? Seems less strict and very inquisitive about the new human slave!

As for the poll, I'm sure you guessed this by my previous response, but I'd definitely lay low and only do what needed to be done and at a pace that is neither to fast, nor to slow. Atleast until I'd figured things out and know what was safe to get away with. Wouldn't want the other slaves pissed and making things more difficult or to catch the eyes of those who are in power and could also make things harder.

[Redman]

The plot thickens. And now Elias is VERY much on the radar. This cannot end well...
Great update, Bondagefreak!

[ShadowHusky]

What an enchanting and deeply mistrustful drow! I'm intrigued to know his status and station within the social hierarchy, because his flamboyant clothing and rather human appeals would be heavily looked down upon

[DeeperThanRed]

I'm sorry @bondagefreak but this might be my new favorite line from you:

"You are new here, are you not?" the drow asked, moving his eye patch from one perfectly functional eye to the other

This flamboyant stranger is certainly a more pleasant company compared to other drow, but it's too early to say whether he'll be trustworthy or not.

As for my vote, I went with the one everyone else did. I guess nobody wants to try and risk angering the others in Elias's situation.

[JustKindaCurious]

I also voted for laying low, it's just the intelligent thing to do I think. This new drow is an interesting character, completely different and out of line from the rest of them so far. He seems wise and not as cruel, at least at first glance. Hopefully he's a potential ally or friend, Elias needs all the support he can get.

[bondagefreak]

THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT & FEEDBACK, GUYS.

HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER. ENJOY.

@Pup Wingletang @gag1195 @Redman @DeeperThanRed @OrdinaryWorld
@Socksbound @thespy @JustKindaCurious @Volobond @ShadowHusky @Red86

[bondagefreak]

* AUTHOR'S NOTE *

GIVEN THAT THIS TALE IS DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF MY WORKS AND THAT IT MAY NOT BE OF INTEREST TO MANY READERS, I'M GOING TO RELY ON THE NUMBER OF COMMENTS I GET TO GAUGE THE AMOUNT OF INTEREST THERE IS. IF YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ, PLEASE LET ME KNOW BY SIGNALLING YOUR PRESENCE IN THE COMMENTS.

ENSLAVED BY THE DROW

CHAPTER 12 - THE WEAPONS MASTER

The second floor of House Druu'giir - which hosted a vast training hall, an armoury, a high-ceilinged library, and the quarters of the elite guard - was normally hushed at this tardy hour. Tonight was no different, at least until the flamboyantly-dressed drow arrived at the end of a broad corridor and pushed open the tall doors leading to the house's immense training hall.

The cavernous chamber that greeted him smelled of sweat, steel, and blood. Torches flickered along the high obsidian walls, casting angry shadows that leapt and shifted with every movement of the figure within.

Weapons Master Sorn loomed at the centre of the great hall, his towering, muscular frame glistening with a fresh layer of sweat. The shirtless warrior's fists flashed; cruel punching knives viciously lashing out in dizzying succession. The once sturdy training dummy that stood before him was now little more than tatters - its stuffing scattered across the floor like entrails.

Only a few meters away lay a hobgoblin, its body broken, blood pooling slowly beneath the corpse. It had been alive not long ago. Now, it served only as another victim of the statuesque Weapons Master's rage.

As the highest-ranking martial figure of the house and the one in charge not only of the elite guard but also of newer recruits, few dared enter these halls uninvited. Even the younger priestesses and lesser nobles gave the Weapons Master a begrudgingly wide berth. That in itself was no small feat for a male.



The extravagantly dressed intruder was no ordinary visitor, though. He stood by the doorway, watching the display of violence with an amused smirk on his lips. Where most might hesitate or seek to come back at a more opportune time, the feather-capped drow casually strolled in and began clapping his hands in a slow, deliberately mocking applause.

"Bravo, Sorn. Bravo! Such passion! Such artistry!" he beamed, each clap echoing noisily across the hollowed gymnasium.

The impossibly towering warrior froze mid-motion, muscular chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Slowly, he turned, fiery eyes narrowing dangerously as they locked onto the mocking intruder.

"I am in no mood for your games, mercenary." he spat, his voice both low and threatening.

The intruder placed a gloved hand over his own heart and tilted his head, as if wounded by the words. "You wound me! Is that the warm reception you would offer your old friend Jarlaxle?" he asked, feigning surprise at being greeted so poorly.


The two men stood in the cavernous training hall, the remains of that shredded dummy and the still-warm corpse of the bloody hobgoblin lying between them. The flickering torchlight caught the sheen of sweat on Sorn's mountainous form, highlighting every muscle as he inhaled and exhaled heavily; a testament to his furious training.

The intruder's sharp eyes took in the tension that seemed to radiate off the Weapons Master's broad frame. "You look stressed, my friend." he stated, without embellishment.

Sorn's fiery gaze snapped toward him, air noisily rushing out of his nostrils. "Should I not be?" he growled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Only three months into my tenure as Weapons Master..." he began, his voice rising with controlled fury, "and already the Matron expects me to have this entire house battle-ready and on war footing against some unknown assailant. She sends orders as if the enemy were already at the gates, demanding drills, inspections, training schedules...as if I had not a care in the world beyond her impossible expectations!" he angrily lamented.

The flamboyant mercenary inclined his head, lips curling into a half smile. "Indeed...I can see how that might be a challenging task. Your mother was always a difficult one to please. But you..." he went on, letting the word linger for added emphasis."I have no doubt you are up to the task, my friend. You've the strength, the skill, and certainly the temperament of a man fit to command armies. Your Matron obviously knows this, otherwise she would not have placed you in charge of them."

Sorn's fists tightened, delivering another heavy punch into the tattered dummy's open gut. "My Matron...does not care whether I breathe." he hissed." She cares only that I perform...and succeed."

"Don't they all." Jarlaxle merely added, before finally his words shifted to an entirely different matter. "Such a shame about Weapons Master Xalthor." he mused, as though speaking to himself. "I wonder...whatever happened to him?"

Sorn said nothing about his own uncle's mysterious passing. But his eyes narrowed dangerously, a clear warning flashing within their depths. Some things were better left unanswered. This was one of them.


The flamboyant mercenary merely tilted his broad-brimmed hat forward in mock apology, hands raised slightly in innocence, though the playful glint in his eye left little doubt that he was enjoying the game far more than he probably ought to.

Sorn let out a slow exhale before his fists tore into the shredded dummy again."Why are you here?" he finally demanded, flashing the intruder a sharp glare, his voice low but more tempered than before.

"Why, I'm here to see you, my friend. To congratulate you on your new position at the head of House Druu'giir's armies." the mercenary leader smoothly replied. "And, I'm also here on business, of course. Your mother's seers see nothing. So she seeks the services of my Company and any useful information we may have recently...acquired." he explained, his tone retaining its usual lightness and his words coming out as cryptic as ever. Sorn had little patience for them.

The Weapons Master's brow furrowed and his chiselled features tightened. "What information do you have regarding the attacks on my House? Speak plainly for a change."

Jarlaxle's lips pulled up into an amused smile. "Ah...friends we may be, but I'm afraid such information is for the Matron's ears only. You understand." A soft laughter, both melodic and teasing, filled the great hall.

Sorn returned his attention to the dummy, shredding it with renewed fury. "I have little use for your riddles, friend." he muttered, giving the dummy one final blow before slowly ripping the smelly gauntlets from his hands and flinging them to the gymnasium floor.


"Indeed. Though perhaps it would be wise of you to relieve some of that tension by-" Jarlaxle began, before being cut off mid-suggestion.

"I have no time for such diversions, nor do I have time to waste in the brothels of the lower city." the heaving warrior dismissively growled, wiping his sweaty brow with a towel and apparently clueing in to what the flamboyant mercenary captain was about to suggest.

"True." Jarlaxle agreed, unfazed by the interruption. "But there is a lovely human boy in this very building..."

Sorn's disinterest was laid bare in the flatness of his response. "Yes. I have seen him."

"That old goat, Seldzsar, has the pretty thing scrubbing floors on his hands and knees. Such a waste." the more verbose of the two men continued, waving his left hand up in feigned exasperation.


Sorn said nothing for a brief moment before shaking his head as though the mere thought of it was absurd. "I have no use for such a pathetic creature. Besides, even if I did, he would not last a single night in my bed."

"And what better proof of your prowess than that? The human need not last - that is part of the appeal. But then a fragile toy would make your strength and your control all the more striking. Especially if kept alive and unbroken against all odds." the mercenary leader reasoned, before slyly ending his speech with a well-timed jab. "But perhaps you are right, my friend. He would not last a day under your care. After all, control was never your strong suit."

The Weapons Master immediately spun on his heels and glared upon hearing the insult, but the proudly smirking mercenary was already heading towards the doorway. The invisible blow had landed. The damage had been dealt.

"Well, then...I shall leave you to your...exercises." came the ostentatiously adorned drow's announcement before a brief pause ensued and a final prompting was voiced. "You could claim him, you know? If not you, then someone else surely will."


Sorn's hands stilled at his sides. His muscular chest heaved, and sweat dripped from his temples as he angrily eyed the flamboyant mercenary leader's slowly retreating form. With the echo of Jarlaxle's noisy boots fading down the corridor, a tense silence settled over the great training hall.

The possibility of claiming that pathetic little surface runt - either as a toy or as a bedchamber trophy - briefly flickered in the statuesque Weapons Master's mind. Sorn allowed it to linger there for only a fleeting moment before finally brushing it aside and allowing his thoughts to dwell on more important matters.

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[gag1195]

I really like Sorn's and Jarlaxle's back and forth! Jarlaxle in general is very fun! I also really love how well you are able to make these descriptions of the mundane and monotonous of Elias' servitude engaging and interesting!

[ShadowHusky]

Jarlaxle is truly an interesting character, and one of my favourite archetypes in these fantasy-esque stories. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it, and I love it. I do hope to learn more about how valuable he is and why the Matron would deem him fit to assist her like the tool she would see him as; because she would not be one to have less than useful tools in her repertoire.

[DeeperThanRed]

If I recall correctly, the drow dislikes manipulations. So either Jarlaxle was subtle enough when pushing Elias towards Sorn's direction or the weapons master prioritizes his ego above all else.

Either way, I'm more curious about the reason. My first guess is that Jarlaxle has found Elias interesting and wants him to stick around but isn't terribly concerned about his well-being.

[Red86]

This Jarlaxle is an interesting character. Seems to know what buttons he can get away with pushing. Can't tell if he's trying to see what claims anyone else is taking on Elias, so maybe he can scoop him up or if he's actually trying to push Sorn and Elias together. He's seems mysterious, that's for sure. Then again, there's alot of that in general going on in this story!!

[Volobond]

I read "flamboyant" and I knew instantly Jarlaxle had come to play! It's interesting to see his games with the Drow houses. He doesn't hide the contempt he has for them because he knows they need his information... I'm delighted that another player has entered the House. But what does Jarlaxle have in mind for young Elias, I wonder...?

[JustKindaCurious]

So Jarlaxle is a schemer, interesting. Planting the idea of claiming Elias in Sorn's head, I love it. I really hope he goes through with it. A little runt to blow of some steam during all this stress sounds like something Sorn needs

[bondagefreak]

I read "flamboyant" and I knew instantly Jarlaxle had come to play! It's interesting to see his games with the Drow houses. He doesn't hide the contempt he has for them because he knows they need his information... I'm delighted that another player has entered the House.

Haha, I'm glad you immediately clued into that I imagine @Redman also did.
I'm curious, @Volobond. Where did you previously "meet" Jarlaxle? I know he's probably in the top 10 most well-known characters from D&D novels, but I'm curious to find out where you previously came across him. Video game? Board game? Comic book?

[Volobond]

I'm curious, @Volobond. Where did you previously "meet" Jarlaxle? I know he's probably in the top 10 most well-known characters from D&D novels, but I'm curious to find out where you previously came across him. Video game? Board game? Comic book?

Tabletop game, in fact! I played Jarlaxle as a DM. He kidnapped one of my players' characters to propose a mercenary alliance in a Dragon Heist campaign!

[bondagefreak]

@Volobond
That's awesome! Yeah, that totally sounds like something Jarlaxle and his mercenary company would do. I would say more, but at the same time, I don't want to ruin anything, as you may decide to read some of his novels at some point in the future.

The only downside to Jarlaxle's books is that they are not standalones. They are part of the Drizzt series, meaning that you're supposed to be fully versed in all the Drizzt/Menzoberranzan-themed books before reading the Jarlaxle ones.

___________________________

To all those of you enjoying this little story, I highly recommend checking out "Homeland" by R.A. Salvatore.
It's readily available in both paperback and audiobook forms.

[bondagefreak]

THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT & FEEDBACK, GUYS.

HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER.
PROCEED TO THE NEXT PAGE.

@Pup Wingletang @gag1195 @Redman @DeeperThanRed @OrdinaryWorld
@Socksbound @thespy @JustKindaCurious @Volobond @ShadowHusky @Red86

[bondagefreak]

* AUTHOR'S NOTE *

GIVEN THAT THIS TALE IS DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF MY WORKS AND THAT IT MAY NOT BE OF INTEREST TO MANY READERS, I'M GOING TO RELY ON THE NUMBER OF COMMENTS I GET TO GAUGE THE AMOUNT OF INTEREST THERE IS. IF YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ, PLEASE LET ME KNOW BY SIGNALLING YOUR PRESENCE IN THE COMMENTS.

ENSLAVED BY THE DROW

CHAPTER 13 - THE ASSIGNMENT

Elias kept his head bowed and his gaze carefully fixed on the chopping board as he worked the large knife in steady rhythm - reducing carrots, onions, leeks and some other vegetables he did not recognise into neat little cubes.

The kitchen air was warm and thick with steam and the smell of spices. The clatter of pans and the hiss of boiling pots formed a familiar background as the kitchen came to life, much like it did every morning.

Elias worked quietly and meticulously, his movement quick enough not to seem lazy but retaining a certain grace that was lost to the others who toiled alongside him. The human boy was not particularly graceful by drow standards, but his motions were nevertheless poised and refined enough to occasionally draw curious glances from some of the guards. The drow were cruel and harsh, but one thing they genuinely valued was beauty - not only in appearance but also in speech and in movement.


The blade in Elias's hand only paused when a hush suddenly rippled through the noisy kitchen. He glanced up just enough to see why. A drow guard had entered, his adamantine scale armour gleaming in the firelight. The soldier's expression was unreadable save for the faint curl of disdain on his lips. He scanned the room before finally settling his crimson gaze on the lone surfacer.

"You. Human." The guard's voice cut through the kitchen noise, sharper than the knife Elias held in his hand. "You will come with me. The Quartermaster summons you." was the only explanation he gave, before impatiently motioning towards the door and allowing the steel butt of his spear to noisily thud against the stone floor.

Elias knew not why he had been summoned, but he quietly responded with a "Yes, sir" before nervously wiping his hands against his grey tunic and giving the duergar head cook an apologetic look. He didn't dare question the guard or ask why he had been summoned. He simply followed the sentryman out of the warm kitchen and through a series of twisting corridors.

The cold flagstones bit at his bare feet, sending shivers up his spine. As was often the case, Elias found himself subtly cradling his own forearms. It was a subconscious attempt not only at protecting himself from the chill of the halls but also at coping with the growing tension coursing through his body.



Slaves scuttled out of the way as they passed. All kept their heads bowed, none willing to gaze upwards for fear of possibly displeasing the intimidating guard.

At last, they arrived at a heavy door bearing the Quartermaster's sigil. The guard tapped the wooden surface twice before swinging it open and brusquely gesturing for his ward to enter. The human boy did as he was told, all the while keeping his head respectfully bowed low and his hands protectively cupped around his own forearms.


Seldszar's dimly lit office smelled of parchment and ink. The old drow sat behind his large desk, quill actively scratching against paper. Piles of parchment, inkwells, and a few sealed notes cluttered its surface. Elias stepped through the gaping doorway and froze, but as had become custom, the ageing Quartermaster made no move to acknowledge his presence even well after the guard had departed.

Seconds dragged into minutes, each one pressing on Elias like the weight of a hundred ore carts. His heart thudded faster, his hands betraying him with small, nervous fidgets even as he fought to remain invisible.

Finally, Seldszar lifted his crimson eyes. He remained seated on his plush chair, but his gaze was sharp, cold, and unmistakably assessing. He inspected Elias slowly, from the tips of his bare feet to the top of his blond dome, lingering over every detail of the young human's fragile form.

Elias kept his head bowed, heart hammering, unsure how to hold himself under the Quartermaster's silent appraisal.


After a long moment, Seldszar's fingers drummed lightly against the desk, and his voice cut through the silence.

"Come forward. I have a task for you. It is a matter of some delicacy." he spoke, his long fingers slowly reaching beneath the cluttered surface of his desk and drawing out three small, folded notes. Each note was stamped with the Quartermaster's seal, a deep black wax that glistened in the flickering lamplight.

The ageing drow placed the short stack of letters on the desk in front of Elias.

"Take these..." he instructed, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of danger. "They are to be delivered precisely in this order. Each letter bears the name of the noble to whom it is to be given. Do not open them. Do not read them. And most importantly, do not delay. You have exactly one hour to complete this task. Fail...and I promise, you will wish you were still at that duergar encampment."

Elias nodded quickly, shifting uneasily as he did so.

Seldszar's cold eyes never once left the human. "Once all three letters are delivered, you are to report directly to me. Do you understand?" he asked, each word heavy with condescension, addressing the young man slowly as though he were a dim-witted child.

Though by human standards, Elias was a young adult, to the drow, he was little more than a child in the early stages of infancy. Drow children did not typically reach the human equivalent of adolescence until their fifth decade, and even then, they were considered subadults until the approach of their first century.

"Yes, master. I understand." Elias softly whispered, swallowing hard upon hearing the Quartermaster's cold threat. His pulse raced as he gently scooped the small stack of letters up with both hands, reverently handling them as though they were holy symbols made of the thinnest glass.


Seldszar's assessing gaze lingered a moment longer before he dismissively returned his attention to the papers in front of him. Elias understood - there would be no further instructions, no guidance and no hints. He had been given the task, and it was entirely up to him to navigate whatever lay ahead.

The young man barely registered the Quartermaster's last glance before turning on his heels and hurrying from the office. The door thudded closed behind him, leaving only the faint sound of his bare feet brushing against the polished stone.

Once in the relative safety of the corridor, he paused, pressed his back against the wall and allowed himself to take in several deep breaths, hoping they would ease his heart and calm his nerves a little. His fingers trembled slightly as he looked at the first sealed letter he was tasked with delivering. His blue eyes traced the elegant handwriting on the folded parchment. Only two words were visible: Patron Nalfein.


He did not recognise the name, but the title "patron" made him gulp in apprehension. He swallowed again, staring at the note as though it might somehow whisper hints of guidance.

Every instinct in his body screamed that this task was no ordinary delivery and that the hour ahead would test far more than only his speed and ability to navigate the compound. Still, he was resolved to prove himself, if only to show the Quartermaster that he could be trusted with more than just menial tasks like cooking and cleaning.

Elias clutched the precious letters tightly, his mind spinning with a mixture of fear, anticipation, and the cold, gnawing certainty that nothing here was quite as simple as it seemed.

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