Until It Bleeds Daylight: Part One

It gives me great pleasure to announce that Jierdan has won First Place in the Assassination Contest against Felix. His story is below, and makes for some fantastic reading! Enjoy - and please congratulate Jierdan!

Jierdan now held a fresh copy of the missive received by the Rogue's Guild earlier that week in his hands, reading over the mission with a neutral expression. The drow was used to hired assassinations by now, and many of them were far below his level of talent. Certainly this man described, Felix, could be no different.

He dismounted from his ever faithful wolf, and long time companion, Mook, who gave a displeased whine as he led her towards the Moorgate stables.

"I know, I know," he said soothingly as he petted her silky fur, "But I cannot take you on this mission with me. You'd stand out. Besides ... wouldn't you like a nice rest?"

The wolf, who had an extraordinary personality of her own, snorted, refusing to look at him as he led her past the trembling stable boy into a stall. Walking out, he paid the young boy, and as an afterthought, gave him an extra large tip. The already petrified boy would have his Mook to deal with, and she was irritated, besides.

After stabling his wolf, he made his way back to the guild hall by rooftop, jumping from each one, flaunting dexterity inherent in all rogues. As he landed on his guild's roof, he glanced up and down the street to make sure no one was watching him.

Satisfied that he was not being watched, he grabbed the edge of the roof and swung down next to Robyn, who did not so much as flinch, too used to the comings and goings of Rogues. He flashed a brief smile, before passing through the portal into his guild. Before he could perform the mission, he would need a change of clothes. His attire would be far too telling of his purpose in the Inn...

"I'd like the 'special package' I sent for earlier in the year, Tom. You know which one." Jierdan smiled genuinely as Tom reached beneath his counter, and pulled a heavily wrapped bundle out from under. He set it on the counter. He never said much, which was probably to his benefit, since rogues who did business with him usually preferred to be secretive about their comings and going.

Jierdan had paid long ago for the package, and grabbed it up. From there, he made his way even farther into the guild, to an unoccupied dark corner, to open it. Viewing the object inside took his breath away. Truly, he had not been long away from his home city of Menzoberranzan in the Underdark, but the drow articles inside had that effect on him all the same.

Inside were drow trousers, boots, and a tunic. Resting on top of it was a drow weapon, made of their specially made metal, adamantine, which would disintegrate, should sunlight touch it. He handled it lovingly, enjoying the familiar feel of the materials against his skin. He'd paid Tom an exorbitant amount of money to have these trafficked to Moorgate, because even the craftiest rogues rarely did business with drow. Besides, what weapon that would disintegrate come daylight would be worth anything on the surface world?

His plan was to dress as a wealthy drow slave lord, come to the city to abduct human and Elven kin to be brought back to the Underdark, and sold. It was a despised practice among city dwellers, but the owners of the less fine establishments in Moorgate did fine business in the drow slave trade, being paid to let go of some of their less 'successful' waitresses. Beyond the fact that the town guard either didn't know it continued, or refused to do anything about it.

After removing all of his telling adornments... (i.e., Rogue's Guild ring, jeweled necklace, and other items obviously made on the surface), Jierdan removed his own boots, trying on the ones made by drow. He hopped, walked, and ran around, looking ridiculous, but wanting to make sure he could move well in the boots. They were perfect, made by fine drow leatherworker.

He pulled on the tunic and trousers over his chainmail vest and shin guards. The clothing would look slightly unnatural, but that was normal. Everyone knew the drow were warriors by nature, and would not risk safety at any time while on the surface (the drow were not a friendly race, and could inspire hostility in the locals quite easily if they were not careful), so wearing armor under their clothing wouldn't be a cause for suspicion. He ran water through his hair, cleansing it with a lump of perfumed soap he'd acquired from a merchant he'd slewn the week before. Then, he braided his pure white hair in a popular male style. It had been a while since he'd done so, but he didn't need a mirror to know that his disguise was flawless. After all... he had once been a drow noble as well.

Inside the pub, "The WooHoo Tavern", Jierdan noticed without pleasure that many of the waitresses were giving him worried looks, as though he really had come to haul them off to the Underdark as slaves.

He waded through the slowly crowding room, making his way to the bar, where he sat himself slowly on a stool. The bartender gave him a searching look, before sauntering over and barking, 'What can I get ye, my good fella?'

'I'm not here for alcohol.' He figured he might as well get straight to the point. 'Ever heard of a man named Felix?'

Jierdan was startled when the man seemed to recoil slightly, and expression of intense anxiety on his face. He was sure the man was going to tell him sometime, when he suddenly growled, 'Out, ye bleeding scoundrel. Get out of mine bar. And you tell that wastrel to never send you in here again. OUT!' He bellowed, and the entire bar went quiet.

Figuring it was pointless to argue with him in the middle of a crowded room, Jierdan scowled, and got up to leave.

'An' you tell him..," the bartender continued, his voice quaking, 'You tell him I dun' wan' nothing more to do wit' 'im.'

Jierdan didn't look back as he stormed from the bar, angry at himself that it had gone so badly. He tugged his tunic off with a growl, and stuffed it in his pack, then noticed a shadow pass over him from above...

He looked up, but saw nothing. He stopped moving, held his breath, and listened. Still... he heard nothing.

He shrugged, and started to walk down a side street around the corner of the pub, when suddenly something slammed into him from behind with the force of an angry demon. He fell on his face, and was quickly yanked back up by the back oh his armor, whirled around, and slammed into the wall of a nearby building. This time, he was pinned with his arms twisted painfully behind his back, and a hand on his throat, partially choking him.

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