Chronicles of a Drow Templar Ch. 02

Kylseriyn did not miss the high priestess' use of more delicate words of death when she regarded the assassin and her use of much more direct phrasing when regarding the templar; killers of two different castes. The mistra smiled. "It is unfortunate to miss watching two skilled predators at work against each other," she remarked.

"Indeed," Duranya agreed sipping of her wine as Kylseriyn bowed her leave. "Make sure Shakenkeliss receives his orders first."

Once out of the private quarters the mistra moved quickly to the nearest congregational room, not bothering to disguise her footfalls through the cavernous audience chamber. The echo of her passage faded behind her as she ducked into a prayer room and grabbed the ceremonial goblet of sanguine-wine. She ignored the gasps of startled clerics and quickly cast a purging spell on the wine then gulped down the goblet's contents. She tossed the empty goblet to a nearby priestess, blood-red wine running down her dark face, and grinned viciously, "It never hurts to be certain." The priestesses were left to gawk in wonder as Mistra Kylseriyn left to send the orders to her cousin. It wouldn't hurt to slant the odds on the next match either. She considered options toward making her cousin's return to her favored arena a touch more challenging.

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Surface World – Some several hundred leagues away. Harvest Festival.

Silwynn, normally a lithe, able-bodied, sure figured sylvan of the high-elven breed stumbled over his feet even as he hung onto his human friend, Dunkin's shoulder as a fit of hysterics failed to leave him. Dunkin, though less inebriated, wasn't much better off. On Silwynn's other side, nearly as tall as Dunkin, his friend from childhood, Regis, a silver-haired, bearded half-elf, patiently supported him.

"Alright, over here's good," Regis instructed. "If we must we can find a room -or a barn- to toss him in to dry out later."

"Only if there's a bonny lass t' dry with me," Silwynn beamed.

Regis rest a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Thou dost not do that well." Dunkin nodded, then shook his head, then nodded in agreement, he looked confused. Regis snickered. "Leave it to the dwarves."

Silwynn leaned dangerously close to falling over in his chair. He blinked as though fending of dust. "Reej, did your eyes go crooked?"

Baltin bounded in happily jingling two full bags of coin for all to see. A violet and orange miniature dragon with butterfly-like wings bobbed excitedly on his shoulder. "Baltin Thaladore Beer is a success!"

Silwynn looked up. Dunkin sat down. "Of course it is!" the elf swung his arm in wild agreement. "We put half yer money in those bags betwixt the two of us!"

"Each," Dunkin burped and clamped his hands over his mouth. "Oops. Sorry."

Silwynn cast the human an odd look and burst into another fit of laughter. "That's a whole bag. That is."

Baltin glared at the pair. "No! The festival!" he insisted. "They bought it at the festival. They're still buying it at the festival! It's great! I'll make a fortune!" His grin reformed two-fold.

The fairy drake nodded quickly. "Or at least make back the cost of ingredients, materials and initial market layout."

A girl with a head full of copper curls all tied up in a mass at the back of her head and carrying a serving tray sauntered up to the skinny mage. "Ya got plans for all that coin t'night, darlin'?" She poked one of the bags with her finger.

Baltin swallowed his grin and made his two bags disappear faster than magic words could be uttered at the girl's invitation. The dragon flexed into a casual position on his master's shoulder and studied the claws of his left paw intently humming nonchalantly as his orange bulbous eyes each moved in different directions. "Coin? What coin?" he asked.

"I no see no coin," the dragon muttered.

"Uh-huh," the girl gave the mage a knowing wink and found herself swung down onto the elf's lap.

"Good morewen," he smiled, gazing into warm brown eyes.

"'Tis well after noontide," Regis corrected, almost submitting to the sweeter sound of nonetyde. He hadn't heard Silwynn use an elven term since the last festival they visited. He'd assumed the elf had forgotten how to speak elvish, it was so long ago. They were very young youths then - well, Regis was a youth Silwynn was much older, though he acted a dunderhead youth. That was decades ago, the day before the village and Regis' family farm was attacked and burned by orcs as the first Humanoid Wars were begun.

The half-elf forbade any negative feelings from welling up as everyone around him were in good spirits. The festival itself and all the beer had to have been what triggered Silwynn's nostalgic slip of the tongue.

"Ah! Well then," Silwynn deposited a pair of bright, amber-colored electrum coins into the top of the girl's partially unlaced bodice, one after the other. "Perhaps good Katie can fetch us some lunch?"

Katie smirked as she privately reached between the elf's thighs for a source to push herself back up to her feet. A randy rumble from the elf's throat and a swat to her backside was her reward. "Perhaps I can see to that," she agreed.

"No strong ale, my dear," Regis advised. "They've had enough."

"The day's young!"

"Exactly."

"We shoulda ate at the festival," Dunkin remarked. "Coulda got somethin' right away at one of them booths."

"Like what? Frog on a stick?" Baltin asked. "No tellin' how old those things were."

"Mmmm, frog on a stick!" The fairy dragon rubbed his banded yellow tummy, flicking his tail in his master's ear.

"Barney, don't even," Baltin scolded his familiar, grabbing at the little beast's tail. "You know those things give you heartburn. Then you end up eating a whole bush of mint leaves."

"Mmmm, minty!" The little dragon burped smelling suspiciously like Baltin Thaladore Beer. "Oops."

Baltin's eyes slid the direction of his familiar on his shoulder suddenly making itself a lot smaller. "We might need to have a discussion about diminishing profits."

"Him! It was him!" The dragon pointed at Dunkin.

Dunkin shook his head. "Nope. Nope. My bags are near empty. I'm pretty sure I paid for my beer. Yer in this on yer own, pal."

Butterfly wings drooped. He perked, looking for the elf for a way out. "Sillywin?"

Silwynn was up and gone.

The group looked around. The elf was at another table chatting up a sleek female with black hair that went to her mid-back and an adventurous body encased in polished black leather that looked new. The elf placed a golden wreath of autumn flowers and ribbons he'd picked up at the festival upon the woman's dark locks. They leaned in close, conspiratorially, laughing in low tones. She slipped her fingers into his hand.

Dunkin shook his head. "A minute ago the man couldn't keep his feet. Now look at him. How does he do it?"

Regis could only shake his head and be amused. "Nothing sobers him up faster than a woman."

They watched as Silwynn and the woman rose together and left, Silwynn with his hand gently to the middle of her back. They headed for the private rooms the inn had to offer, the area where their group had four rented.

"It's the middle of the afternoon!"

Regis shrugged. He knew his friend. He lit his pipe for a smoke making the immediate area smell like cherry wood.

Katie came out of the kitchen with a tray of food. Seeing Silwynn, her lips tightened and her fist went to her hip. She shook her head and delivered the food tray to the elf's friends. "Send his up," they told her.

"I'll do no such thing," Katie objected. "Why encourage-?"

Regis handed her a silver coin. "Send his up, please."

She sighed and nodded.

A knock sounded on Silwynn's door. A moment later and the elf opened it to greet a face blushed from work framed in copper curls that clung to her cheeks and forehead from the heat of the kitchen. The smell of bread and meat from her towel-covered tray went straight to his head and stomach.

"Katie, my love!"

"Regis said-" She tried not to look beyond him into his room where she knew he'd have feminine company, likely lounging in his bed. The elf, taller than she by head and shoulders, leaned in the doorway shirtless and barefoot. Her breath caught as her eyes scraped down along a lithe, sun-kissed chest. His slender core dove down into partially opened dark leather trousers. Although he usually wore the tabard and silver symbol and carried the light war hammer of a priest, his was a body built for nimble and quick acrobatic moves. Katie suspected there was more to Silwynn than he let on, with his womanizing and tight - now not-so-tight - trousers. She bit her lip as she actually saw the bare flesh of the mantle above his member. As an elf, he lacked the nest of curls that humans and half-elves wore, and he flaunted it. "S-sorry. Regis said you'd be hungry."

"He was right," the shameless elf agreed, startling her from her visual grazing. He saw her looking, those doe-brown eyes taking him in. Some discomfort was involved, being momentarily uncomfortably folded, but watching her face was completely worthwhile. Silwynn lifted the white towel with its mild beer stains for a peek and slipped out a little slice of dark beef for a nibble. Mmmm, warm, little bit salty with a hint of honey, delicious.

"Are you working this eve?" He licked his fingers diverting her attention back up to his blue eyes and honey-glaze moistened lips.

Katie flinched in surprise. "I have to work the festival this evening, yes," she told him.

"Are you taking some of those wonderful funnel cakes you make so well?"

She melted just a little. "Yes."

The elf smirked. "You workin' the booth?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Alone?"

"Yes. For a while."

"How long do you think you can you hide an elf 'neath your skirts without gettin' caught?" His eyes reflected the great mischief running through his mind of secretly diving into those wonderful tiny red curls she kept hidden from the world, yet braving the public within the confines of the little festival booth.

Katie thought about it just before her chest, neck and face flooded with color nearly the shade of her hair. "You're incorrigible!"

Silwynn caught the tray against his chest. He chuckled lightly and leaned to look down the hall the direction the human girl left in her flurry of beautiful blush and layered skirts, smelling of bread and meat and beer in her angry wake. As she stomped away her hair bobbed, its shining copper coils dangling and bouncing all over catching the light like red gold, teasing him. Twice she looked back before she disappeared. Oh yea, he adjusted himself, now permitting more than a peek through the opening of his snug trousers. He would be visiting the festival again tonight.

"Hey, Lieah, you hungry?" Silwynn asked, sampling another piece and licking his fingers, shutting the door behind him.

~End Chapter 2~

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Terms Explained:

Terrentene – Combined of "terren" = earth and "tene" = dark (both Latin). The announcement of a powerful re-commission of a soul back to the primordial darkness, banishment back to the "beginning". Must be pronounced publicly prior to the tortuous ceremony of rending the living body by the Hand-Maidens. (This is why it is important for templars to return with live fugitives.)

Templar – Loosely based off of dual references of

1) the Masonic Order of the Knights Templar established in 1118 AD to protect pilgrims and the Holy Sepulcher, and;

2) the current use of a barrister (lawyer or student of law) or other person occupying (or having) chambers in the Temple, London.

In this story a templar is a member of an elite faith-oriented police-keeping force assigned as individuals to go out and retrieve dissidents to capture and retrieve for especially harsh penitence – templars usually work alone.

Cell – literally "small room". Common term used for the small personal quarters that monks, priests, clergy, etc. used as in a monastery or convent or a small room in a prison.

Fetch – Local drow slang for young altar boys and girls in training to be priests or other careers within the temple. Usually a fetch is a minor, or the term is used to tease someone that they appear that they could be a minor.

Lytling - (a shared elven/drow word) "small one". A word I made up as a term of endearment, one to connect the elven races at their most ancient verbal roots before the racial separation.

Medjai –Based off of the principle of ancient Nubian militia scouts who eventually were incorporated as a division of ancient Egyptian police during its 18^th dynasty (New Kingdom time frame). In this case "Medjai" is used as a level of rank equivalent to either an officership or sergeant dependant on the individual and level of responsibility that person is assigned.

Dvergar – a race of dwarves living deep within the earth, side by side with the drow, powerful enough to warrant the drow's respect and offer trade and entertainment (arena) interests. More stable and straight-forward in their law system than drow; drow usually have to engage better manners around the dvergar.

Mistra – a level of rank among drow priestesses, indicative of instructor/mentor types.