Blood of Elven

Chapter Eight

It surprised Khionia that it was only perhaps thirty minutes later when she heard the door at the top of the stairs slam open; it must have been later in the evening than she had thought. The sounds from the brothel had quieted, the patrons no doubt having retired to their filthy rooms to engage in the even filthier depravity for which Sol's business was known. Khionia guessed that it wouldn't be long now until Sol himself would retire to the degrading pleasure that he found down in this very cellar. Fury crackled deep within her at the thought.

Within a few moments, she heard the heavy footsteps plod down the stairs, accompanied by an eerie whistling that grew louder as he approached. The male passed the washroom door that Khionia stood behind, the stale stench of ale and piss trailed in his wake, and marched for the hallway. Khionia had made sure to close each of the doors, lifting the locks back into place as best she could, not knowing which door Sol would approach first this night.

As he walked by, Khionia noted his medium height, his blonde hair shorn to the skull, and his down tilted eyes narrowed as he prowled down the length of the hallway. He was not a large male by any means but it was clear from the way he moved that his body contained muscle that was laced with malice. In one hand he held a loose belt that he swung in idle circles, in the other he fiddled with a small pocket knife. The sight was enough to bring Khionia's ice raging once again. She curled her hand into a fist, her other hand gripping her dagger tightly. Soon, she crooned inwardly to her monster, soon we will taste his blood in the air.

She smiled to herself, cold and quick — the monster making an appearance.

She slid out of the washroom and followed the greasy steps of the brothel-keeper. She matched his stride, silently stepping in his wake upon the dusty floor, and roamed within the friendly embrace of the shadows. He marched up to the first door on the left — Mashilla's room — and lifted the hand which held the belt to the lock. His head tilted slightly as he examined it, processing the bend in the metal, the loose pieces. His head snapped sharply back to the stairs, anger flickering wildly in his eyes as he scanned the dimly lit hallway.

Khionia became the wind, spinning in a gust around Sol but remaining behind him and out of sight, silently miming his movements.

A feral snarl escaped his lips followed by a curse before he swung his head back to the door and ripped it open to the empty space behind. He shouted into the darkness, "Fucking bitch! You think you can hide from me!?" He turned back to the stairs; his eyes peeled wide in rage.

Khionia took the opportunity to slide through the shadows beside him, planting herself in the empty doorframe. In a steady voice, she replied, "Indeed, I do."

Sol's head whipped back to find Khionia watching him coolly. But he had no time to even so much as voice his surprise before she struck his chin sharply with her palm, sending his head snapping back on his spine and twisting to the side — a strike Dax had made her practice time and time again.

Sol fell unconscious. His pathetic form crumpled into a limp heap of limbs at her feet. She did not resist the urge to spit on the elf before her. The monster stormed within her core — a mix of anger that there was not more of a fight and excitement of what was to come.

Now came the tricky part. Khionia knew of a low bridge that could only be accessed through the sewage system under the ground of the island. No guards stood sentry over it as the connecting mountain was too steep for life of any sort, the caverns uninhabitable for a myriad of reasons. Her and Cal had discovered it long ago when they had been looking for a secluded spot for Khionia's night adventures. The bridge was short and connected to a lower mountainside that was covered in an intricate web of caverns. After much exploring, Cal and Khionia had discovered that the caverns were rarely used — by elven, that is — and the only elven they had ever seen traverse the bridge in the daylight, or nighttime for that matter, were the occasional foragers looking for mushrooms or rare fungi that were rumored to grow within the underside of the forgotten mountains of this place.