Lysander hated the bagpipes. It didn't matter how large or how full a room was, the damn instrument was too loud. His recent assignment had sent him into the fish-stinking, bagpipe-playing land of these simple-minded mountain-dwelling humans; the Kingdom of Dulch.
He longed for the wine cellars of Nazaveria, where they drank wine instead of fermented wheat juice, and there was more for entertainment than a hairy old man blasting air into a screaming pig's bladder.
He had been coming to the Back Maiden's Tavern for three nights in a row, and he expected it was more likely that a goat would walk through the front doors than the person he was actually looking for.
"Elf-man, elf are you still listening to me?" a slurred voice whined.
Lysander snapped out of his head and brought his attention back to the human woman leaning over the table in front of him.
"Do they have manners up there in Nazava...Naverzation?"
"Nazaveria. And no, darling, I'm afraid not. Just a bunch of barn-raised immortal elves running around in the streets. Sorry, dear, you lost my attention. Do feel free to start over from the very beginning." Lysander crooned, and while the woman wasn't following his words, she was following the trail of his unbuttoned collar on his chest.
Lysander gave her a smile, "See, I knew you couldn't stay mad at me. What do you say we- "
As the Elf made a decision to speed up the night's ending, the tavern door opened – in direct line of their table as Lysander had made sure – and in walked a cloaked figure.
The figure made quick work of scanning the building from east to west and then drifted off to a table in the back. Lysander was the only one who even noticed the figure at all.
The warmth of adrenaline pulsed through his veins.
"What an interesting character," Lysander thought. "How can I say no to that, even if I will have to find another nightcap."
"Actually darling," Lysander rested one of his alabaster hands on the woman.
"Now that I get a look at you in this lovely candlelight, with the moon playing on your skin from the window, I see that you are entirely unappetizing. Almost reptilian like woman. I do think I shall have to take my leave for the night."
The woman's jaw went slack and then she burst into tears, eyes dripping into her ale. Lysander slide from the table and hesitated a moment before deciding to take his mug with him. He'd be a fool if he needed the alcohol later and had to pay another piece for this swill.
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Elf
FantasíaLymerra, a Drow stolen at birth, finds herself the only Elf to survive escape from the underground city of Fae-Ander in one thousand years. Burnded with an impossible purpose, she must navigate the surface world alone, hiding her true identity. She...
