[You want a note? Suuuuure. I've been neglecting Elaith, Drizzt, Dinin and Glory lately, but meeeeeh. Elaith is my mentor, and I luff him, so I wrote a fic for him. But Dinin refused to edit. Bad muse.
Elaith Craulnober is © Forgotten Realms, but he is MY mentor/itsy bitsy muse that fills in when Dinin's sleeping.
The original character, Marisa Van'kre, is © me. Surprise! She comes from a different world but I like to get her involved in Toril affairs. Yehp. She's a night elf. And that's © me as well.
There's another note and a footnote on a word used later on in this short piece of fiction. It helps the story make sense (well, more so than usual. You know what I mean. Stop being picky.)
Story dedicated to ChiChiX, for her endless enthusiasm and support of my work. I luff ya, Chi.]
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He was beautiful – no one could doubt that. His movements were sleek, liquid, full of snake-like grace and menace. Venom dripped from his words, and his eyes – sharp, amber eyes – could catch and hold, hypnotic, while he wrapped his coiling lies around you and slowly strangled you unto your death.
Elaith 'The Serpent' Craulnober was not someone a sane man would mess with. It was stupid – downright suicidal – to slight him, to even reveal yourself as a threat. If you were a threat to Craulnober, you died.
If you annoyed him, you died as well – but your death would be slower, more painful, and you could be sure he'd attend your funeral only to dig up your remains and sell them on the streets as potion ingredients after the service was over. He was a pleasant elf.
However… the woman before him was both threat and nuisance, and yet she could walk about without fear – fear from him, at least. Perhaps if she ventured out into the streets, she'd be hung and flayed and ripped apart, because she happened to look a bit like a dark elf. That was a shame, because she really was a pretty decent person when you got down to it. You know, after you passed the layers of crime and deceit and downright nastiness she plied onto most things that breathed.
"What's got you down, Kitten?" she asked, meeting his eyes over his mahogany desk as she lounged, catlike, in a leather seat. "You seem awfully blue, you know, not counting the fact your skin's so pale it becomes blue, and such and such."
He stared at her pointless jabber, shrugged, and looked down again at the papers. Her strange accent and jaunty manner clashed painfully with her elegant clothing that spoke of unimaginable wealth. She did not wear that many jewels – her earrings were dots of diamond, her studded walking stick was decorated by opals as large as spider eyes, and the rubies on her fingers were only expensive by the cut, and not the size – but her slightly haughty bearing and the secretive smile that lurked at the edges of her eyes spoke much of her. They stated, quite clearly: Unbalanced psychopath with lots of money.
A little fold appeared between his eyebrows as he read on, a sure sign of a negative feeling – and a negative Elaith Craulnober was usually a very, very bad thing.
The woman didn't seem to mind this unfortunate turn of events – she was more interested in, well… nothing, really. She sort of stared off into space, looking glazed.
He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes after a minute longer, obviously having finished the document; she woke up with a start.
The ebony-skinned, dark elf lookalike blinked at him dazedly, before musing, casually, "You're pretty."
"So I've heard," he answered shortly. He slid the papers back to her, "and I'm afraid I'll have to refuse the offer."
She sat up straighter, looking indignant. With a flick of her wrist she dashed silver hair from her large eyes before she frowned, condescendingly, "Now see here, Kitten…"
"I said no, Marisa." His tone was final.
She pouted, tucked some hair behind her ear, and sighed impatiently, "Yes, yes, alright, Kitten. But can I ask why?"
"No."
She was silent. Finally, the night elf reached over and picked up a paperweight from his desk, hefted it in one slender, manicured hand, and eyed him thoughtfully. "How much do you wanna bet that I can nail ya between the eyes…?"
A smile flashed, briefly, across his handsome face. "Fine, have it your way, my dear. I have a bit too much on my plate right now. My Skullport trade, my Waterdeep Trade, my Silverymoon Trade, etc, etc, Trade Trade Trade… I'm far too embroiled in my present businesses to take on 500 pounds of crushed miyahn leaf."
"It's not even illegal here yet," she protested, sounding slightly desperate, "It's not native to Toril! You'd get a fortune introducing something new…"
"Yes, and end up like the creator of the Dream Spheres? I don't think so." He rubbed his chin and considered her, "You're in big trouble, aren't you?"
She scratched her head and crinkled her eyes, "Yeah, a little."
"How much is a little?"
"Whaddya want, a diagram?" Marisa exploded, "Don't be a dunderhead and just think about it, Kitten. I have 500 pounds of pipeweed that is illegal in my dimension, which I need to sell off unless I face bankruptcy. Figure it out, I know you ent stupid."
If it had been anyone else, Elaith would have narrowed his eyes or laughed maliciously at such impudence and personal trauma. With Marisa, however, he merely smiled invitingly, almost sympathetically.
"Why didn't you think about that before you bought it?"
She sighed and settled comfortably into her chair, "I did, Kitten. Right after I bought it I was about to sell it to finance three of my taverns and pay the taxes for one of my houses. I had a steady buyer who had already half-paid me. But then those gods be damned city officials come along and heighten the security measures because us smart criminals are getting away scot-free. My buyer chickened out and I'm stuck with a crate or two of pure miyahn molitta* and a bunch of officials sticking their bloody noses in my warehouses. Not fun."
"So you're planning on sending it across several dimensions using your insanely powerful sorceress talents or whatever to me, where I can sell it without consequence?"
"Yehp."
"Do you have any idea what sort of chaos and mayhem this may cause by mixing the dimensions?"
"Yehp."
"Do you have any guilt at all about this?"
"Nope." She fanned herself, then scrutinized the window, "Sheesh, it sure gets hot here in Waterdeep. Can't you open a window? What's the use of a window if you don't open it?"
"I prefer separating myself from common rabble, and still keeping an eye on them," he said idly, "and don't get off topic. Listen to me, Mari. And this is because I like you. I'll take 200 pounds, but you're on your own with the other 300."
Marisa perked up, "really?"
"Really."
"Seriously?"
"Indeed."
She moved fast; faster than he, if one could imagine – the Serpent was rightly named. Yet before he knew it she had thrown herself over his desk and sent them both sprawling onto the floor, even before she had let loose a shrilly little cry of glee.
"You are the best Kitten ever," she swore, arms around his neck.
"So glad," he said, from his position flat on his back. The ceiling was dirty, he mused; well, he'd just fire the housemaid.
She scrambled upright and watched as he did so as well, albeit with more grace and dignity. While he preened, casually checking to make sure he looked as splendid as usual, she remarked, "You still look blue."
"You landed on my windpipe."
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[Yes… that's it.
Oh plot, where art thou…?
He's not really blue. Er, sorta… he has neat skin tones. But yes, as usual, Elaith is a very sober person with dry humour… or morbid curiosity/fascination/something or other. And therefore, I always call him blue. Then he sulks and LOCKS HIMSELF IN THE BATHROOM.
*pounds on bathroom door*
*molitta – slang for miyahn leaf. It's a drug. Think crack, blow, weed, speed, etc, etc…]