"A pleasant night for a stroll,"
"Quite," Inclining his head, he clasped his hands behind his back; the faux smile the oily snake wore now was as sickly as the one earlier. Was he truly so transparent? A poor reflection on humans. "The air is cooler here, even without the breeze, set so close to the walls."
"The hubbub must be quite a din on your ears, friend."
"It is bearable, though out here is far from quiet."
"I notice you're unarmed. Me, I prefer it that way. Out here accidents can happen – alone one has to take care of oneself, with no one to watch out for one… Say, I meant to ask, have you visited Candlekeep recently?"
Against the shadow of the wall, from beneath the overhang of the stable, the black robed man seemed quite at home. Stroking his beard into a fine point, he seemed to be studying him intensely. It would not long before they both dropped the pretence, he acknowledged. Eleven feet away… neither wore weapons, but as Tarnesh – if that was truly his name – had pointed out, robes were impractical. Adopting a light tone, he inquired easily, "Why do you ask 'friend'?"
"You are well spoken. A rarity in these parts."
"So I've seen," Shrugging he fixed his eyes on a section of the wall. No guards in sight. "Tell me," he asked, looking over his shoulder towards the old temple, "are you this curious about everyone you meet… or is it just something about me?"
Tarnesh laughed without warmth, "Few elves in these parts," Leaning forwards, he whispered, "and fewer still that match the description. Your time is over 'friend'.
"Gaze upon the face of death!"
Raising his hands, Tarnesh began chanting in a low voice – then stared. "You can't hide," he hissed, "you've nowhere to run!"
As quiet fury gripped the man, the elf encircled him. Unseen to the naked eye, the grass bent under his soft tread. Avoiding the flagstones was child's play; stooping down, he examined the ground for stones. It was a mistake to rush things, he knew, watching as the would-be assassin fumed. But then, it was a mistake not to watch the workings of ones' mouth… and to underestimate your prey. Loosening his belt, he quietly slipped it off, and stepped closer.
Tarnesh froze, his eyes darting from side to side. Leaping back, he pressed up against the wall, "You can't win," he snarled, "even if I fall, there will be others–"
The pebble arched, striking the wall. As Tarnesh spun around, chanting furiously, the belt descended, cracking down on his temple. He dropped just after the pebble.
Humans, he thought to himself, would they ever learn? Pressing forefinger to the mage's neck, he checked his pulse. Crouching, as he re-materialised, he sighed. It was never pleasant rifling through another's pockets but it had to be done. Biting back his knee-jerk grimace, he deftly propped the body on its side and reached inside its robes. It was worse than he imagined; a filthy silken handkerchief lurked there and it took all his resolve not to pull back. Forcing himself to continue, he opened the man's belt purse; there, his room key. Strange, there was nothing else on him. Could he have kept it concealed within his room… or… he shuddered, he did not want to consider what personal hiding places the man might use. Still, something would have to be done…