Authors notes/Disclaimers: Inspired by Lynn Flewlling’s Nightrunner series, I decided to write this story, set in the DL world. I’ve been reading Sea of Swords (R. A Salvatore) as I’m writing this so it’s a little cross overish. Don’t blame me for it all.

WARNINGS!! Slash, rape, violence and other such things. Also has romance and adventure as most of my stories do. If you haven’t read any of my works before, give it a go. Cheers to the wonderful Hoowee (HI!) for getting me into the Nightrunner series . Inspired by Forgotten Realms, Dragonlance (duh) and the twice afor mentioned Nightrunner series. Big bow and grovel to the writings of all who dwell on and to Wizards of the coast. I own only my characters (Perlon, Iladon, Arunoth, ect.) but not the world of Kyrnn. Please no flames otherwise I will be forced to removed you from this mortal coil with a pair of hedge clippers. Blame the almighty Tasslehoff for this.

Veil of Autumn

Joker of Wonderland/Alexandra Smith

He fingered the iron collar about his neck, stroking the stones that lay embedded in the metal. Perlon smiled grimly as the latest trick walked out the door, tossing a few chipped steel coins on to the bedside table.

The youth slowly sat up as the door closed, reaching for his breeches and underwear. Perlon winched as the sharp spike of pain laced up his sides and back, the man hadn’t been kind or gentle on him and he would undoubtedly have scratches and bruises lacing over his back and sides, hips too if he was unlucky.

Gregon hated to have his ‘merchandise’ damaged, he would quite possible express his displeasure to the ex-solider with painful clarity and lock Perlon up in this room for a day or two for being so stupid as to let the brute mar his ‘lovely features’. Perlon spat on the ground and moved to the mirror in the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. He examined his injuries, taking note that his face was undamaged and that the cuts and dark purple-blue marks were only few.

Splashing water over his face and taking the opportunity to quickly place his clothes next to the sink and wash down his body, taking care to go slowly. He wished he had time for a hot bath, a nice scented hot bath, but he did not. Gregon would soon come storming up here, demanding to know what was taking him so long. Once, it seemed far too long ago, he would have bathed regularly, savouring the heated water, he would have eaten every day, he wouldn’t have this collar about his neck. That damned collar…

He could have escaped long ago had it not been for the wretched thing! It dampened his magic, dissipated it. He had just passed his test when it had been placed on him in his sleep. A young white robe, he had once been nearly ignorant of his beauty, and he was beautiful, of how attractive he was.

Not now.

Beauty was a curse here, it was what had damned him. The tricks and crude generals, rich lords and anyone who had the money to pay took much joy and pleasure in his beauty.

Perlon was slim, nearly too thin. His face had a more feminine than handsome, large grey eyes were now hard and shadowed instead of soft and shy, his soft mouth now was drawn in a thin line, his skin had always been pale but now it verged on waxen. His lashed were thick and many of his payers always said it added an ‘exotic’ look. His hair was wavy and longer on the left, shielding one eye, and curling down to cover the nape of his neck. So soft was it his mother had once said it was like the down on a kitten. Now one to many brutish fingers had run through it, had wrenched his head back that it had been only a small miracle that it hadn’t been pulled out or thick with grease and grime. He looked about seventeen, he really was twenty three. His eyes made him look so much older than either.

One long finger traced the line of his throat, running above the barrier of the collar.

Perlon had once promised himself that no matter how hard and painful things got in the brothel, no matter had much punishment he was given he would never cry. He tried to swallow the tears that trickled down his cheeks, brushing them away.

Perlon heaved a soft sigh and slowly got dressed, ignoring the sounds of laughter below, laughter that echoed in the doorway of the most expensive brothel in all of Palanthas.

Iladon tugged his hood lower, shielding his face from the sight of others. The Qualinosti elf slipped through the darkness of the street and alleys of Palanthas like a shadow, leaping over low fences and scaling walls until he reached the building he was looking for.

The Gem’s windows were filled with light and the sounds of music and laughter flittered through the air. As the elf neared it, he could smell the scent of the place: ale, perfume and incense. The true stench of the brothel was hidden beneath all of these.

Iladon wrinkled his nose in disgust, pulling up the lower half of his face mask, the heavy cloth stopping most of the scents in the area from touching his nose. He walked slowly and in dignified steps, he wanted this to be over and done with as soon as he possibly could. He hated being in this city, even if it had improved after the Blue Lady war and he hated the pimps in this street that watched him hungrily, weighing their chances at getting him into their houses and either a paying customer or a prostitute of their own

The elf ignored the few whistles and cat calls from neighbouring buildings, he paused only to glare at one of patrons who grabbed his arm and leered at him, asking if he wanted to take of his mask so as to give him a kiss.

Iladon allowed his gaze to travel up the hand on his arm to the face of the fool who grasped him. He grasped the human’s wrist in his other and squeezed until the man sank to his knees, begging to be released.

Satisfied that an apology had been offered, he dropped the offenders hand and walked into the building. The walls were painted in soft dark reds, the thick velvet carpet had shoes and boots piled next to the door, couches and sofa’s littered the area, some occupied by couples, others had some of the ‘escorts’ lying across them. Most of them were female but a fair few were beautiful (stunningly so!) young males. And even a few of those were elves.

Trying to stop his blood from boiling with rage, Iladon turned to see the gaudily dressed owner of The Gem striding towards him.

Gregon was a large man with a plump face with a thick moustache that filled the space between lip and nose, his hair was slicked back and tied with a strip of leather into a ponytail. His chin was graced with a goatee as black was his hair. Gregon’s eye’s reminded Iladon of rat, sneaky and untrustworthy. They were a dark brown and followed him as he walked over to the pimp.

Gregon undoubtedly had a knife hidden somewhere on his person, waiting for the right time to pull it free and bury it in the elf’s chest if negotiations went bad. Iladon was more than confident of his abilities to send Gregon to the Abyss before he even got close to touching him, but he preferred (as with all his race) to avoid killing the man.

Iladon grimaced as Gregon attempted to greet him in the Elven, the human single handily made a beautiful language that had been used for thousands of years sound like the braying of a retarded ass.

“Greetings Gregon Silverwick, owner of the Gem and lord of Silverwick manor.” He switched to common, so as to avoid having to listen to the man mutilate any more of his native tongue.

“Greetings and good evening Iladonnathus, son of Prenilnathos. What brings you to my humble abode?” The pimp bowed low, grinning as he did so.

It was all Iladon could do to keep from sneering. “I have brought the item you requested. I wish to be payed now.” He reached into his belt and pulled a plain brown pouch free.

“Come, come Iladon! Why, there is no need to hide your pretty face here, we’re all friends aren’t we?” The word friends sounded like he was speaking of something humorous.

Glaring coldly at the man, but unwilling to start a fight, Iladon began to reach to pull his mask down when a young human man walked over to Gregon.

He was of slight build, large grey eyes glanced over to the elf, the youths hair was a soft bronze that was halfway between curled or wavy. The human youth was gorgeous!

He was dressed in translucent pants, they looked like golden silk, and he could catch a glimpse of dark underwear beneath.

He watched the elf before Gregon snapped at him. “What is it?” The youth whispered softly in his ear and the pimp’s face darkened.

“I’ll deal with him later, sit down and stay put.” He shoved the child towards one of the sofa’s and Iladon caught the pain expression on the boy’s face as he passed.

“Now,” Gregon turned back to the elf. “Where were we?”

Before Iladon could answer, one of Gregon’s goons came in dragging a limp form behind him.

“I found this son of a bitch sneaking round the back. Reckon he might be a spy form the thieves guild or somemat.” He dropped the unconscious body on the nearest couch.

Iladon nearly gasped, he had never seen anything like this newcomer!

The ‘spy’ looked like an elf, but it was unlike any elf he had ever seen, the skin was black, ebony coloured. The long mattered hair was snowy white, as were the eyebrows, the being looked like someone had bred a black dragon with one of the Silvanesti.

“Well…What shall we do with you?” Gregon asked aloud as the strange elf stirred and began to waken, rubbing his hands together slowly.

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