10th of September, 502 of NDE. Cassadetur, Southern Eoran.

  Gray clouds billowed high in the night sky, glistening with spots of silver at their round edges where the moon’s brilliant light shone down upon the sprawling city of Cassadetur. The capital of the Southern Eoran State of the same name, erected upon the snting hills, on a pteau from where the azure and cerulean shores and the few port towns lining it, lit by the moon light. Lofty, tall walls of bold, earthly brown and golden brims and towers encircled the downtown, snting downwards to the steep precipice where the green fields rolled towards the shores, dotted here and there with flora of scintilting shades – gold, maroon, crimson, burgundy, vender and myriad others whilst the pasture bore the shade of verdant smaragd.

  Districts numbered at least six, each an uneven slice of a pie separated by the other with shorter walls and checkpoints manned by the brave peace keepers of the Eoranian Republican Host, whose sleek and elegant uniforms glistened whilst allowing the passage to those heading home either from te night outings or work. Northwards and southwards district gave home to the citizens, spotted with malls, merchant grounds where their kiosks still offered exotic goods from the North and Heleion to the east, small shops remained open offering the goods of these warm, southern nds sprawled with forests and jungles. Westwards the entrance gate stared at the ascending hill and the Sinuous Mountain looming in the dark distance, its road swallowed by the neighboring jungle whilst heading east, the new railway tracks slithered to Central and Northern Eoran. Towards the heart of the city, the downtown spreads, taking a good chunk of the city, dotted with reach towers wishing to connect with the skies with their fifty floors, all 259 of them.

  The eastern district itself, smaller compared to all the other district, housed the wealthiest denizens in their opulent, marble, limestone, granite homes of vivid, bold shades. Besides also being the arrival and starting point of the new Trans-Eoran Express which bridge grows forth the steep side of the pteau, thick beams stretching into the snting, smaragd cloaked hilly meadow below.

  “Nhh wnll phn fhr fnf bntch!” Thiago’s grunted through the mauve spherical gag fitted between his lips lined about by streaks of his well-groomed beard. Its straps strained across his cheeks, meeting and melding below his nape cowered in the roots of his trimmed, dark, greasy hair slicked towards the rear. The golden, unfolded colrs flittered against his face whilst his round, deep-set eyes stared with hate at his captor – the haunting umbral Dracorith Eye of the Bck Rose, Arvindel.

  Arvindel remained silent, only the ccks of her boots – with artificial wrinkles along its lustrous matte surface – echoed through the grand bedroom with a canopied bed, veils dangling towards the artificial stream separating it from the mosaiced floor where the Fey of Night danced around in their violet, bck and indigo gowns and dresses, a few tainted in the blood of Thiago’s henchmen. On each side of the wall, lined by sitting corpses, frescoes and paintings of vibrant vistas stretched along the walls, framed by columns and marble beams engraved with the heads of monstrous beings, serpentine with eyes too many for one head – Arvindel concluded whilst listening to the creaking of the ropes holding Thiago in his expensive oaken chair with soft paddings.

  “Shush.” She walked over to him, her white as porcein, smooth forefinger touched his chin from below. Another raised before her heart-shaped lips covered in lipstick, jet bck like her shortly cut, smooth asymmetrical hair.

  Iris purple streaks ran vertically down towards the straight tip, both on the shorter left side exposing her narrow, knife ears stretching far – guided elegantly over it – and on the longer right side nearly touching the leather jacket covered shoulders whilst over her forehead, full and dense bangs draped over, shrouding her thin, lustrous and softly arching brows. Her face tapering, ornated with symmetrical features including the almond-framed eyes of a bold vender purple hue; low and thin bridged nose with a mildly angur, upturned tip and high, prominent cheeks.

  Her form slender, honed, her porcein white hydrated skin smooth and unblemished with pearlescent jet-bck scales found on her shapely bosom in the shape of a butterfly, on her sides in streaks just like on her forearms, whilst on her neck betwixt the iris purple pointy, folded down colrs of her Aetherna satin button-down shirt, in the vague silhouette of writhing worms. Her garments adorning this form, the high colred shirt, and the Hamirieth jacket made from a special blend of Dragonidh leather incorporating the essence of Doppelganger-Oozes, resulting in the outer wear mimicking the silhouette of the cloth beneath it. Tight-fitting dragonidh leather pants hugged her slender, muscur thighs extending over her waist, resembling a corset lined with cinching straps fastened on the back with buckles.

  “It will be over soon.” She whispered in her deep, mellow voice. The icy cold breath tinted with the essence of sweet berries and mint riled Thiago, stirring his phallus in his lustrous woolen bck pants.

  Arvindel straightened out, hearing footsteps approaching with haste, and wrapped her fingers around the trigger of her brass and mulberry wand pistol with silencing enchantment carven into the rectangur barrel. For the first time, there was a bit of excitement in her nguid eyes, her lustrous lips curved into a faint smile. And the excitement from her vender purple eyes faded upon the series of thuds. “That was the st of them. Finish up.” Maleern’s voice streamed into her mind and she sighed.

  She holstered her pistol, and sat in Thiago’s p, her thigh pushing onto his bulging dick whilst her cold hands fondled his pouting cheeks as he groaned. From her fingers, streaks of inky bckness swirled around, into Thiago’s face. His skin started melting, revealing the viscous red muscles and bone beneath before those two broke down into the sludge beneath the chair. Arvindel watched listless as her target melted before she retrieved the spherical gag from the thick mass of protopsmic ooze that was once a prominent member of the Oscurazon Cartel before she vanished, her own body breaking into fluid, misty shadows…

  *****

  “Can’t believe they left us behind.” Weeko grumbled whilst peering out from the curtain flowing down before the window’s pane. Her eyes strained on the lit streets, vigintly waiting for the magicraft car to finally show up, so that she can follow after Arvindel and Maleern who went ahead to Thiago’s mansion.

  Weeko was a native sraudornian of Southern Eoran, fresh out from the Bck Roses’ academy in the northern capital. Her smooth, mildly hydrated light brown skin with a mild hint of red glistened softly under the glow of the streetmps and the moon entering the window, her slender, wiry body cd in dragonidh leather jacket with short, shirt like colrs spreading onto the shoulders – ornated with tiny spikes numbering at least fifty on each side – with the secondary closure, a buckle dangling over her chest, right to the diagonal zipper. Beneath it, an arcane-weave velvet button-down shirt with a metallic gloss and of a sand golden shade, long and tight pants hugging her legs with wolf brocades on the sides – howling at the moon – and combat boots with heightened soles.

  “Calm down. If you do good, they will take us along next time.” Liluruil said just as she entered the living room merged with the kitchen, holding the empty ptes awaiting their warm bath.

  The wood elven Raven Eye and her senior partner – though her face appeared more youthful since her becoming a full elf – possessed a fairer complexion, tinted with a mixture of oaken brown and mahogany red, her verdant grass green hair a wild wolf cut style with the choppy, disorderly locks and tips dyed a variety of shades including deep blues, bold reds, vibrant violets and golden yellows. Her light blue eyes calm and shimmering with her near eternal patience, fitted into an almond-frame, her plump, wide lips naturally pouty, whilst her face oval, blessed with high, prominent cheeks, thin, arching brows of the same verdant green as her dense, voluminous hair. An oaken brown dragonidh leather jacket with metallic sheen, round and elevated neckline from which the broad, and asymmetrical funnel-shaped colr sprouts which she further folds down, spreading them over the shoulders and chest line, and a diagonal zipper runs across its front, towards the left.

  Beneath it, a bold, emerald green Aetherna satin dress shirt hugs her slender frame, its chin high, blunt and folded down colrs rest between the jacket’s. And unlike her partner, she wears a yered skirt with its right side longer than the left, and high heels which loudly echo through their little abode in the northern district where they awaited the coming whistleblower of the Oscurazon Cartel Thiago belonged to.

  “You said this the st time too.” Weeko retorted calmly.

  Liluruil remained silent, offering nothing but a motherly smile to the sulking partner of hers who sat down into the leather couch facing the kitchen and the softly arching entrance to the room. “Well, this time we are facing the Oscurazons. Ever since they were taken over by that dark elven witch, their members become harder to kill.”

  “I am aware of that.” Weeko said under her breath, her leather pants creaking, whilst she rhythmically beaten the floor with her boots’ soles.

  The Oscurazon Cartel was the second rgest, operating all over Eoran, with great reach in the upper echelons of the United Republics – including even the military. Two centuries ago, their leader belonged to a family of Arachnid Feyfolk, a former veteran of the Freedom War responsible for the elimination of many Imperial Consuls and Generals. After the war, he took over the several smaller cartels across the continent and merged them into one, and formed a small council with his closest aides and family members. Then came the dark elven witch one day, who promptly bought the loyalty of his council, then killed and raised him before Maleern put the former veteran down for the st time.

  Weeko sighed, calming herself as she walked to the small bedroom to grab a cigarette from the pouch resting on her bed. “How many tasks you’ve done before they gave you proper ones?” She asked whilst leaning against the arched frame, her legs entwined whilst she lit the cigarette. A cloud she puffed, filling the room with an orangish scent.

  “This is a proper and important task too. His information could prove vital in weakening the cartel and aiding Pennry in the elections.” Liluruil said, stopped before continuing when they heard a series of knocks matching the code. Without saying a word, hearing the soft squeaking of her leather garments bereft of any blemishes, Liluruil put down the st pte.

  Opening the door, the words disappeared just as Weeko opened her lips. “Good evening.” A dracorith stood in the door oozing with an air of confidence despite his hideous looks. His skin pale as the moon with tints of crimson, riddled with dreadful wrinkles overpping each other their race should be free of. His eyes calm and menacing, brimming with the shade of beaten gold in the almond framed, set deep in the sockets gazing at her with a queer confidence. Thick arching brows above them, his jawline strong and angled, chin slightly projecting forward. His frame slender, retively honed as the elegant wooden grayish brown suit with bck, knitted turtleneck fitted upon his frame faultlessly. The scales adorning his high cheeks and jawline a bluish bck, dull, lusterless even when the moon shone upon his eerie visage.

  “Can I help?” Whilst speaking, Weeko cast a spell over the ghastly stranger, whose grim smile abated not. Looking down, she noticed the boiled-leather brief case held in his left hand.

  “I believe so, yes.” He said eerily, holding his hand towards Weeko, a wicked green and mauve glow emanating, particles flying and forming into a sphere in a millisecond, hurling the agent down onto the hardwood floor.

  *****

  “Could have left a few for me.” Arvindel said between two sips of her drink whilst she sunk into the couch rising from the floor, its seating soft, padded and coated in wrinkly leather.

  “Next time.” Maleern said cheekily, whilst her lush hair – dyed a bck deep as onyx – tumbled down onto her shoulders. The tips curled softly and, on the sides, her natural wine-red locks framed her dark bluish, face, tapering as sharply as an inverse triangle with soft corners. Her elven skin soft, smooth and like her Sisters gifted with a mild, hydrated glossiness.

  Maleern sat close to her, legs angled, the rexed dragonidh leather pants moaning as she tensed her muscles to keep them in pce. The dress shirt which standing, folded down colrs caressed her jawline and nape, framed her neck glimmered exquisitely like molten gss. Its shade her natural hair color – a bold wine red – with silver seamed trims and lotus rose embroidery on its back and upper sleeves, vines twirling along, reaching the round sleeves.

  “So, the whistleblower hasn’t arrived yet?” Arvindel turned away just as Maleern narrowed her almond-framed, opulent golden eyes sitting below her thick, lustrous and highly arched brows.

  The smile faded from her dark, well-rounded and plump lips whilst sipping her rouge red whisky. “Not yet. If he doesn’t arrive by the morning, we’ll have to start over.” Her tone was poisoned with mild frustration as being the ever pessimistic – or in her own view, realist – she expected their job extending a few more years. That dark elven wretch is quite the headache. The thought ran through her hear, the gss held over her small, fring nostrils of her slender nose striding across her face, forming a border between her lustrous eyes and structured, sharp cheeks.

  “We should have sent those two for him. Then Weeko would have less to compin about.” Arvindel added whilst fidgeting with a few of her locks, staring out from the panorama window of their meeting room. Clouds peacefully wandered outside; their tops coated in the luminescent silver.

  “Well, if she has another outburst…” She started with a lustful smile slowly drawn onto her lovely dark visage. But before she could continue, the disk protrusion in the center lit up, runes forming on its inner and outer edges starting from the opposite sides, then Lythienne’s phantasmal image appeared. “Hope I don’t bother. But there is a mission, I am sure will excite you more than hunting shadows…”

  Maleern sighed hearing those words, whilst Arvindel remained devoid of any expression whilst sipping down the st of the silken liquid held by the round gss. They quickly stood up and straightened their posture, thrilled mildly, still wishing she would have called upon Astrydril instead of them.

  Picking up on the small signs and knowing both wished for a few uneventful weeks to enjoy the beauties of Southern Eoran, courtesans and good wines, whiskey for Maleern, for Arvindel a bit of exploration in the jungle with the dearest to her heart, Lythienne pondered her next words before continuing. “Hope you both enjoy top of the grade trains.” At that, their right and left brows raised in tandem.

  *****

  “I always get hungry after a kill. Is it just me or does it happen with either of you?” Tovorn turned towards the two Raven Eyes, sitting near the counter stretching to the sidewall staring at the garden. No answer came from them, just muffled grunts and groans as they slowly awakened. “It is not even my sin.” The ghastly, hideous lunar Dracorith added under his breath whilst smearing another bread in butter before adding smoked ham, cucumber and spicy pepper to it.

  Weeko awakened first after hit by the spell. Looking down, she let out another grunt muffled by the broad, wide strips of the fluorescent silver sealing tape which looped around her midsection. No ripples formed on her jacket or colred shirt, only a slight indentation above and below the loop. Her wrists rested upon the deep brownish red arms of the chair, her ankles and calf to the legs, whilst another loop tautly pressed her cheeks to the seating. She slowly looked to the left, noticing cups and the bread holder shattered from the scuffle between Tovorn and Liluruil who sat simirly behind her, bound and gagged. A second loop binding them together.

  Though she had little stamina left after knocked out, she had enough to growl at him. Which then in the same breath, the first deep inhale turned into a reflexive gag as his rancid scent assaulted her.

  “You dies have a nice residence. Though I heard even the suburbs are not like how they used to be back in the era of Imperial governance.” Tovorn reached for his brief case and popped it open with his fingers, leaving butter on the sides, yet he cared little for these small, inflicted blemishes.

  To her right, she noticed the corpse of the whistleblower, a feyfolk of the summer evident from her long, bold red hair tied in a ponytail, tainted by his own blood forming a pond. “Nhh wnll nht gmt hwhn wnf fnf!” The threat too came out incomprehensible, whilst she watched Tovorn finishing the sandwich in three bites, revealing his sallow fangs. He looked at her, raising his thick, left eyebrow barely visible as it merged with his complexion. He shrugged his shoulders and opened the briefcase.

  From it, he pulled out three vials each holding a bold violet, a deep red reminiscing Weeko of old wines and a snot green emanating a putrid, opulent mist. Liluruil awakened and let out a muffled groan, then her eyes bulged, recognizing each of the concoctions.

  “Heard many stories of homes invaded by cartel scum, upstart brewers whose concoctions poisoned themselves or the unfortunate residents captured in their own homes. Poor, poor folk.” Tovorn solemnly shook his head as he pced the three right beside the sink, then walked back and got a third, rger and bulbous vial, devoid of any shady liquid. Yet.

  Instinctively sharing the brewing fear with Liluruil, the two Raven Eyes whimpered and moaned whilst Tovorn poured the bold violet liquid first into the bulbous vial. Then came the deep wine red flowing slow like the liquid body of oozes and slimes approaching their immobile victims, and stly the snot green that flowed as straight and quick as water. Tovorn pinched his nose when the mist erupted from the vial and stepped back.

  “It is a shame we met in such circumstances. May you two find respite that justice has already been served.” He said mockingly amidst the spasmodic creaks of tape and leather mingling with the muffled pleadings of the two Raven Eyes. He quickly grabbed his brief case holding not just various vials, a thin needle, a silenced wand pistol made in Grauburgia but also a golden ticket to the railway.

  With a quick, courteous bow, he disappeared leaving the struggling agents to their distressing fate creeping slowly towards the in the shape of suffocating mist…

  Afterword:

  And another one begins. A story that whilst writing it I realized would have been better for a february release for Valentine's day.

  I also realized I became a bit formuic with these main stories, the one before also simirly started out with two Bck Roses left in a grim situation. And the end of the year story may too start somewhat simirly. Though not with Bck Roses.

  My one excuse is that I was going through the Brian's Page databese for DID scenes for research, ideas. And I stumbled upon The Net which has a short CID scene with two agents of the Bad Guys failing and left taped to a chair by their superior for failure. It felt like a good way to introduce the main antagonist of this story, a repulsive moon elf.

  But that is enough for now. Four more chapters remain for this story setting up kinda the end of the year story. So, thank you for reading this, and take care folks!

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