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ENSLAVED BY THE DROW
CHAPTER 13 - THE ASSIGNMENT
Elias kept his head bowed and his gaze carefully fixed on the chopping board as he worked the large knife in steady rhythm - reducing carrots, onions, leeks and some other vegetables he did not recognise into neat little cubes.
The kitchen air was warm and thick with steam and the smell of spices. The clatter of pans and the hiss of boiling pots formed a familiar background as the kitchen came to life, much like it did every morning.
Elias worked quietly and meticulously, his movement quick enough not to seem lazy but retaining a certain grace that was lost to the others who toiled alongside him. The human boy was not particularly graceful by drow standards, but his motions were nevertheless poised and refined enough to occasionally draw curious glances from some of the guards. The drow were cruel and harsh, but one thing they genuinely valued was beauty - not only in appearance but also in speech and in movement.
The blade in Elias's hand only paused when a hush suddenly rippled through the noisy kitchen. He glanced up just enough to see why. A drow guard had entered, his adamantine scale armour gleaming in the firelight. The soldier's expression was unreadable save for the faint curl of disdain on his lips. He scanned the room before finally settling his crimson gaze on the lone surfacer.
"You. Human." The guard's voice cut through the kitchen noise, sharper than the knife Elias held in his hand. "You will come with me. The Quartermaster summons you." was the only explanation he gave, before impatiently motioning towards the door and allowing the steel butt of his spear to noisily thud against the stone floor.
Elias knew not why he had been summoned, but he quietly responded with a "Yes, sir" before nervously wiping his hands against his grey tunic and giving the duergar head cook an apologetic look. He didn't dare question the guard or ask why he had been summoned. He simply followed the sentryman out of the warm kitchen and through a series of twisting corridors.
The cold flagstones bit at his bare feet, sending shivers up his spine. As was often the case, Elias found himself subtly cradling his own forearms. It was a subconscious attempt not only at protecting himself from the chill of the halls but also at coping with the growing tension coursing through his body.
Slaves scuttled out of the way as they passed. All kept their heads bowed, none willing to gaze upwards for fear of possibly displeasing the intimidating guard.
At last, they arrived at a heavy door bearing the Quartermaster's sigil. The guard tapped the wooden surface twice before swinging it open and brusquely gesturing for his ward to enter. The human boy did as he was told, all the while keeping his head respectfully bowed low and his hands protectively cupped around his own forearms.
Seldszar's dimly lit office smelled of parchment and ink. The old drow sat behind his large desk, quill actively scratching against paper. Piles of parchment, inkwells, and a few sealed notes cluttered its surface. Elias stepped through the gaping doorway and froze, but as had become custom, the ageing Quartermaster made no move to acknowledge his presence even well after the guard had departed.
Seconds dragged into minutes, each one pressing on Elias like the weight of a hundred ore carts. His heart thudded faster, his hands betraying him with small, nervous fidgets even as he fought to remain invisible.
Finally, Seldszar lifted his crimson eyes. He remained seated on his plush chair, but his gaze was sharp, cold, and unmistakably assessing. He inspected Elias slowly, from the tips of his bare feet to the top of his blond dome, lingering over every detail of the young human's fragile form.
Elias kept his head bowed, heart hammering, unsure how to hold himself under the Quartermaster's silent appraisal.
After a long moment, Seldszar's fingers drummed lightly against the desk, and his voice cut through the silence.
"Come forward. I have a task for you. It is a matter of some delicacy." he spoke, his long fingers slowly reaching beneath the cluttered surface of his desk and drawing out three small, folded notes. Each note was stamped with the Quartermaster's seal, a deep black wax that glistened in the flickering lamplight.
The ageing drow placed the short stack of letters on the desk in front of Elias.
"Take these..." he instructed, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of danger. "They are to be delivered precisely in this order. Each letter bears the name of the noble to whom it is to be given. Do not open them. Do not read them. And most importantly, do not delay. You have exactly one hour to complete this task. Fail...and I promise, you will wish you were still at that duergar encampment."
Elias nodded quickly, shifting uneasily as he did so.
Seldszar's cold eyes never once left the human. "Once all three letters are delivered, you are to report directly to me. Do you understand?" he asked, each word heavy with condescension, addressing the young man slowly as though he were a dim-witted child.
Though by human standards, Elias was a young adult, to the drow, he was little more than a child in the early stages of infancy. Drow children did not typically reach the human equivalent of adolescence until their fifth decade, and even then, they were considered subadults until the approach of their first century.
"Yes, master. I understand." Elias softly whispered, swallowing hard upon hearing the Quartermaster's cold threat. His pulse raced as he gently scooped the small stack of letters up with both hands, reverently handling them as though they were holy symbols made of the thinnest glass.
Seldszar's assessing gaze lingered a moment longer before he dismissively returned his attention to the papers in front of him. Elias understood - there would be no further instructions, no guidance and no hints. He had been given the task, and it was entirely up to him to navigate whatever lay ahead.
The young man barely registered the Quartermaster's last glance before turning on his heels and hurrying from the office. The door thudded closed behind him, leaving only the faint sound of his bare feet brushing against the polished stone.
Once in the relative safety of the corridor, he paused, pressed his back against the wall and allowed himself to take in several deep breaths, hoping they would ease his heart and calm his nerves a little. His fingers trembled slightly as he looked at the first sealed letter he was tasked with delivering. His blue eyes traced the elegant handwriting on the folded parchment. Only two words were visible: Patron Nalfein.
He did not recognise the name, but the title "patron" made him gulp in apprehension. He swallowed again, staring at the note as though it might somehow whisper hints of guidance.
Every instinct in his body screamed that this task was no ordinary delivery and that the hour ahead would test far more than only his speed and ability to navigate the compound. Still, he was resolved to prove himself, if only to show the Quartermaster that he could be trusted with more than just menial tasks like cooking and cleaning.
Elias clutched the precious letters tightly, his mind spinning with a mixture of fear, anticipation, and the cold, gnawing certainty that nothing here was quite as simple as it seemed.
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You got this, Elias! What's the worst that could happen if you make a few mistakes along the way?
...anyway, I said that I'd try not to draw attention to myself if I were in his place a few chapters ago, but Elias probably should try to prove he's worth keeping around now. It doesn't seem like his masters will chill with trying to test him.
Bondage enthusiast in his 20s, a fan of cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.
Oh, no... the letters is a rough task. Because the instant something goes wrong, the paranoid drow will blame their couriers for espionage or carelessness. Hopefully he can quickly move past messenger duty...
Unknown nobles in a still unfamiliar location. A difficult task unless he can hopefully find one slave that doesn't hate his guts enough to let him know where to go. I also saw that the guard let it slide when Elias called him 'Sir'. I wonder if that is find due to his status as a guard...
ShadowHusky wrote: 4 days ago
I also saw that the guard let it slide when Elias called him 'Sir'. I wonder if that is find due to his status as a guard...
A very astute observation, my friend! I'm glad you remembered that. Did the guard really let it slide, though? As I recall, Elias did try to address one of the guards using the word "Sir" but he never even got to finish his sentence before being practically knocked out by a hard smack to the face.
You're right to question whether or not it's a status thing, though. Elias was no doubt taken aback upon being told that the title was inappropriate. Most older/wisened/scholarly drow would know that no disrespect is intended, but the term itself is still disrespectful due to being entirely foreign (to them). "Sir" in the D&D/Forgotten Realms context is strictly a human title. Like IRL, it is attached to knighthood, officers of law and the likes...aka things the drow view as positively absurd.
I'm really glad to see you guys are picking up on the small things! The next chapter will be longer and should be up in a few hours.
GIVEN THAT THIS TALE IS DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF MY WORKS AND THAT IT MAY NOT BE OF INTEREST TO MANY READERS, I'M GOING TO RELY ON THE NUMBER OF COMMENTS I GET TO GAUGE THE AMOUNT OF INTEREST THERE IS. IF YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ, PLEASE LET ME KNOW BY SIGNALLING YOUR PRESENCE IN THE COMMENTS.
ENSLAVED BY THE DROW
CHAPTER 14 - THE PRICE
Elias's bare feet made almost no sound against the cold stone as he crept along the ground-level floor of House Druu'giir's very sizeable main complex. In his hands, he clutched the three sealed letters – letters he had been tasked with promptly delivering.
His first order of business seemed clear: he had to locate this Patron Nalfein. He scanned the sprawling hallways and searched the servants' wing for any sign of Grilka, hoping the old orc woman might have the knowledge he desperately needed.
Relief momentarily flooded through his chest when he spotted her, but then his eyes caught sight of the guards. Two drow soldiers stood at attention just a few paces from her and the other nearby slaves. They exchanged hushed words, but their eyes vigilantly swept over the area, hawkishly waiting for any misstep...or uninvited interruptions.
Elias froze, torn. Approach Grilka and risk the ire of the guards? Or walk away and let the chance for guidance slip through his fingers? The rational part of him knew the dangers of distracting other slaves from their assigned tasks, especially when they were being watched so directly.
He swallowed, fingers instinctively tightening around the precious letters. He longed for Grilka's guidance, but feared what would happen if the guards caught him moving too close. He briefly thought about seeking out Klyk, the goblin who had trained him, but they were no longer on talking terms. Klyk would most likely mislead him, or at the very least, refuse to help.
In the end, Elias chose to err on the side of caution. He would wait and search for another opportunity. Risking confrontation with the guards was too dangerous, even for the promise of a whispered direction to Patron Nalfein's quarters.
The young human's chest heaved, the chill of the stone floor and the heat of his anxiety mingling as he retreated back towards the central corridor, the stack of letters still held close to his chest. He knew the Patron was likely on one of the upper floors, but he dared not venture upwards, not without obtaining at least some semblance of clear directions. Save for two very brief visits when shadowing Klyk, he had never been to the second floor, let alone any of the floors above it.
Time was slowly but surely slipping through his fingers. Elias let out a discouraged huff before looking around as though seeking some help. Then his thoughts shifted, and he remembered the two drow guards who had presided over his preservation. Neither of them had shown him any kindness, but still, he felt strangely drawn to the cold familiarity they offered.
Fully aware that the minutes were ticking by, Elias made a rather bold and daring move.
He stepped out of the building's main entryway and into the open courtyard, keeping his head bowed so as not to meet the gaze of the many soldiers engaged in gruelling military drills.
Had it not been for the stack of sealed letters clutched tightly in his hands, he knew the guards would have barred him from exiting the complex and punished him for even making the attempt. Only slaves running errands were allowed to venture out into the courtyard. The letters Elias held gave him permission to move about freely. Freely but always under close watch.
The cavern-city's purple glow filtered down from above, glinting off polished weapons and obsidian armour, making House Druu'giir's gated compound feel even more alive and threatening.
Each step he took across the cold, uneven training yard felt like a gamble. The sound of clashing steel, the barked commands of drill masters and the rhythmic march of soldiers resonated all around him. Unease at how high his tunic rode against his thighs gnawed at him. Still, Elias kept his pace steady, careful to walk as though he were a man with a clear purpose and careful to retain some of the poise that had served him thus far.
Finally, he reached the outer wall and, more importantly, the large barracks built into it. A trembling breath filled his lungs as he pressed forward, hoping to find one of the two guards who had previously overseen him.
Elias stepped through the broad archway of the barracks, immediately finding himself swallowed by the recognisable hum of activity within. Soldiers moved with purpose, hauling weapons, polishing armour, and calling out clipped orders. Every time he passed by one of the guards, he instinctively ducked his head lower, not only as a means of paying due respect but also as a means of avoiding their harsh glares.
Disapproving stares followed him aplenty, but none chose to stop him. Most of the sentries assumed that he had been sent on some minor errand - a trivial task befitting a lowly human.
Elias navigated the expansive barracks with care, hugging walls and cautiously weaving around groups of clustered soldiers. The clang of metal and the shuffle of boots echoed all around him, amplifying his growing sense of smallness.
Eventually, he reached the communal dining hall. The room was crowded, much as it usually was at this early hour. Soldiers ate and conversed in low tones; the smell of roasted vegetables and meaty stews clinging thickly to the air.
Elias's heart raced as he carefully scanned the busy room, hoping to find at least one familiar face among the numerous occupants. Finally, his eyes locked on the taller of the two guards who had overseen his preservation. The broad-shouldered soldier was seated at a long wooden table with a group of fellow sentrymen, dipping bread into a small bowl and chatting quietly with those around him.
Relief and apprehension mingled as Elias cautiously made his way toward the guard. He was careful not to stumble and even more careful not to draw unnecessary attention to himself, though that last part was much easier said than done.
The pale human edged closer to the long table, moving cautiously between the clusters of soldiers before finally approaching the tall drow seated with his comrades. When he reached him, he paused, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly lowered himself to one knee directly beside the chair. He waited there in silence, hoping to be noticed. Hoping to be addressed.
For several tense seconds, the guard did not seem to notice him. Then his eyes flicked downward, hardening as soon as his sharp gaze locked onto the kneeling human.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped, voice low and rough with open disapproval.
Elias swallowed hard, keeping his posture low and only daring to briefly flick his blue gaze upward, just enough for the drow to glimpse the submissiveness in his eyes. "Forgive me, Master. I…I require your help."
The guard's frown deepened as he exhaled through his nose in unfeigned irritation. "My help?" he repeated, sounding practically offended at the prospect of assisting the human with whatever lowly task he had been assigned.
"The Quartermaster tasked me with delivering these letters, but I do not know where to look for the nobles I am supposed to deliver them to." Elias hurriedly explained, keeping his head bowed and his tone soft so as not to appear presumptuous.
The tall sentryman's frown did not soften. "You dare waste my time with this?"
Elias hesitated, words briefly catching in his throat. "I…I do not know who else to turn to…Master. You…you watched over me before. You know the house better than I do. I...please. I need your help." he pleaded, choosing his words carefully in an attempt to sway the offended enforcer.
A snicker from one of the soldiers seated across the table cut through the tension. "Aw, the little human has grown attached to you, Tsabrak. How deliciously pathetic." the voice drawled, amusement and condescension coating every syllable. Quiet chuckles followed from those around the table.
The tall guard's eyes narrowed sharply, the corners of his mouth pressing into a thin line. He said nothing, but the weight of his disapproval pressed down on Elias like a physical force. The human remained kneeling, head bowed, every nerve alert, knowing that he risked punishment or even worse.
Elias dared not lift his head, but he heard the scrape of a chair and heard the shuffle of boots as one of the soldiers across the table leaned forward, his soft tone both cruel and mocking.
"Hand your letters to me, pretty one. I will deliver them for you. I promise." he said, extending his palm in mock benevolence.
The words were immediately followed by low, cruel laughter, several soldiers chiming in as if the suggestion were the funniest thing they had heard all morning.
Elias did not answer, nor did he move. He only lowered his head even further as though wanting to shrink into the floor itself. He knew with absolute certainty that if he gave up the letters, they would not be delivered. And he knew that should his failure be discovered, the punishment would be far worse than the ridicule he now endured.
Tsabrak ignored the laughter. He dipped the last chunk of his dark bread into his stew, chewed slowly, and emptied his wine cup. Only then did he rise, the brusque motion causing his chair to noisily scrape against the stone floor.
"Get up. Follow." he ordered, his deep voice coming out sharp and gruff.
Elias immediately rose to his feet, but kept his head hung low in silent obedience. A few jeers and taunts followed him as he hurried after the tall drow, but he did his best to pay them no heed.
They walked in silence, leaving the noise of the busy dining hall behind. The further they went, the more empty the corridors became, until only the faint echo of their steps was heard. At last, the towering drow – whose name Elias now knew was Tsabrak - turned into a narrow passage leading to a seldom-used corner of the barracks.
Torches were far apart and burned noticeably weaker here. The statuesque guard paused, his keen eyes sweeping the hall, as though searching for signs of onlookers.
Satisfied they were alone, he reached for a small, iron-handled door recessed into the wall. It creaked faintly as he pulled it open, revealing a cramped, dusty storage chamber cluttered with discarded crates and broken practice weapons.
Before Elias could even question where they were going, a sudden pressure made itself manifest around the back of his neck. Tsabrak's gauntleted fingers pressed against his skin, firm and controlling. Elias instinctively stiffened, but the towering drow voiced a low warning. "Quiet. Get in."
With that, he shoved the diminutive human forward, forcing him into the musty room. The door closed heavily behind them, muting the world outside and plunging them both into near-perpetual darkness.
Elias's heart thudded violently in his chest. He could hardly see anything, but he was very much aware of the imposing figure looming before him. The tall soldier's hungry gaze lingered on Elias in a way that made the young human's stomach tighten. It was deliberate and heavy with lewd intention.
"You want my help? Then you will work for it. Kneel." Tsabrak ordered, his voice low and clipped with authority.
Elias swallowed hard, and his breathing grew shallow. He sank to his knees and waited for the inevitable command.
The guard took a step closer, undid his belt and began undoing the front of his armoured breeches.
Elias's pulse quickened. He dared not protest what was to come, but he nevertheless tried to alert the towering sentry to the fact that he was running on a tight schedule. The words never left his mouth. A large, gauntleted hand wrapped itself firmly around the back of his blond dome, and then Tsabrak's girthy tool was inside him; impaling his face and fully filling his mouth.
To ask for aid in Menzoberranzan was to invite strings, shackles, and the quiet assurance that nothing came without a price. Elias would soon enough learn that nothing here was ever given freely. Everything in this city came with strings attached.
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Can't believe this will be my first deep dive into DnD lore/worldbuilding! I love the Menzoberranzan, depicted by its unique and purply architecture. The drow is NOT what I originally imagined. I first thought they were more of an assassin-type build, being agile and limber. The house politics is also very interesting. My favorite part is when Elias gets to know Grilka the orc. Being freshly arrived at the city, the first attachment he gets will do something for him in the long run. And... Wow, I didn't expect the guard to accept Elias' plea for help. I guess they are charmed by the exotic monkey after all.
Welcome to the adventure, @Pakislol! Super glad you could join us.
I don't think your initial expectations about the drow were wrong, at all. They generally are of athletic, assassin-type build, as you mention. In canon lore, some noble houses were reputed for their selective breeding habits and the production of bulkier, more intimidating specimens. House Druu'giir is one of those houses.
As for your surprise at the guard accepting Elias's plea for help, I guess that's very much a question of reader interpretation. Those prone to Stockholm syndrome might see it as benevolence, but I think others would recognise the guard's choice as being purely transactional. Then again, we don't know if he'll even help or not. But even if he does, I never much doubt it will stem from anything even remotely similar to kindness. The drow are opportunistic and seldom give anything freely.
Even superficially benevolent gifts always conceal some ulterior motive and come with strings attached. It's in their nature to always seek some sort of strategic advantage. In any case, glad you're enjoying this!
Curious what the purpose of this task is. Is it something to test his resourcefulness or something deliberately set up for him to fail. It feels as though there's some motive behind it.
Interesting choice for Elias to seek some help from one of his guards. Though it came at a price, just like the title suggests
