Old habits, like old enemies, took a very long time to die.

So it was that Suliss?urn Xukuth chose the night to make good on a bargain struck with a man that, for the first time in five years (other than one other), had brought about the sensation of caution.

Dangerous to play games, dangerous to bargain (with the devil), but she?d known the smell of soot, coal, and metal upon him when he passed by that morning with his burnt chicken.

Grey Owl, Who-whooo are you, ancient one, with silver in your hair as well as in your veins?

It had been most profitable of the drowess to stick her nose into his affairs, never mind that she had done it by perching bare foot in the middle of his table while he tried to eat. Now she skulked soundless across cobble stone to make the end of his bargain as lucrative. It was not a difficult task to find the forge, despite his flippant, haughty vague directions. All one had to do was smell the taint of forge smoke.

The rusted scent grew heavier as she slipped black-wraith steps through nearly deserted street toward circular structure. It reminded her of blood, abstractedly, and to the drow the tang was neither unwelcome nor praised. One simply thought it was as it should be.

Snow bleached braid as thick as two men?s wrists stopped its rhythmic sway and bounce against ankles as she came to a halt to this structures unlit openings. The muted shadow that she cast along the rounded cobble was not her usual one. In her arms rested a rather amazing pile of-as the drowess liked to put it: ?Sharp things.?

These sharp things were held negligently in a silvery breast plate that seemed no thicker than a crudely cut sheaf of paper. One could not guess how something so thin could possibly protect the wearer, yet inside the upturned breast plate piled far more interesting things. Cross bolts, daggers, dirks, shirks, a scimitar, a short sword, a wickedly curved-jagged edged long dagger (where it went it clean as a whistle, then tugged out all sorts of interesting ?stuff when removed), three magnificently etched bracers, one gauntlet made of extraordinary Elven craftsmanship, and a single greave with matching scroll work. How did she manage as such a diminutive stature to carry all of this?

It was very simple. All of it was mithril. The unusual properties of such a metal made it one of the lightest in addition to one of the toughest alloys one could possibly outfit them selves with, it was also extremely infrequent upon the surface, difficult to get, and costly. All of which the shattered drow was conscious of, somewhere in the back of a mind more muddled, moreover, feral than most.

While the windows were darkened, the moon hung in the sky half-bloated with spring, tipping lazily her gray glow across buildings to spill across the clutch of rare metal things she held. She did not seem to notice that some of the weapons edges as well as the armor in places, did not glow, but shone a tale telling black. Or that a violet eye was impaled on the tip of one of the dirks looking terribly surprised at everything.

Her head swiveled harvest moon yellow eyes toward the darkened reflection of one of the windows, where in through it shone the reflection of moonlight from the gifts of ?sharp things,? she brought. If anyone was home and fully in control of their senses it should certainly grab their attention.

?Come out, come out, where ever you are,? sung in eerie peace of the street.

The reaction to creatures which stirred ill mannered at her late night visitation brought the Drowess? yellow eyes to slant coolly toward the slowly creaking open door. Fixated, like a great, black cats would be?Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis, other wise known as ?Bob?, became the sole and eerie constant of the black skinned female?s attention.

Disconcerting it could be, to some. Taken her penchant to forget to blink, staring plainly with wide open pupil that took in scant light to let her see well enough in near dark without having to use infrared. Stock still, the impression that she huffed in air then snorted it out was given. Gnomes had a particular scent. Gnomes living in forges had a very particular scent. The urge to sneeze came and went without much ado.

Voices in behind him pulled her eyes from stump- Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis, flicking up and past the door to barely lit innards. A long work bench of impressive proportions, cabinets and grinding wheel, sharpening stone all observed. What little she was able to take of the layout in single tracking of sight was taken, stored away for whatever need later. All the while, the poor gnome was left standing at the doorway conceivably pondering if this drow was daft or worse.

Once more disquieting yellow sought to pierce the wizened, crinkled up fa?ade of the creature before her. Extending her neck in curiosity, it hypnotically moved right to left in the study of him systematically before the Drowess finally spoke.

?I promised no trouble,? almost reluctantly. The female spoke in softest voice, so that one had to strain to hear her. ?I come to show Gray man I make good on my bargain.? A moment passed, the serpentine sway of her head had long since stopped as she gathered thoughts. The breastplate full of sharp things was jostled faintly.

?In payment for a thing he would do for me soon, a promise to the Gray Owl I have given. These things, delivered for as long as he wishes them to make what he pleases?so long as he makes me a trinket, and the occasional sharp thing for myself and..? A barely perceptible pause there, as if she tried to find the correct word, phrase, or saying.

??And my pack-mate.?

That would due, she supposed.

Sharp chin chiseled to a fine point, lowered slowly toward her chest, soon to follow her shoulder and she curved her spine in slow, slow increments, as one deadly thing would do to frightened creature ?to keep it at ease. To keep it from panicking, though perhaps to the poor Gnome it seemed as if she might have been moving in deadly, precise increments. It was hard to look inconspicuous when you were what you were.

?These are his. Gray man said to bring them here.?

Her teeth flashed bright white in contrast to the deepest dark of skin, precise words so as not to be mistaken, calm tones to lull the gnome perhaps ? because when she had stopped speaking she had lowered herself to be at his shorter level, and a bit closer, half-offering the breast plate with metallic treasure inside toward Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis.

It meant, of course, that the Gnome was either going to have to come and get them, trust her to drop them on the street for him to gather himself, or perhaps even to let her in to drop them off if he did not want to do either.

Tick, tock. She had not blinked and continued the unusual staring at the little gnome waiting for his words.

If perhaps, she had met this gnome years and years ago, when the drip drops of deepest caves stirred her heart and the mind behind yellow eyes had still been deep in drow fanatic hive-like worship of a certain Spider elg'caress, she just might have enjoyed the way the little fellow?s mouth gaped and swung alike fish gasping for water.

That was not important at the present time however.

Amusement unfurled itself in the faintest narrowing of almondine eyes, though since age had not touched her face yet ? it did not give the impression of a ghost grin around the eyes.

"Tha' ol' crusty barnacle I-Reg sent for 'em, did he? Well, er, lass.."

Crusty barnacle, how intriguing. She must remember to add that to the growing list of names Gray man was accumulating inside white-crowned head.

Observing the fact that the Gnome?s preferred mode of transportation around her was scampering after he nodded and willy nilly disappeared in through the door to plunge deeper inside. Not so much hesitation made the smooth forward movement of the drow pause at threshold, but the faint dislike of man made things that blocked out the wind and the smell of the wild.

It could have been perceived as a rather perfectly timed dramatic moment, for standing at the doorway was a female drow laden with weapons in upturned breastplate, staring unemotionally back at several sets of saucer eyes that reflected far too much terror for it to go unnoticed.

Bare feet picked up the forgotten pace however, standing (for once) rather tall on her way to fulfill the quavering command of Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis (code name: Bob) and continue to the door. However:

??an' no wish ta' be affiliated wit' th' likes o' ye'."

Framed slightly silver due to the marks upon skin and weak light, the gnome was treated to the vision of the female?s shoulders straightening out of reaction to the last words spoken. Swinging in a glittery arc of promised blades, the long knotwork of tightly braided hair swung first, the woman?s torso, legs and finally eyes followed to stare harshly down at Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis.

?The likes of me, did you say?? Not so much a purr, more the suggestion that the voice box in delicate throat click-click-clicked in something close to one.

That endless braid took up its swinging as she backtracked toward Commander Bob, of the Rapidly Sinking Minnow. Looming, Looming, ever taller as the drowess made sure to close the space with delicate, deliberate slow steps.

Her hands were where Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis (Also known as the Notorious B.O.B) could see them at either side of the breast plate, Suliss?urn Xukuth, once Third Daughter of a venerable House in Menzoberranzan, lowered her body until her face almost brushed the very breath she exhaled across the poor Gnomes features.

Black skin bloomed full into the Gnome?s field of vision, blocking out what little light there was except for the reflection in wolf-hungry yellow iris that seemed to swallow her eyes when pupil turned to pin pricks of black circles.

Very deliberately, she moved her cheek to place her mouth near gnarled, aged ear and whisper:

(Pause here. She waited. Heart beat, beat, beat. Listening to his little heart rakkatakkatickatappabeatbeatbeat.)

?Yar, matey.?

The drowess? head extended upon her neck to whisper sweet pirate nothings into the gnome?s ear recoiled rather sharply at the uncharacteristic, girlish shriek from Zorbenastrocalipermeneotullis (On weekends, known as Bob). Sensitive ears did not react well when very nearly screamed in. Times like these she wished that she could fold them back, or at least, lay them back upon her skull to muffle out some of the more irritating levels of sound.

Uncoiling tension that had sprung unwilling through instinctual reaction on watching the gnome run as fast as little stumpy legs could carry him, behind counter. In reality, it would do little to protect anyone should the woman decide enough was enough. And even though he made the mistake most prey did in predator?s presence. (Never run, little thing. It makesss usss want to chasse.) - she convinced herself it was a far better idea to follow the jerk of poor frightened gnome?s head to the doorway a second time.

"Ah'm sorry, lass! Meant no offense, and beggin' y'er pardon an' all! Honest! We be naught but humble gnomes, oh sweet an' good an' kind, generous, magnificent lady!"

She made step to go, only turning chin over shoulder to regard the gnome behind his fortress, white hair swinging.

?Neither lady, nor sweet, nor all that you say.? And perhaps a large, drowish part of her was enjoying this in the sort of amusement only the few and twisted had.

That was, until, like so many mice, all of them slithered from their sleeping places effectively blocking her from her goal a second time.

Slanted yellow eyes flared open once more, glancing over the scraggly gathering of night caps or night hats, half flattened captain?s frills ?a cutlass being wildly offered with high pitched voice as well as a stuffed parrot that appeared to have once known a cleaner, better life. Those who pulled at her legs were allowed to keep their life. Only at the promise to the Gray man that she would not eat or harm any of them, how little did those who touched her know how close to loosing patience she almost came.

The sudden horrified silence after the offering of rum was enough for the woman to raise her hand to grasp attention from them all. What a scene it must of made, as out of some twisted fairytale, with drow in center and tiny mouse-wrinkled men surrounding.

?Enough!? The whisper was near enough to almost touching upon normal speaking tones. Sharp, as a crack of whip against skin.

To say that all of them froze, all at the same time, to peer at her with wide trembling saucer eyes once more ? would be accurate enough. How they were able to time it to be so still at the exact same time, was something she could wonder at a later date.

When the expectant, pregnant silence had stretched long enough, Suliss?urn Xukuth for the first time in many years?Took a deep breath and let it out in a manner that could roughly be mistaken for a patient sigh. Thankfully, there were no witness? to this atrocious uncharacteristic thing she?almost did.

?I said that I would not harm you, and I will not.? Slow speak-at first. It was important when one became the black panther in group of deer, not to startle much. ?What manner of men will your ?? What was the word for the person who ran things on water-vessels? Shu! She had to think of it ??Captain see you as, if you act this way toward me? How shall you fare against a simple?sea storm? Now get up?look lively, pull yourselves together.?

The magnitude of the effort it took to pull such words together was something she could be proud of herself later. Right now, all she wanted was to get them to stop touching her, and fawning, before something that kept her standing there still snapped ? and one ended up explaining why all of them were dead.

That was never a very good way to ensure a good business partnership, after all.

You know how Gnomes can be.

She did. Which was in part, what she counted on?stories of a fifty foot female drow wearing a full suit of armor, snarling fire and holding seven swords in each hand, were expected. It would be difficult to take such stories as truth, would they not?

Yellow eyes had lidded once again at the appearance of the Grey Man, watching him as eerily as she had the Infamous Gnome Who Had Answered The Door, earlier. The drow did not seem to hear the cries of all the horrid torture she had done to the Gnomes, who were not missing any limbs, eyes, or any other important parts one would expect should mysteriously disappear when upsetting such infamous company.

As he moved across space to indicate the door and the silver Shoppe she?d been interrupted in attempting to find her way there; eyes finally moved to track the older human?s steps. Was it a glint of knowing in harvest moon eyes, or curiosity? His appearance made black features school themselves into the usual mask?impossible to tell at the moment.

Sharp chin canted over shoulder to give a last look at cowering Gnomes behind their protective fortress of counter top. Black lips, in their silence of their cries of foul play ? pulled back sharply from blinding white teeth. Over exaggerated was the movement, so that the eye could focus on her mouth. Jaws parted, and she brought her teeth together in a sharp snapsnap the bone-echoed crisply. All the better to eat you, my dears, she let her attention wander back to the Gray man.

Her eyes dropped once to the gesture that she should go first; then flickered upward with lash and pinprick pupils to watch his eyes.

?You speak it well enough, but I see no need for it, here,? whispered in a manner almost thoughtful. And then: ?You first,? she told him. Her features as still as stone, her interest however in whether or not he?d do so, was piqued.

?Very well. ?

Wide mouth curved, at one corner. Though neither up nor down, so one was a bit hard pressed to guess as to whether or not the drowess found amusement at Gray Man?s posturing or not. The only looks that bothered Suliss were the ones that carried danger of death?and no offense, she did not feel that instinctual sense here. Yet.

Though it would certainly make things far more amusing if she had.

He saw what he saw, a braid tightly woven and clean to shimmer and touch upon ankles when still; black skin and wolf yellow eyes, runes over runes over runes in a scattered piecing together of what worked well enough for the drow for clothing. At the moment. Perhaps someone would eventually pull the woman aside and enlighten her on appearances.

The candle?s light caused no squinting, no shielding of eyes from it?s radiance; this was a reasonable estimate on how long the drow had been upon the surface, for adjusting to such things took years ? unless one cheated.

She did not give the impression of anything following the male in after he had marked a passageway with sputtering, cheery glow of candle flame. He was ignored for a moment, as Suliss? slanted eyes tick-tocked right, left then over the room. Some folks looked nervous or gave the impression of being cornered when doing such a thing. The drowess simply looked as if it were natural to case a room, to know where each object was in a space, how long it would take to get to point a, or point b should it be needed. The life of the dark elf was not one filled with happy fairy tales and singing songs with hands joined under oak trees?This left?certain habits engrained on them to ensure they woke up the next day.

Inside the room and well out of arms length to the space he occupied, she would have continued to the grinding wheel to rid her self of this and rejoin the night?s shadows once more. Except, of course, he spoke.

"This is what I am to work with? I can only assume you don't like the style. Tell me, what -- specifically -- other than the necklace do you want from me, woman?"

She did not point out to him that the dagger he tested had the rather surprised looking eyeball still attached. After all, what did it matter?

A few seconds of what just may have been a blank look, perhaps surprise or thought, before she deemed it time enough to speak:

?This is what we agreed too. What of it, what matter is it what I like or do not? I told you what I wanted?sharp things for self and pack mate.? She paused here, for collection or breath. ?We break things, loose them in the dead, I do not work the earth into these things. You do. So in these times, what is broken or lost you will make. In exchange, I will bring you mithril to sell to others.?

And continued staring at him, as that was such a logical explanation. He took the mithril and any left over?s to sell for as much as he wanted, for as long as she brought it ? and in barter on occasion, he could replace her and her pack mate?s lost blades. A bit confused even, as to why she was made to repeat herself from the single conversation at the Red Dragon. After all ? wasn?t it so very clear then?

"Sharp things." Ayreg repeated, dryly, when she had finished. "I could make a blade with little more style than an edged, pointed piece of metal. Surely you want some kind of customization to it? Filigree in the hilt? A flanged pommel? A sigil engraved at the base of the blade? Leather handle? Anything? Anything at all to mark it out as yours for when you break them off in whoever you break them off in?"

The clattering of blade drew no reaction from her, other than to propel her forward finally to bend fluidly and let rest the burden of precious metal near the grinding wheel indicated moments ago. She did so in a manner that neither presented her back, or any profile which would leave herself open. Again; this thought of keeping someone always in peripheral vision did not appear forced, but instinct. Finely honed things. The blade may be broken, but it remembers how to cut.

Straightening with a faint flick of metal from the tip of braid across floor. Ingenious, or frightening that a woman wove tiny, delicate blades into her hair to make it a weapon-- she did not worry which opinion the observer made. Arms folded over mid section in an almost human semblance of thought.

"Why does death need a mark? Killing is killing. I do not see this need. Markings and claims upon things are for those who have names or a claim to something. " The breath she took through nose made little sound, but it gave him the impression she was always collecting fragments of speech. Attempting to remain understandable. She was far too used to doing that unvoiced, unknown thought: talk in riddles. Poetry and confusion.

She made no move to close any space. The last person to touch her lost fingers, from her teeth. Snap,snap.

"It is the voice of an artist in which you speak. Perhaps not so much something to say it is mine, but that you made it?" She did not pause long enough to let him answer. "Very well. " Solemnly intoned, as if it were some sort of ritual. "Place what you want on the pommel, the grasp what you think will balance the blade. But upon it in a place to be seen, put the rising sun over howling wolf."

It could have been misconstrued as arrogant. To give him such vague instructions. This wasn't the case -- in her twist tangled way, one did not put so much trust and open ended casual inquiry, unless the patron had some smattering of knowing that the artisan was more than capable.

As for the secrets in skin, in the woman herself and to why she was the way she was --well now. He would have to attempt to find out if he was curious, wouldn't he? Perhaps she'd tell him. Or perhaps she'd break his head with more riddles. The wonderful thing about the drow is that, ultimately, chaos spun deep inside of them no matter where or what they were. It was part of them they could not deny, making them as predictable as the weather.

A beast with her talons that bite, and rip, and flay.

And feast.

He could not possibly know how completely correct his assumptions were. The years apart had only served to teach the dark elf the ways of the wild more than her sisters below could ever imagine.

As still as any statue Suliss remained, her eyes returned to the gaunt Grey man, trickling here and there. The lids of eyes as they narrowed in thought --the posture in which he held himself and the way he moved. Or, the way he did not. Body language was a form of communication so many forget to listen too.

"We have an accord."

The expression upon elven features could not translate into human. It left many thinking it akin to a black mask; diamantine. Glittering or cold perhaps like a distant star. We are all beautiful monsters.

"So we do, Gray man. My trust, I assume you know, is neither given lightly or easily. " Much like your's?"I do not expect disappointment. I will deliver the metal here, unless your gnomes --" snack sized pets, "attempt to touch me again. I refrained once...I cannot promise I will be able to do so a second time."

A twist of heel brought her to circle-stalk around the grinding wheel restless (black cat, hunting). Black hands dropped the crude silver setting with flawed, clouded ruby set in the middle upon top of grinding wheel. It balanced and glinted lazily in single candle. When had she removed it from her neck?

Utterly silent feet went to carry her toward the door, pausing yet again to glance over shoulder. Chin above strong lines, white lash distorted the yellow eyes behind them, leaving the witness floundering for what thought remained behind.

"You should eat more than burnt bird. Steak would see you less like a stick." Wide mouth curled upward, the slightest lowering of her chin was given after such a statement. A return of wary respect and the female was crossing threshold--ignoring the terrified squeaks of gnomes to straight back stalk the front door.

This would not be the last time. Whether either of them liked it or not, they had an agreement.