“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”

Pale horses bit the blackened earth with sharp hooves, dragging the bone sleigh onward towards the city of spires and sorrow. A myriad of strange bones dug from the loamy earth stood now wreathed in a cloak of writhing shadows. Autumn was unsure what creatures they’d come from exactly but had bound them together into a pair of roughly equestrian shapes — nevermind the sharp horns or jagged spines.

They weren’t the best — her wand had thrown a fit at the warping of undeath. And as a result, they were more akin to shadow constructs than undead. Sort of like she’d made for herself and Eme, if extremely simpler.

Autumn sat at the head of the craft, a set of reins held loosely in her grasp. She didn’t need them to control the pale horses, but they looked the part. And it was proving ample distraction from her lustful thoughts.

Embarrassingly, her nerve had fled her quickly under Nethlia’s firm caress, chasing away the demoness’ hands with it. Not that it’d stopped her thoughts from turning lascivious.

Nethlia seemed unbothered, amused even by the witch’s sudden shyness. She’d contented to simply hugging Autumn as the girl read her spell-book with blushing intensity. And when Autumn had finally squirmed out of her grip when the other returned, a disparate collection of dirty bones in their arms, she’d simply snatched up a catgirl to cuddle instead.

Their differing sizes made for a peculiar scene, as if the berserker was embracing a toy. Autumn wondered if she looked the same in Nethlia’s grasp. Everything would look small in comparison to the large demoness, she mused.

She also wondered when they’d gotten so close. Not that she was jealous or anything; she was just curious.

Autumn shook away her wandering thoughts and got her game face — what little of it that could be seen — on.

Ahead of them, the southeastern gatehouse loomed. Spiked walls of darkened metal bristled with drow guards, armed with deadly dark-steel crossbows and wicked spears as they watched the unhurried approach of the strange hovering wagon. Positioned on either side of a smaller door set within the grand gates, a pair of drow stood, anticipating their arrival.

Steadily, the party crept over the barren plain towards them.

“Alright, let me do the talking,” Autumn whispered back to the others as they drew near.

Taking all her fear, trepidation, and anxiety, she tucked it securely away.

When they were within range of the crossbows on the wall, one of the drow guards on the ground held up a hand and shouted. “Halt!” they called.

Whilst pulling the reins in a show, Autumn halted the pair of shadow steads with her mind. Now closer, she could see the pair of guards were male drow clad in a black leather coats and sinister-looking metal armor. While not pointing their weapons directly at her, they still held their crossbows in her direction.

Challenging her inner arrogance, Autumn shouted, “you dare!!”

The male drow guards shifted uneasily at her feminine tone, but they kept their weapons raised.

One stepped bravely forward. “What is your business here?”

Autumn snorted. “Do you always ask stupid questions? Or am I just lucky today? What else might we want in Nasurin, huh?! Let us through or wrath be upon you!”

“You are strangers dressed strangely and coming from a strange direction. Speak your intentions!”

“You are courting death!” Autumn spat, not really knowing what she was saying. A hundred cliche lines flowed through her head. “Kowtow a thousand times and I might let you live! Is there no betters to speak with me?! Or does this city not have any shame?!”

Desperately trying not to cringe, Autumn turned her head towards Nethlia and whispered, “pst, Net, give them a menacing growl.”

Nethlia obliged, giving a terrifying, rumbling growl that shook the air. Shaken by the sound, the drow guardsman jumped. Paling he scurried back through the open door.

An awkward moment lingered as they faced off with tense drow guards. Autumn resisted the urge to curl into herself. She resolved to not let anyone know just what she’d said to them.

Death would be a mercy.

After a short while, the captain of the gatehouse emerged, heading towards them.

As Autumn had predicted, the captain was a female drow. Dressed in luxurious but fairly revealing dark silks, chainmail, and spiked armor, the female drow gave off a far more intimidating aura than her masculine counterparts while still exuding a sinister sexuality. She stopped before the edge of the wagon, one white eyebrow arched on her royal-purple skin.

Taking the hint from her body language, Autumn disembarked from the wagon to stand level with her. Nethlia habitually joined her to loom over her shoulder in a show of force.

“You wished to speak with me human?” the female drow captain drawled.

“I wished to speak to someone beautiful and in charge. I can see one of those things is true, and if you can let us into the city, then the other is as well,” Autumn said with a playful smirk creasing her eyes.

The drow smiled.

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. Captain Iymidril Zauiryn Dhalmond, at your pleasure. You can call me Mistress Iymidril,” she purred. “And you are?”

“Necromancer-witch Autumn, the Witch of Fear. I suppose you can call me Witch Autumn.”

Iymidril blinked. “My, what a positively intriguing title. And your compatriots?”

“Mercenaries and servants, not really important,” Autumn waved dismissively.

“Oh? Even the tall demon-folk hovering protectively over you? I don’t see a collar adorning her pretty neck and their kind don’t favor yours from what I recall. Even their mercenaries wouldn’t take your coin before beheading you.” Provocative interest and suspicion colored the drow woman’s voice as she peered up at Nethlia.

The berserker glared down.

Autumn snorted, although on the inside she sweated. “It would be strange, wouldn’t it? If, in fact, she was a demon-kin.”

“Oh?”

“She’s a pacted-devil, not some lowborn demon filth. My prize possession. Don’t worry — her pact-binds are secure and she’ll only do what I tell her to. Provided, of course, nobody threatens my life. Then? Well, nobody has had a second chance.”

Iymidril gave Nethlia another look, this time one far more keener and appraising. Fascination and a sadistic lust flashed behind the drow’s eyes.

Nethlia growled deeper at the sight.

“What is she? A cross between a succubus and a pit fiend?” she asked, curious like a young girl shopping for a new dress.

“Does it matter?” Autumn asked, her voice no longer as cordial as before.

Lymidril eyed her a moment before shrugging. “I suppose it doesn’t. We got a bit sidetracked — what was the problem again?”

“Your ‘men’ here seem to think we are strange simply cause we come from a strange direction, as if they aren’t aware of the twisting nature of this maleficent realm and didn’t let us through on sight. Hardly welcoming.”

“Did they now?” the captain purred, this time far more dangerously as she cast a languid look at the cowering guardsmen. “Well, that won’t do, now will it? I’ll have to re-educate them on how to greet proper visitors. If you are proper visitors, that is,” she arched her slim white eyebrow in Autumn as she spoke.

Autumn gave her a wry smile. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a handful of golden coins looted from the necromancer’s tower. Notably, the ones bearing the ancient necromancer nation’s symbols.

With one fluid movement the witch palmed them into the captain’s feminine hand.

Iymidril pocketed them without a blink.

“I see. Your passes seemed to be in order.” Turning around she gestured to the male guards by the gate. “Move it your fucking worthless dogs! Open the gates on the double or you’ll get the cat-o-nine again!”

The drow guardsmen scrambled to attention. Soon the massive gates screeched open to reveal the twisted city of dimly lit streets beyond. Autumn found the buildings alien — lined with sharp blades, spires, and pikes of black metal as they stretched up amongst the trio of towering columns. The pale streetlights cast a gloomy glow on the cobbled streets, revealing gaps between the stones filled with dried blood.

The tang of iron and fear filled the air.

Iymidril turned to Autumn, offering her a sharp smile and a few parting words on a sly tongue. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Nasurin. May you find all the wealth and misery you want within,” she grinned. Her eyes flickered briefly towards Nethlia before returning to Autumn’s glower. “Perhaps we might see one another sometime for some…fun with your pacted-devil?” she licked her lips. “I’ll be around~”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Without waiting for Autumn to reply, the drow captain sauntered away, hips swaying. She disappeared up the stairs and into the menacing gatehouse.

Autumn breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Looks like we’re through,” Autumn whispered to Nethlia as they made their way back aboard their hovering sleigh. When she settled atop her stop at the front, she gave a flick of her reins and set the pale horses into a slow walk.

A myriad of dark-hued people bustled around the dark city’s poorly lit streets. This close to the city’s southern and least used gate, the streets were fairly sparse, and those that lingered here were not of the high-class types — see female. However, the few drow women that walked the empty streets got a wide berth from the male drones, merchants, and slaves.

To either side of the gate entrance sat a barracks, noted by the collection of guards that were watching them lazily, now more relaxed that their female captain had returned to her presumably lavish office. To the north stretched a long street that twisted all the way to the other side of the city.

The Street of Iron.

Here, merchants, shopkeepers, artisans, and slavers plied their trade, hawking their wares to all passing through.

For every merchant, guard, and citizen, noble or poor, there was a slave. Perhaps even more. Under the watchful eyes of patrolling guards armed with cruel whips and hooked spears, they obediently trailed their masters and mistresses, performing whatever menial tasks they were bid, eyes empty and glazed. Heavy iron collars scarred their skin while iron chains rattled, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

And they were all sold at the market in the center of the dread city. The market sat between a pair of drawbridges spanning the bloody river and beside a harbor teeming with massive slave ships.

Of the slaves Autumn could see, most were human or Lepus. However, she spied amongst the crowd deeper in different races. Inferni, Felis, Elves of all kinds, the occasional Manus and even a few humanoid fae bound in cold-iron — the metal burning them with constant agony.

The leather reins squealed in Autumn’s grip. Behind her, the others swore under their breaths. There was nothing they could do to help them. Not now. Not here.

It broke Autumn’s heart.

Turning a blind eye, she ushered the party deeper into the city.

Broken eyes watched her go.

“How did you know that’d work?” Nethlia asked Autumn.

“What? The bribery?” At Nethlia’s nod, she continued with a shrug. “I didn’t, but these sorts of places are rife with corruption from what I’ve read. It’s hard to inspire loyalty when it comes at the end of a whip.”

“Right. So, where to now? Are we heading straight through?”

Autumn shook her head. “Nah, I bet the captain’ll send someone to tail us. To see if she can shake us down for more gold or other benefits. She looked ambitious to my eyes — I doubt she’s happy to be stuck guarding a gate nobody uses much. No, we should find a place to stay and buy some supplies while we are at it. Look the part, you know?”

Further into the city, the crowds were growing denser.

“Do you mind striding ahead of us? Clear the way with Nelva? I’m worried about pickpockets, or worse,” Autumn asked.

Nethlia nodded, poking Nelva as she leapt from the wagon. The pair strode ahead of the group, pushing those too slow aside with a growl. On the wagon, Liddie sat with a hawk-like gaze roaming over the crowds looking for light-fingered thieves. A few thrown stones cracking their hands dissuaded them fast.

Their intimidating presence worked, and soon they were making their way into the center of the small but towering city. One of the three massive column-like buildings loomed over them as they found an inn suitable for their party.

A sign read: The Darkmare Inn.

Autumn pointed to it. “Here! We’ll rest here to get our bearings. Does anyone see a stable or something?”

“Over there,” Pyre called, nodding towards the side of the inn where a dark alleyway yawned. Deeper in, Autumn could just make out the sight of a small stable adjoined to the large inn.

Taking her cue, Nethlia led the party through the growing bustle of the street towards it. The sounds of pained cries and cruel laughter lingered at their backs as they slipped into the side street. After stabling their wagon, and gathering up what they couldn’t afford to lose, the party made their way into the inn. However, not before threatening a poor stableboy.

“If anything gets lost, I’m skinning you first.”

The small drow boy nodded rapidly without a word at Autumn’s hiss.

The interior of the Darkmare Inn was as shady as Autumn expected. Not just in lighting’s sake. Watchful individuals crowded the tables beneath a haze of sweet-smelling smoke as they dined, drank, and gambled. The smell couldn’t cover up the scent of stale ale that wetted the floor, nor the smell of blood that lingered everywhere. Like the crackle before lightning struck, the atmosphere of the tavern-slash-inn was pregnant with the promise of riotous blood.

At any second, this place could erupt into a deadly brawl.

Although, the sharp edges of the staff’s blades and eyes kept things cordial for now.

Through the cluttered room moved scantily clad slaves of beautiful temperament, both male and female. Downcast eyes fixed themselves on the stone floor, slick with ale and blood, as they picked their way through the tangled maze of tables, chairs, and wayward limbs. Not one lay unburned by bruises or blood granted to them by ill-mannered patrons.

And while coin bought many a thing, this was not a brothel.

When one rowdy patron sought to take advantage of a passing wench-slave, a burly bouncer swiftly broke the fingers he lay upon her. His pained screams and the cruel mockery of his peers played the tune of the adventurer’s entry.

All eyes swiveled to take in the strange crew.

Autumn ignored them and confidently strode towards the barkeep and presumed owner of this fine establishment. Although, her confident stride faltered as her eyes settled upon said owner.

Behind the bar stood another female drow — snow white hair alighting upon plum-colored skin and fine features. However, unlike the gatehouse captain, the owner of the bar-slash-inn was clad in far less clothing. Her provocative apparel left nothing to the imagination; she’d look far less erotic if she was actually naked.

Her violet eyes took in the collection of robed ‘cultists’ walking towards her.

“Welcome to the Darkmare Inn. My name’s Zillia Dinorgh. How may I help you fine spellcaster today?” Her voice was like silk as it whispered upon Autumn’s ears.

Autumn cleared her throat, glad that the hood and scarf hid her rising blush.

“Rooms, food, and stable space, for starters. We left our wagon out back — it’s the one with the skeletal horses.”

The owner, Zillia blinked, but took that introduction in stride. “And how many rooms do you want? We’ve two beds per room.” Her gaze roamed over Nethlia. “Although I don’t think she’ll fit.”

“She stands guard,” Autumn deadpanned. “Hmm, we’ll take three rooms. How much?”

Zillia squinted at them, taking in the state, and more importantly, the wealth of their attire. A small smile graced her lips as she found whatever she was looking for.

“Two gemstone coins per cycle for three rooms.”

Autumn slowly blinked. “Do you take gold coins?”

“Certainly,” Zillia giggled, the sound tingling Autumn’s spine. “That’ll be five gold coins per cycle for three rooms.”

Beneath her hood, Autumn’s brow furrowed. “Five? You trying to rip me off?”

The drow woman shrugged, the action doing wonderful, terrible things to Autumn’s attention span as her breasts threatened to spill loose of her sheer apparel. Autumn sweated as she locked her eyes on the drow’s.

“If you don’t like my price you can go somewhere else.”

Autumn grumbled, but fished around in her robes for the coins. “Does that come with food, at least?” she asked as she placed the money on the bartop.

“Nope,” Zillia popped the word as she swiped the coins away and handed over a trio of keys. “Food is a silver by the plate, and the stable fee is a gold per cycle.”

Autumn had been hearing the word ‘cycle’, but the meaning came across to her as something akin to a-day-and-a-night, seeing as the Feydark had no sun nor moon. And as the drow — and Umbra — were averse to the sun anyway, it was likely a word they used back on the mortal plane too in their dark cities. She recalled hearing something about them sometime ago, but she couldn’t remember when.

“Send seven—no, eight plates up to our rooms. Nothing from the Feywild; imported only. Meat, breads, vegetables—no mushrooms. Plus a couple dozen pints of beer or ale. I’ll pay extra for the service.”

Autumn placed enough gold pieces on the bartop to cover them no matter how much food and beer they consumed. The gold disappeared just as quickly as the last.

Zillia smiled, leaning over the counter.

With a will like dragon-forged steel, Autumn kept her eyes above her neckline.

“It’ll be up shortly, honored customers. Your rooms are the first ones on the left up the stairs.”

Autumn practically dashed away at a fast walk. Amused eyes watched her go.

After ascending the stairs, the party convened in one of their newly booked rooms. At Autumn’s nod, Edwyn took the time to layer a series of silencing runes around the room while she set her alarm ward across the window. When the runes finally flashed, they discussed their plans.

“We need to stick together. This place isn’t safe to wander around alone,” Nethlia started them off. “Tomorrow, or whenever we wake, I want to take a look at the northgates. See if we can’t just leave through them.”

“Hmm, I’ve a bad feeling about that,” Autumn mused.

Nethlia turned to her. “How so?”

“I’ve no idea, it’s just a gut feeling.”

“That’s fine — it’s what recon is for.” Nethlia turned to the others. “Does anyone other than Autumn understand what they were saying? I’ve got nothing.”

Edwyn grumbled. “Yeh, I understood some of it here ‘n’ there. Not what the drow lot were gabbin’ on about, but some of the whispers from the crowd were in undercommon.”

“That’s good! Anyone else?”

Liddie rocked on her heels, keeping an eye on the street through the window. “I heard some of the humans speaking a southern dialect of common. I still remember some of it from the war. Enough to get me by at least.”

“Awesome,” Nethlia clapped. “Tomorrow we’ll split up. No, Autumn, don’t interrupt. Let me finish.”

Autumn shut her mouth with a click. She’d been about to say the ingrained phrase of ‘Don’t split the party!’

“We’ll go in teams. Liddie, you take Pyre and see if you can’t find any sort of alchemy shop, get some essential supplies, or scout out for rumors while Autumn, Eme, and I will head north to check out the gatehouse and the north-end shopping district. Nelva, Edwyn, you two stay here. I need you to keep our sleigh unstolen. If you can pick up any rumors, that’d be good too. We’ll leave some money for food and drinks. Any problems with that? Autumn?”

Autumn jumped guiltily. “Um, I think you’re right — in that this place is super-duper dangerous. I can make a semi-permanent mental-link with everyone, sort of.”

“How semi-permanent? Are we talking minutes, hours, days?” Liddie asked.

“A few hours, I think. This’ll be my first time casting it. Um, there might be some…risks-slash-side-effects.”

“What kind?” Eme asked curiously.

The catgirl plonked herself down on a bed, but leapt clear from fast. “I think a bug touched me!” she cried. Autumn comforted her, patting her ears as she vowed to hit the bed multiple times with her cleaning spell. Or just sleep on the floor.

Getting back on point, she answered her. “Well~ the spell description for my upgrade mentioned a teensy tiny bit of mind control.”

“Mind control!!” Pyre shouted, aghast and a little excited strangely.

“I wouldn’t do it! Obviously, but I thought you should all know.”

Nethlia ruffled her hair. “And we appreciate you telling us.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. After the others had taken defensive positions, just in case, Autumn opened the door. Before her stood a cadre of slave girls, bearing all manner of meals and jugs of ale and beer.

“Bring it in, then leave,” Autumn ordered.

The slaves quickly obeyed. None dared to look them in the eye. Before long, the party was alone once more, this time with an array of delicious, mouthwatering meals and drinks before them. Autumn's stomach let out a growl that rivaled what Nethlia could produce.

However, before the others could descend upon it like a pack of starving hellhounds, Autumn called out, “wait! Let me check it for poison first!”

Opening up her spell-book, she quickly found the pages on poisons and diseases. Memorizing it as fast as she could, Autumn cast a general detect poison and disease spell upon the food.

It came back all clear.

“It’s good!”

Surrounded by a sea of wolves in a treacherous slave-city, they had themselves a party.