The moon elf left his bed groggily, his pale, smooth bare chest glistening to the crimson light of the morning sun. He found his studded leather armor, dropped lazily to the floor before he hit the duvets, and pulled it over his head, before tying his flowing, ice white hair back into it’s usual ponytail. Moving to the rapier and crossbow laid on the bedside table, without even glancing to look at them, Mûriir equipped himself once more with his weapons; both hung loosely at his belt, ever ready for the split moment they may be needed.

His troubled thoughts did not slow Mûriir down; his past had taught him not to let emotions override his actions. Had they done so, he didn’t doubt he would have been dead long ago; by the wild of the lands if not by his own father’s hands. But now his father lay dead by the rapier he had crafted, and he was safe from the wilds in an unknown town. Still, the meeting he was soon to attend with the High Officer of the town loomed over him; the first impression had been made and it had been a good one, but Mûriir had to continue to make good impressions; he wanted whatever the Officer had to offer for his services and skills in the silent kill.

He had only just got himself ready when one of the black-armor clad guards of Griffon’s Nest appeared at his door to escort him to meet with Igischan, the High Officer of the town’s militia. Mûriir allowed himself to be led out of the guest accommodation and into the streets. The whole town seemed so different now; early in the morning. The townsfolk were busying themselves preparing for the new day. Food was being prepared, wet clothes being hung out on lines. Blacksmiths were preparing their tools and kilns for a hard day of crafting. Carpenters were doing much the same. Fewer eyes turned to look at the moon elf as he strode behind his escort, the rising sun pouring its rays to bounce off his light brown armor and the blade of the rapier thrust into his belt. Soon enough Mûriir was in the familiar halls he had first set eyes on the day before. The marble floor and stone pillars were even more polished than then; clearly the cleaner rose early. Mûriir glanced around; sure enough, the High Officer was awaiting his arrival, clad this time in a full plate of armor similar to that of the guards except in color. Igischan’s armor was a shining silver, with the griffon down the chest plates a brilliant purple. Unlike his guards, the High Officer had around his neck a flowing black cape, a complete contrast to his groomed, auburn hair.

Igischan extended his hand upon seeing Mûriir, and the moon elf willingly accepted it, shaking it firmly. Both man and elf smiled, though the High Officer was the first to speak.

“We meet again, Mûriir. Welcome.”

Mûriir nodded his head politely.

“Thank you, lord. It is a pleasure once more.”

“Of course.” The Officer turned to the guard that had accompanied Mûriir to the halls, dismissing him with a nod, which he seemed to understand. Leaving the two alone, the guard left the halls in silence as Mûriir’s gaze subconsciously followed him out. The moon elf then turned back to the man before him.

“Come, Mûriir,” said the High Officer “Let us discuss what I want you to do for me.”

Mûriir let a smirk pass his lips; he disapproved of being treated as one of the Officer’s mercenaries; particularly one without pay. Clearly Igischan picked up on this, more so than the moon elf would have intended, and he let out a hearty laugh.

“Don’t worry, Mûriir. There will be sufficient gold involved if your services are useful to me and my army.”

Mûriir nodded and forced a smile, said “I am glad to hear it, lord,” to which Igischan grinned, and followed the Officer to his desk. Igischan took a seat behind the table, and Mûriir stood before him due to the lack of a second chair. This suited him just fine. Mûriir watched with keen eyes as the High Officer took from a chain around his neck a small, silver key, which he placed into a drawer in his desk. Turning the key, Igischan opened the drawer with a stiff creak, and then took from it a tiny, gray bag. Mûriir couldn’t help raise an eyebrow in his curiosity, which was answered when Igischan tipped the bag up onto the table, spilling the contents; a vast number of gold coins. The glint from the coins under the dim lighting of the halls was not as sparkling as the glint in the moon elf’s eyes as the amount of gold spread out on the desk before him now. He could not imagine that was the sum he would receive for his services to the militia; he was right. Igischan counted roughly a quarter of the coins into his hand silently, before holding them out before him for Mûriir to examine. He then slipped the coins into a second gray bag on his desk, a somewhat smaller pouch than the first.

“This here is twelve thousand in gold, Mûriir. Your earnings if you can teach me things that will help my armies succeed over the… he faltered now in his words over our enemies.”

Mûriir smiled faintly, nodding. Twelve thousand gold pieces was a fair sum indeed; especially for what little the Officer asked of him. However, Mûriir couldn’t help but think of the thirty-six thousand gold that was still spread out on the desk. Thirty-six thousand gold pieces! In some of the finer markets of Faerûn, that amount of gold could buy incredible items. Magical items. Even as such wishful thoughts crossed the moon elf’s mind, Igischan began to gather the thirty-six thousand gold back into the gray bag. He thrust the heavy bag back into the drawer, locking it with the key, and then returned the key to the safety of his necklace, which he put beneath his armor. Mûriir, realizing himself suddenly, spoke up hastily.

“That is a fine sum, lord. I would be most certain to accept such a price for my… services.”

Even as he said the words his eyes were on the drawer that now contained the thirty six thousand. Quickly he averted his eyes back to the Officer, who was smiling. He held the gray bag of twelve thousand out to the moon elf, who accepted it with a smile of his own.

“I’m glad you think so, Mûriir. Though perhaps now you are willing to show me just some of the skills you would have me teach my men?”

Mûriir bowed his head, pocketing the pouch of gold in the same movement, and smiled faintly.

“Of course, lord. I would be glad to.”

The High Officer rose from his chair, stepping behind it before pushing it back under the desk smartly. He then walked out from behind the desk to face his new ally. Mûriir smiled confidently and he began the ‘interview’ himself.

“I would have your men taught the art of deception and of hiding, my lord.”

Igischan cut him off abruptly, which made Mûriir grit his teeth behind his lips. “How would you that, Mûriir? Be more precise.”

Igischan didn’t notice him flick it, but it heard it. Turning quickly, he looked to where he had heard the clatter of a single gold coin hitting the marble floor beside his feet. He raised a brow, becoming aware that Mûriir had flicked it despite having not noticed him take the coin from his pouch. He then looked back up to the moon elf… but he was not there. The High Officer failed to stop himself gasping in shock. Before he could think to speak his surprise aloud, Mûriir stepped out from the pillar behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to spin around to face him. Mûriir smiled proudly.

“Like that, lord.”

Mûriir stooped down and retrieved the coin he had flicked to avert the Officer’s attention, returning it to his pouch quickly. Anticipating the questioning, he had slipped the coin from his bag before pocketing it earlier. Igischan quickly turned away from the elf, moving as though to look out of the window; in fact he was hiding the blushing red face that revealed his embarrassment. The moon elf had taken him by surprise; and caught the High Officer of the Griffon’s Nest militia off-guard. Mûriir simply took this as an opportunity to sneak a glance to the desk in which the thirty-six thousand gold coins were locked away. That amount of wealth would certainly get him far in his life, if only for the next few seasons. But it was not his to take; it belonged to the High Officer. But then, what was stopping him taking it? His mind, his morals. He was not a petty thief or a pickpocket; he was a trained killer making his way south to find a better life. Taking money from another’s pouch was not something he would do. Mûriir folded his arms and glanced across at Igischan, who was now muttering something to himself as he stared out the window at some of his soldiers training on the grounds below. But then something washed over him. The moon elf closed his eyes quickly, and instantly he saw it again. The shadowy image of himself that had haunted his trances that night, and he began to argue with his own instincts and feelings; conflicting thoughts arguing with each other inside his head. And he told himself that there was nothing stopping him taking the bag but the Officer in the room with him. Nothing stopping us becoming wealthy in an instant and slipping out of the window and into the depths of the wilderness that we are destined to travel either way. Why not make that travel with some gold in our pouch? What are morals if they only cause us to be second best in life? Look out for ourself, di’thang, and be on top. Survival of the fittest. Do it now.

His head was throbbing, strange images blurring his vision of the real world, yet all this went unknown to Igischan as he out absently, still hiding his shame and worry that the moon elf should embarrass him again.

“Is there more advice you have, Mûriir?”

The moon elf narrowed his pale golden eyes, the shadow of the nearest pillar playing over his face and he smirked slightly, his lips curling upwards as he watched the High Officer’s back. Tilting his head just a little to the right, he gave a gentle nod and spoke softly in a voice that was too deep and too deliberately cold to be his own.

“Yes, my lord… never turn your back to the enemy.”

Igischan gave a mocking snort, surprised at how obvious a statement the moon elf had come out with; he expected more of him than that. He waved a hand dismissively as he spoke.

“I know tha-”

But he did not finish the sentence. As he had began to turn, the bolt had taken him in the side of the neck and he fell onto his face, blood flowing from the new wound, the liquid staining the marble floors. The High Officer’s eyes were open with shock, forever to remain that way, staring up at Mûriir, who stood over him now, his crossbow in hand. The moon elf was breathing heavily, unable to control the adrenalin that was searing through his body. His lips were curled further into a cold smirk as he returned the crossbow to its holder.

“Do you really… my lord?”

-

Before he knew what was moving him he had taken the gold and slipped out of the window. His mind had quickly lost its cold calm and his blood was pumping faster and quicker than ever before. He walked swiftly through the town of Griffon’s Nest, making his way to the exit gates in hopes of escaping the city before the High Officer’s body was discovered. It was because of his haste that he did not notice the moon elf with whom he collided. Sprawled out on the floor, gritting his teeth and cursing in Elven to himself, Mûriir staggered to his feet and was greeted by a pair of pale gold eyes. “Ne’riallr!” he managed to gasp; his hand quickly sliding to make certain the pouch of stolen gold was securely in his armor. His old friend smiled at him, rubbing the shoulder with which Mûriir had collided.

“Fancy the chances of bumping into you, Mûriir. I have searched for you much of this day; we had arranged to meet, remember?”

A playfully mocking grin crossed Ne’riallr’s lips, drawing a grunt from his shocked friend. Mûriir let his hand drop to his side, glancing around the town to make sure no one else was present; to which he was satisfied to find they were alone. Calming his nerves, Mûriir dusted his leather armor off and nodded to his old acquaintance, smiling as much as he could manage.

“I had business with the High Officer, my friend. Accept my apologies.”

“They are accepted. At least I have found you now. You seemed in a hurry… going somewhere, Mûriir?”

The moon elf could not help but bite his lip. He was unsure whether to tell his friend what had happened, or to lie to him. What would he think to know he had murdered the Officer to take his wealth? A sudden instinct in the back of his mind spoke out to him, making him aware that he should keep silent on the matter.

“I am leaving the town, my friend. My business with the Officer is complete, and so I aim to continue my travels.”

A genuine frown of disapproval was evident on the lips of Ne’riallr upon hearing this, but Mûriir’s mind was set on escape. He had long been a friend to this elf, but a time always had to come for change and for leave; and now more so than ever. Not with intention to change his friend’s mind, Ne’riallr voiced his opinions humbly.

“A shame. I must stay here for over a tenday yet, my business is not nearly as short-lived as yours, my friend. But I am soon to head in your direction, if you travel south as I suspect. Perhaps a time will come we will meet again?”

Mûriir swallowed heavily, tilting his head, catching a glint of something underneath Ne’riallr’s armor. It was gold; the pendant he had been shown the day before. He remembered his friend’s word now, clear as though they had just been spoken; “My grandfather gave it me when I left the camp. It has protective Elven magic to make its wearer more resistant against damage.”

Ne’riallr was watching Mûriir curiously, tilting his head as his friend was doing. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No. Nothing is wrong, old friend. Perhaps then… we will meet again.”

But Ne’riallr noticed there was still a distant look in Mûriir’s eyes, the pale gold pupils glinting under the early morning sunrise. Mûriir was feeling it again. Unlike his friend, he did not see the red of the setting sun, or hear the sound of the ravens flying overhead. Instead he witnessed darkness, and saw himself looking at him. An unusual experience it was, seeing a reflection that did not move and act as he did. A reflection that was dark and shrouded by shadow and mystery. He did not understand what he saw. But when he focused something else caught his eye; around his duplicate’s neck was a gold pendant, inset with a crimson gem. Mûriir narrowed his eyes, trying to clarify that he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Ne’riallr’s necklace hung around the neck of the mirror image, the shadows playing over the gold as though controlled by a life of their own.

“No. It is his. It is not mine.” he muttered, unwittingly aloud.

But the voices in his head were making no sense, too many conflicting voices, arguing over and over in the depths of his mind. It hurt and confused him, and he felt his heart beating and his head spinning as he tried to understand it all. And then he heard a low voice. Slow, cold and deliberate, deeper than his own, speaking to him, arguing against the voice of his subconscious, his two minds in a constant struggle. It is only his whilst it is around his neck. Think of the uses, my di’thang. We will be resistant to damage. But he is my friend! He was our friend, so long ago. But what uses are friends to us now? Friends to drag us down and keep us from what we want to have. Stop arguing with ourself, di’thang, and do as we want to do.

Ne’riallr grunted and dropped to the ground as Igischan had only moments earlier; though in the moon elf’s gut there was a rapier. Gripped around the hilt, Mûriir’s knuckles were going white as he held the pointed blade to the flesh of his “friend.” Ne’riallr’s eyes, like the High Officer’s, were wide in surprise. His best friend had run him through with a blade, and he could now feel the warm trickle of blood beneath his armor; but it did not sting as much as that of the deceit he was seeing in Mûriir’s eyes; a cold, dark gold and not a stroke of remorse. Ne’riallr could not understand what had come over his friend in the time they had been apart; he had never been like this. Those were the last thoughts that went through the mind of Ne’riallr, as his mind went blank and he rested into the rapier held by Mûriir. The moon elf reached forward, tearing the gold pendant from the neck of the dead elf lying against him, before pulling the rapier out of the flesh. Wiping the blood from the blade, Mûriir slipped the pendant into his pocket as the corpse hit the dust-strewn ground with a thump.

For the first time, a wave of shock crossed Mûriir’s eyes. It occurred to him now had he done it? He couldn’t understand that he had just killed his best and only friend. But it all; he had put the bolt in the High Officer’s head and the blade into Ne’riallr’s gut, but his mind had not been straight. Unusual images and thoughts had clouded his judgment and made him commit the crimes. But there was not much time for him to dwell on this, as his worries were swept quickly aside when he heard voices from a distance; they did not sound calm, and Mûriir told himself that the High Officer’s body had been discovered, as Ne’riallr’s soon would. The opportunity to panic did not come either; the shadow of the buildings around him washed over him like a tidal wave, making him almost invisible from view, and as silent as a hawk he dragged himself away from the scene of the crime, as though being urged onwards by the gripping shadows around him. The moon elf did not encounter trouble as he slipped silently out of the town gates, unnoticed by civilian and guard alike. The shadows as his disguise, he was barely noticeable; an enigma of the shade, moving with the silence and stealth he had learnt from his years in the wilds of the north.

Though his body had remained calm enough, Mûriir’s mind was a fusion of pandemonium; images of shadows and worlds of black and white haunted him as he made his escape, a constant struggle to comprehend the kills frustrating his mind. He knew something was happening to him; he knew he was changing. But he wished to know what.