Edgar and Amariel went way back, to his early days of mercenary work. She was a bit of a smartass and, like most half-elves, seemed to have something to prove to the world. The two of them had never seriously courted but certainly had an on-again-off-again relationship of steamy trysts. Amariel was into some kinky shit--light bondage and exhibitionism mostly. Edgar went along with this well enough. His own tastes were significantly darker but she would only ever allow him the barest of S&M or torture play. Their relationship, as it were, had never formally ended. They has just gone their separate ways in the mercenary world. Edgar has last seen her (and fucked her in the master bedroom of a baron whose mansion they had snuck into--during a dinner party he was hosting) almost three years ago.

She wasn’t dressed in her normal gear of black leather armor, although Edgar should see the pieces of this outfit next to a backpack beside the bed. She was wearing a short negligee--black, of course--that left her smooth pale legs bare up to the thigh. Her body type could best be described as “athletic”, so there wasn’t much cleavage to be shown but the simple garment did leave a generous amount of her chest between her breasts exposed.

As his eyes worked their way up to her face, it was clear that something was out of the ordinary. He first thought her to be asleep, but he could now see that her eyes were open and glazed over as they stared blankly at the ceiling. As he cautiously approached the bed, he could see a thin line of dried drool that ran from the side of her mouth. She did not seem to be breathing.

Edgar’s first thought was that he was being framed for murder. His frantically searching eyes quickly noticed a letter on the bed, beside her right arm. It was penned in a neat, flowing script that didn’t seem at all appropriate for a blackmail note.

“Dearest Edgar,” it began. Amariel had never been particularly romantic and he could sense the sarcasm in her formal introduction.

“I heard about what the Adventurer’s Guild did to you early last year and how you were run out of town.” The woman didn’t mince words. But it didn’t sound gloating either.

“I want to let you know that I’m on your side with this one. I probably could have ‘persuaded’ them to acquit you, had I found out earlier and I just feel so bad that you have had to live they way you have for the last year.” She did have a way for “persuading” people, although Edgar would have never asked for her help, even if she had been available at the time. He had too much pride to do such a thing. It still feel good to know that someone was with him on the issue.

“Since it’s your birthday, I decided to make it up to you some Sawleaf poison (that was for me) and a big pouch of diamonds (they’re on the nightstand).”

Edgar was no stranger to poisons. Sawleaf poison was an incredibly deadly and fast-acting poison. Its downside was its highly noticeable taste and smell. These traits made it a poor choice of poison for an assassination but an ideal poison for suicide. A glance down at the bed revealed a small glass vial, empty, resting next to her left hand.

The significance of the diamonds was also clear to him. They were used as a material component in a Raise Dead spell and had to be worth thousands of gold coins. Hefting the small leather pouch on the nightstand assured him that the quantity would be sufficient.

“Have fun and ‘wake me up’ when you’ve been satisfied,” the letter concluded. It was signed, “Am”.

Edgar was stunned. He had not been expecting anything like this at all. Plus, the expense of the diamonds was incredibly generous. It was a lot to take in. He was trying to comprehend it all when he glanced down and noticed his powerful erection pushing out against his robe. He then knew exactly what to do.