Editing Ilsenhoon the Mind Flayer Ministrel (section)

===Chapter 10===
Ilsenhoon could only laugh at the elf, each chortle reverberating around in its head like an echo. EVER SINCE WE TEAMED UP, I'VE GAUGED YOUR ABILITIES. YOU ARE INFERIOR. EVEN IF YOU WERE AN ILLITHID, YOU WOULD BE INFERIOR.

Furious, the elf charged forward, swinging both blades at him. Ilsenhoon ducked under the first and backed away from the second. He pulled his guitar into hand and played a powerful chord, directing the sonic wave towards his former ally, distracting it with reverberations long enough for him to retreat to a safe distance.

When the elf regained its faculties, Ilsenhoon had already disappeared into the foliage. It searched nearby, finding nothing. “Come on out, coward! You'll not get my collection!”

COWARD I AM NOT. TACTICS, FRIEND. TACTICS, Ilsenhoon's thoughts bellowed.

“Your only tactic is cowardice!” the elf shouted, swinging a blade wildly at the closest bush.

ARE YOU A FAN OF LIMERICKS? I'M NOT TERRIBLY FOND OF THEM. TOO SHORT, AND THERE'S HARDLY EVER A PUNCHLINE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ONE?

The elf tore another bush apart looking for its target.

SINCE YOU'RE AN ELF, I'M SURE YOU'LL LIKE THIS ONE.

THERE WAS AN OLD DWARF WITH A BEARD,
WHO SAID, ‘IT IS JUST AS I FEARED!
TWO OWLS AND A HEN,
FOUR LARKS AND A WREN,
HAVE ALL BUILT THEIR NESTS IN MY BEARD!'

The elf grumbled an began thrashing at the temple altar madly.

NOT EVEN A SMILE? THAT JOKE'S A KILLER, Ilsenhoon said, approaching the elf from behind. He reached out with one psychic hand and twisted something inside the elf's head. Instantly it fell to its knees, gripping its sides in pain as it began laughing hysterically.

Ilsenhoon sighed softly and pushed the corpse of the elf away. Elves never tasted quite as delicious as humans. Too scrawny, that was the problem. You'd eat one, then thirty minutes later you'd want another. There's no filling. Now humans, they're good eating. Just enough meaningless knowledge and emotion to add flavor.

He stood and wiped his tentacles clean before retrieving the golden tome and making his way back to the camp. What he returned to, however, was not what he'd left. Black-skinned humanoids in loose leather clothes had the crew of the ship in chains. They all had stark-white hair, and many had white tattoos covering their face and arms.

Oh great, Ilsenhoon thought, Drow. Within seconds, half a dozen drow seemed to melt out of the jungle, quickly surrounding him. They all held forward curving blades, and brandished them in a menacing manner, although Ilsenhoon could clearly tell they were more than a little scared. Likely they'd never even seen an illithid before. The Empire didn't particularly like to deal with the elves. They were nearly as arrogant as the beholders, but only half as cooperative. Usually when there was cause for diplomacy or trade, the Elder Brain would send a drow thrall to broker the deal, a wonderful gesture that always brought a smile to Ilsenhoon's face.

He just grinned at them all and raised his arms in surrender, WHITE FLAG, DROW. TAKE ME TO YOUR MATRIARCH.

They all looked at each other before removing his equipment and tying him together with the rest of the captives. Little did they know, however, that Ilsenhoon managed to hide a lockpick, and that as they walked, he carefully fiddled with the cuffs.