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Jarl'ell Symryvvin
Jarl'ell awoke to a voice. He couldn't determine the source. "Lady Blad--"
Jarl'ell Syrmryvvin it is imperative that you not wake the princess. The clearly audible voice came from inside his head. It was Methil, Matron Baenre's illithid advisor. You are correct. You must listen to me carefully and do as I say. Your life is in danger. Jarl'ell was fully awake and alert now. Bladen'Kerst jostled a bit and sighed, but otherwise appeared to be asleep. Sometime before you met with Bladen'Kerst yesterday you were unknowingly anointed with an extremely powerful substance. It causes confusion in humans. It causes an allergic reaction in my kind. But to elves it is the most potent aphrodisiac known. The pieces began to fall together now. Bladen'Kerst's sudden attraction, Methil's behavior in Silverweb, his mother, Dureen. Dureen! his mind shouted. He had awoke yesterday to her cleaning him, to her spiking him! I'll kill her! I'll disembowel her and rip out her esophagus and-
Listen to me! The intense message shook him from the vision of mutilating his aunt. The substance also has a very short potency. When she awakes, it will no longer influence her. You must not be here when that happens. Terror stricken, he slowly sat up and carefully removed the blanket that covered them. Bladen'Kerst blissfully slept, looking quite beautiful, Jarl'ell noted. Beneath the fear and anger he felt was a bitter sting of betrayal. How foolish it was for him to believe that she, that any female would be so blindly attracted to him. You must focus on your escape. The voice interrupted his introspection. He stepped out of bed and silently dressed himself in the minimum of clothes. His thoughts were racing in all directions. It was unusual of for anyone not of house Baenre, noble or not, to roam the palace unescorted, particularly at this early hour. And he was on the top level! There are no guards in the top two levels of the levitation tube. Meet me in the throne room one level below. The thought reading illithid was evidently one step ahead of him. Lastly, he grabbed his piwafwi and hastily fastened the collar. He then silently tip toed to the door and cautiously opened it, praying to any listening deity that it would not creek. Sure enough, there were no guards outside the door. Without closing the door he quickly walked to the tube and floated down one level.
Standing inside the throne room was the tall, dignified illithid waiting for him. He nervously walked over to it, not knowing what to expect even sixty seconds in the future. The room comprised the entire fourth level of the stalagmite palace and was also the only room in the palace with any windows carved. To his horror, there were female archers at each window but none of them paid him any more than a passing glance once they saw him meeting with the illithid. Methil held out a four fingered hand and offered a small vial to Jarl'ell. Potion of speed. You will need it. At the moment the sentries believe you are the princess's consort, but they are all suspicious. The windows offer your best route of escape. Jarl'ell reluctantly took the vial from Methil, knowing full well what it's debilitating side effects will be. Why though. Why was this creature helping him out of this death trap that he'd been tricked into? No drow or nondrow has ever forcibly escaped the Baenre compound in five thousand years. I have a significant wager with others of my kind that you will be the first. Jarl'ell locked eyes with the soulless illithid. A bet. That's what this is all about. He didn't know whether to thank the creature or drive a sword though it, if he had one. Jarl'ell uncapped the vial and quickly drank the potion, which tasted absolutely hideous. A huge rush of adrenaline surged throughout his entire body. Good luck, and may we both profit.
In the same instant, the illithid vanished and a blood curtling scream from above pierced the silence of the throne room. "You, hold!" one of the alerted guards shouted to him. But before any of the sentries could draw a weapon Jarl'ell charged and dove at the nearest window at lightning speed, knocking a stunned female out as well. She immediately levitated back up but Jarl'ell continued to free fall down the side of the stalagmite. On the way down he could hear scattered shouts of alert as well as a dozen high pitched alarm whistles. Crossbow darts began whizzing by him from all directions. One hit him in the upper left shoulder. He ripped it out a tenth of a second after it hit him and threw it aside, but could quickly feel the sleep poison coursing through him. At the last moment before hitting the ground he slowed his descent with a levitation spell, then landed hard upon an unsuspecting soldier. Before the unlucky soldier could scramble, Jarl'ell unsheathed the soldier's sword and drove it into his chest. Within half a second Jarl'ell had retracted the sword and was on his feet again, leaving the soldier severely wounded. At least a hundred soldiers were charging straight at him from all directions as crossbow darts continued to buzz him. He instantly took off sprinting at astounding speed towards the nearest expanse of fence, dodging and deflecting the swinging swords of a dozen guards that attempted to intercept him. Another dart hit him in the back of the neck. Only the powerful potion fueling his blinding speed allowed him to continue unaffected. As he neared the fence he jumped with all of his strength and forced a levitation with as much concentration as he could gather. The momentum carried him forward and he slowly rose to the twenty foot level just in time for the fence to pass beneath him. However, the fence's divine magic canceled the levitation the instant he passed over it, forcing him to plunge twenty feet to the ground on the other side. Again, he heard the commotion of dozens of guards and the clicking of crossbows. Within a second he was on his feet again, but not before being hit by two more darts. He charged towards the mushroom forest in the distance, again dodging the swords of approaching soldiers. The sleep poisons began to rob all feeling from his extremities as he continued to sprint away, now dodging gigantic, stationary fungi rather than attacking soldiers. Soon his vision began to blur, but not before reaching the edge of Qu'ellarz'orl, where he collected enough concentration for one more levitation. He leapt off the edge of the huge platform and managed to levitate just in time to hit the ground light enough to be able to continue running. By now, his vision was completely warped. He could only tell barely building from street as he fled into the city, stumbling between strides.
Four blocks into his flight he tripped, slammed into a building and landed face down on the street. Upon hitting the ground the poison completely overwhelmed him. Unable to lift his arms to even attempt to push himself up, with his head swooning and his vision totally distorted he began to laugh. "I knew I could clear that fence," he murmured to no one in particular, then laughed harder. "The fence...I cleared the Baenre fence," his slurred boast continued. "Favored by Lloth I am...I had a Baenre princess," his voice began dying away. He barely noticed being turned over, but couldn't fight his eyelids to investigate. "I treated her as a human slave whore--" His voice cut out by unknown arms that hoisted him up. "I left her alone in her bed...and I made it...over that...that damned..." A hand covered his mouth to shut off his delirious babbling, but it didn't matter. The ruffled, half dressed, intoxicated noble being dragged away had already slipped into unconsciousness.
***
Dureen Symryvvin wandered into the family chapel and found her older sister feverishly attempting to scry, yet only her dim reflection shown on clear surface of the scrying bowl. It had been three days since Jarl'ell had left to meet with the second daughter of House Baenre, three days since Dureen had secretly doused him with a powerful aphrodisiac in hopes to repay an injury the Baenre priestess had inflicted upon her decades ago. So powerful was that potion that she nearly succumbed to it herself, with her own nephew! While the act itself wouldn't have been unpleasant, she later thought, the fallout from such a taboo encounter would have been staggering. However, it took little effort to dismiss such thoughts at the moment. For her reckless attempt to get even with her hated academy mistress had now put her, and possibly her house, in a very precarious position. She had honestly thought, or at least hoped, that Jarl'ell would have had enough sense to get out of the Baenre compound at the earliest opportunity. Or, that the charm would gradually wear off of Bladen'Kerst so that she would dismiss him before the full extent of her nasty personality returned. But if she'd had him executed, once it were known what his offense was suspicion would almost certainly fall upon Dureen. Being responsible for the death of a house male would normally be a relatively minor transgression. However not only had he proven himself so useful to House Symryvvin time and time again, but Lloth herself had blessed him. Her punishment would be quite severe and she would also set into motion a bitter rivalry with her sister that she never had intended. Worse yet though, rumor had quietly spread that a fugitive had recently escaped from the Baenre compound in full view of the house guard, a feet unheard of in the city's history. Dureen could easily imagine her resourceful nephew pulling off such an escape. Moreover, the fact that House Baenre had not yet expressed their outrage was a sign that they may have taken so much offense to the act that they may even be plotting an attack. And if so, their modest and untested house guard wouldn't last longer than ten minutes.
"You still cannot locate him," Dureen said. The voice broke Drisinil's intense concentration and nearly caused her to stumble.
Drisinil looked up at her sister with a clearly worried look on her face. "I should not have forced him to go to that snake," she cursed, revealing a bit of guilt. "Forty years of training and unfailing service only to have that...that..." She cut herself off, fearing that her angry tone might betray the genuine hurt she felt.
Dureen again watched as her sister forced her concentration on the scrying bowl. There were two possibilities. Either he was in an area magically protected from clairvoyant reading, as most of the Baenre compound is, or he was dead and his body burnt or crushed to a state unrecognizable to even scrying attempts. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked her distraught sister.
"Could you bring me some water," she weakly asked. Dureen bowed and walked out of the chapel. Now more than ever, she was convinced that there was very little chance she would emerge from this without dire consequences. Rather than heading towards the conference hall that held the fountain, she found herself walking towards her mother's quarters. When she reached it, she walked in unannounced. The old, withered Matron knelt silently in prayer at her personal alter. Her surprisingly keen senses quickly told her that she was no longer alone. She stood up and nervously turned to find her second daughter facing her, clearly upset.
"Mother, I fear that I've made a terrible mistake."
***
Jarl'ell awoke to a pounding headache. He rubbed his temples and cried out in pain, and soon felt something pressed up against his lips. A vial. A vial of healing potion. His vision was still blurred, but looking about him he could see that he was in a small, undecorated, windowless room and there were several drow present. He started to sit up but fell backward, delirious with pain. He then felt his head lifted and tilted back as the liquid was pored down his throat.
"You took the poison of eleven sleep darts. That should have killed you. We couldn't risk any healing potion until you had at regained consciousness," he heard a calm, male voice say. As the potion worked through him the intense headache quickly dissipated and his vision and equilibrium settled. Still very tired, he managed to hoist himself up. He was sitting on a cot meant for a commoner soldier. He surveyed the room and found himself to be staring at the most infamous mercenary in Menzoberranzan, backed by two soldiers that bore no obvious symbols of house affiliation. "The speed elixir probably saved your life, but I wouldn't make it a habit."
"Jarlaxle," he disdainfully uttered. He knew the mercenary only by reputation, and that reputation was that of a conniving, swaggering pirate who could find a way to profit from any intrigue that Menzoberranzan had to offer. He was also known to openly flaunt his contempt for the city's dress and customs. Therefore, the thinly dressed, head shaven rogue in front of him wearing a bright, multicolored cape and a patch over one eye could hardly be anybody else.
"I have so very much wanted to meet you, but until now there just hasn't been the proper occasion," he calmly spoke. He then turned to the two soldiers behind him. "Wait outside," he ordered.
As soon as the two guards had left Jarl'ell bitterly replied, "the proper occasion being that my life is in your hands."
"I prefer to think that we are both in a position to help each other," was the mercenary's patient response. "Besides, I should thank you. Things have been rather boring until you returned." Jarl'ell lay back to consider the turn of events that have hit him over the head once again. He guessed he should be grateful to be alive after his daring escape. But he knew full well that his survival depended upon his ability to benefit Jarlaxle, whom he had been expressly forbidden to deal with upon pain of death. "I have suspected that your house had a spy operating in our city, but to your credit I have never been able to identify that scout. Then I'm amused to hear that a noble of House Symryvvin, the most reclusive and among the most respected houses in the city, was involved in a midnight street battle in the Braeryn. By the way, I don't understand why you let him live. Nobody who's ever thrown a fireball at me still lives."
"Oh spare me," Jarl'ell moaned. Jarlaxle laughed, then continued.
"Then imagine my surprise three days ago to have my operatives deliver that same Symryvvin noble to me unconscious after brazenly escaping the impenetrable Baenre compound, no less!"
"Three days?" Jarl'ell gasped.
"Eleven darts, that's more than enough to kill an ogre," the mercenary retorted.
"The priestesses of my house, their scrying techniques are unmatched. They should have located me by now," Jarl'ell reasoned.
"How long do you think an organization such as mine could operate without protection from such prying eyes?" he asked. When an embarrassed Jarl'ell didn't respond, Jarlaxle continued with the litany. "But other than the initial sweep of the city by a few platoons who really didn't know who they were after since nobody got a good look at you, there was no manhunt. Then two days later I am summoned not by Baenre, but by her second daughter, who offers me a handsome price for your head." Jarl'ell groaned at the mention of the female. "When I request an audience with Matron Baenre on the subject she sends a message saying that she is interested to know how you escaped, but refuses to 'involve herself in her daughter's petty dalliances'," Jarlaxle explained, with a mocking emphasis on the old matron's words. The casualness of his recounting brought some relief to Jarl'ell. He suspected that Jarlaxle had no intention of delivering him to the rabid princess. But, for what price?
"What do you want from me," Jarl'ell solemnly asked.
"At the moment, all I want is for you to tell me in detail what brought you to my doorstep," the mercenary answered. "I have a feeling that the story may be payment enough." Jarl'ell highly doubted that.
***
Drisinil stood and stared wide eyed with disbelief at her sister, who accompanied by Matron Hesken-P'aj just told her the circumstances of her son's disappearance. Dureen tried to hold her head up without shame or guilt, but her posture changed when Drisinil lunged at her and wrapped her hands around the guilty sister's throat. "You dirty, filthy whore! I'll kill you!" the enraged priestess screamed while violently shaking the neck of her frightened sister. The melee was immediately halted by a wall of force that knocked both priestesses to the floor.
"Stop this at once!" their venerable mother's voice reverberated throughout the chapel. Both looked up to see the deceptively frail looking matron seething with anger with her arms stretched out, ready to unleash who knows what spell. "There will be no infighting in my house. If you two cannot abide by that I have three other daughters who can!" Both calmed down and cautiously stood up. Neither doubted the sincerity of their mother's veiled death threat. Hesken-P'aj turned and faced Drisinil. "While your sister's stupid prank could have potentially started a war, I find it extremely unlikely that it cost us any more than one house male. And if I know Jarl'ell well enough I doubt that even that," she sternly explained. "Now Dureen," she suddenly shifted focus and became even more cross. "You will do two things. First, you will pore every last drop of whatever faerie potion you used into the hearth. Then you will immediately request an audience with Bladen'Kerst Baenre where you will apologize and explain to her what you have done. If she is still threatening to your nephew, tell her that I will personally make sure that Matron Baenre reigns her in. She listens to me." Without raising so much as a hint of protest, the defeated priestess turned and gracefully exited the chapel. Hesken-P'aj turned back to her eldest daughter, who was still huffing with anger. With her normally subdued voice, the matron addressed her. "She at least had the courage to face up to the deed. Most priestesses, most drow would have let him take the fall." Her words had no effect on her angry daughter. She spoke again. "You should not be overly concerned with this one male"
"That one male is my son. Maybe I wish a more honorable death for him than at the hands of that wretched witch," she coldly replied. Hesken-P'aj was taken aback by her daughter's blatant hatred and disrespect for such a powerful figure in the city. Or was this anger a mere cover up of for more personal feelings, feelings that drow typically learn to bury early in life. Lloth discourages such parental bonds, demanding that all loyalties are to be hers. However, Hesken-P'aj was old enough to know that even among the drow some 'faerie thoughts' are too strong to completely suppress.
"Come, daughter. Let us see what we may see," the matron said, guiding her daughter towards the srying bowl.
***
Back in his office tucked deep inside the hidden stronghold of Bregen D'arthe, Jarlaxle sat dumbfounded at the tale of sex, deceit, and betrayal that the young noble had told him. Though Jarl'ell didn't know it, Jarlaxle had a reputation of being as good natured and even tempered as drow come. However, in listening to Jarl'ell's tale he often had to suppress losing his composure like a young boy listening to a sage's dragon slayer epic. "The last thing I remember was running through the mushroom forest on Qu'ellarz'orl. I'm guessing that I levitated to the city floor and collapsed shortly before your band found me. I wonder how rich I made Baenre's pet mind flayer," Jarl'ell sarcastically wondered aloud.
"My friend, whether you intended to or not, you have violated possibly the most volatile female in this city. The fact that you're still alive is beyond belief." The assessment was painful for Jarl'ell to listen to, especially coming from someone as knowledgeable and seasoned as Jarlaxle. In an uncharacteristic gesture, Jarlaxle got up, walked around his desk, stood in front of the noble, and placed his hands on the noble's shoulders. "On behalf of all the males of Menzoberranzan I must express my deepest gratitude for the hope you have given me, my eternal respect for your inventiveness, as well as my sheer humility at what must be the size of your--"
"I did not enter into this absurd situation willingly! If it were my choice I would never have left my house that night," Jarl'ell snapped. The smile disappeared from Jarlaxle's face as he let go of the agitated noble. Jarl'ell quickly realized that he had stepped over the line. "My apologies. I should not have raised my voice. I probably owe you my life, but look at the mess it has become. I'm even afraid to go home, and with all due respect I don't want to be your newest recruit."
Jarlaxle laughed to himself as he sat back down behind the desk. "No, my friend, your place is not with Bregen D'arthe, at least not yet. But I can help you with your problem if you like."
"I'm afraid I can neither request nor accept your help. Matron Hesken-P'aj has specifically forbidden me from consulting with you for anything," he glumly stated.
"Even for your life?" Jarlaxle challenged. Jarl'ell thought for a moment. Hesken-P'aj was always iron-fisted, but was never irrational. Before he could respond, Jarlaxle continued. "You say that Bladen'Kerst Baenre was after, how did you put it, a 'substance of an extremely sensitive nature'. That wouldn't happen to be d'Erevan salve now would it?" The admission of knowledge stunned Jarl'ell, but he said nothing. "Does the princess really believe that she is the only one who indulges in the vices of our surface cousins? I could have all you need within the hour, though it is quite expensive."
A glimmer of hope sparked within the beleaguered noble. "Whatever the price, I'll pay it. I'll rob one of the Mizzrym's merchant bands if I have to. It wouldn't be the first time," he casually boasted. Jarlaxle took note of the claim for future reference, then answered the noble.
"I am not so interested in money, other than the cost of salve," Jarl'ell was afraid that it would come to this. "I have low to mid level contacts in every noble house in this city," the mercenary said, then smiled widely. "That is, every house but yours."
"I have already told you I cannot consult with you. If Hesken-P'aj suspected I were working for you she would have me put to death," Jarl'ell protested.
Jarlaxle tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain of that," he asked. "Tell me Jarl'ell, how was Ched Nasad? Did you uncover any slug worshipers?"
The question caught Jarl'ell by surprise. He hadn't told anybody outside the house what his mission had been. Word should not have reached him. "What do you know about the cult of Ghaunadaur?"
"I know nothing about it. Four weeks ago your grandmother summoned me and asked me the same question. When I had no answers for her, rather than hiring my scouts she sent you. She's been coming to me with questions for years, although quite infrequently," Jarlaxle confessed. Jarl'ell was stunned by the admission. He also wondered how many other double standards were pinned to him that he didn't know about. "But, she never gives up any information other than what I can surmise by her questions. How I would love to spend a few days scouring through those vast family histories of yours."
Jarl'ell's jaw dropped. "You cannot possibly be serious," he gasped.
The mercenary laughed out loud. "Of course not, but if you could occasionally provide me bits of trivial information, information that only your industrious family holds," Jarl'ell started to object but abruptly paused to analyze the extent of what the mercenary was asking of him.
"She said to never openly consult outside sources for house related tasks," he thought out loud. "She doesn't want me to ask questions. She never said anything about providing answers," Jarl'ell rationalized.
"Exactly!" Jarlaxle cheerfully replied. "If you believe that you're following her wishes than you have nothing to fear under questioning."
The more Jarl'ell considered the option the more he was convinced he could live with it, or at least get away with it. It had to work. The risks were insignificant when compared to those of the alternative. "I will provide no information about my house that is not commonly known," he emphasized.
"I wouldn't dream of asking you to," the mercenary calmly responded. Jarl'ell recognized the lie for what it was, but decided to deal with that issue if and when it arose.
"Then it is settled. If you can convince Lady Bladen'Kerst not to have me tortured or killed, I will be your contact within the eighteenth house," Jarl'ell affirmed. Jarlaxle stood up and locked arms with Jarl'ell, a drow custom of sealing a formal agreement.
"Very good," Jarlaxle countered. "I thoroughly enjoy establishing new contacts. We can discuss the protocols at a later time. For now, let us decide how to calm the princess down." A wave of relief swept through Jarl'ell, though it was somewhat tempered by a gnawing feeling that he had just made the worst mistake of his life.
***
Bladen'kerst Baenre paced vigorously back and forth inside one of the palace's state rooms. She had been able to do little else during the past three days. The memory of her sickening encounter with the Symryvvin male assaulted her at every waking moment. He had to have charmed her in some way. No other explanation seemed possible. She hadn't bedded anyone since graduating from the academy, and then only because it was custom. The thought of him going around boasting about his trickery nearly drove the frenzied princess insane. It was only a matter of time that Jarlaxle would return bearing the noble's severed head. Only then would she be able to live with some semblance of inner peace. Though she loathed the flamboyant mercenary, she knew how deeply entrenched Bregen D'arthe was within the city and that nobody could hide from its tentacles for long. Her pacing was interrupted by the state room's large doors creaking open. In walked one of the soldiers guarding the outside. "He is here, my lady," the guard respectfully announced.
"Send him in," she anxiously responded. The guard disappeared and the doors creaked open a bit farther as Jarlaxle walked in, closely followed by a Bregen D'arthe lieutenant carrying a large, black, wooden box. Doing the best she could to contain her excitement at the mercenary's apparent success, she assumed a position behind a negotiation table in the back of the room.
"Greetings, my dear Bladen'Kerst," the mercenary cheerfully announced. "I bring a gift that you will certainly cherish."
Her anticipation for the hated noble's head kept her from reacting bitterly to Jarlaxle's brash greeting. "Come, come. I must have it," she pouted, as the two drow approached the table. The lieutenant placed the box in front of the priestess, who quickly found it to be sealed. "What is this," she suspiciously asked.
"That is for your assurance that nobody other than myself has seen the contents of this box," he answered confidently. As he hoped, the priestess stared at him with a typical gaze of lie detection. When she was satisfied she tore through the seal and opened the box. "Turn your head," Jarlaxle ordered the lieutenant, who stiffly complied.
Instead of finding a bloody head, she found herself looking at the top of a large jar. She immediately went into ramparts. "What is this!" she screamed.
"Examine the contents before making a final judgement," Jarlaxle calmly suggested. The priestess hurriedly lifted the jar out and immediately recognized the contents. Her angry visage quickly turned to astonishment, then excitement. It was d'Erevan salve, except that the jar was at least ten times the size of the jar she was running out of. It was enough last at least a decade. Her excitement was short lived; within seconds she was back to being livid.
"Why this...I specifically asked for the head of Jarl'ell Symryvvin. Where is it," she demanded, while placing the jar back into its container.
"It is still attached to body of Jarl'ell Symryvvin, who is alive and well and currently in my protection," Jarlaxle responded.
The priestess instantly flew into a rage. She jumped up onto and over the table directly in front of Jarlaxle. The mercenary and the lieutenant drew back but not before the princess cracked Jarlaxle on the side of the jaw. The lieutenant immediately grabbed the sword on his belt and began to lunge towards the priestess but Jarlaxle threw an arm in front of him, yelling "Hold." After seeing that the lieutenant had complied, he turned to the priestess.
"If you will hold that temper of yours in check for a moment I will explain everything to your satisfaction," he calmly stated. Then with a slightly stern tone he spoke again. "And if you ever lay a hand on me or my associate again, I will see to it that no fewer than a dozen of my men surround and protect Jarl'ell for the rest of his natural life." He locked gazes with the furious princess, who could tell that he meant what he had said. Accepting defeat, she returned to her side of the table.
"All right, explain," she tersely ordered.
With everyone settled down again, he began to explain. "The substitute is a gift from Jarl'ell. Is it not what you wanted him to procure for him before your meeting with him became...distracted."
"Does he really expect that a gift would make up for his vile deception?" she shouted.
"No, I'm sure he does not. That's why I am now here with the task of trying to convince you let him live," he responded. "You are right. You were deceived, but not by Jarl'ell."
"He charmed me. I'm sure of it!" she interrupted.
"Correct! He wore an extremely powerful philtry when he came to you that night," he continued.
"Am I to believe that he mistook it for perfume?" she shouted, growing angrier.
"No. It was planted on him without his knowledge."
"Really," she huffed. "Then by whom."
"By Dureen Symryvvin, his aunt," he pointedly answered. Her eyes grew wide and the quivering and shaking of Bladen'kerst's facial muscles immediately ceased. Her hand shot up to cover her jaw, which had dropped open. With a calmness she had not exhibited since the their arrival, she stared blankly at the wall behind them as she slowly sat down. The mercenary breathed a sigh of relief at the story's apparent plausibility. Jarlaxle motioned the lieutenant back a few feet as he sat down to face the stunned priestess. "I take it that there is a reason why such an obscure priestess would do this," Jarlaxle concluded.
"Yes, there is," she quietly replied. "Many years ago, when I was still a mistress at Arach Tinilith, a similar trick was played on her. It involved Triel," she confessed.
The soldier looked confused but the mercenary caught the insinuation dead on. "Oh how I do not miss the academy," Jarlaxle uttered under his breath.
"At least she had the courtesy to send me the proper gender," she cynically commented. However, her brief calmness quickly returned to anger. "They planned it together. How could he have known to leave," she shouted.
"Your mother's illithid detected it on him outside the compound. It could have stopped him then but it chose to wager on the success of Jarl'ell's hasty exit, which it also assisted. The guards in the throne room that morning will testify to that," he explained. Though her judgement was clouded by her anger, Bladen'Kerst carefully weighed the explanation. Bizarre as it all sounded, what little she knew about Dureen and the illithid was enough for the explanation to sound plausible. But, she didn't want it to be true. She wanted to keep on blaming the noble.
"I don't believe it. It's too perfect. If you won't help me than someone else will. You cannot protect him forever!" Her ogress mentality was beginning to seriously strain the patience of the notoriously even-tempered mercenary.
"What will it take to convince you of the truth." A hint of irritation could be detected from him. "I believe him, and I am not a fool. And you know me well enough to know that I would not waste my time trying to convince you or anyone else of his false innocence of a such a pitifully trivial act," he scolded. "And you are wrong, I can protect him forever if I so chose."
Bladen'Kerst was fuming. But rather than another characteristic tantrum, she forced herself into a mock calmness. "If he were brought before me, and he corroborated your story without the slightest deception, I would believe him. And I would let him go," the priestess grimly spoke.
"And why should he believe you," Jarlaxle retorted.
"Because he doesn't have a choice. He either explains it to me himself, or he is yours to protect for the rest of his life," she shouted, then crossed her arms and looked to the side, signifying that there would be no further discussion on the matter.
The mercenary calmly stood up and walked over to his lieutenant. "Very well," he said, addressing the priestess. He then turned to the lieutenant and nodded. With his arm noticeably shaking, the anonymous lieutenant reached up to his face and pulled. A translucent mask came off and his face morphed into that of Jarl'ell Symryvvin, dressed in the unremarkable uniform of a Bregen D'arthe soldier. The shocked priestess sank back in her chair in horror. Placing his hands on his chest, the unmasked noble knelt down to address the priestess.
"It is all true, Lady Baden'Kerst. I was a victim in this as much as you. I had no knowledge of the philtry until the mind flayer woke me the next morning. I understand your anger with me and I ask for your forgiveness," Jarl'ell spoke, with all the humility he could possibly exhibit. Bladen'Kerst just sat at the table speechless, trying to make sense of it all. With each passing second Jarl'ell grew more optimistic that she was accepting his entirely truthful explanation. Then Bladen'Kerst's lower lip began to quiver as she started to let out a quiet whine. The two males looked at each other in confusion. Was she crying? Neither thought it possible. Suddenly the whine turned into an ear-piercing scream. She then jumped up, picked up the chair, and hurled it over the table at the two drow. Both managed to dodge it at the last instant.
"Oh for the love of Lloth," Jarlaxle sighed, placing his head in his hands. The hysterical princess continued screaming as she jumped over the table once again, wielding her multi-headed snake whip.
Jarl'ell ran forward and leaped up into the air an instant before Bladen'Kerst reached him. "You had to bring me along for this," Jarl'ell shouted to Jarlaxle as he flew up and over the princess. However, as he levitated back down he noticed the mercenary running towards the entrance. Bladen'Kerst spun around and lunged towards him again with the whip in one hand and a dagger in the other. This time he ran over to behind the table. When she reached it she ran over to one end. Jarl'ell countered by running towards the opposite end. "What would you have done if I had tried to leave that night? I was only trying to appease you!" he tried to reason as the two played the cat and mouse game around the table. She only continued to chase him and scream curses at him.
***
Immediately after the loud crash of the chair breaking apart Jarlaxle heard the main doors open. He turned to see the two guards rushing in with swords drawn. "Damn," he cursed under his breath as he rushed over to block their progress. The guards stopped only because they recognized the mercenary leader. "Move aside rogue," one of them angrily growled. The mercenary just stood there with his arms outstretched, and with a look of fear that few had ever seen him wear.
"You must trust me on this. The princess is in no danger. Interfere if you will but believe me when I say that you do not want to know what she is upset about," the Jarlaxle coldly warned. The two guards looked at each other, then looked at the melee on the other side of the room. The male was unarmed and appeared to be trying to reason with the notoriously explosive princess as the she chased him around the negotiating table. "Note that she has not called for assistance," Jarlaxle added. "If she does, I will not stand in your way." The guards looked at each other again. Neither had any reason to doubt the mercenary. Furthermore, neither really wanted to assist the feared priestess even if she were in danger. With unspoken agreement, the two turned and walked back through the entrance and shut the door. Jarlaxle sighed with relief at averting that particular situation, then rushed back over to assist the imperiled noble.
***
After making no progress trying to chase him around the table, the priestess jumped up on it again. Jarl'ell turned and ran towards the wall ten feet behind him. He then jumped into it, pushed off it, then levitated up and away, towards the opposite side of the room. The priestess, however, had remained on the table. She then levitated up and cracked the whip at the noble as he flew past above her. The snake heads wrapped around one ankle, instantly doubling the amount of weight he had to support. She dropped her own levitation spell, forcing the two of them back down to the floor. Jarl'ell hit the ground unable to hold his balance, where he fell onto his back. The next thing he saw was the priestess standing above him, rabid with anger. Jarl'ell began whispering a quiet prayer to Lloth as she raised the knife up into the air, ready to strike. At that instant a painfully blinding light robbed his vision. And judging from the change in tone of the priestess's curses, it had also robbed hers. The next thing he felt was two arms dragging him backward. He instinctively struggled. But then he heard Jarlaxle's familiar, calm voice, "Don't resist. Stand up and get behind me." He let Jarlaxle guide him up to his feet, where he then sensed the mercenary's back directly in front of him.
"That was a light pellet, perhaps the most benign instrument at my disposal," a very stern Jarlaxle shouted at Bladen'Kerst. The princess's screams ceased while she held onto her face. Within seconds her vision started to clear, and the fuzzy figure of Jarlaxle standing before her became more and more detailed. "Let me let you in on another detail," he continued. "I was hoping to resolve this by reaching out to your sense of rationality. It appears that you do not have one. So, I must resort to threats. I am the only one that Jarl'ell has told of this encounter. And I have told nobody, yet. But if any harm comes to Jarl'ell and I have reason to suspect that you were involved, then I will personally make sure that every single house, every soldier, every slave know every detail of it," the mercenary shouted. The threat, and Jarlaxle's unprecedented anger stunned the priestess into total silence. "And not only that, but also your d'Erevan addiction, the Daemon that you lost control of at Arach Tinilith, your roll in the demise of house Zauviir, the murders of N'goreth Oblodra and Vreddin Barrison del'Armgo, and every other dirty secret I have on you. And trust me, the list is long!" A tense silence filled the room as the angry mercenary stared directly into the eyes of the priestess. On the defensive for the first time, Bladen'Kerst tried to form a response but was instead completely speechless. While the first two revelations would both be huge embarrassments, the latter two involved matters of enormous political sensitivity that would certainly bring about her "disappearance." Her rage visibly decreased as she kept reaching the conclusion that she was cornered, that she had lost. Jarl'ell stood behind the mercenary, still tense from the attack and still without his full vision. After a long pause, Bladen'Kerst finally spoke.
"He must be of great value to you," she stated with the most restrained voice heard yet that afternoon.
"More than you can possibly imagine," Jarlaxle replied, still sounding furious. Bladen'Kerst placed a finger in her mouth and nervously started contemplating her options. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the snake heads of her whip writhing on the ground where she had dropped it upon being blinded. She calmly walked over and picked it up to sheath it on her belt, when Jarl'ell stepped aside of Jarlaxle and made an amazing request.
"Lady Bladen'Kerst, hold the whip out towards me," he said, to the shock of the other two.
"Are you insane?" the mercenary incredulously asked. Jarl'ell just waved a hand at him to quiet him. Intrigued, Bladen'Kerst held the whip out towards him. The snakes continued to hiss and writhe. However, when Jarl'ell placed his hand well within their range they slithered around his hand and arm without biting. Bladen'Kerst was again in total disbelief.
"Lloth herself believes that I have not wronged you. Can't you just accept that, for you own sake if not for mine?" Jarl'ell pleaded, then retracted his undamaged hand. Bladen'Kerst was now not only humbled by the two males, but was genuinely hurt by what she believed as being abandoned by her Queen. "You did strike me," she pouted.
"Yes, and I continue to beg for both your and Lady Lloth's forgiveness. For whatever her reasons, I appear to have hers. Will I have yours as well?" Jarl'ell appeared more humble and more exhausted than she had ever seen him. She finally began to believe her own senses that he hadn't been trying to deceive her, that in fact Jarl'ell was not to blame for what happened that night. Bladen'Kerst forced herself into her normal haughty priestess composure.
"You give your word that you will tell no one of this," she staunchly asked the mercenary. He responded with a wide smile and a deep bow.
"I give you my word," he graciously responded, then flashed a sly wink. Bladen'Kerst shuddered with anger, but quickly refocused her attention on Jarl'ell.
"And do I have your word as well," she asked. Jarl'ell's face contorted to match Bladen'Kerst's snarl.
"No you do not," he tersely replied.
"What," the priestess gasped.
"Do you really expect me to return home and try to lie about where I've been for the last three days? I'm a lowly male, remember," he shouted back. Bladen'Kerst froze momentarily, then managed to calm herself again.
"Not a word then to all but the priestesses of house Symryvvin," she captitulated.
"And House Baenre. I'm summoned here more often than I care to be. Your mother would have me flailed alive if she caught me in a lie," he retorted. Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow and smiled at his client's newfound authority. Barely able to contain the rage within her, Bladen'Kerst's voice shook as she answered.
"Matron Baenre and Triel. And only if they ask."
After a brief pause, Jarlaxle broke the silence. "If there are no further objections, I believe we have an arrangement we can mutually agree upon." He paused again, then when no more issues were raised he addressed the two of them. "I have a request of my own. I pride myself with the fact that I have not lost my temper in over a hundred years. I am deeply embarrassed by my conduct earlier and I would ask that it not be openly spoken of," he congenially requested.
"I guess I should feel privileged to have witnessed such a rare event," Bladen'Kerst sarcastically commented.
Jarlaxle frowned slightly, but decided that he had reached the end of his influence over the stubborn princess. He then turned to Jarl'ell, "Come, my friend. We have much to talk about." Jarl'ell turned and the two headed towards the door. However, shortly before exiting Bladen'Kerst called out to them
"Wait. I wish to have a moment alone with Jarl'ell," she announced. The two turned to her, both with looks of deep suspicion. "I will...behave," she forcefully added. Jarl'ell nodded to Jarlaxle, who then continued towards the door.
"I will wait outside," was his subdued response. The two watched as Jarlaxle exited the state room. Jarl'ell then turned to the priestess and gave her a poisonous scowl.
"What is it," he spat. More shocked then angered, Bladen'Kerst was taken aback by his sudden change of attitude from the humbled noble previously begging for forgiveness.
"How many others have you had," she asked. The question was like a slap in the face to Jarl'ell. "Now why should I answer that?" he shot back.
"Because I want to know!" she cried. "I've only been with one other. And he didn't excite me." Bladen'Kerst had hated the noble when she thought he had taken her through trickery. But now that she knew that he hadn't, the memory took on a different significance.
"None!" he shouted. "Three others have had me in much the same way you did, though a little more gently." The explosive response further stunned the priestess, who was unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way.
"Why are you being so ungrateful to the one who just spared your life," she shouted back. Jarl'ell then flew into a blind rage. He rushed forward and kicked one of the remnants of the destroyed chair into the wall, where it shattered further. Bladen'Kerst stepped back in genuine fear.
"Spared my life? When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that my life was never yours to spare? When are you going to focus your infinite hatred on my wicked aunt where it belongs!" he fumed, nearly every muscle in his body shaking with fury. Rather than provoking her, his tirade had the affect of calming the priestess to a level she hadn't been at in days. After staring at him for a moment she began to snicker.
"The last time I saw you this angry--"
"Oh spare me the memory. You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me and if I ever gaze upon your wretched face again it will be a thousand years too soon," he snarled, fully expecting to receive a few punches.
"It meant nothing to you," she quietly asked.
"Less!" he bitterly cursed. Furious beyond reason, Jarl'ell wanted the priestess to start swinging at him, regardless of the eventual outcome. Instead, Bladen'Kerst stood before him silently. And to Jarl'ell's complete surprise, a tear had formed in each eye. In that moment he recognized the look of helplessness she wore in the face of the abuse he had dealt her. He'd become the tormenter that he so bitterly hated her for being to him. And the thought sickened him.
The emotional frenzy quickly flushed from him. "I do not mean that," he softly attempted to clarify. Her solemn expression remained unchanged. "I am sorry," he offered. "I was flattered that you were enamored with me. And grateful that you did not send me away the moment you became bored or tired, like all the others." Painful, humiliating memories of his previous experiences began to surface. As violent as their encounter had been, it was the first time that he hadn't been treated as a plaything, to be used then discarded. "And I was hurt when I found it to be a lie," he quietly admitted. She continued to stare at him, though her focus seemed to waver. Then with no warning she leaned into him and embraced him tightly. He struggled at first, not knowing if this were another attack.
"Hold me," she pouted, pressing her face into his shoulder. So unexpected was this to him that it took several seconds for him to relax his guard. However, the soft, muffled sounds of her weeping removed any doubt of her actions. He joined her in the embrace and tried to comfort her. For the first time, he considered the fact that she was more complex than he'd given her credit. And, that regardless of his guilt or innocence, her emotions had been trampled just as his had been, perhaps more. "This isn't happening," he heard her declare with a wavering voice.
"Of course it isn't," he reassured, comforting her as best as he could. She continued to cry almost silently.
"Tell no one of this," she ordered, though the order tended to lose its weight, having been spoken into his shoulder.
"No one will ever know," he whispered. The shame she must be going through, he thought. The shame from the initial deception and now the shame she must feel for exhibiting such emotions.
"My hatred is not infinite. Sometimes it fades," she pouted. "And then I am just sad."
"I know, Bladen'Kerst," He spoke. It was precisely what he'd been feeling. Is it natural for other races to hate so much, to be so angry, Jarl'ell thought.
"I know it too," He whispered, gently holding the back of her head.
Suddenly a sharp pain shot through Jarl'ell's leg. He cried out in pain and jumped back to discover one of the snake heads on the whip attached to her belt had sunk its teeth into him. Still teary eyed, Bladen'Kerst's expression was one of confusion and complaint. "Lloth forbid's such feelings," she quietly reasoned. A second snake lurched at Jarl'ell and bit into him. Instantly, Bladen'Kerst's sad expression was replaced by the familiar arrogant visage of a Lloth priestess. She yanked the whip off her belt, causing the two heads to release Jarl'ell. "Lloth forbids," she melodically announced.
Jarl'ell stiffened and wiped all look of emotion from his face. "Of course she does," he brusquely agreed, though his heart sank at their diety's intervention. There could be no arguing, especially with a priestess. There are no loyalties above those to Lloth.
The awkward moment was cut short by the main doors opening again. One of the guards entered. "I beg pardon, my Lady. Dureen Symryvvin is at the main gate. She requests an audience with you. She insists that it is urgent," the soldier advised.
Jarl'ell turned and spoke quietly but gruffly into Bladen'Kerst's ear. "Out of family loyalty I must urge that you not kill her. But please feel free to thrash her however--"
"Quiet!" she barked. "I have tolerated more from you than I have from any other male in my life, but you should learn to treat all of Lloth's priestesses with proper respect," she scolded. "Besides, I know exactly how I want to handle this."
***
"Her quarters," an alarmed Dureen Symryvvin questioned. The typically arrogant Baenre guard's only response was a terse "follow." Having no choice, Dureen followed the two guards into the palace and up through the levitation tube. It was not unusual for nobles to conduct business inside their own personal quarters, but she expected that the humorless, self-important priestess would flaunt her power by meeting her in the enormous Baenre chapel or some official state room. No matter. As humiliated as she was by having to apologize for the deed, she was comforted by the fact that she would witness her hated rival's reaction. She only hoped that Bladen'Kerst had Jarl'ell locked up in a dungeon somewhere, or that he had somehow escaped. Being responsible for his death would seriously jeopardize her station within the eighteenth house.
The three reached the top of the levitation tube and she was directed to Bladen'Kerst's door. She nervously felt the ring of teleportation that her one of her wizard brothers had loaned her. She doubted that Bladen'Kerst would dare to attack her. But, she still wasn't sure how blind with anger that the volatile princess would become and wasn't about to break this news to her unprepared. When she opened the door, she was utterly horrified with what lay before her. Bladen'Kerst was lying naked on her bed and Jarl'ell, wearing a torn up rouge uniform of some kind, was sitting on her back giving her a massage.
"Do come in, do come in," Bladen'Kerst cheerfully called to her. Her brother continued to work away at the princess's back, wearing an expression of pure smugness. "Please be comfortable, I get so few visitors." Dureen was completely shocked at the sight. Overwhelmed with light-headedness, she had to steady herself from fainting. What was happening? The philtry had to have worn off days ago, or had it? "What is so urgent that you would meet with me without sending a message," Bladen'Kerst modestly asked.
After letting it all sink in for a moment, Dureen attempted a response. "I am here to confess and apologize for a deed I committed against you."
"You mean planting a love philtry on my dearest companion Jarl'ell here?" Bladen'Kerst politely accused. Dureen was totally speechless. Never had she even considered that the plan would backfire. Bladen'Kerst's hatred for males was legendary. "Really, Dureen, an apology is not necessary. I should thank you for it. I have never been so, so...fulfilled before," Bladen'kerst licentiously said. Dureen was in disbelief. The Baenre priestess was not lying. When Dureen shifted her attention to her nephew, he simply shrugged in feigned ignorance.
"Have you been here this whole time?" an agitated Dureen asked her nephew. Before he could respond, Bladen'Kerst interrupted.
"When I awoke the next morning and discovered I had been tricked, I became upset and I'm afraid I scared him away. But when he returned to offer his apologies for your ruse, I couldn't help but think of our night together. It was quite memorable, was it not?" Bladen'Kerst addressed Jarl'ell.
"It was a night I'll not soon forget," Jarl'ell luridly responded. As the two of them continued to suggestively stare at her, Dureen's shock and confusion slowly evolved into outrage.
"Jarl'ell is quite talented, and is not deserving of your using him to settle a petty score."
Jarl'ell then broke his silence. "If I had have been killed, Drisinil would have killed you and our Matron would have handed her the blade," he angrily stated, though he doubted the claim, at least the latter half of it.
"Now, now. Relax," Bladen'Kerst soothingly chided. She then addressed Dureen, who was so furious she was shaking. "Is that all," she politely asked. With disregard to any protocol, Dureen spun around and began storming out of the room. "Triel sends her dearest regards," she called to the exiting princess.
Dureen used every ounce of self control not to turn around and incinerate the room with every clerical spell she knew.
Once Dureen was out of the room, Bladen'Kerst's demeanor returned to it's normal state. "All right, get off me. I do not require a massage," She huffed. He quickly obeyed, though he disagreed. He had given many massages in his life and her muscles were the most tense and knotted he'd ever felt. Eager to help maintain her somewhat friendly demeanor, he handed her robes to her as she quickly dressed.
"The truth will probably become known," he cautiously stated. "Within my house, that is," he hastened to add. The claim didn't appear to have any affect on the princess as she continued to dress.
"I know," she responded. "See that she suffers with our version of it as long as possible."
"I will," he graciously replied, though she needed not to ask. It was a course of action he had intended to pursue anyway. Once she was fully clothed, he addressed the princess with restrained anticipation.
"Am I free to leave with Jarlaxle now?" he politely asked.
"Yes you are, but remember our agreement," she loudly reminded.
"Of course," he responded as he politely nodded. He began heading for the door.
"One thing more," he heard from behind. He halted and turned to her. "I do not desire children. If I am with child, it will be given to Lloth."
He wasn't surprised by her statement, but it brought forth a mixture of conflicting feelings which he immediately suppressed. "Understood," he passively responded.
"But in the future, should I ever wish to have children..." She left off the rest of the rather obvious request. He smiled suggestively, which was quickly matched by a lurid smile of her own.
"Good day, Lady Bladen'Kerst," he cordially bid farewell to the capricious princess, then exited to return to his house for the first time since this bizarre episode began.
***
Upon his return home, Jarl'ell was immediately grilled about the rouge uniform Dureen reported him wearing. Hesken-P'aj's response was the best he could hope for. After a long pause where the old priestess obviously weighed a myriad of politcal calculations, she responded. "My policy is unchanged. You are not to consult with outside information sources, especially Jarlaxle. If he consults with you, you had better not reveal anything about us. And if you get us even marginally involved in the insane politics of this city you will pay with your life," was his Matron's stern response. His mother's reaction to his return was similarly grated.
"Did you shame her or me in any way," she demanded.
"I went to Bladen'Kerst Baenre with the intention of seeing to whatever her wishes were, and that is what I believed I did," he confidently answered. "The subject of you never came up." Jarl'ell was flattered when the expected slap to the face didn't follow.
"I am gratified that my sister's action did not cause you any injury," was the extent of his mother's expressed approval of his return. He had expected little else.
Jarl'ell had every intention of holding to his promise to Bladen'Kerst. However, he suspected that she was not reciprocating. Within months of the incident two of the priestess's sisters had summoned him for seemingly official reasons, only for him to be similarly coerced into satisfying their more purulent interests.
Two weeks after returning home, Jarl'ell was reveling in a commoner tavern, in the guise of a rich merchant. Little was being spoken about that he wasn't already aware of. Before he was about to leave he spotted a highly animated Tsabrak Faen-Tabblar hoisting an ale with several other soldiers of various houses. He carried his drink over to his acquaintance and spoke only loud enough for the soldier to hear.
"My greetings to the only cadet who consistently bested me." Tsabrak turned around to face a expensively dressed merchant he didn't recognize. However, he quickly recognized the raised eyebrow and the cocky smirk. A look of excitement quickly formed.
Jarl'ell? He discretely signed.
"The only one I'm aware of," Jarl'ell vocally responded, looking side to side.
"Ha ha!" Tsabrak shouted, though few heard him in the noisy atmosphere. He slapped the merchant on the back and loudly announced, "You had better finish that quick or you'll wear the one I'm about to buy you."
"Good to see you again," Jarl'ell replied. "How is the patrol lately?" he asked.
"Slow," Tsabrak responded. "It seems my group is only assigned Qu'ellarz'orl, or some other rich and heavily patrolled district. Very boring, nothing ever happens accept the occasional escaped slave or misplaced drunkard."
"My rotation approaches, but I'd be content with inner city patrols. The last time I patrolled the perimeter my group was attacked by driders," Jarl'ell replied.
"Driders," Tsabrak repeated. "Not the friendliest lot. A bit more excitement than you're used to, I bet," he prodded. Rather than give a detailed recount of how incorrect that statement was, he modestly answered.
"In my line of work, I get all the excitement I need."
"Say, how did your meeting with the Baenre princess go?" Tsabrak cheerfully asked.
Jarl'ell paused and weighed his response carefully. "Let's just say that it could have gone worse."
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