On the twenty-first of Elient, Jarlaxle lays underneath a maple tree, looking up into its reddening leaves without a care in the world. The mercenary has many plans for the day, most of which involve enjoying the Autumn Equinox to the fullest. How he loves fall, loves all of the seasons, in fact, for such changes are not known in the Underdark. Yet autumn is perhaps his favorite, especially when it gloriously brings vibrant colors to the World Above.
He holds up a hand over his face, squinting against the orange-dappled glow of sun through the leaves as it paints his coal-black skin a rich mahogany. In that moment, his hand does not look as if it belongs to him, or to a drow at all. Jarlaxle whimsically imagines himself in the body of a human, a considerably tanned and swarthy human. Like one he spent many years traveling and adventuring beside.
It had been a similar day in autumn, though later in the season, with the wind carrying the first of winter's chills. All the leaves then were a brilliant red, and had started to gather underneath the trees' boughs. This didn't stop the mercenary from enjoying himself however. It had taken him no time at all to clear a spot for lounging underneath nature's splendor.
Just as he had fully settled into a relaxing recline, a withered leaf flew into his vision, pieces crumbling off as it slowly drifted toward his face. Jarlaxle batted the leaf away and turned to look with annoyance at his companion, who had been responsible for the unnatural animation of a long-dead leaf.
"So, have you become a botanical necromancer?" Jarlaxle asked the human looming over him snarkily.
"We should get going," was his dour companions only reply.
Jarlaxle shaded his brow with one hand as he looked up at the man. The legendary assassin, Artemis Entreri, was outlined by the sun with an aura of gold. His normal dark complexion made into a deeper brown, heavily tanned from the time that they had spent underneath the rays of the past summer's oppressive sun. With the light shining into his eyes, the drow couldn't make out his companion's features, but he knew that Entreri wore a disapproving scowl. Heaving a great sigh, Jarlaxle grumbled, "I don't suppose I could persuade you to join me?"
"Not a chance," Entreri deadpanned.
Sighing again, Jarlaxle slowly rose into a sitting position. Crossing his legs, he glanced up at the assassin and instructed, "Sit."
Entreri shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Why?"
"Since you won't lay down, then sit. Just do it. The sooner you do, the sooner we can be off."
Entreri looked at Jarlaxle skeptically but sat down next to the mercenary.
Jarlaxle let a few moments of quiet linger. A gentle breeze teased at their cloaks and blew a few leaves over them. Entreri stoically brushed away the ones that landed on him. Jarlaxle moved as if he were going to do the same, but instead he tapped one of his buttons that decorated his various fabulous garments. Turning so that he put his body between the human and the view of his exposed container of holding, Jarlaxle pulled out a cake. It was a rather morbid-looking affair, frosted in dark chocolate and lacking any other decoration. However, the drow knew its quality, having ensured that the baker had made it from the finest-ground flour and packed it with fresh preserves of ripe seasonal fruits.
"What are you doing?" Entreri asked suspiciously, and Jarlaxle realized that he had his back turned to the assassin for longer than was natural to brush off a few leaves. With a grand flourish, he whipped about and held out the cake to his companion. "Happy Birthday Artemis!" he exclaimed.
The human stared at him incredulously. At first Entreri looked shocked and surprised, then he shook his head and allowed his usual scowl to reappear. "It's not my birthday. Nor do I know when the thrice-damned day is." Jarlaxle thought that he had detected a trace of sadness in his friend's tone, but it could have just as easily been a trick of the light that suffused their comfortable seats.
"I know, my abbil, but you mentioned that you remember it being sometime before a season of rain. In Calimshan, the rainy season falls between winter and spring, which would mean that you were born in the autumn. Since you don't remember the exact day, today is as good as any." Jarlaxle beamed as he finished the explanation of his reasoning.
Entreri stared awhile at him in disbelief, with an expression that implied that the drow had clearly lost his mind. Abruptly, the assassin laughed mirthlessly. "It amazes me that you were as successful at what you did, when you have room in your head for such nonsense," he commented dryly. Jarlaxle expected as much from his ever-sullen companion, so he didn't pay the man much mind as he set the cake down between them and produced a knife, seemingly from nowhere. Entreri's voice startled him, not because of its suddenness but rather from the barely discernible measure of genuine emotion it contained. "I see that you had it made to look dark and boring. Just the way that I like things." Jarlaxle looked up to see a half-smile on his friend's face.
The drow sighs as he closes his fingers into a fist and drops his hand beside him. That memory feels as though it was something that could have happened yesterday, his current surroundings so reminiscent of that time more than a normal human's lifetime ago. Despite his knowledge of this, he is startled and momentarily confused as a withered brown leaf suddenly drifts into his vision, edges fraying off in its unnatural fall. In one fluid motion he snatches the leaf from the air and sits bolt upright, only to find himself looking into the bearded face of a grinning dwarf.
"Did I wake ye, sleeping beauty?"
Jarlaxle composes himself and chuckles. "Nay, I was simply lost in thought."
Athrogate studies him closely for a few breaths before responding, "Lost in yer guilt again, ye mean?"
Jarlaxle snaps a warning glare at the dwarf before lifting himself to his feet and brushing off his clothes. Rather than replying, he summons his Nightmare steed and mounts it, then looks expectantly at his companion. "We'd best get moving, unless you want to miss the food, music and drinking. I personally have no desire to not eat my fill of apple pie."
The black-haired dwarf summoned his demonic boar steed, hopped on and kicked it into motion even as he replied, "When there's drinkin ta be done and food to be ate, then no one 'ere has to wait fer Athrogate! BWAHAHAHAHA!"
With a hearty laugh himself, the drow mercenary spurs his horse to follow, but not before sparing a moment to gaze back wistfully at his spot beneath the tree branches. The hellish whinny of his Nightmare steed then drowns out all other sounds in the area, but not before Jarlaxle whispers to the wind, "Happy Birthday, Artemis."