Disclaimer: RAS and WotC may not have these characters back unless they promise to take better care of them and the rest of the Realms.
Zaknafein watched his quarry leave the seedy tavern from his rooftop perch and turn down the Braeryn street. This particular group of hobgoblins had been bothering one of his best informants, a server at an Eastmyr inn catering primarily to merchants. One of the brownish goblinoid mercenaries had beaten the skinny human bus boy senseless.
The young dark elf had heard of the incursion into his network of eyes and ears and decided to ensure that the brutes did not get a chance to jab deeper. At least, Zak tried to tell himself that. Deep down and locked away, he knew it was vengeance for the kid and outrage that someone dared hurt one of his people. The hobgoblins on the street below were about to pay the penalty.
Zak scanned the street for any who might object to his ambush. A fairly well dressed drow male stalked down the street ahead of the youth's targets. He's unlikely to be a problem there, Zak smirked mirthlessly, More likely he'll thank me for the entertainment.
He stood up and checked his weapons. Both of his plain steel longwords were carefully honed and kept meticulously clean, despite the worn state everything else Zak wore. His shirt and breeches were now a dusty grey with threadbare patches and he would have to find a new leather vest to use as armor fairly soon. His current one was growing both too thin in the material and too small through the shoulders. Only his boots were in relatively good repair. He had been growing out of them too quickly to wear them out. A recent layer of dust completed his outfit. In short, he looked like any other street tough from the slums. In some ways he was. In others, he was not. All that skulking about the Clawrift had better pay off, Zak thought grumpily as he absently brushed some of the grit off his knees.
The four hobgoblins came closer to the drow youth's perch, oblivious to his presence and muttering amongst themselves in low voices. They stepped with exaggerated care and the occasional slurred word could be heard in their coarse language, giving away their state of drunkenness. Their maces and clubs sat askew. The mismatched bits of armor they wore still looked sound though. Speed and surprise would be the dark elf's best weapons. No warnings for you, Zak thought, his initial outrage rekindling as he silently slipped his swords from their scabbards, Since you all seem to like four on one odds, let's see how you like this...
Zaknafein jumped off the one story hovel and landed on one of the goblinoids. The stale smelling hobgoblin's collarbones broke with an audible crack as the drow's soft boots came down on them. Zak let his legs collapse and absorb the impact as his impromptu cushion went down howling obscenities in Goblin.
The dark elf rolled off his incapacitated victim to land in a crouch with his blades at the ready. Zak slashed hard across the knees of the hobgoblin to his right, where the undercreature's greaves ended. On the left, Zak slashed up at a diagonal, deeply scratching the top of the third hobgoblin's thigh before carrying through to the undercreature's triceps. As the two startled goblinoids tried to reach for their weapons, the drow youth stood up with both arms crossed and slashed out wide at throat level. Both hobgoblins collapsed in sprays of blood with their jugulars sliced.
The last hobgoblin, showing more sense and better reflexes than his fallen fellows, turned and ran. Zak let him go and instead turned his attention to the hobgoblin he had landed on at the start of the fracas. The undercreature tried to pick himself up without the use of his arms, got to a sitting position and gave a terrified look in Zak's direction. Before the dark elf got to enjoy the goblinoid's fear, the wounded hobgoblin suddenly slumped forward with a dagger embedded in his neck.
Zak followed the line of the line of the knife's hilt to spot the interloper, the slumming well-to-do drow. The stranger walked forward to retrieve his knife and Zak backed away from the corpses, eying the other elf warily. The stranger put his hands on his hips and surveyed Zak's handiwork with a critical eye. "Where did you learn blade work, kid?" he asked, curious.
The youth suppressed the snide remark that came to mind and shrugged instead. Now would be a lousy time for his voice to start cracking as it was wont to do as of late. It would also be totally idiotic to admit out loud on a public street that his mother had taught him the basics of sword dancing before the priestesses had found her. "I'll bet you know what's what around here," the stranger continued in a cajoling tone, "Interested in a job?"
Zak shrugged again and started to cast about for an escape. High born drow, in his limited experience, were always trouble. There was an alley a few paces behind him. He had dismissed it earlier as too obvious a place for an ambush, but it would do for a swift retreat. A swath of darkness dropped where he now stood would further cover his escape and Zak would be fairly assured of making it to the cluttered alley and losing the noble in the back roads of the Stenchstreets.
Feeling a little more secure in his immediate well being with a way out at his back, Zak studied the other elf. An adult, the stranger stood a bit taller than Zak and carried himself with an assurance that no one here would dare harm him. His clothes had the saturated red and blue dyes and good fit that hinted of money. The other elf's face had softer edges than Zak's, a quiet mark of an elf that always had regular meals. Definitely higher up the social ladder, Zak thought, But not overtly hostile. There might be some possibilities there... He kept his blades in hand but down and less threatening.
"Check with the Silken Draught and I'll consider your offer," the young drow called boldly back. Then Zak dropped a zone of inky blackness over himself and bolted for the alley, effectively disappearing into the crooked, sour smelling streets of the Braeryn. As Zak put distance between himself and the site of his ambush, the young bravo resolved to debate what kind of mischief he could get into with a noble as a resource.
Jarlaxle looked at the Silken Draught and considered his options with the place. The kid could be waiting inside wanting to make a deal. He could be lying in wait with confederates. Or the youth could just be redirecting the noble away. The tavern itself seemed to cater primarily to merchants, mostly those from the lesser races. The two story exterior was an uninteresting brown color and had no windows on the ground floor. Most of the clientèle going inside appeared to be members of lesser races although the occasional low born drow merchant would slip inside.
The displaced noble steeled himself for surprises and walked nonchalantly inside. The taproom's interior was un prepossessing to say the least. Spindly metal tables bolted to the floor, heavy stone and zurkhwood chairs and a bar counter seamed with scratches and divots attested witness to many fights. The mixed clientèle seemed mellow enough at the moment though.
Jarlaxle scanned the half empty tavern, but did not see the scruffy youth from the Braeryn. At a loss for what to do in the meantime, the noble drew up a seat at the bar and waved for an ale. If nothing else, he sighed inwardly, I can see if they rent rooms for a turn of Narbondel.
The barkeep turned out to be a half orc with jagged claw scars across his face. The undercreature deposited a heavy ceramic mug in front of the dark elf. In return, Jarlaxle laid a single silver piece on the bar counter. The coin was worth far in excess of the ale, but perhaps the information would be worth the expense. "Ever seen a half grown dark elf, a bit raggedy, come in here?" Jarlaxle asked conversationally, "Wears two swords?"
The half orc surreptitiously palmed the coin and said, "Sure, the kid comes in sometimes."
"Bad attitude?" the noble asked idly, toying absently with a lock of white hair.
"Nope. Quiet," The barkeeper looked at Jarlaxle speculatively a moment then continued, "I take that back. If he's here and it's quiet, then he's quiet. If any sort of scuffle breaks out, he gets mixed up in, takes it outside and then beats the participants senseless or worse."
Understanding started to percolate through Jarlaxle's mind, "He's your tavern guard then."
"Not formally," the half orc shrugged. "He doesn't show up quite that often."
As the bartender went to take care of another customer, Jarlaxle took stock of his personal situation. Two months ago, his mother had dragged him down to a basement alter to Lolth and tried to have him sacrificed. Why she had made the attempt after sending him to Melee Magathere and assigning him as Dantrag's assistant still remained a mystery to him. I suppose she thought a trained warrior would be a better offering than a newborn baby, the dark elf thought cynically. He had not even known that Matron was his birth mother until two months ago. He had been under the impression that he was one of the cousins.
Jarlaxle sipped at his ale and considered the day he had been expunged from Castle Baenre. Matron Baenre had called him out from the training salle where he had been mending practice armor and generally trying to stay out of the foul tempered Weaponmaster's sight. Dantrag did so enjoy finding the most tedious, difficult and smelliest chores for his second to do. Jarlaxle smiled a little bit, At least I will never have to work under him again.
The Matron Mother had ordered Jarlaxle stripped and tied down to the altar. Her helpers had been none too gentle about it and he still felt a few aches from that beating. The ceremonial knife had descended and not punctured his skin. The confused priestesses in attendance tried to sacrifice Jarlaxle two more times before a great flash of power had knocked his sisters and mother unconscious and loosened his bonds enough for him to wriggle out of them.
It ran completely contrary to all Jarlaxle knew concerning Lolth and what happened to the luckless individual offered up to her, but he was not going to question his good fortune, not then and not now. He had run after getting free, noticed Matron Baenre recovering the the blast and run faster. Jarlaxle began to wonder, as he had more and more often, why he had not heard any whispers of pursuit from the first house
The dark elf could feel his irritation rising again and sipped at his ale. In his haste to flee the Baenre Castle, Jarlaxle had been forced to abandon his plans to become indispensable to Gomph Baenre, the archmage, and the lucrative betting ring he had rigged up among the more gullible common soldiers. Right now, his talent for games of chance was keeping Jarlaxle fed and housed. He took care to stay in a different inn every dark of Narbondel, just in case House Baenre had sent a very quiet, discreet team of hunters after him.
Jarlaxle sighed and looked around for the barkeeper, No sense in wasting time here if they don't rent rooms. He spied the half orc talking with a grey dwarf garbed like a caravan guard. Both kept casting speculative looks in Jarlaxle's direction. Why are they..? the dark elf wondered, then put the pieces together. The half orc gave up information about the youth's habits with regards to fights far too easily. I wonder how many other encounters the undercreature has rigged up this way, he grinned inwardly as he waved the barkeeper over. "Do you rent rooms?" the dark elf asked nonchalantly.
The half orc grunted something that sounded affirmative and Jarlaxle arranged for six cycles accommodation.I really hope I don't have searchers after me, he thought uneasily, And that kid better show up soon.
Zak looked around the Silken Draught's main room for the high born drow from two cycles ago. The earth genasi linen maid had mentioned that the other drow had been busily charming his way into the pretty tiefling chambermaid's good graces and sleeping cot. Idiot, Zak mentally grumbled, Whoever he's on the the run from will find him easily if he keeps that up. Ssrika's easy on the eyes but she never shuts up and doesn't care who hears it.
On the other hand, she does get better food and her own room out of the deal, he sighed mentally. Pnisse, the genasi, might have a a face that more closely resembled an unworked block of granite than anything else, but she was good at being both unobtrusive and observant. Zak occasionally found himself seriously debating taking the homely girl along as a lookout when he had to do second story thievery. Upon further reflection, he usually dismissed these notions. There was no way Pnisse could keep up with him if it came to fleeing, fighting or both at once and he hated the idea of leaving his people behind. Push comes to shove, though, I probably would, he thought uneasily, At least I pay her in foodstuffs and sundries, things she can use or sell off easily.
The high born drow had not arrived yet in the Draught's common room, from what Zak could see. Patient, Zak found an unpopulated table and waved a kobold server over. He ordered the house ale and pulled out a deck of worn playing cards. Pnisse mentioned yesterday that the noble gambled. The deck that Zak had liberated earlier would provide a cover in case whatever the noble ran from caught up with him while at the Draught. Not that the youth thought that it would stop anyone from trying to kill him too, but the cover excuse would keep his own network secret. Zak felt confidant that he could fight his way free if it came to that anyway. He dealt himself a hand of solitaire and settled in to wait.
The noble did not keep him waiting long. Dressed in a rumpled shirt of deep red and snug trousers and boots of black with white hair neatly tied back in a long tail, the high born drow looked like a fine jewel in a brass setting. Zak kept his attention nominally focused on the game in front of him, but surreptitiously took another glance around the tavern to see if anyone made some overt recognition of the other drow. No one did anything obvious and so the youth waited for the noble to spot him.
To Zak's surprise, the high born drow strode over to Zak's table, dropped into the chair opposite the young fighter and asked, "Do you know the game crutch?"
Zak nodded and asked conversationally, "So what brings a fine gent like you to a dive like this?" He took a glance at Odreener and found the half orc barkeeper eying them alertly. Probably hoping that a fight breaks out, Zak thought wryly, It wouldn't be the first time that procurer's rigged one up hoping I'd fall into it. Too bad for him this time.
"Well, I was fascinated by your brilliant hands from a few cycles ago and wonder where you learned to use them with such... deftness with your instruments," the noble winked suggestively at the youth.
"And I was wondering if my entertainment might have been enough to gain me a name." Striving to keep all of his laughter contained caused Zak's voice to crack a little on the last word. If the noble wanted to play the carouser, Zak could match him as long as he had some say over how far they got into their roles. If this proved to be unacceptable, then the bravo could always resort to something more bloody.
"It would, but not here," The noble made a show of appraising Zak up and down lasciviously.
Zak did his level best to look coy and not start cracking up. Whenever someone tried luring him into a bedroom with definite ulterior motives in mind he had a difficult time not chortling at the poor sod. It did not seem likely that the drow in front of him would try anything in a place that Zak had referred him to though. He probably thinks that it's too likely that I know this place much better than he does and I may have some tricks hidden here.
"Shall we proceed to the second part of this audition then?" Zak smirked and tilted his head towards the staircase up to the rented rooms.
"Let's," The noble seemed a little relieved by how easily consensus was reached. Zak wondered why and motioned for the noble to lead the way up.
The hallway was as unremarkable and drab as the exterior of the Silken Draught. The noble led Zak up to the second room on the left and opened the door. The youth walked in past the small bed and leaned against the window frame folding his arms across his chest. The noble shut the door behind him and leaned on the door, allowing the most space possible between them. Zak looked at the other drow expectantly and asked bluntly, "Well, do I get a name or are you going to try something that may result in body parts missing later?"
"I am Jarlaxle," the noble answered a little uneasily, "And you are...?"
"Zaknafein," The youth supplied briskly, "Was there anything else you wished to discuss or should I leave you to Ssrika's charms?"
"Does everyone here know about her?" Jarlaxle huffed theatrically.
This time Zak did not bother to hide his amusement, "Yes and a more than a few who do not come around here frequently."
"All right, then," the noble said resignedly, "I need a safe place to stay and someone to show me what factions are where down here and how they interact with each other. You seem sharp."
The youth's eyebrows shot up. I might be able to play this into a partnership, he thought with a small spark of hope, Mother's network really is too big for me to manage by myself. Aloud he said, "I can get you a safe place and introduce you to a few people. What can you offer in return for my trouble?"
"Connections among the noble houses if you want," the noble shrugged. "I've seen your blade work. If you wanted to improve your station, I can think of a couple houses that are looking for good assassins."
"Not interested in those bastards," Zak snorted, "Unless it involves robbing them blind."
"Now there's something I can get behind," Jarlaxle chuckled back, "How about this: I'll give you lessons on how to act among nobles in order to blend in with them better. I'll bet a clever lad such as yourself could put the knowledge to good use when robbing them blind."
"Deal, as long as you don't try ordering me about in my territory," The young bravo grinned, "I actually managed to clear the kobolds out of my most recent acquisition. I hope you don't mind roughing it for a bit."
"Master Zaknafein, it will beat a priestess's attentions," Jarlaxle bowed and stood up, flipping his long white hair back into place as he did so. "I certainly hope any further association of ours will be as mutually beneficial. Lead the way, if you will."
Zak opened the window and gestured outside. He hoped that Jarlaxle meant what he said about not caring about how rough the accommodations were. The little abandoned guard outpost he had run across in the Clawrift last cycle still had the musty odor of the little lizard men lingering about it and he had just managed to transport a couple of amenities to the place. I really hope the green slime in the latrine hasn't decided to start exploring, the young drow thought as he followed Jarlaxle out the window.
Author's note: All right, I think I must be crazy for starting another long story when I have two already on the burner, but this particular plot bunny has been playing quietly in my head for a very long time. It was a nice sweet thing and a bit shy, then it grew shark teeth and started to gnaw on my rear. This seemed to be the best way to get it off of my behind. Anyway, I'm probably going to sort this into a series of smaller stories progressing through Zak's and Jarlaxle's lives.
I seemed to recall that somewhere it had been noted that Jarlaxle's age was somewhere around six centuries. I did a little back figuring and came to the realization that he could not have met Zak at Melee Magathere. If in the current Realms literature Jarlaxle is 600 and Zak was close to 400 when Drizzt was born, that would make Zak about a century Jarlaxle's junior. Besides I think that the Academy idea is a little overused, thus the current insanity of this fic.
Please let me know what you thought of the story, dear gentle reader.
