Oh, it felt good to be underground again.

Not that there was anything above ground that he couldn't handle, but the city was getting to him. It was just so crowded, and crowded with rivvin, who gawked and gabbled and stared and stank and, really, it was like making a way through a throng of animals - mindless, stupid beasts whose lives were as meaningless as the noises they produced.

And then again no, not animals, because even a housecat could scratch, sneak or jump, while these people could do nothing. Baeloth had a strong suspicion that, if he were to pit a human commoner against a cat in the arena, the winner would go "meow."

Aah, the arena. The lovely Black Pits of Blissful Entertainment... How he itched to teach a long lesson in pain to those thrice-damned gladiators! He saw the crumbling pits they had here, where Shar-Teel spent the evenings betting on herself and insulting the male clientele into fights. It was a scenery unfit to stage a rigged fight between two one-legged kobolds. But at least the crazy woman was kept out of everyone's way in the evenings.

They were lodging in the Undercellar, among the thieves and debauchers and whores of both sexes, where - as it turned out - quite comfortable rooms could be arranged for people who were not anxious to stay in more exposed parts of the city. And they needed the hideout, Lolth knew. Between Shar-Teel's tendency to butcher every member of the Flaming Fist they encountered, Xzar's maniacal mood and personality swings, Baeloth's race and, last but not least, Dorn's status as an escaped prisoner and mass murderer, their chances for passing unnoticed and untroubled through Baldur's Gate were severely limited. Therefore, days passed lazily but comfortably in the Undercellar, with only Jade or Eldoth sneaking out to mingle with the people, while nights were a time for action.
It was an arrangement that suited Baeloth very well.

He stretched his legs out towards the fire and wriggled comfortably in the black dressing gown, made of something he privately called "surface silk." It was smooth and pleasant on his skin, no doubt kept around for the nobles who came to satisfy their less... acceptable desires in the Undercellar. Across the room, Jade sat wearing an identical robe, her black hair melding with the fabric to create a background on which her face demanded even more attention, a pale oval with shining, bright eyes. She had the Iron Throne correspondence spread out in front of her and was poring over it, frowning in concentration. Further in the room, the half-orc sharpened and polished his sword as if he hoped to hear it beg for mercy.

Mmm, now there was a thought. Baeloth's eyes returned to the bracelet on his wrist, the multi-faceted onyxes sitting there smugly, like conspirators in their safe den. Nested among them was a larger one, a truly perfect specimen of purest black with only the tiniest specks of purple veins. It had been even bigger, but it shrank in the cutting. Still, the jeweller gave it a magnificent shape, and also - what a happy coincidence! - obliterated the insignia of a Menzoberranzan house that had been set in the stone previously.

Who was that female? Baeloth wondered, idly, what chain of events brought her to the wild surface, hunted and scared and begging for help. It really was a disgusting sight, a drow priestess mewling for mercy in front of the rivvin, and announcing her betrayal of Lolth, just like that, to a band of strangers! What was she thinking, and how did she function on a day-to-day basis?

Well, obviously not well, since she must have been an outcast, clinging to the insignia of her pathetic house that Baeloth couldn't even recognize. Jade had agreed for the female - what was her name again? - to come with them, while the guard who chased her was being butchered by Shar-Teel in the background. The drow woman made herself useful that night, patching up a few wounds, and was surprised and mistrustful to see Baeloth in the party, as she should have been.

Well, no, not as she should have been, because the next day, she let herself be left behind, with him, while the rest of the party dealt with a band of hobgobs. Hit with a poisoned arrow, she was unable to deal with the venom herself, and accepted a bottle of "antidote" from him without any misgivings. That look on her face, when she felt the liquid - which was, in fact, the highly caustic substance used by kobolds on the Nashkel iron - run down her throat, had been really priceless... Baeloth sat there, savouring it, as the cowardly bitch learned what happened to those who abandoned Lolth. When the light in her eyes had died, he ran back to the party, shouting that an antidote was "desperately needed." Alas, they would be, oh, too late by seconds, and Baeloth would take the onyx bracelet to "remember his unknown compatriot by."

Heh. The garbage those rivvin were prepared to believe. Although, to be absolutely honest, he very much doubted he fooled these particular surfacers. As a powerful sorcerer once said, don't confuse not caring with not knowing...
He glanced up, and saw Jade checking out the half-orc again. He laughed, and she turned to him.

"What is so entertaining now?" she asked.

"Oh, this and that," Baeloth waved a hand vaguely. "I was wondering who would win a fight in the arena - a human commoner or a housecat. Perhaps you can enlighten me, knowing both better?"

"The cat, probably." She threw the papers away with an impatient gesture. "Order some more wine. I've had enough of this."

"Alright. But-"

"Not because I told you to. Yes, yes. Just as long as there's something to drink," she said, laughing, and he had to admit to himself that she had a beautiful smile.

The drow stood up and grabbed a handful of coins. The prices here were higher than elsewhere, because you paid for silence and anonymity as well as service, but they were still ridiculously low. The handful of coins he had now was about six times more than the wine would actually cost, and it was a sum they, as adventurers, didn't even notice. Baeloth knew that in her purple velvet bag, Jade had a number of real, precious jewels, and that even one of those jewels would be enough to buy this whole place. Maybe two of the lesser ones.

Out of the corner of his eye, Baeloth saw the half-orc's head shot up at the sound of Jade's laughter. It was hard to imagine the half-breed's face could get even more ill-tempered and moody, but somehow, it did.
Baeloth opened the door and looked out to the passage, its red doors leading to the whorehouse, and a series of black doors into "private" apartments similar to theirs - although he knew for a fact that one was taken by agents of the Night Masks and another by a Zhentarim sorceress who had at least three young men brought to her room every night. For drow, spying was a philosophy, a survival technique and a hobby combined.
He saw a passing servant and threw the heavy coins at him, making him yelp when the gold hit.

"Another three pitchers of wine, the best you've got. And I will know it!" he called out. The man scrambled on the floor for the money to the sound of Baeloth's chuckling. Then the red door opened and Shar-Teel came in, further lifting the sorcerer's spirits. Persuading her to wear revealing outfits while in the arena may have just been the most hilarious thing he's done on the surface yet.