Chapter 1: A stranger in the sand

Chapter summary: A wild stranger appears. Jarlaxle uses rope weapon. It's super effective. Athrogate gets along just fine with camels, but not so much vultures.

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle and Athrogate are the property of R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms and Karsus the archwizard are the property of Wizards of the Coast. Fan characters belong to me. Other canon characters may appear throughout the story. Preview image is the property of iDaisan, commissioned by me a few years ago.

"...quarantine is over." The voice was like a shriek, piercing through her ears and sending shocks of pain through her brain. Her head lolled back and forth and she was unable to move her arms or legs. Everywhere around her was darkness, but she felt she was on a bed. "Yes, it's safe to send her." There was a moment of silence. "She's strong and fit. Once the narcosis wears off-"

It was the last thing she heard as the voice trailed off. Above her floated a beautiful woman with dark brown hair, pale skin and dark eyes. Her hair was curly and put in a neat hairstyle, a tiara of golden laurels adorning her head. She wore a white dress that reached down to above her knees. A saffron-coloured shawl hung over her arms, and on her feet were golden sandals. Golden jewellery danced on her wrists, upper arms and hands, and around her neck hung a silver key at the end of a silver chain.

That key was meant for her. It was the first of many that she had to gather. Gather in order to remember. Who was she? Who was this woman floating above her? Everything around her was silent. Ever-pervasive, intrusive silence, piercing through skin, flesh, muscle and sinew and echoing through bones with its oppressive existence.

The narcosis wore off. She knew because of the tingling sensation on her skin, like tiny spiders crawled all over her body. Soon enough they did, small critters with the promise of death.

She had to take the key. Her arm could be moved now, and she reached up with it. Once she had it, she knew for reasons she didn't understand, she had to call the woman's name. Otherwise she would be all alone when she awoke, and the silence would continue.

No matter how much she reached, her fingers wouldn't close in around the key. It was because she doubted herself, she realised. Did she really want this? Maybe being alone and in perpetuating silence was preferable. Silver always messed things up. Its glow burned and erased the blissful, peaceful silence.

No.

Silver was the soft, pale glow that pierced through oppression and led to freedom. Its greatest beauty came into being when it was surrounded by darkness. She wanted this. Her heart and mind called out to the key and it fell from the the woman's neck and landed in her hand.

She closed her fingers around it and a name was whispered in her mind in a voice that she knew wasn't hers. Her voice called out that name, and the woman above her smiled. Then she fell into darkness.

Camels were interesting creatures. He'd never thought something so odd could exist, but like with many other things, the surface had shown him many peculiar things. Like how hot the sun could get over the desert this time of the year. It was one of very rare occasions when he willingly wore white over everything except his head.

In addition to being interesting, camels were also obstinate. Had it not been for the Bedine man's insistence that he let the camel decide where to go, he would have probably struggled against it for a good portion of the way. Despite his scepticism about letting another creature lead, however, Jarlaxle found that he and his dwarven companion, Athrogate, were not far from their intended destination.

Said destination was the ruins of a Netherese city, believed to be Eileanar in archaeological circles, which the dark elf had learned had been the enclave of the archwizard Karsus. All mages knew of Karsus, even the ones among Jarlaxle's race. A great and powerful human wizard – two adjectives that dark elves were extremely loathe to use about humans – had become the god of magic with a single spell. This had resulted in the death of the goddess that governed the Weave, and all magic had disappeared as a result. She was reborn shortly after and saved all magic in so doing, but Karsus and his magical empire were destroyed in the process.

An expedition of archaeologists from Waterdeep had set out to uncover what secrets lay in the ruins, but after two years in the field had they suddenly gone missing. Perfect timing, really, as Jarlaxle had just arrived in the city after leaving Memnon behind. At first he hadn't been desirable for hire, but when two more expeditions sent didn't return, a group of desperate nobles turned to him and the dwarf. The mercenary was happy to oblige and after discussing payment, they were off.

Their guide stopped when they reached a certain point, the sun having reached its zenith, saying he would go no further. He accepted only two thirds of the payment and said he would return when Jarlaxle called. The drow accepted the first and doubted the second, but wasn't terribly worried since he'd already prepared for a back-up exit out of the desert if the Bedine proved treacherous. If. He'd been on the surface for too long. The man gave them a stern warning about the ruins being haunted, just as he'd said to the people of the other three expeditions to the place, after which he left.

Jarlaxle's scepticism kicked in and he cast a spell of magic-detection on the sands before him. The camel stood perfectly still as he did so, the mercenary's red eyes scanning the area. No magical auras stood out to him, but he was not reassured. He called upon a power of his dark elf heritage next, one that let him glean people's souls, to see what they were made of. The spell required him to choose either good, evil, chaos or law. Considering the nature of the desert, the shifty look on the face of his guide and who were more likely to be out to get him, the mercenary settled for evil.

Unsurprisingly, the camels and dwarf didn't stand out as such, but a strong aura emanated in the area. There was only one and it was beneath the sands in front of him. Hiding, no doubt, waiting for easy prey that the Bedine lured its way so they would be spared. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened to the other expeditions.

Bringing out a wand he'd bought in Waterdeep, he pointed it in the direction of the aura and uttered a command word. A gust of wind sent the sand whirling about and out of it came a hideous, green creature with moist, scaly skin – peculiar seeing that in a desert – but Jarlaxle knew the creature for what it was. Athrogate roared with a battle cry, though the camel he sat on didn't share his enthusiasm for engaging the monster in front of them. The next wand Jarlaxle picked out fired a lightning bolt right into the monster's head and it winked out of existence with a pained roar. A disappointed grunt sounded from the dwarf, but when the drow looked back, he saw that his stout companion was disappointed with his mount rather than the elf.

"What was that?" the dwarf asked once he was done glaring at the uncaring beast beneath him.

"A bearded devil," he said to his puzzled companion. "I'm not sure why it made this desert its home, but sending it back to Hell should make finding survivors easier."

"Aye," Athrogate agreed and touched his beard, his eyes glued ahead, "unless it ate them all." Then he bawled with laughter.

Jarlaxle kicked his camel into moving, the dwarf following suit. After a good while did the ruins finally come into view, but so did a lone figure approaching them on slow, unsteady feet. The drow's keen eyes easily spotted a blanket over the person's head, upper body and thighs, but everything else was bare. He didn't stop his mount, but he slowed the beast down, and cast the same magic-detecting spell from before. No illusions or transformations had taken or took place, the spell informed him. In fact, the figure seemed perfectly mundane. That didn't mean he or she wasn't a spellcaster, however, and he activated a spell in one of his rings that was more powerful than the one he'd just cast.

The person did indeed possess magic, but it was faint. Divine and arcane, it seemed, both about as weak. That was preferable, as Jarlaxle couldn't stand powerful clerics. The stranger's most powerful divine spells were some minor healing. Among the arcane spells were some divinations, but also a spell to summon a ray of fire and an illusion. Jarlaxle immediately grew wary, because he knew the dweomer he was under could sometimes be misguided. If the spellcaster had used up most of his or her spells for the day, then they would look much weaker than they in reality were. Still, he should be able to handle the stranger at their current level, and stopped the camel once he was directly in front of them. The lone walker pulled back the blanket from their head and revealed dark blonde hair, pale skin and green eyes – on a woman's face. She looked up at him and her eyes grew wide with fear. In fact, her entire form began to tremble and she started backing away. Her stumbling feet took her off the side of the sand dune, however, and she fell backwards with a yelp.

Jarlaxle brought out a rod and uttered a command word. It changed into a lasso and he tossed it at the falling woman. It caught her just as she was about to crash into the sands, tightened securely around her and then set to the task of dragging her back towards him. He tied his end of the rope to the camel's saddle to secure it and waited patiently. The woman kicked her legs out, but not in some vain attempt to escape, as it turned out, but rather to steady herself. She still stumbled around a bit, but soon enough stood next to his mount, her head hanging low. Words came from her mouth, but he didn't understand the language, so he brought out an orb that translated such things for him and activated it.

"I'm afraid I didn't understand what you said," he told her. "Mind repeating?"

"...thank you for catching me," she said, although judging from the pout on her lips it had been a difficult thing to say. "I'm sorry for my initial reaction." Those words were matched by a tone and face that told him they were genuine.

"Apology accepted," he said and ordered the rope-made rod to release her. She nearly collapsed, but managed to gather herself, covering her head and upper body with the blanket once more, but not before the drow spotted a silver key dangling at the end of a chain around her neck and a red pendant with a sigil on that he'd never seen before. Her holy symbol, perhaps? "My name is Jarlaxle and this is my companion Athrogate. What's your name?"

Silence followed and her face scrunched up in confusion. "...I don't know." Distress followed and one of her hands went up to cover her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm trying my best, but I don't know." He noticed she bit down on her lip and sniffled. Jarlaxle fought back a sigh. Of course the first survivor they came across was suffering from amnesia.

Still, there could be others, and if the trail behind her was true, then she came from the ruins up ahead. "No need to be, memory losses can happen to anyone," he said with a reassuring tone. She sniffled again, nodded and wiped her eyes. "Pray tell, how did you end up wandering the desert on your own?"

"I had to get away from the ruins," she said and stared at her feet.

"Why?" the mercenary asked, but she shook her head and wouldn't speak. It wasn't hard to guess that something had traumatised her. Something that had probably burned through most of her spells, too, though why she was naked was anyone's guess. She didn't seem to be wounded, either.

It could very well be a trick, though if she was a shape-shifting creature or under the effect of a transformative spell, then his own magic would have revealed it to him. No, she was very much human, but she could very well be skilled at acting.

"Did you come here with one of the expeditions from Waterdeep?" the dark elf asked, though if she really did have amnesia, then she probably wouldn't remember.

She looked confused. "Waterdeep?"

He nodded. "Does it sound familiar to you?"

Silence followed as she muttered the name to herself over and over. Then she shook her head. "I've never heard of it."

Jarlaxle frowned, but then another part of him kicked in, the part that found mysteries inexplicably exciting. "What language are you speaking? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it."

"Loross, of course," she said without hesitation, giving him a look as if that should be obvious. Loross, the mercenary knew, was the language of Netherese nobles. It was also a dead language. "I didn't expect there to be so much sand here, though." Her eyes scanned the area. "For some reason I thought it would be different."

Jarlaxle's curiosity was tickled, but it peaked when he saw her looking to the sky and frowning. "Expecting flying cities?"

Realisation seemed to dawn on her, as if those few words had sparked a part of her memory. "Yes, actually." Confusion followed and she looked around, but only more sand and empty sky surrounded them. Then she seemed to remember something else and looked back towards the ruins.

"Yes, that was once a flying city," he informed her. She stood completely still, Jarlaxle guessing that she was trying to absorb all that information. "The Netherese empire came crashing down over one thousand seven hundred years ago." He waited patiently for her response.

He didn't have to wait long. "What year is it now?"

"Thirteen-seventy, Dale Reckoning," he replied, but then thought better of it as the Dale Reckoning calendar didn't exist back in the time of Netheril. He quickly referenced notes that he'd taken in Waterdeep after talking to some archaeologists. "That would be thirty-five twenty by the Netheril Year Calendar when Netheril fell. This year is then fifty-two twenty-nine for you." Provided she had somehow not only survived the fall, but hadn't aged for well over a thousand years. It was unlikely, but then again, the Netherese were known for making the unlikely happen. An empire of flying cities, for example. "Do you know those ruins?"

"Only what I saw of it earlier today," she replied, a response that he hadn't wished for. "I did have to go through every level in order to get out of there, though."

That helped. "You can't survive in the desert like that, and my companion and me could use a guide."

"So, I help you through the ruins and you lead me out of the desert," she summarised, still not looking at the mercenary. "I trust you understand I had a very good reason for leaving?"

"Of course," the dark elf said, "but with a little rest and some food, as well as capable companions, I'm sure that reason can be overcome." Especially once she'd replenished her spells and he could take full stock of her power.

"The resources in that area are scarce," she informed him, "and I doubt you packed enough food for three."

"Lass got that right," Athrogate remarked.

"You needn't worry about our resources, miss, we drow come prepared even for the unexpected," Jarlaxle countered to both of them. In truth, he could summon a veritable feast if need be, and whatever he and the woman couldn't eat, the dwarf could probably gobble down for them.

"I've never even heard of drow before," she said, and this time she looked at him, curiosity written all over her face. "Are you some form of burnt elf to have skin so dark?"

The dwarf snorted.

"Your people I know, though," she continued, this time looking at Athrogate. "The shield dwarves, I recall, are great traders and craftsmen, and capable warriors. Stubborn and loyal to a fault."

"And great drinkers," he added, "tinkers and stinkers." Then he roared with laughter.

"For shame," she said, "I forgot the bluntness."

"Ye're forgiven," Athrogate shot back and laughed some more. This time she smiled. Jarlaxle watched on, puzzled and not sure if he should be amused or concerned that the dwarf's blunt personality worked better to calm this woman than his own charm did. He also wasn't quite done processing the burnt skin remark.

"If you've never heard of my race before, why did you react with fear when you saw me?" the mercenary decided to ask in the end. Her smile disappeared and a darkness came over her eyes.

"You look like something I saw in the ruins," she explained.

"Something that needs killing?" Athrogate cut in hopefully.

"Something that did a lot of killing," she clarified.

"Aye, that sounds about right," the dwarf said heartily and kicked his camel into a start. The beast groaned but got moving, to much roaring laughter from the stout one. Jarlaxle and the woman stared after him as he disappeared into the distance.

Reaching down with his hand, he indicated the woman should grab it. The saddle he sat in was designed to hold two people, and there was no reason not to put it to use. "It will be faster this way," he insisted when he saw the hesitant look on her face. Her eyes went from his hand and up to his face before going back to his hand again. Then she seemed to have made up her mind, as she first tossed her blanket over the saddle – leaving him to admire her naked form, which he did – and then she put one hand in his and the other on the saddle. It took a bit of effort, but fortunately she wasn't terribly heavy, and she quickly wrapped herself up in her blanket once seated. Jarlaxle got his camel moving, the woman keeping him quiet company along the way.

It didn't take long to reach the ruins, but when they did it was to the sound of indignant vultures and the roaring laughter of Athrogate. "Ye can have yer snack once I'm done checking 'em," the drow heard the dwarf promise. One vulture drew near to Athrogate's camel, but a flying morningstar hit the bird in the head and it went down. Three other vultures dove in to eat their dead kin. It was hard to tell what races the corpses had been, seeing as most of them had been either partially or fully devoured. That didn't seem to stop the dwarf from examining them, however.

The vultures scattered upon Jarlaxle's arrival, squawking at him indignantly. The camel lowered itself to the ground and he and the woman got off.

"So, this mysterious assailant that you fled from," the drow remarked as he led her over to a spot that was free of corpses and vultures and had them sit down, "would he or she have followed you to the surface?"

She shook her head. "No, he recoiled from the sun and disappeared back into the shadows."

That sounded like a drow to Jarlaxle. One that was tinkering with Netherese secrets and apparently didn't like being discovered. No doubt a wizard or sorcerer of some kind, and powerful, too, to overcome three expeditions. Suddenly he wasn't so sure if he wanted to explore the ruins.

He mentally slapped himself for thinking such thoughts. Jarlaxle always delivered what he promised, and this time would be no different. It did bother him that so many people were dead and the only one who might know something about this place had amnesia or was a very skilled actress trying to lure them to their doom. Either one of them promised excitement, in a Netherese ruin that offered much magic on top of that, and he wasn't about to turn down such an adventure. Besides, if she really was suffering from a memory loss, and happened to be a survivor from ancient Netheril, it would be interesting to be around once she started to remember.

A small smile grew on the woman's lips, and revealed a lively, even somewhat attractive female underneath all the sand, sweat and grime, her eyes moving from Athrogate to Jarlaxle. "The heartiness is strong in him."

Jarlaxle looked to his companion, who alternated between swatting away big birds and searching the bodies. "He takes great joy in hunting and fighting, like most other dwarves."

Her smile turned warm. "I've always wanted to meet members of the Stout Folk. I've heard so many tales about them."

"So you remember some things from your past," he observed.

She nodded. "Bits and pieces. Some things I can make sense of, others I can't."

And she wasn't sharing all of it with him, even though she was all alone in a desert and he her only ticket out of it. That was smart, and Jarlaxle knew to take note of smart people. It could also mean that she had more resources readily available to her than she was letting on, with just one pesky drow mage standing in the way of whatever plans she had for these ruins.

The uncertainties were so high the dark elf was filled with delight.

"What more can you tell me about this mystery assailant that doesn't like sunlight?" His question stole her smile away, making him almost regret asking.

"His skin colour was the same as yours," she began, "but he had hair on his head and was taller and broader."

Considering how Jarlaxle was the tallest there was for male dark elves, he found himself excluding the idea of the enemy being a drow. Perhaps half drow, he mused.

His musings were interrupted by Athrogate loudly declaring that he wouldn't leave any treasures for the rest of them if they stayed behind much longer, before moving into the ruins with a roar. Biting back a sigh, the mercenary got up, followed by the woman – he should at least give her a name to call her by, if nothing else – and stepped into the darkness below. His keen ears picked up the sound of vultures making happy noises as they swooped back down to munch away at the corpses.

Author's Note: If you're anything like me, then you probably dislike RAS' butchering of realmslore and realmsy facts. I was also bothered by how bland and dull Jarlaxle grew to be in the latter two books of the Sellswords Trilogy, as if RAS was desperately trying to snuff out the hint of friendship between him and Entreri that he'd created in the first one and make him look more evil than necessary. Nobody doubted Jarlaxle's evilness, but even evil characters can make friends. There was really nothing wrong with him and Entreri becoming friends, in my opinion.

Anyhow, know that you will find this story blissfully free of unnecessary evilness, but still with plenty of selfishness and chaos, without rancour and apology on my part. I don't claim in any way to understand Jarlaxle's character better than other fans, or even RAS himself, but I strive towards a certain level of character consistency in how I understand the mercenary from the earliest tales about him.

The reason why I'm writing this after the Sellswords Trilogy, despite my comments about it above, is simply because of Athrogate. In my opinion, he was about the only good thing to come out of those two books, apart from Snort the fiendish boar, and I couldn't bring myself to write this story without him.

If all goes well, I will probably include Entreri later on. Fan characters come with stories of their own and do not rely on canon characters to have value or serve a purpose. Pairings made because that's where the story brought me. Support them, be indifferent or oppose them, it's up to you. If you have any suggestions for how I can improve the story, feel free to leave me a comment with constructive criticism. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to incorporate all of it, but I will do my best. Please favourite or follow if you like the story and wish to see more. Trolls and haters will be fed to Telamont Tanthul's pet dracolich.