The Legacy: Reboot

By Ariel-D and Surreptitious Chi X

Description: What if Jarlaxle had left Menzoberranzan far earlier to go adventuring with Entreri? Could they have built their fledgling friendship successfully without the insanity of other drow and Crenshinibon? A story of escapades and camaraderie. AU.

Disclaimer: Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle belong to RAS and Wizards of the Coast. No profit is being made.

A/N: I've talked with dozens of Artemis and Jarlaxle fans who were disheartened and upset by PotWK and especially RotP. Some even lost interest in the dark elf books and stopped reading. It is to these fans that Chi and I offer this story: an odyssey undertaken by our beloved mercenaries that begins after The Legacy and moves forward on an AU track.


Chapter One

From the window, Jarlaxle peered at the low-hanging, grey clouds and sighed. His thigh ached, sending shoots of pain down his calf. However, he considered himself lucky to have a leg, and what was more, his life, after his encounter with the Companions of the Hall.

His gaze wandered to the assassin in the bed across from his chair. Artemis Entreri was still unconscious. Given the kind of injuries his ally had sustained, it was unsurprising. Jarlaxle had been shocked to find Entreri at the base of the cliffs during his flight from Mithral Hall. Last night had been a blur of dragging the unconscious assassin to safety and administering healing.

In the weak light of predawn, Jarlaxle had stolen a horse and navigated them to the small settlement of Rivermoot, at the junction of the Rauvin and Surbrin rivers. The inn Jarlaxle located was barely better than hiding in a barn. However, Jarlaxle was grateful for the warm room, even if Entreri's blankets were faded and patched, and the chair Jarlaxle occupied had a wobbly leg.

Finally, Entreri stirred. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling, confused. He felt groggy, almost drugged. Where was he? How had he gotten here? What had happened?

Then he remembered fighting. And falling.

He groaned.

Jarlaxle stood, regretted it when his leg twinged, and held out his hands in a stopping motion. "Do not try to sit up. You are still injured. I ran out of charges for my healing orb, so you most likely have a concussion."

Entreri glanced over, discovering the last person he expected: Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe. "You," he muttered.

Jarlaxle grinned. He pulled up his chair and sat, relieving pressure from his leg. "Indeed, it is I, your clever ally." He tipped his hat. "It is thanks to my good fortune and ingenuity that we are both alive and hidden from our enemies."

"Where are we?" Entreri asked. His head throbbed just enough to confirm Jarlaxle's claim.

"Rivermoot," Jarlaxle said. "A small town southwest of Mithral Hall. The middle of nowhere, basically. We will stay here long enough for you to recover."

"'We?'" Entreri found that an interesting turn of phrase. Granted, Jarlaxle had approached him with Vierna about securing his help to take down Drizzt, but it was nothing more than a business relationship. Why had Jarlaxle saved him? What did the clever mercenary leader want?

Jarlaxle nodded, then hesitated. "Yes, 'we'. Provided you take me up on an offer."

"What offer is that?" Entreri asked. He realized he was parched. "I need water." Probably food, too. He wondered how long he'd been out.

Jarlaxle handed Entreri his canteen. "An offer of partnership. We can be most helpful to each other, Artemis Entreri."

Entreri eased himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed, but he drank. The instant he took a sip, his sense of dehydration multiplied exponentially. He drained the canteen. "Partnership in what?"

Standing with a grimace, Jarlaxle refilled his canteen from a pitcher of water in the corner and handed it to Entreri. "In the way that we handle the opportunity we have been given. Drizzt Do'Urden and the others think you dead. So, too, does my mercenary band think me dead. This gives us an opportunity for a new start. We worked well together, even if our client's plan ultimately failed. As you said yourself, we are both opportunists. Why not work together now?"

"You intend to travel the Surface as a sellsword?" Entreri asked, skeptical. Why would Jarlaxle want to leave his mercenary band? He was wealthy and powerful. Also, he was drow, and Surface dwellers did not tolerate drow well.

Jarlaxle smiled. "You see? Already you generate the most wonderful ideas. Yes, I think I shall give that a try."

Entreri snorted, but he had to admit Jarlaxle was an interesting, even compelling, person. Entreri wasn't much on teamwork, having been a lifelong loner, but he wasn't without a sense of adventure. "I'll consider it." He sipped on the canteen, but now that there was water in his stomach, his body decided to wake the rest of the way up and demand food.

Loudly.

"How long was I unconscious?" Entreri asked.

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "About twenty hours, I think."

"No wonder I'm hungry." Entreri's stomach growled again for good measure.

"What do you think you can handle?" Jarlaxle asked. "I had some fish stew earlier that was actually quite delicious, but you might be better advised sticking to broth or gruel."

"I'm too hungry for that." Entreri capped the canteen and set it aside. "I'll try the stew."

Although his leg gave another cranky twinge, Jarlaxle rose from his chair. "In that case, I'll be back with your food." He walked to the door, activated a basic charm spell, and left, closing the door behind him.

Entreri took that opportunity to take care of his basic needs. Unfortunately, he didn't have any of his personal supplies, and his face was beginning to itch from his stubble. If he'd had his dagger, he could have used to shave, but it was missing. He suspected Regis might be responsible for that, although he couldn't remember events clearly enough to be sure.

He climbed back in bed with a sigh and rearranged the pillows to support his back. My life hasn't made any damn sense from the moment I met Drizzt Do'Urden.

Ten minutes later, Jarlaxle entered the room carrying a tray and shut the door with his foot. There was a tall glass of water, a biscuit on a plate, and an earthenware bowl steaming the scent of delicious chowder. The drow mercenary deposited the tray on Entreri's lap and sat down. "I hope the food is to your liking."

"It's food," Entreri reasoned, then took a bite. It was a bit too salty, but fine. Jarlaxle was admittedly a strange creature, but that didn't bother Entreri. Overall, Jarlaxle reminded him of some of the pashas he had known: powerful, dangerous, intelligent, and hedonistic. Despite Jarlaxle's ebony skin and pointed ears, he seemed familiar. "We'll need to resupply me," he said after a moment's reflection. "All my travel supplies are back at Mithral Hall."

"I know," Jarlaxle said. He smiled at the 'we'. "Then you have decided you will come with me when I leave this place."

Entreri hmphed faintly. He hadn't even made the decision consciously. "I have." It might be worth it, after all. If not, he'd just return to Calimport.

"Then I suggest that we travel to Waterdeep as soon as you are well," Jarlaxle said. "Waterdeep seems a fairly open-minded metropolis. We will be likely to find work there."

Entreri nodded. "Likely. Especially with Skullport below." He finished his food in short order, finding that eating had made his head hurt less.

"Try to rest," Jarlaxle said. "If you feel sleepy, allow yourself to drift off. That's the best thing you can do if you wish to heal quickly." He took the tray, heading out of the room with it.

Entreri lay back down, wondering what the following day would bring him and how his life might have been altered forever.

He supposed he'd find out the hard way.


Three days later, the drow mercenary and his new partner left Rivermoot with two horses and two packs of supplies. Over the course of five days, they followed the River Surbrin until they reached the trade road, then traversed the Long Road to its end: Waterdeep's north gate. It was helpfully marked in large metal letters on its archway: Northgate. Guards in heavy, well-maintained armor stopped all travelers on the way in. When it was Jarlaxle and Entreri's turn, they simply announced themselves as sellswords and were allowed entrance, although some guards grumbled over Jarlaxle's being drow.

Once they were inside Waterdeep proper, they found streets lined with classy shops and old villas, which exuded an air of peace. The inhabitants strolling down the street were dressed in fine clothes and seemingly relaxed in their surroundings, chatting and laughing.

Even Entreri noticed the peaceful air, although he couldn't partake of it. "Now we just have to locate work."

Jarlaxle pointed down the wide avenue leading them south. "We shall stick to the High Road. It shall surely lead us to the market." Although he wished for time to explore this neighborhood, he knew he would be unwelcome. There would be time for the North Ward when he and Entreri had made their way up in Waterdhavian society.

Deep into the heart of Waterdeep, the High Road met the Trade Way and ended, bringing them to the border of the North Ward. To their right, the Trade Way led into the Castle Ward. To their left, the Trades Ward.

"Well, the choice is obvious," Jarlaxle commented. He steered left.

Entreri followed, noting that Jarlaxle got fewer stares here than he would have imagined, but he doubted this would go off without a hitch.

The Trades Ward was heavily blanketed with businesses and guild halls on every street, but it wasn't their destination. Questioning a passerby led them Virgin's Square, which was where warriors for hire went.

The street was ahead on the left. Once they made the turn, there was another small street connecting to a large, vaguely circular meeting place. Other adventurers like them milled around, camped out to wait for people to come to them. Jarlaxle dismounted and joined the crowd, leading his horse gently to the board constructed in the middle of the square. Various wanted posters and ads were nailed there.

Entreri dismounted as well, following Jarlaxle and scanning the ads. The work was typical: bounty hunting, bodyguards, caravan guards, and the like.

Jarlaxle noticed small taverns and shops ringing the square, no doubt thriving on adventures' business. "If we are subjected to a long wait, we can rest in one of the taverns around us."

"Yes." Entreri reached up and ripped down the ad for the most promising-sounding bounty hunting job. "You seem like a chatty person," he said, turning to Jarlaxle. "Charming" was probably a better word for it. "Can you put that to good use in one of these taverns? Get a feel for the scene?"

Grinning, Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin. "A well-reasoned suggestion. If you will watch my horse, I will make the acquaintance of the locals." He handed off his reins and strolled towards the battered wooden sign that proclaimed 'Ale Women Music'.

Entreri sighed and shook his head. He trailed after Jarlaxle, tethered the horses outside the door, and stepped inside. He wasn't about to be left out of the process.

Jarlaxle was already at the bar, clearly trying to soothe the flustered barkeep. Joining Jarlaxle, Entreri watched him work. He had a lot of sizing up to do as it concerned his new partner.

"I am not like other drow," Jarlaxle said. "Surely my fanciful costume convinces you of that?" He gestured smilingly to his hat and his rainbow cape.

"Still, ye ought not to be up here during the light of day, should ye?" the barkeep said reasonably.

"Oh? Why is that?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I heard you people turn to stone," the barkeep said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat. "Thank you for the concern. I find it quite touching."

The barkeep glared at him suspiciously. "I ain't concerned."

"How about two pints, one for me and one for my friend here?" Jarlaxle gestured at Entreri.

The barkeep glared at the assassin. "You with this freak?"

"We're partners," Entreri said. "Sellswords."

The barkeep grudgingly and hurriedly slapped pints of beer in front of them. "Sellswords? A drow sellsword? What're ye doing on the streets, then?"

"Do you have any advice?" Jarlaxle asked politely.

"If I have any advice, it's to get back under the city where you belong," the barkeep said. He turned away to deal with other customers.

Jarlaxle distinctly heard a deep male voice say, "Get that drow out of here."

The barkeep came back to Jarlaxle. "You're scaring away me other customers. Go back to Skullport."

"Skullport?" Jarlaxle stood and placed coin for the drinks on the counter. "I say, how interesting. Do you have directions?"

"Find the nearest sewer grate and crawl in it," the barkeep snapped.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat on the way out the door. "Many thanks, kind barkeep."

The man stared at him incredulously.

Entreri smirked and followed Jarlaxle out. "You are good at keeping a calm veneer," he said as they returned to their horses. In fact, he had yet to see Jarlaxle get upset about anything, period.

"As are you," Jarlaxle said. He mounted his horse and smiled. "I believe we should return the advertisement you have collected and set about getting directions to Skullport, which is apparently right at this moment beneath our feet." He tapped his chin. "I thought it to be somewhat removed from the city."

Entreri didn't know much about Waterdeep, having only travelled through it a few times, but he did know where Skullport was. "No, it's right here. And apparently there are drow there."

"I had heard that," Jarlaxle agreed. "Including followers of Elistraee. Most interesting. Female drow who allege not to be evil, you know."

Entreri had no idea; he knew little about drow other than rumors. "I assume you are skeptical."

"I have not met a follower of Elistraee, nor have any drow I have ever spoken to," Jarlaxle explained. "All religions except Lolth's are outlawed in Menzoberranzan." They headed back to the Trade Way, except this time towards the sea. "As far as entering Skullport is concerned, most often I hear of smuggler's ships. That presents problems of its own, given that we are not smugglers and own no ship. But perhaps if we go to the Dock Ward someone there will have more information."

Entreri nodded. It seemed reasonable. Mostly he just wanted to watch Jarlaxle at work.

Jarlaxle scanned his surroundings with curiosity as they crossed into the Castle Ward. The docks were still ahead, the air growing saltier in its tang, so he kept their course. The Trade Way ended, forcing them onto smaller, crooked streets. Jarlaxle and Entreri wound their way through their surroundings, finding themselves in an old, rundown part of town. At the junction of Sail Street, Dock Street, and the unmarked street they had been following, a two-story tavern called The Soaring Pegasus stood.

"I like the sound of that name," Jarlaxle said. "Let us ask for directions in there and perhaps partake of a hot meal if I am not asked to leave."

"If," Entreri said. He led his horse over, dismounted, and tethered it. Once again, he let Jarlaxle enter first, watching Jarlaxle's actions and reactions.

Smiling, Jarlaxle walked up to the door and opened it. A barmaid holding a tray with two flagons on it stopped in her tracks, startled. Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. She quickly curtsied in return and hurried away to serve her customers, two seagoing types with brown beards.

The drow mercenary found an empty spot at the bar and sat on the weathered wooden stool. "A glass of sherry, please."

The bartender, an older man going bald, got a bottle down from the shelf behind him and served Jarlaxle without a word.

"Thank you," Jarlaxle said politely. He took a sip of the sherry. "I am new in this area, as you can probably tell."

The bartender shrugged one shoulder. He kept his attention on the task of wiping glasses.

Entreri settled beside Jarlaxle. "Honeymead."

The bartender nodded and served him. "You new here, too?"

"Yes." Entreri sipped his ale. "We're sellswords." The tactic had helped before, after all.

"Oh." The bartender looked at them shrewdly.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Indeed."

Silently, the bartender left to serve other customers.

Jarlaxle placidly sipped his sherry, clearly waiting the situation out.

After five minutes of looking bored and drinking, their luck changed when a man across the room at a table signaled to them. He wore a tattered brown cloak with the hood up.

Jarlaxle left his empty glass and sidled over to the man. "Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

Entreri wandered after him, affecting boredom.

"You're a drow, ain't you?" the man asked.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to him. "Yes, indeed."

"You must know a thing or two."

"I might," Jarlaxle said agreeably.

"But you must be lost, because you're up here instead of down there," the man said, narrowing his eyes.

"That does seem to be the case," Jarlaxle said.

"What do you say we trade? You prove you're on the level - and your human partner - and I'll show you the way down."

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri.

Entreri wasn't sure why this offer mattered since the previous barkeep had said all they had to do was enter the sewers. "Why do we need you to show us?"

The man laughed. "You think it's easy, do you? Try fighting your way through two levels of the Undermountain, then."

"The Undermountain?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Yes, yes, the Undermountain," the man said, shaking his head at them. "You're trying to go where the rest of your kind are, aren't you? That's three levels down. Mad Halaster's not fond of people traipsing through the Undermountain to get there, either. You'd be killed. You need the trade entrance, got it?"

"And the way to secure such information is to do trade," Jarlaxle reasoned.

"Exactly."

Entreri was now listening. "So what are the specifics of your offer?"

"Say I need to help someone sleep without killing them," the man said, putting on an innocent face. "Drow can do that, can't they?"

"You're talking about sleeping poison," Jarlaxle said cheerfully. "Most certainly." He wagged an index finger. "But I warn you, it doesn't work on drow, nor on those inoculated against it, like my companion here. That would be a poor choice of how to deal with us."

"It's for someone else." The man spread his hands, hasty to allay Jarlaxle's concern.

Entreri was amused at Jarlaxle's lie, although it made sense for Jarlaxle to claim he was inoculated.

Jarlaxle plopped into the chair across from the man. "Very well. How much do you need?"

"Only enough for one person," the man said. "But even that is outside my finances. That is why it is lucky for me that you came along. You give me the poison, and I show you where the entrance is."

"Do we need to wait for nightfall?" Jarlaxle asked.

The man chuckled and shook his head. "No need. It's far better protected than that."

Suspicious, Entreri wondered if this was just too easy, although he slipped into the chair by Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "Since we're so helpless, and you have every advantage, I suggest that I give you the poison after you have taken us where we wish to go."

The man frowned. Then he gave Jarlaxle an ingratiating smile. "Of course. You are right. The only problem is that I have no way of knowing if you have what I need."

"That is easily demonstrated," Jarlaxle said. He stuck his hand inside his cape. From underneath, a small object that could have been Jarlaxle's finger poked out, aiming. Then, without a sound, the man at the next table over thunked his head onto the table and didn't move.

The man in the brown cloak looked at Jarlaxle with wide eyes.

Jarlaxle nodded. "The traditional drow way: administered with a tiny dart. The crossbow required to fire such things is much too expensive to barter away, but I am willing to part with one dart, which is enough to put one person to sleep. It is your task to store and use such a dart effectively."

The man rubbed his hands together. "Of course."

So far, Entreri's opinion of Jarlaxle was holding: the drow was proving useful. However, that didn't mean they'd be partnered for long. How Jarlaxle performed through their first two or three missions would determine much, and he suspected Jarlaxle was judging him in the same way.

Jarlaxle paid for their drinks. They discretely followed the man in the brown cloak to the docks. The man took them out into the harbor on a small fishing vessel. He claimed it belonged to him, but Jarlaxle didn't care if it was stolen on the spot. Once the sail caught wind, they glided out away from the harbor and around the side of the impressive Mount Waterdeep, the squat, forested peak beside the city. On the far side of the mountain's shore, away from the prying eyes of Waterdeep's navy, their guide changed course and angled the boat directly at the cliff face.

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "I dare hope you do not pick up strangers in taverns and attempt to commit suicide with them in attendance."

"Just watch," the man said.

The jagged rocks of the sharp coast grew ever nearer, and the sound of waves crashing against them was deafening. Jarlaxle seriously considered the downsides of trusting random tavern-goers not to be lunatics. He had a ring for breathing underwater, but there was an undertow in the sea, and the water would be salty, briny, disgusting . . .

Before he finished cataloging why he would like not to shipwreck, the bowsprit touched the cliff and slipped through. With a wash of unmistakable magic, they were sucked in, boat and all.

In a heartbeat they were in a dark, raucously noisy harbor smelling unmistakably of criminal element - that churning mix of sweat, blood, and exotic spices. The immense cavern was lit with torches, and the black water slapped the sides of the fishing vessel in the wake of a ship that had just docked. Its crew sang a ribald shanty while they unloaded crates onto the docks, probably stolen goods.

"Skullport," the man in the brown cloak said with satisfaction.

Entreri glanced around. From his point of view, it was much like an underground version of Calimport, although it no doubt had a much different mix of races. He could definitely find work here.

Once they got closer to the docks, Jarlaxle was both amused and thrilled to see a male drow wizard bartering with a dwarf. Their guide steered them towards the area for small vessels, out of the collision zone for hulking merchant vessels and pirate ships. Here Jarlaxle could see a gnome hauling in a catch of strange-looking fish. Jarlaxle spread his hands admiringly. "Ah, multiculturalism."

Entreri was not so nearly impressed.

"Multi...culture...ism?" Their guide gave Jarlaxle a strange look. "Aye, I suppose there are a lot of different folk about." The boat bumped gently against the pier. He jumped out and moored it.

Jarlaxle climbed out of the fishing vessel and looked around with curiosity. The harbor was actually not that large. It was hemmed in by the massive port and a sizable island to the far right. To get to the streets and businesses of the port, one had to walk up steps carved into the stone, a walkway ten feet tall. From there, Jarlaxle could see another portion of town raised a level further. It was like a compressed version of Menzoberranzan.

Beside the drow, Entreri glanced around with mild interest, wondering if Skullport reminded Jarlaxle of Menzoberranzan. Also, he wondered what effect it had on humans to live only underground, but he didn't intend to find out given he had no interest in making Skullport his new home.

The man in the brown cloak led them away from the docks, towards a warehouse. In the mouth of an alleyway, he stopped and held out his hand with a grin. "About that exchange . . ."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat with a smile. "Of course."

The man collapsed.

Jarlaxle drew his left hand out from under his cape. "Oops. How clumsy." He turned away and headed for the stairs leading up to the city proper, chuckling at the way no one looked at him twice. "Well, I did say it was up to him to store the dart properly. That he chose to store it in his leg and use up the poison on himself is no fault of mine."

"One day on the Surface, and already you have an enemy," Entreri said. "Impressive." Despite that, he was much amused by Jarlaxle's double-crossing. He also made clear note of it for his own sake. Not that he didn't already know better than to never trust anyone.

"A man like that hardly counts as an enemy," Jarlaxle scoffed. "If you knew how much sleeping poison costs, then you would have known that he was either lying or dead broke. And I wasn't about to give a dangerous weapon to someone I hardly know. What would be the common sense?" He glanced at the assassin. "I am hardly going to build a reputation of exchanging cut-rate merchandise for boat rides."

Since sleeping poison didn't kill, Entreri wasn't sure how dangerous it was in the grand scheme of things. He also admittedly didn't know how much it cost. "That's fair. However, it isn't always a matter of whom someone is but whom they are connected to that makes them dangerous. The man could prove to be an enemy." He smirked. "Not that I expect any real problems."

"If he is the lackey for someone more important, I hope they have a sense of humor," Jarlaxle admitted. "After all, I did give him precisely one dart's worth of sleeping poison in exchange for bringing us here."

Entreri snorted, finding his reasoning clever.

Once they reached the street level, they found this lowest level of Skullport to be a lightless maze of tangled streets and slummy buildings. They had seen the upper, lighted level from the docks, but now in the thick of these cramped buildings and crooked streets they couldn't see where to go.

"I believe these are what are referred to as 'flophouses,'" Jarlaxle commented. The smells around them ranged from dank wetness to disturbing.

Before they left behind the light entirely, Jarlaxle pulled an earring out of his hat and passed it to Entreri. "This earring will grant you darkvision, should you choose to wear it. I suggest it would be helpful in our quest to find the passage to the level above this one."

Entreri realized it was similar to the one he'd been using just a few days earlier, prior to his nasty fall. He accepted it and put it on, unwilling to proceed blindly, especially in light of some of the smells.

Around a corner, they startled a little goblin. It let out a yelp and stammered in broken Common, "No hurts. No hurts it. It does no harm."

Jarlaxle spoke in Goblin. "Do you know the way to the next level up?"

The creature stopped shaking. "Yes. Yes. I know the way." It bowed low to him. "I show you. Then you not harm me, yes?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle agreed.

The goblin took off at a fair pace, limping.

Jarlaxle started after it and remarked in Common, "We shall follow this creature to the way up. He has agreed to lead us." Sometimes, being drow was useful. Weaker and smaller races who had grown accustomed to the drow's bullying were simply glad to escape from an encounter with their lives.

Entreri suspected the miserable creature was too terrified to betray them, so he nodded and followed.

After three sharp twists to the left and two to the right, each taken after a block or so, they arrived at the stairs.

"You go up here. Then you reach the Venter," the goblin said.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat and allowed a gold coin to drop by sleight of hand.

The goblin snatched it up and held it out to him.

Jarlaxle put on a fantastic impression of a drow female, rolling his eyes and turning away. "Keep it. You've already touched it." He climbed the stairs without looking back, leaving the astonished goblin to scurry away.

Entreri found that to be clever as well, although he couldn't understand why Jarlaxle had done it. "Why pay him?"

"I dislike some goblins much less than I dislike some drow," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri smirked, given he felt the same way about some humans. "I can understand that."

Jarlaxle paused at the top of the stairs and looked around. "So this is the Venter."

The streets were clean and straight, the buildings well cared for, even ordinary. Jarlaxle could see warehouses and taverns and shops, as well as buildings that looked like homes. Narrow alleys ran between buildings, some so narrow that his hat would be caught if he ventured there.

Jarlaxle shrugged, picked a direction, and walked. Now that they were up here, Jarlaxle could see some mansions situated higher up in the cavern, on ledges or stony hills. That reminded him of wealthy House compounds.

"Much better," Entreri said, studying this new neighborhood or section. He could actually imagine working here.

Jarlaxle nodded. "This society is obviously sorted by level. The reek of the port is less here, too." Not to mention that the streets were lit with lanterns, mostly lanterns hanging from individual buildings. "Now, let us find a tavern. I doubt we will be chased away or told to go to Skullport. After all, we are already here."

"Food would be nice," Entreri drawled, having been hungry for the last half-hour. However, the effort seemed worth it. He suspected they could find a worthy job.

Jarlaxle nodded. "And should be easy to find. We shall simply follow any good smells."

That reasoning led them to a large tavern with whitewashed walls and a mural of a lantern and miner's pick. Though there was no sign, the smells of strong ale and roasted meat cut through the ambient dankness.

Jarlaxle grinned and opened the heavy wooden door. A glimpse of people of all different races sitting at tables laid with food and drink was enough to lure Jarlaxle inside. A vast collection of maps papered the walls of the establishment until there was hardly any room left. Leftover spaces were devoted to hanging miner's picks, dwarven helmets, and lanterns.

Entreri found this promising. If nothing else, the spread of mutton, duck, fish, and beef had his undivided attention.

A plump barmaid in a white dress with a brown apron noticed them. She smiled cheerfully. "Welcome to the Pick and Lantern. There's a few empty tables yet. Seat yerself and we'll be with you." She left them in order to deliver a steaming plate of roast chicken and potatoes.

Jarlaxle picked his way to a corner table. He sat with a sigh of relief and propped his feet up on the table.

"Just keep your boots away from my food," Entreri said, sitting with his back to the wall. He didn't care if people propped up their feet on tables; he did care if dirt got in his food. Now that he could buy dirt-free food, he was not willing to go back except in an extreme emergency.

Jarlaxle laughed. "I will eat sitting up properly, so you may have no fear of that." He gestured to a passing blonde barmaid, who hustled over and took their orders. A few minutes later, she returned with a red wine and a honeymead ale. Jarlaxle sipped his wine with relish. "Simply getting here was an adventure in itself. But we are here, and we are perfectly poised for our next move."

Entreri wondered if every day would be such a strange odyssey with Jarlaxle around. "Whatever that proves to be."

Minutes later, their food was served. Jarlaxle exclaimed over the roethe steak, having not expected to find such a thing in Skullport. Entreri listened with half an ear until his attention was drawn by a half-elf woman who stood and made her way toward them. She had ice-blue eyes and black hair ruthlessly yanked back into a high ponytail. Brown leather armor covered her from neck to foot, a matching brown cloak trailing behind her.

She stopped by their table. "You. You're Artemis Entreri, are you not?"

"Who asks?" Entreri said, sizing her up.

Jarlaxle almost choked on his roethe. I thought we were unknown here. Entreri had certainly acted as though he'd never been to Skullport.

"Shael," the woman said. She smirked. "Shael the Slayer."

The name rang the faintest of bells in Entreri's mind, but he didn't let on. "And how may I be of assistance to Shael the Slayer?"

Shael took that as an invitation, apparently, because she sat next to him. "There's a double hit job. Simultaneous kills. The targets are to be home when it occurs. One has massive magical protection on his home, so using teleportation to get the job done isn't possible. Neither is an easy mark. My employer and I are looking for someone who won't fuck up the second hit. Interested?"

Jarlaxle gave the half-elf his most charming smile. "And how may I be of assistance?"

Shael only now looked Jarlaxle's way, her gaze raking over him. "Depending on your sexual preferences, you can lick my boots later. They need a good polishing." Her grin was wicked.

Jarlaxle opened his mouth, hastily swallowed a retort, and wiped his expression clean. He looked away and didn't answer, which was as bold a 'no' as he was willing to give to a female. "Well, what do you say, Artemis? Are we interested?"

Entreri was relieved that he had not been subjected to the setting up of an S&M date between these two. "Tell me more."

Shael looked around and lowered her voice. "Darrion Oppus and Flygon Lammel. They're both involved in the slave trade here. Oppus has the magical protection. Both are decent swordsmen in their own right, and both have plenty of bodyguards."

"Taking them out will create a power vacuum your employer intends to fill," Entreri surmised.

Shael grinned again.

Entreri glanced at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle shrugged and smiled. "A suitable first job. I assume the pay is good."

"A thousand gold pieces for Lammel and twelve hundred for Oppus," Shael said.

"We'll take Oppus, then," Entreri said, smirking at his competition.

Shael shrugged. "That's up to my employer. Do you wish to meet with her?"

"Certainly."

Shael reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a large copper coin with a dragon's head and two roses on it. "Come to the Dragon's Head Tavern tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, then. Present that token at the door and ask for me. I'll see you in."

Entreri accepted the token. "Here in Venter?"

"Two streets over," Shael said, standing and pointing to her left. "Until then, gentlethugs." She headed out the door.

Jarlaxle chuckled once she'd left. "Gentlethugs. The woman has a sense of humor. I would appreciate that much more if she didn't reveal in the first five seconds that her sexual appetite equals that of the average drow priestess." He returned to eating his dinner.

Entreri wrinkled his nose. "Good lovers must be hard to come by in Menzoberranzan, then."

"Impossible," Jarlaxle said. He changed the subject. "So, you are a great deal more famous than I was led to believe."

"Although my home is Calimport, I have taken jobs that led me up and down the Sword Coast," Entreri said. "My reputation is such that I was able to merely be a retainer at a guild and work as an independent contractor."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I am indeed fortunate then. A drow does not get such opportunities to travel in the Underdark. Each drow city is a xenophobic nation of its own. The furthest I have been is to Ched Nasad, and I assure you it is not that far, nor would I have been able to stay there and keep my life."

Entreri had a hard time imagining such a world. He suddenly understood why the Surface appealed to Jarlaxle. "Suffocating."

Jarlaxle nodded. "It is. For those like us, it is. For the small-minded of average skill, the xenophobia and lack of travel provides a sense of security, which I suppose is why so many Matron Mothers try to uphold the system."

"I can see that." Entreri had known humans that were similarly small-minded. "That is clearly not you, however. Nor is it I."

Jarlaxle smiled and waved his fork. "That is why we shall be good partners. This job will be our test. I assure you, I will prove myself a worthy partner."

Given the size of the experiment he was undertaking, Entreri certainly hoped that would be the case.