A Villain's Apathy:
Prologue:
Artemis Entreri sat alone on a rock outside of Calimport, a thoughtful frown painted across his sinister features. To the left of the rock lay a bloodstained cloak, his cloak though not his blood, and to its right lay three nameless brigands, dead. Two of them were missing their head, the remaining, would-be killer had a neat stab wound in his stomach where Artemis had drained his life.
Sand speckled his vision of the city, of his home, but he need not see to know upon what he was staring. The end of the trail, the center of his life, the single place he always ended up returning to.
"Jarlaxle," Pronounced Artemis, drawing the name out, as if pondering the meaning of it. "Gareth," Again the assassin drew each syllable out, lengthening the word.
Entreri's fist tightened, excruciatingly so, "Calihye," His voice was a mere whisper, the veins in his hands became more defined as his fist tensed even further, his fingernails drawing blood.
The ominous man's eyes flared with rage, and the first hint of anger leaked into his voice as he repeated, "Jarlaxle." Entreri paused considering the drow elf, "Meddling bastard."
His anger passed, his fist loosened and his eyes mellowed.
Entreri looked down at his bleeding hand, savoring the shimmering red color of the blood that leaked from the cut. And sneered when he saw that the cut was already closing, a reminder of the alien life force that flowed through him.
Another legacy of his and Jarlaxle's adventurers together, thought Artemis and he said again his earlier observation. "Meddling bastard."
If it hadn't been for the fool dark elf none of this would've happened. And for that, and many other things, Entreri hated him.
And for that, Entreri hated himself. Hated himself for allowing the mercenary to play him as he had, like a flute one might say.
"Calihye." Repeated Entreri, closing his eyes relishing the taste, the very texture of the word.
Artemis Entreri had faced the streets of Calimport without a drop of fear, had survived rape, faced off with wizards and priests, monks and even dark elves. Artemis Entreri had done battle with perhaps the greatest drow to ever traverse the Underdark. Had fought a dracolich, gone toe-to-toe with renowned heroes from across the land and matched wits with a paladin king. And he had done so without fear, without hesitation.
But Calihye's betrayal was one thing that he couldn't handle. He had let down his guard, allowed someone to see past the assassin and truly see the man that lay beneath.
And he had been betrayed because of it, would've died because of it if it hadn't been for that meddling bastard.
A startled gasp drew the gray-eyed assassin' attention. A man clad in a tattered yellow cloak, a simple leather jerkin and plain white breaches stood at the ready, a falchion in hand.
"You killed them, York, Ulrich, Laith, you bastard." The man breathed heavily, "I…I'll kill you!" The man charged forward and swung horizontally with his falchion.
Entreri timed his roll perfectly, the falchion tasting only air as Entreri hit the ground in a kneeling position and sneered.
It took only a single heartbeat for Entreri to free his sword and dagger, rise to a guarded crouch and send Charon's Claw racing towards his opponent's heart.
The man slapped the sword away with surprising speed and managed to dance back just in time to avoid the jeweled dagger in Artemis' off-hand.
Entreri actually grinned; a slaughter was just what he needed.
Dwahvel Tiggerwillies allowed a hint of a frown to creep along her comely face, the halfling opposite her smiled in turn.
The two halflings sat at the opposite ends of a round table carved from oak and specifically sized for their race's unique stature. Piled in the middle of the table was a stack of gold and silver coins, the pot.
Each halfling had two cards set in front of them, one face up, the other down so only the player whose hand it was could see the card. Whoever had the strongest hand, would win the pot. Though the game wasn't so much about the money as it was the entertainment. At the beginning of the game, which had thus far lasted a good two hours, their had been six of them, but they had all since pulled out.
The halfling opposite Dwahvel flipped his cards over with a wide smirk, "Pair o' Stilettos." The stiletto was worth nine points apiece, meaning her opponent had eighteen points, a hard hand to beat.
Dwahvel kept her face clear, "That's of, Stance, you have a pair of Stilettos." Stance, her opponent, chuckled, a chuckle that was cut short as Dwahvel flipped her hand.
"A pair of daggers." Announced the guild leader confidently, "That's twenty." She smiled as she reached over and raked in her coin, "I win."
"You got lucky." Stance stood up and wiped his right hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, "That's all."
"This coming from a priest of Brandobaris." Replied the woman, "Guess that's what you get worshipping a god that proclaims trickery as one of his domains, eh?"
"Hey now," Argued the priest in good humor, "Not my fault I was raised mischievous." The aging priest flashed a smile, showing teeth that were slightly yellowed from all of the pipe weed he smoked, "Besides as you yourself implied, luck is also one of his fields."
Dwahvel offered the priest—who doubled as one of her lieutenants—a friendly smile.
"Mistress Dwahvel!" Called a voice from across the room.
Mast was little, even for a halfling, but he was young, barely into adulthood. His brown hair traveled down to his shoulders where it fell over his ragged white tunic, he wore his brown breeches baggy, with strategic placed tears running up and down there length. A pair of small daggers sat at his hip, the weapons hilt showed little wear.
He was cocky, so much so that he'd already given himself the alias 'Brightknife', a name that his superiors, in good humor, laughed at behind his back.
"What is it Mast?"
"The Entreri." Answered the winded halfling, breathing heavily.
Dwahvel smiled, since when had people started referring to Artemis as 'the'. "What about him, what happened?"
"He's…he's back, back in Calimport."
The halfling's eyebrows shot up at that, "Where?"
"I don't know." Answered Mast, "Some guards were chasing me down a street and out of no where this man in a gray cloak appeared. He pulled back his hood and the guards seemed to recognize him, like they'd seen him somewhere before, than they turned and ran away."
"And the man?"
"I asked him who he was and he just sneered and said, in a voice that chilled my blood, Entreri, Artemis Entreri." Mast looked up at Dwahvel, as if looking for approval, "He had this creepy looking sword at his belt and a dagger with a jewel set in the hilt."
"Charon's Claw." Said Dwahvel aloud, recognizing the weapon that Artemis had acquired during his last stay in Calimport, alongside a band of drow. "What else did he say?"
"Nothing much ma'am, only that I tells you what I just told you."
Dwahvel frowned thoughtfully, Stance looked at her curiously, "What does it mean."
"It means," Answered Dwahvel "That we can expect a visit from our old friend very soon."
"Should I warn the doormen?" Asked Stance.
"No, I know Entreri, he has no quarrel with us." She paused. "And if he did than I suspect that warning them would do no good."
The priest frowned, "I remember seeing the man around here a few times when I first joined the guild, but I always thought he was a little overrated myself, is he really that good, or does that stare of his just insight fear?"
"Yes."
"To which?"
"Both, not a halfling here, no not a three could cross swords with that man and survive. And I imagine he'd have another six to scared to try by the time he finished the first."
"Well than," Stance rubbed the well-worn dagger at his side, "I'm glad he's on our side."
"I'll be in my room," Said the guild leader unexpectedly, "When he arrives show him to me, no delays."
Stance, and everyone else in the room that'd been listening in, nodded. None of them would question Dwahvel, to whom they trusted as a sister.
Artemis Entreri found himself turning down the street to The Copper Ante without thought, so familiar was the way.
To any normal man the fact that the guards of the city still remembered his face, and knew to run would have summoned a sense of pride, not to Entreri. To the master assassin, it was all too normal, too routine.
Of course to any other assassin the fact that the guards recognized them would have been a bad thing. Not to Artemis Entreri, not to the man who had never once tried to keep his presence concealed to the guard.
For Entreri, while yes he was a master of stealth, relied more on his fighting capabilities than he did his sneakiness. So much so that instead of, for instance, infiltrating some traitors hiding place and stabbing him in the back, Entreri would simply walk in and slay whoever drew steel.
And that, more than anything, was how he had become so feared.
No one could touch Artemis in open combat, until that is he had met Drizzt on his way to kill Regis, an incident that had spanned years.
Drizzt Do'Urden, ranger, and hero of Icewind Dale. The only man to have ever bested him in open combat and lived to tell of it, well he had lived, at least for a couple of years.
Drizzt Do'Urden, the man that had laid Entreri's soul bare and inspected his soul, read his mind and come to know the assassin better than the assassin had thought possible.
Drizzt Do'Urden, the man that had dared to call Entreri's life nothing, call it meaningless. And stand firm against his rage, his obsession with being the best.
Drizzt Do'Urden, the man that Entreri had later killed with his bare hands, settling the rivalry.
Drizzt Do'Urden, the man that had torn a hole in Entreri's philosophy and led to his own self-doubt in what he was doing.
Drizzt Do'Urden, a man whose words, whose ideals and whose scimitars still haunted Entreri from beyond the grave.
Drizzt Do'Urden, the man that Entreri found he didn't carry any hate for, at least not any longer.
The Copper Ante came into view than; two halfling guards stood at the door, loaded crossbows in hand and short swords at their belt. Entreri recognized one of the guard's faces, but couldn't think of his name.
"Master Entreri, we've been expecting you." Said the guard whose name Entreri could not place.
"I suspected as much, I suppose the runt made it back alright?"
The other halfling, the one who Artemis didn't know spoke, "Yes sir, and on behalf of the Copper Ante we thank you." He offered the thankful grin that seemed so right when seen on a halfling's face.
No name did the same, "You're here to see Mistress Tiggerwillies correct?"
"Yes." Answered the assassin.
The halfling that was unknown to him opened the door and whispered something, "You may enter, Lieutenant Stance shall direct you to Dwahvel."
"I know the way." Said Artemis as he walked through the door and saw the priest awaiting him. "I need not your help Lieutenant."
"Nonetheless I insist." Replied the aging priest rubbing the holy symbol he wore around his neck, a halfing's footprint.
"Fine." The man that the guards had named as Stance led him through the Copper Ante's main room where several halflings greeted him with kind waves while other seemed to draw away from him, Entreri found that he preferred the latter.
They passed the same room where Entreri had killed his dear friend Don Don, a mercy killing in the eyes of Artemis. There were more smiles as Entreri passed and came to Dwahvel's door.
Stance raised his hand to knock but found Entreri's hand already turning the knob. And when it opened he found a smiling Dwahvel, warm brown eyes looking into his.
Entreri entered and closed the door before Stance could say a thing.
"Well, I see your manners haven't improved any." Said Dwahvel as Entreri moved over to the desk between him and her.
"You're correct," Answered Entreri, arching an eyebrow when he saw that Dwahvel had brought in a human sized chair for him. "But than, Jarlaxle wasn't a good man to really learn from."
"Truly?" Inquired the halfling woman, "And here I had him figured for the dinner party type."
"And that was your first mistake, never guess anything with Jarlaxle." Answered the assassin, "But if I had to guess, his idea of etiquette comes from the Underdark, where the word please is a curse." Entreri added. "But all I learned from him was how to properly grope a woman in public, and in turn how to get slapped."
"Quite a character than one." She laughed, "And is he with you?"
"If he was you would've already heard of it no doubt."
"That would be a no, correct?"
"Yes." Answered the assassin, "And if I never see the bastard again it would be to soon."
It was than that Entreri noted the searching look in her eyes than as she scanned the gray pallor of his skin. "I absorbed the life essence of a shade Dwahvel, you can stop looking at me like that."
If she was surprised that he'd noticed, she didn't show it. "A shade?"
"Yes, a creature who has infused him, or herself with shadow." Said the assassin, though he suspected that she already knew of shades.
"And you? Is Artemis Entreri now a shade as well, is Artemis Entreri now more than human?"
"Yes." He shook his head, "No."
"Which is it?" Inquired the curious halfling.
"I don't know." Answered the gray eyed man honestly, "I've seen, and since read, what shades can do. I can't travel the shadows, I can't darken a room with a thought." He shook his head, "But at the same time I feel as if I was ten years younger, like the Entreri of my youth, the one that first left to track down Regis." He held up his hand where his nail had cut it, now a dull pink line, "I heal faster too, not as fast as what I've heard shades do, but faster nonetheless."
"Interesting." Replied the halfling; "I could have a few of my clerics cast a couple of divination spells on you, see what we figure out."
Entreri shook his head, "Jarlaxle already tried that, and all his hired priests found was that there was indeed shadow within me." He paused, "What that means they couldn't figure out, do I know have the lifespan of a shade too, will I eventually turn into one completely, what?"
"I see." Answered Dwahvel. "And what'll you do now, go back and work for one of the guilds?"
He shook his head, "No, actually I was hoping you could find a use for me."
That had her leaning back in her chair, a thoughtful look painted across her face, "We here at The Copper Ante don't have much use for an assassin, but a man of your skills could always come in handy." She looked into Entreri's eyes, "Your skill at arms could easily serve to bolster our guard, and no one would dare attack if they knew we had you in our arsenal."
"So?" Asked the assassin.
"So," Replied the woman, "Your also a master of stealth are you not."
"Yes, though I've always preferred to depend on my steel."
"All the better." She smiled, "Sometimes, when suspicious characters come into town the guilds, or some of the businesses ask The Copper Ante to keep an eye on them." Entreri nodded, seeing where she was going.
"And who better than I, who can not only sneak, but cut my way out of any situation if things go bad."
"Exactly." She paused letting Entreri think about the proposition, "So what do you think?"
Entreri answered almost before she quit talking "I'll do it." A sly smirk came to his face, "What do you want me to do?"
Dwahvel smiled, "Well the halfling I normally assign to these missions, Boris, is already on an assignment tracking a priest of Bane and his wizard comrade." She paused, "And recently a duo from Selgaunt have come to town, by the names Erevis Cale and Drasek Riven."
"And you want to track them?" Entreri frowned, something about the name Riven seemed familiar.
"Yes, the Three Merchants Shipping Company had hired us to watch them."
"I'll do it, where do I start?"
The Shining Sea lived up to its name in the eyes of Erevis Cale as he peered over the deck of The Baron's Riot.
Reaching into the inside pocket of his supple gray cloak he withdrew a pipe and rubbed in against his oiled leathers, giving it a polished shine. Cale couldn't keep the smile from his face as he loaded the bowl with pipeweed and lit it; his hardened gaze scanning the dock ward of Calimport.
"It your first time here?" Inquired a voice behind him, a voice that belonged to the captain of the ship. He was a middle-aged man with a thick goatee and short, ear length black hair. A cutlass hung at his belt, its hilt showing the wear and tear of heavy usage. His green eyes were kind and the smile on his face disarming.
"Yes." Said Cale, turning around to lean against the railing he comfortably rested his hand on the hilt of his long sword, Weaveshear. "My uncle's recently fallen ill, so my brother and I our going to be managing his shop while he's resting." The lie rolled as easily off his tongue as a raindrop over his baldhead.
"Speaking of your brother," The captain nodded in the direction of the main deck, "the man's a devil with those sabers of his. You two adventurers or something?"
"Something." Answered Cale cryptically, flashing a friendly smile. "So tell me Cap, why are you and the Baron here anyways? You're a pirate hunting vessel aren't you?"
"Yeah, but The Three Merchant's Shipping Company recently commissioned us to find out who's behind the increase in sea attacks on ships out of Calimport." The captain shrugged. "Once we set down in dock a special crew is coming to disguise us as a merchant vessel. We're going to bait them in and sever their heads."
"And if they happen to have more men than you what th—" Erevis was cut off by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by another.
Cale looked at the man in front of him, towards the noise, and back at the captain again. "I think now would be a pretty good time to check up on brother dearest."
"Yes. I concur."
Drasek Riven was a small man, though he was easily the equal of any swordsmen Cale had ever laid eyes on. His long black hair was kept back and out of his face in a loose ponytail. Over the scarred hole of his left eye he wore a black eye patch that held tightly to his face ensuring that it wouldn't slip off.
Discarded to the side lay his leather jerkin and scarlet cloak, forgotten in the heat of battle as Riven spun his practice blades in a blur of movement.
A trio of sailors pressed in around him formed into a neat and practiced triangle, their practice swords darting forward with a practiced grace. And Riven repulsed each one of their attacks keep his blades moving at a mesmerizing pace, he would counter before the sailor at the end of his sword could hope to press the attack.
And judging by the two men who lay on the floor next to the dancing quartet of warriors, it was a fight that Drasek was winning.
"That's enough!" Announced the captain, putting a hand on the hilt of his cutlass, a gentle reminder of his authority. "We're almost to port now."
"Yes Captain Veln!" Replied the men standing around and watching the sparring match. The tired men that were facing Riven lowered their swords and offered a tired salute. The men on the floor just grunted.
"Showing off Riven?" Cale asked walking forward to stand before his friend, noting the way that even after the battle his breath remained steady.
"Hardly." Answered the former Black Network assassin. "It was exercise is all."
Both Erevis Cale and Drasek Riven, the first and second of Mask turned to regard the approaching image of Calimport. Cale asked, "So why do you think Mask called us here?"
"I don't know." Replied Riven. "And I imagine things will stay that way until the last moment."
"Just like Mask always does." Spat Erevis, shadows blossoming from his skin and painting his complexion black.
"Just like Mask always does." Agreed Riven.
And standing in the shadows of the Dock Ward of Calimport Artemis Entreri patiently awaiting their arrival.