The Lesser Evil: Hooligan's Holiday
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Chapter 10: One Lapse of Control
Calm down, Artemis
They were words that floated through the assassin's frenzied brain half a million times over the past ten minutes, his eyes never leaving the expanse of sea in front of him. The waves churned and a bolt of lightning floated through the thick clouds, followed soon after by the low moan of the wind descending over the peninsula. A second later, he flinched as the first, cold pricks of water flung against his hot face and built up to a complete onslaught. Within the next few seconds, water streamed down his goatee and flowed down his back. He noticed very little of it.
Entreri gave a low growl that turned into a scream as he kicked at a small pile of rocks on the cliff before bending down and grabbing another handful of pebbles to fling at the sea. He then found a piece of loose planking, likely a shingle from the lighthouse or maybe a scrap from one of the clerics' last creations. Without a thought, he leapt to the nearest boulder and slammed it against the stone; a series of maddened growls escaping his throat as he pounded the wood so hard it splintered with a loud crack and ricocheted against his shoulder.
The assassin kicked the rock again and looked at his white tunic, seeing a long trail of blood. The splintered wood may have left a small bruise, but the blood wasn't his; it splashed on him after Jarlaxle's last seizure. Ten minutes ago when they first came to this lighthouse-turned-cozy family home, a trail of bloody spittle flew from his mouth and splashed across the human's tunic. It was a sight that only made his steadily growing rage even more vicious, though he paused, reached back, and squeezed the building moisture from his ponytail while trying to let the cool rain calm him down a little.
Artemis looked back down the brick path. The rain had washed away most of the freshly spewed dark elf blood, though a few bright red drops remained on the gray shale beside the path and a little still being washed away in the yellow grass that grew along the hill. It was a golden, dead carpet that spread out over the small swatch of peninsula occupied by various shacks topped with tiny chimneys and lined with various saw horses, rickety canoes barely fit for use, and various fishing nets and poles that looked more suited to a boat at one point in history. Various lamps shone in the windows as a few villagers here and there shut doors and brought in goats and dogs.
Lucas and Riley Barson were down there somewhere. Their mother had sent them to a neighbor's after Jarlaxle's collapse, and the little ones dutifully obliged. Someone so young should not see a wicked drow elf spitting up blood as his parents laid hands on him saying prayers as the two other strange men lifted him up and carried him to the lighthouse, especially those few times he had to be set on the ground as his fits became more violent.
Entreri gave out another growl, trying to hold back the onslaught of images; the prone form of his companion, always so strong and confident, in the throes of violent shivering. It reminded him too much that Jarlaxle, under all the colorful garments and mounds of magic items, was still an elf; a frail creature composed of flesh easily chilled and blood easily spilled.
"Calm down, Artemis," he sighed to himself through gritted teeth, whipping around and walking up the loose, brick path.
With another deep breath, he pushed open the flimsy wooden door and cautiously walked into the simple lighthouse. A gust of wind caused the structure to creak very slightly, though the old stone and wood was more than enough to keep it upright, especially considering its caretakers were clerics of the Lord of all Smiths; the king of mechanical ingenuity.
The ground floor looked to be mostly a workshop; various scraps of metal and wood were strewn about a series of workbenches along the round wall and scattered around the floor. All contained various shapes and frames that looked to be projects in the making; some rather involved series of gears and pulleys, while some were but a few pieces that looked to do something. Tools were scattered everywhere, as well as various parchments and pens. The assassin's black eyes scanned around, yet stayed on the floor, where a few more drops of Jarlaxle's blood had scattered, the various, magically glowing lanterns on the various workbenches illuminating the red like little beacons on the gray stone.
Entreri turned his gaze to the back, brick wall, cautiously walking through, yet keeping on his guard; it was the only reliable state he knew now. His peripheral vision caught the sight or a rare, cast iron stove on the other wall as he smelled the aroma of stale coffee and old, salted mutton. He stopped for a second to look at the steaming stove and the small table beside it; four plates arranged around the simple, square wood still loaded with gristle and juices from the family's meal. The pan containing the meat still sat on the stove, an inviting sight to the once hungry human whose appetite was waning by the second.
At last the floor came to a stair, then another ascending. His heavy eyes looked up the long spiral staircase that was dark save for the small lantern at the top of the stairwell in a small hallway. He wanted to ascend, though an invisible force known only to him kept him back. Jarlaxle was up there; dying, vomiting blood, or maybe sitting up with his usual grin, exchanging tales with the clerics.
He took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, trying to calm his nerves lest they send him into a maddening rage more typical of Drizzt's nonsense than his own cold discipline…which he felt melting away with the rain. It was not the time to weep, however; it was time to find out what in the Nine Hells happened. Anything could have befallen Jarlaxle while he was wandering those rocks; magical trap, latent undetectable poison put in his drink in Scardale Town, a meeting with Kimmuriel or any other Bregan D'aerthe member ending in treachery, running into an old enemy, running into the Banites, running into Moril. Knowing Jarlaxle, he could have been ambushed by Lolth herself, tossed around her spidery legs like a ball, and left with a pat on the head. His clothing bore no blood or marks of any injury, and Entreri wasn't able to examine under his clothing since the emphasis was on taking him into shelter and raising his icy temperature.
Entreri let out a long sigh, feeling himself almost melt into the wall and allow his blood pressure to drop a little. After a few seconds, he turned around and faced the hallway once again. The assassin let his own vision shift to see within the darkness and saw Drizzt Do'Urden sitting on a stair, his back against the round, stone wall. A mane of white hair came hung from his hanging head, covering his face yet fully revealing his blank, grim expression as his eyes stayed fixed on a spot on the wall in front of him. Clutched gently in his slender hands was a grand, plumed hat; the same one he rescued from the beach when its owner fell.
Entreri clenched his fists and glared at the drow, then looked down at Jarlaxle's hat, then to the drow again, wanting nothing more than to cut his entrails out right there. He slowly unclenched his fists and let out a profound sigh.
You lose your temper; you will lose your control, he thought to himself over and over again.
Just like Jarlaxle did, he ultimately thought. Look how he ended up.
Jarlaxle wasn't so crafty now; one had to be conscious to be crafty. One could not be crafty and scheming while one was barely alive.
The images only assaulted the assassin's mind more; Jarlaxle, the master schemer, the one who was always in control and always came out on top, lying prone in the arms of his companions who carried him across the beach; Drizzt took his legs, Entreri grabbed his shoulders and had the best view of his ashen gray face.
Seven years; for seven years Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle were partners…friends. The drow had used the human as a puppet for his schemes and a fleshy shield time and time again, yet the thought of him in any amount of suffering sent a wave of anger over Entreri. Jarlaxle wasn't supposed to choke on his own blood; he thought.
He looked up at Drizzt, whose expression had not changed. Drizzt, his only remaining friend: Drizzt the favored of his deity who was apparently commanded to do said deity's work…at the expense of his companions. Drizzt the scheming drow who had used his associates to gain glory in the eyes of his god…a plot that likely included the death of the second drow…
No, that is not it, Entreri thought as he watched Drizzt's vacant gaze float down to the hat in his hands, and then back to the wall. He knew Drizzt had nothing to do with whatever happened to Jarlaxle out on that beach; he wouldn't have screamed his name when he fell and trembled at the sight of his prone form. He wouldn't be sitting here now mournfully gazing at the wet hat of his victim.
It was the only thought in the assassin's mind that kept the ranger alive.
"Is he alive?" Entreri said, his voice echoing through the stones.
The drow stayed still, though a small twitch in his face indicated momentary surprise. Drizzt looked at the ceiling, and then nodded.
"Any change?" the assassin asked, looking at Do'Urden and feeling like he was talking to a scared little boy.
"I have been told nothing," Drizzt replied, his voice slightly cracking.
Entreri's nerve only became strained a bit more. The drow clenched the hat harder hands and looked at the floor. This was clearly not the posture of a killer who had failed his job, but a man close to losing his old friend. Drizzt looked how Entreri felt…and he hated him even more for it.
"I hope you're praying to your god now, Do'Urden," the human hissed, walking closer to the sitting ranger, who had rested his head against the wall as his eyes absently trailed back to the high ceiling; yet the curl of his lip and the way he clenched his fists showed he was preparing for battle. "I hope you are trying to gain some insight as to why our companion started bleeding to death."
Drizzt said nothing, but Entreri could see the fire lighting in his eyes. This one had a horrific temper and could likely rip him in half with one thought, though he didn't care. He could only see Jarlaxle's unconscious form as he choked up another river of blood; this to the tune of the clerics hailing Drizzt the…
"Champion of Vhaeraun," Entreri added carefully with a small chuckle, though his voice was taking on a rising scream as his nerve slipped even more. "Champion of Vhaeraun, you double-crossing son of a bitch!"
Drizzt's icy lavender eyes locked on him, displaying an unnerving calm; the same expression given by a lion before it tears the nearest fleshy thing apart. Entreri had no place to go in his rage but forward.
Drizzt wanted to say something, anything, but his throat was so tight no words came out; a lump that only thickened with his companion's words. The remaining itch and fatigue of his cold still lingered slightly even though the initial illness was cured by a small potion Barson tossed him as he entered the lighthouse, between prayers over Jarlaxle's unconscious form.
It was all too much. Vhaeraun hailed him, no betrayed him; wait, no, gave him a puzzle…that he could not solve before his name, the name of a goodly hero who was supposed to be dead, was proclaimed from the mouths of strangers as some great hero…that he never wanted to be again. In the din of his thoughts he could still hear Jarlaxle; the normally silver and melodious voice of his kinsman, his mentor, his close friend, giving out a few choking groans as his mortal-enemy-turned-close-friend accused him of…just like the councilors of Icewind Dale accused him of…
He wrapped his arms around his knees, almost feeling like he was ten-years-old and balling up into a corner after hearing Briza scream about the spot of fungus he accidentally left on the rug and expecting to feel the sting of the snake whip any time. Only this time he knew he could cut apart those who threatened him, though he wasn't actually being threatened. He was sitting in a stairwell feeling like he was about to tumble down from his cozy spot of sanity into vicious, blood-spattering madness; a state he feared worse than any monster, deity, power, or fate he could ever face.
"Don't start with me now, Artemis," he said in the strongest voice he could muster, yet to his companion they sounded like a cross between a weak hiss and a sob.
The assassin's common sense grabbed him by the collar, hoisted him off his feet, and screamed in his face to turn around and find another rock to hit. That logical mind, however, seemed locked outside in the rain while his current mindset outlined his sitting partner in red flames. He looked almost vulnerable in this position…almost.
"I wasn't the one who started this!" Entreri screamed, noticing how Drizzt flinched at his tone of voice; a reaction that only rubbed at his raw nerve fiercer. "I wasn't the one whose name has been shouted out as a gods damned hero!"
"You are just gods damned," Drizzt whispered...words he regretted the first second they came out of his mouth.
The only warning he had was a few light steps across the floor. In a second a hand was lifting him from the floor. Another slammed into his jaw and sent his head bouncing against the wall, the force causing his hand to open and the hat to float lightly to the stair. Everything happened so fast he had no way of reacting, though the burning ache in his mouth and the rush of salty fluid from his mouth gave him more than a little pause. He looked up to see the human leaning over him, his black gaze boring through his soul as his tongue dislodged the back tooth that had been rattled free. A tense calm came over him as the assassin's venomous gaze spoke volumes: he was trying to control himself now, though just one wrong move.
Drizzt stood up and spat out the bloody tooth which bounced down the staircase with a series of soft taps.
"You know," Drizzt said, his speech slightly muffled from the blood, "you should learn to hide your emotions better."
What little control Entreri had at that moment disappeared. Before he registered what he was doing, Drizzt's collar was in his hand and he was slamming the elf's slender form against the wall. He threw him down the stairwell, though was not surprised when he broke into a roll and came to his feet at the bottom in a perfect landing. Entreri slid down the thin railing and aimed his feet for the drow's chest. Drizzt came to a perfect crouch and Entreri flew over him, though in perfect time to lower his legs and land on the dark elf's shoulders, sending him to the floor.
It was a move that caught Drizzt slightly off guard for long enough to allow the frenzied human to crouch over him, grab him by the throat and repeatedly slam his head against the floor. He lost sense of himself and his surroundings; only paying attention the wretched drow in his grasp and savoring the ooze of blood from the back of his head…as he lay perfectly prone and completely conscious. The alarm sounded in Entreri's mind long enough to see Drizzt grin, then start laughing; a small chuckle at first then a chilling cackle. The crazy bastard was enjoying this.
Entreri paused for a second; the surge of adrenaline through his body making his senses too numb to register the pair of feet slamming into his chest. His back landed on the floor, before he was picked up by the neck and hoisted up. A fist slammed across his jaw, a pointed toe connected with his groin, and an elbow slammed into his ribs. He felt the blood flowing down his lip, though the shock of the sudden, fierce blows sent his senses reeling. Entreri had one second to enjoy full consciousness, enough to feel himself flying through the air. An explosion of pain assaulted his lower back as he heard a loud snap and landed on the stone floor in a fetal position.
Wake up, you ass, his mind screamed through the pain.
Entreri let out a groan, getting control of his senses…only to register the press of a blade underneath his Adam's apple as a slender hand guided him to a sit. The hot smell of old bourbon and cloves was heavy on his face as he felt slender fingers dig through his hair and pull at the roots. His eyes opened fully to see Do'Urden's fine elven nose pressed into his face, the drow's expression one of calm, yet burning rage.
"You dumb bastard," the assassin hissed, though his words were entirely to himself.
"Yes, yes," Drizzt sneered in his ear, "now you know what it feels like; that hot rush threatening to consume your soul, the feeling that you have nothing else in the whole fucking universe to turn to besides your own rage. Doesn't it feel good, doesn't it feel like what you have been denying yourself, doesn't it feel like you could die right now and have some relief?"
"What makes you think death provides relief?" Entreri sneered before he even realized the words coming out of his mouth.
He let out a laugh that Drizzt almost heard as a mix between a wince and a sob.
Entreri looked directly into his icy lavender eyes, his own adrenaline surging less as he forced his logical, ordered thought into the open, pushing out all the terrors his mind could invoke at a moment's notice. It was enough to register how Do'Urden's hand trembled slightly as his eyes watered a little stronger. Entreri knew he was looking into the face of madness; a visage that made him ill, went against every fiber of his being, and stood as a warning of what he could become if he failed to maintain his icy control.
Drizzt held his sneer, final vindication for an individual with a holier-than-thou attitude so strong it was slowly destroying him. Just like his own destroyed him once-upon-a-time. Slowly, the adrenaline flowed less and all his held-back emotions started to wriggle their way out. His self-assured look started to melt. He held the simple dagger firm, yet the look in his eyes spoke that he could not drive the blade home…though with Drizzt Do'Urden, nothing was ever predictable. Entreri met his gaze, though his glare softened; he had already put himself into this position through his own stupidity, all he had to do was trust in his partner's loyalty…an abysmally poor position indeed.
"Oh, do you think I would kill you?" Drizzt said in a tone of mock surprise, though his true thoughts were instantly betrayed by the shrill crack in his voice. "No, not at all. I personally would not want to travel alone with that peacock in a drow suit and I'm sure he would not be very happy with me. The only question is, will you try, and I mean try, to kill me once I lower this blade?"
Entreri wanted to make some retort, but words were an alien concept to him right now. His own anger defeated him…and Do'Urden reminded him of that in the most blatant way. He didn't know if he wanted to shake his hand or stab him through the heart. The tiny tears streaming from his lavender eyes only thickened the barrier between the human and any words.
Drizzt gave a small smile, savoring the almost defeated expression of the humbled bastard under his grasp; a bastard who had so much more room to kick out and reverse positions, yet remained casually still right now. The assassin's glare almost seemed softened, a rather disturbing sight indeed. It took a small squeak from the wooden stairs to turn the attentions of both.
Both sets of eyes looked up to see the hulking form of Hanna Barston walking down the stairs with a purpose. She glared at them, but made no moves and tempered her gaze. It was obvious to both that she was completely scared of both of them, hence why she ignored the fact the battered drow was holding a flimsy dagger to the human's throat. Drizzt turned his look to Entreri, lowering the dagger and throwing his head back before untangling his fingers from his wet, black hair.
Entreri managed to come to a full sit, and then slowly moved his legs until he came to a painful stand. He rubbed his back; it was sore and likely badly bruised, though no bones were broken. He then looked back and gave a small, involuntary gasp. Behind him was a flimsy, knotted support post made from a mid sized log of some type of wood. That support post had been snapped clean in half; as his back should have been, though the drow's throw was perfect, using the momentum of the assassin's body weight perfectly to snap the post yet cause very little damage to the man at all.
His eyes trailed forward, looking at the woman, whose gaze seemed more cautious, though threatening rage at every turn.
"You're going to help me fix that post, I assume," she said descending the stairs and dividing her gaze between both men.
"That depends on if you came down here to deliver us news or scold us for our horse play," Entreri replied, stalking forward. "Just bear in mind we are far from your boys."
The woman glared at both once more. Drizzt took a deep breath, replacing the simple dagger in his belt and rapidly growing impatient from the lack of news. Hanna looked at the drow, yet was careful not to look him in the eye.
"Your servant is stable," she said. "The blood stopped and his temperature has come up."
Both mercenaries maintained their respective icy composures, yet both let out small sighs; a sense of immense relief was visible in the faces and body postures of both.
"Do you have any idea what caused the condition of …my companion?" Drizzt asked with a profound, almost mocking nod.
Hanna shifted uncomfortably.
"He had a stomach ulcer that was bleeding badly," she replied. "I know little about any elves, black or otherwise, but he's not a young one. Not an uncommon illness, I can imagine. That mixed with being out in that cold air too long gave him a chill that almost killed him. He's been coming in and out, though he'll live. A potion took care of the ulcer and the fire's doing its work now. He did lose quite a bit of blood, though some potions for that should undo most of the damage. Barson insists you stay here until he starts walking around…and he says help yourselves to the coffee and mutton on the stove."
She turned around and walked back to the stair. Drizzt and Entreri glanced at each other; the human noting his companion's bloody mouth and how his long, white hair took on a reddish tinge from the caked blood from the back of his scalp. Drizzt saw his companion's cut, bleeding lip and how he stretched his sore back out. Both had obviously done a number on each other, a sight that invoked a microscopic smile from Drizzt and a defeated glare from Entreri; their respective rage held somewhat in check.
"Bleeding ulcer?" Entreri whispered with an unconvinced look.
"He's not a young elf," Drizzt said, his eyes trailing to the ceiling. "It is possible he's not as healthy as we assume."
Entreri gave a stiff nod, though the cleric's explanation seemed far from sufficient.
The squeak on the stair announced Hanna Barston's return appearance. Both mercenaries turned their attentions forward to see the rough woman coming into view.
"Oh almost forgot," she said, reaching into her leather apron, "this fell out of your…companion's vest when we put it on the chair. You might want to hold on to it for him."
A pudgy hand produced a thin, leather bound book and tossed it on the nearest bench. She then nodded and walked away. Entreri and Drizzt let their eyes fall on the journal, both curious, yet cautious.
"Well the most god blessed one of us should see what it is," Entreri said with a smirk.
Drizzt flashed him an icy glare and walked over to the table, eying the simple, brown leather book for a second. Blocking out all caution, he snatched it up and examined the cover; a simple, embossed border clasped by a plain, brass button with a leather cord wound around, the other end connected to the back cover of the book. The cord was loosely wrapped, a sight that made Drizzt assume that whatever was inside was either of little importance to their unconscious companion or was hastily concealed. He looked to the side and saw Entreri scrutinizing the book as carefully as him, a small look of both curiosity and profound wariness.
The drow shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the wound end of the cord, unwinding it fully and throwing the loose end to dangle from the side. Entreri groaned and rushed forward.
"I thought you actually learned something," he said in a harsh whisper.
He then put a hand on the book, feeling the cover and spine for any potential traps Jarlaxle or anyone else may have set, finding none. He snatched the book in his own hand with no protest from Drizzt and placed it back on the table. The skilled rogue then drew Charon's Claw and walked back a few paces, motioning for his companion to do the same. Drizzt complied, seeing the logic in the caution.
The tip of the sword met the inside cover of the book, the fine blade's wielder gently pried the cover open until it fell to the table. No traps, no magical enchantments, nothing, but a folded sheet of parchment bearing many lines and images. Charon's Claw nudged the paper before Entreri came forward and gently picked it up. Drizzt looked over his shoulder as he carefully unfolded the parchment to reveal it was a wide and very detailed map of what was clearly the center of Faerûn; the area they traveled now. The landscape was composed of various topographical reliefs and detailed depictions of forests and plains. All script was in the characters of Espruar, the elven script, though the language was High Drow.
Entreri only understood the most basic written form of the language, but Drizzt cocked an eyebrow as he examined the script. He had seen many samples of Jarlaxle's handwriting in Espruar; enough to know the cramped script was far from his usual flowing style. Entreri never took his eyes off the parchment, finding their present location and tracing over the path with his pinkie. At last he came to the peninsula they were now, noting the light press against the parchment in a particular spot, noting the slight, half-moon shape of a small fingernail…an elven one most likely. Drizzt's attention came back to the parchment and noted his partner's careful, yet unamused expression as he kept his finger over one spot; the spot where the impression was clearer in the right angle of light. He made a mental note of the impression; this would require further investigation. He looked at Drizzt, who barely seemed to notice this little detail at all…or was hiding his surprise well.
"Jarlaxle's little cheat sheet?" Drizzt whispered, keeping completely calm at all the implications of this discovery, "though somehow I doubt it. Does this look like his usual script?"
Entreri leaned in further and examined the writing, though his immediate reaction was a shake of the head. He could barely understand the words, though he knew its style wasn't the usual show and gloss of Jarlaxle's dramatic hand. Entreri examined the script carefully, recalling any samples of Kimmuriel Oblodra's handwriting he has seen on notes and addresses over the time he worked as Bregan D'aerthe's human front in Calimport with the drow psion. After a moment of careful thought, the realization was clear.
"This is also a little too neat organized for the Jarlaxle's resident psionic," the human said.
"A third party most likely," Drizzt replied. "Though just think about it; if Jarlaxle is concealing this map, why all the dramatics with the enchanted disk he allegedly found at the temple? Better yet, this is a little too flouncy and detailed to be a hasty copy, even by drow standards."
Entreri nodded silently, the corner of his thumb gently feeling the quality of the parchment and lightly rubbing over the ink. He was not well versed in the art of appraisal, though he knew enough about the quality of forgeries versus better quality notes to tell some of the difference.
"Too extravagant to be a copy," he said, feeling his temples throb as more thing became clear. "The ink is thick; you could almost feel the lines and read this map in pitch blackness. I can imagine Jarlaxle or any of his cronies would not pay that much for ink of this quality. The parchment is also a little thicker than Bregan D'aerthe typically uses."
Drizzt's eyes widened at a sudden realization.
"Fine parchment made from rare materials and ink likely containing lizard oil," Drizzt said feeling the map and recalling various letters and scripts he encountered as a child. "The High Houses will usually flaunt their wealth in any way they can, even in writing material. That son of a bitch."
Entreri nodded, understanding his companion's meaning; in Menzoberranzan he had seen many letters from many nobles made from such materials.
"The map was constructed by a drow noble," Entreri said, everything becoming a little clearer. "Either Jarlaxle made a friend who was willing to scribe this for him, or we have found our employer."
Drizzt kicked the table leg hard and let out a growl. A spew of obscenities in Common and Drow fell from his lips as his fists pounded the bench.
"Get your temper down," Entreri said, flashing him a dirty glare, though his own blood was pumping a bit hotter. "This proves nothing."
"Horse shit," Drizzt spat, "this proves enough. You're fucking blind, I'm fucking blind! We've both been lead around by the throat since we started this little excursion when it was in plain sight. The bastard goes off for a day and suddenly comes to us with this perfect map leading us straight to Moril. Did you even ask who is going to provide the bounty? Did you even question it when he found this little artifact so nicely tucked in the rubble? Gods dammit!"
Entreri casually leaned on the bench, though every one of Do'Urden's words were like a rake against his peeled flesh. He had never challenged Jarlaxle at all, never even questioned his motivations for this trip. Usually he was standing perpetually in the ready and always scrutinizing his partner's actions. This time however…one lapse of control…one moment of waking from death.
Drizzt pounded the table with another grunt, then looked up at the assassin. His jaw was tight and he tapped his fingers against the bench as if every tap was supposed to break the wood. His other hand hung loose at his side, though it shivered slightly. His black gaze met Drizzt, who turned away and laughed.
"I just want to pause and savor this moment where the great Artemis Entreri started visibly trembling," the drow said. "If you aren't careful, you might just look human."
Entreri's eyes shot open as he reined in the sudden urge to put out another one of the drow's teeth. That was until he raised his hand slightly and indeed saw it take on a small shake. He took a deep breath and threw his hand back down.
"No, I never challenged Jarlaxle's grand scheme," Entreri sneered. "Is that what you want me to say? Why should I, after all, I am the stupid rivvil lead around by two cunning drow with their own agendas."
Drizzt's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Behold my fragile form in a sticky web facing two black spiders," the assassin continued in a tone of melodrama mixed with stinging sarcasm. "One is the ever cunning, ever-scheming Jarlaxle; the master of playing those around him like pieces in his own little game. The second is the bitter and ever ambitious Drizzt Do'Urden; the great warrior who fell from goodness and has no other worth besides making himself a great champion in the eyes of his dark god. Now he is going on a grand quest, choosing his expendable squires wisely. Or maybe there is a bit more to this drama." Entreri knew proceeding further would be infinitely dangerous, especially given the murderous look plastered on his companion's ebony face. He had already gone far enough and there was no where to go but forward. "Oh, I understand, the tool of Lolth and the tool of Vhaeraun are both traveling in the same pack. The only question is; which one will get use of the human today?"
Drizzt put a hand on the table, digging his nails in the wood, and getting ready to grab a scimitar and slice his head off; finally wiping off that smug smile. Instead he kept his control, channeling his inner rage into actually listening to what he was saying. A creeping grin came over the drow's face as he gave a low, menacing chuckle. Jarlaxle's deception was exposed. Matters would only turn truly ugly if Drizzt kept his own mouth shut, though Entreri had actually been witness to everything.
"So that's what you think," Drizzt said softly. "All is completely understandable. I don't blame you for your suspicion, though I assure matters are a little less ominous."
Entreri's glare became more venomous. Drizzt merely laughed again and walked over to the twitchy human and stopped when his face was a few inches away from his. Entreri did not flinch and even softened his gaze slightly, though honing his muscles and remembering the location of every weapon on his person.
"For one thing, Lolth has no part in this," Drizzt continued, savoring the increasing tightness in the dangerous human's jaw. He then raised his hand and started counting on his fingers. "Tymora, Torm, Selune; the three attacked first, as we know from the notices, though no one posted for the church of Shar in Yartar, though Mazn'reysla was kind enough to tell me about it. We do know about the attack on Bane's temple at Castle Wenthias thanks to both aforementioned cleric and those new friends we met in Scardale Town. Now, I admit I am not entirely sure what my Masked God wants with Clown Cultist, though he likely has a good reason." He spread the fingers on one hand and raised a single finger on the other. "Now not counting the poor Wonderbringer, whose revenge is coming vicariously through more martial parties, I do believe that makes six deities."
He paused and looked at the glare of his companion with a smile.
"Now is when things get really interesting," Drizzt continued, "though I'm sure that you know the rest."
"And why is that?" Entreri hissed.
"Because you were in the room when I was first sent on my divine quest."
Entreri narrowed his eyes, feeling a small burn in the pit of his stomach. The idea was incredible to him; he never took part in any rituals and had no interest in doing so.
"You don't remember do you?" Drizzt said, his smile widening. "Once again, understandable, considering how drunk you were that night."
Entreri felt sick. He let his guard down once…
"He said he actually liked you," Drizzt continued, noting Entreri's glare burning a hole through his flesh.
Drizzt's hand came up towards his hairline and quickly grabbed a thin lock of loose black hair, pulling it out before Entreri had any idea what was happening. The human flinched, letting out a shrill gasp.
The creeping chill came over him, the whole room, the whole universe entire, pulsing around one presence; the drow with the glowing, green hair. His haunting green eyes contained the stuff of pure shadows, two green beams peering from behind a blood red mask. A slender form leaned over him clutching the lock of his hair in fine fingers that could twist his head off with barely any effort.
His eyes closed for a second. The wave passed and they opened again, regarding another familiar drow; smile still plastered on his face, yet his enthusiasm looked dimmed.
"Any recollections?" Drizzt asked, though still slightly in awe.
Artemis Entreri had met Vhaeraun. The effects of such an encounter still lingered in his soul; the soul of one who knew the nether planes a little too intimately. How could one's mind survive such an experience? Through iron self-discipline forged over the course of forty-seven years, he thought. Though how long could such a dam hold?
Drizzt backed away, nodding slightly. Entreri let out a deep sigh. His lost his control again, though this time it actually felt good; a weight lifted from his shoulders.
"You have your answer, Do'Urden," the human said in a tired sneer. "What will you do with it now?"
"I believe the question is," the drow replied soberly, "what will you do with it?"
Artemis Entreri had no answer, only a heavy gaze.