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 25: Stirrings
"We proceed from here, we're walking into a trap," Entreri said, crossing his arms and looking into the faces of every member of their group gathered around the fire. "I'm not going to dip that fact in honey for any of you, nor am I issuing a threat. Just stating a fact."
Drizzt leaned further against the boulder and nodded, seeing a look of silent agreement on Wenthias' face while other faces were confused or irritated.
By now every member of the party had settled around the Banite's camp, all but Drizzt and Entreri were eating a trencher of roast beef or picking from the spit with a knife or a fork. They were also the ones not engaging in idle chit chat as the group got settled into the area after coming from the horrendous scene at the Vhaeraunites' camp.
Mazn'reysla had melded right into the group, exchanging pleasantries with Asorath and a few glances of recognition with Fielder before getting a trencher heaped with meat. Drizzt was hardly hungry and hardly trusted this group enough to eat their food, though looked at Maz shoving mouthfuls of beef into his mouth with a smile; after what he had been through he was famished.
Entreri's only thought was getting back to business; any pleasantries could wait until these idiots finally proved themselves and the whole nastiness hanging over them was dealt with. After five minutes, he and Drizzt stood in front of the group to finally end the social hour and address the ever pressing matter at hand.
"I believe the more we linger the more precarious our position becomes," Wenthias said, tearing a small, juice-soaked piece off his bread trencher and nibbling it. "This is the second time he has launched an attack this scope on his pursuers; two almost dying and one being claimed by his powers. The fact Moril has claimed your companion now after possessing him for so long is indeed an indicator that, in the words of Master Entreri, the gauntlet has been thrown."
The blackguard gave Entreri and Drizzt a semi-knowing look neither of them appreciated, though he had it right regardless and they knew that more than any of the others could assume.
"Perhaps the timing of our union was also in his plans as well," Wenthias continued. "After all Moril wiped out two champions after they had crossed paths and traveled together."
Drizzt and Entreri remained stone-faced, both hiding every doubt they still had about the Brute Squad's involvement or noninvolvement in the massacre on the Dragonmere.
"There are no coincidences," Drizzt said. "Moril is sliding his pieces into position."
"What just happened was his attempt at check, or at least a feint," Entreri said. "Moril is, however, a force of sheer chaos; completely desperate, completely insane."
"So he is like a wolf; impeccable strategist, yet a bloodthirsty animal by nature," Wenthias said, glancing at Drizzt before putting his gaze on Fielder. "Truly the worst kind of foe."
"No shit," Fielder said, looking a little annoyed with Wenthias' comment which was a good indicator he wasn't a blind follower even though he put up such airs. "Sounds like a rabid wolf to me, though these three fun boys have dealt with the asshole a bit more."
"Rabid wolf would probably be the best description," Entreri said, "and it means we have to take all his little quirks into account. Now his pieces are lined up, he has drawn us out of our holes and ready to charge at him, and he and all his fun little friends are located in a series of cramped caverns. As I said before, we go after him we're walking into a trap whether it turns out in our favor or not."
"But if we stay planted he'll only come after us again," Asorath said between mouthfuls of meat. "Maybe with far nastier toys. Then there's your companion and how much you are willing to risk for him is your business."
"I believe, gentlemen, this is what they call a fucked if you do, fucked if you don't situation," Fielder said. "Though I'm more interested in fucking something over than getting fucked myself."
"Completely agreed," Drizzt said. "Action is the only thing that's going to put an end to this and he's going to be expecting us anytime whether now or a month from now. Might as well strike while the iron's hot so to speak."
His lavender eyes fell to every member of the group, though his peripheral vision lingered on Regis half a second longer. The halfling shoved another mound of meat into his mouth while looking around nervously. One hand was on his trencher and one hand wiped the juices on his vest, though his hand brushed across a pouch in his belt for a moment before returning to his trencher.
There were a thousand different things that could have been in that pouch though one possibility made Drizzt's skin crawl; one onyx figurine of a panther Drizzt had called his best friend in the best and worst moments of his life. The one friend he gave up in an act of cowardice, the one friend who could still be there.
He turned away, not giving away his numb curiosity to Regis. If Guenwhyvar's figurine was indeed in that pouch, all would be revealed soon enough; the panther would be a powerful tool against Moril and his minions no matter who she called master.
"So if that's the will of the party, we need some plans," Entreri said.
"You know the exact location of the temple in proximity to this area," Wenthias stated as much as asked.
"That we do," Drizzt said, though it was partially a lie. He had no idea where House Mourbasin was located, though his human companion apparently had learned that information from Moril's essence; a situation he was far from comfortable with but knew he had to trust Entreri on this one, or at least watch him constantly. It had to look like Drizzt was the expert on the subject under the circumstances and Drizzt was mostly improvising on what information he received from Entreri. "At least a few hours travel from here, a simple route that stops being simple once we reach the caverns."
Varying levels of discomfort formed on the faces of the rest of the party, save for Maz who chewed his meat with a hint of a happy smile and was seemingly oblivious to the rest of the conversation…seemingly that is. Linuin glared at Drizzt and Regis shifted uncomfortably, as Wenthias and Fielder grimaced and Asorath rolled his eyes. Entreri also looked less than happy at the possibility, though he knew from Saerloon on that would be the reality.
"How far down into the Underdark are we going," Wenthias asked with an irritated sigh.
"Three miles at the most," Maz said, his speech slightly muffled by the wad of beef in his mouth he swallowed a moment later. "Though the tunnels are winding. Native monsters there are few thanks to our wards, though Moril's monsters are another matter."
"I assume you mean the tumbling clowns," Wenthias said. "Do you have any more knowledge of what else he might be keeping in there?"
"Yes," Maz replied with a smile. "Anything else he may have made. He is a rather creative necromancer after all in case you hadn't heard."
Fielder chuckled in response and Wenthias rolled his eyes.
"In other words, we could be in for anything," Drizzt said.
"We will need improvisation then," Wenthias said.
"From what we've seen, Moril may just stay in his hole and throw at us what he can," Entreri said. "Spells and monsters from afar have been his way and it seems he did communicate with us on one occasion through Jarlaxle's mouth and that was only taunting."
"Is there any possibility Moril might occupy any other forms now," Wenthias said. "Perhaps a lich, a wraith."
"No he is still mortal, I can tell you that much," Maz said, his gaze fixed on Wenthias. "Undead power has indicators like the taste of a fine wine. Moril is flat cider, though he may have gained more kick. Regardless, he is still easily spilled with the right tip of the glass."
Drizzt held back a smile at watching the perplexed look on Wenthias' face, the blackguard looking at Mazn'reysla as if he was were completely bizarre yet somehow making sense.
"Though I can imagine getting to our quarry may be a challenge, whether he is staying behind walls or fighting out in the open," Wenthias said. "Perhaps that should be our ultimate aim; plow through the ranks of monsters and get to the golden prize hiding wherever. If we face chaos, there must be a center of it."
"That may be our best bet," Entreri said, knowing that would have to be the case before Wenthias even said it. That was their ultimate goal; get Moril. Cut off the head and the rest of the snake dies. "We will have to deal with his arms as they come, do not linger too long on one fight, get through it enough to continue to the other side."
"But they are over a hundred zombies plus who knows how many other minions," Linuin said, his tone less hissing.
"We plow through them all," Drizzt said, stepping out a few more steps. "It's the best godsdamned plan we have under the circumstances. Every dealing we've had with Moril has been a cluster fuck, might as well fight fire with fire."
"I like how you think," Fielder said, pulling out his dagger and twirling it in a grand blur before slipping it back in its sheathe.
Wenthias tapped his chin with a gloved finger, looking as if he was mulling over a possibility he was not entirely fond of. The smile that suddenly formed on his face was none too comforting to Drizzt and Entreri.
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"They are marching to their own destructions. Marching to a tune of their own arrogance, their own lies; marching in with their godly handlers poking at their backs or dangling a piece of juicy meat in front of them. And they are marching right toward us."
The words seemed to float through the universe, Moril's voice physical and disembodied and loud; oh so loud. His proceeding cackle grated on every last feeling nerve.
To Jarlaxle it was a marvelous feeling; the feeling he still sensed something.
Long fingernails gently combed through his long hair again, another subtle necromantic manipulation; just like the merchants who would enter the Green Mushroom and sit him down on their knees. Hands, sometimes filthy, sometimes perfumed and impeccably cleaned, caressing those locks of soft white hair on the child peasant.
How he had so enjoyed taking a dagger and slicing off every cursed lock the second after his graduation. Even having short hair had not been enough; every trace was a reminder of a time when he was powerless. Then he would have power, then he would take a razor to his scalp.
The most powerful male in Menzoberranzan was completely bald.
The thought was a reminder he still felt something, though kept the momentary reflection floating in the recesses of his brain where it couldn't be snatched up. It was a meditation he taught himself after working with psions for so many centuries; keeping his thoughts buried underneath a mass of other recollections so they would be harder to peel out and maintain business-like airs.
Moril would never reach such thoughts, Jarlaxle learned quickly; Moril's ability to read minds only went so far. He was but a necromancer after all and not a mind mage.
Such thought processes staved off oblivion, perhaps could be his last way to find an escape from the hell he found himself in now. The moment he stopped thinking was the moment he would stop being, though he knew there very little of himself now. Nothing more than a mass of thoughts, Moril controlled the rest.
"Watch them scurrying, my son," the sickening voice said again; a voice dripping with vileness, a voice only slightly lower than Jarlaxle's own; they may have sounded alike to the right ears.
Jarlaxle found the power to blink a few times, the few remaining vestiges of his conscious mind realizing he had been staring at lichen patterns on the stone in front of him. He was drifting off again, or maybe trying to avoid looking down and seeing what Moril was gloating at.
His eyes trailed down anyway, whether under Moril's power or because of his own curiosity. Jarlaxle's gaze went to a stone scrying pool on a pedestal below him, the water a bright red gloss over a sweeping image.
A rocky, wood-covered land blackened by night. A group of men walking onward, determination in all eyes though their formation was loose. A series of faces, some he recognized in passing, four he recognized immediately; their presences another kick in his dwindling consciousness especially a bearded human with long black hair and a perpetual scowl who looked to be leading the group.
Artemis Entreri, Jarlaxle thought, a part of him almost beaming. And he's alive.
"He whored himself to his god at the right time," Moril responded, hearing that thought clearly. "Or else the he offered his soul to the Masked brat to get his hand back. Not to worry, my son, you will finish him off soon enough."
Jarlaxle did register the feeling of his lurching stomach at those words, though dropped back into his meditation lest this parasite get any more hints.
None spoke save for a few observations on the terrain. One human in green woodland leathers did catch up to Entreri, a face Jarlaxle recognized from one point in ancient history…the Faerie's Tail in Scardale. The ranger who clashed egos with Drizzt in Cormanthor. Fielder.
"You hang around Xalryln's group right?" Fielder said to Entreri with a manure-eating grin. Entreri merely rolled his eyes and gave him a glance. "You know Maylae right? Yeah, she's an awesome lay isn't she? The things that elf can do in a bunk, I mean fucking bards should be writing about that. Just don't think yourself special though, she's fucked half of Cormanthor. Aden has too so it's not like you're stealing exclusive cargo."
Jarlaxle's face remained stony though a beaming grin formed in the deeper recesses of his brain; Entreri and Maylae shared a…special moment before the troupe left Cormanthor.
His momentary mirth was sucked out yet again by a sickening feeling over him; a shared feeling from Moril who seemed less than pleased about something.
"Arik Madsalar travels with Vhaeraun's champions," Moril said, giving what was meant to be a sniff but sounded like a grotesque nasal gurgle through the bud where his nose had once been. "And Gherbod Wenthias right next to them. See the little peck hobbling along looking like a scared bird? Regis of Lonelywood. Mark them well, my son. They all travel together, so much easier to crush them all at once. Though there is one special creature I want you to destroy first."
A thin finger covered in a black gauntlet pointed to the water. A young drow with short white hair and lavender eyes that pierced through the active remains of Jarlaxle's soul was right underneath his pointed finger.
"Drizzt Do'Urden, Vhaeraun's champion, a formidable foe I have heard," Moril said, the smiling side of his mouth turning up a bit more and stretching the scars around his face. "Though you are his match. You were so in life, my son, but with my power he will be an easy slaughter. Kill him first and move onto the rest of the champions."
Jarlaxle paused a moment, allowing his tentative concentration focus on his physical form. "As you were in life?" Was he indeed dead? He concentrated, though concentration that faded. It was like he was becoming further disconnected from his body, though his further effort returned that concentration.
The thrumming of blood still sounded in his eardrums, though weakly. His tenuous concentration pulled back again as if exhausted, or as if gently pushed back.
"Do not strain yourself with the concerns of life, my child," Moril said, a hand going through his newly-grown hair again. "By definition you live, though soon you will have to learn to pull away from your living state and transcend."
Moril gently rubbed the bottom of Jarlaxle's slender chin, making him feel more relaxed. What was the living state good for anyway, he thought.
His subconscious mind gave him a stern look, though he knew it would be one of its last actions. Moril was right, or would make himself right; his consciousness was already fading and soon he would be nothing but a docile tool. This couldn't happen.
Maybe these were the thoughts that went through Zaknafein's mind as a spirit wraith, maybe his consciousness was cowed into oblivion and peacefully let Malice take the reins.
Something made Zak let go; the same set of purple eyes Jarlaxle gazed on now. Those eyes likely bore less color of life now than when Jarlaxle's old friend gazed on them last, though the same man was behind them; changed, but the same.
Drizzt kept to the front of the group a few steps behind Entreri, scanning the perimeter with his face in a look of serious determination mixed with weariness.
Jarlaxle gazed at his protégé, though felt sickened by his presence for some reason; sickened by some force in the direction of his back. It was the shortsword, Jarlaxle remembered; the sword of his god that had made Moril cower.
Jarlaxle's subconscious mind gave another grimace; his own feelings were once again being buried. He was tempted to throw the full image of the sword and all the hurt is caused into Moril's mind, though his thoughts remained silent.
The only hope he had of getting out of this was to cooperate, though not succumb.
Though he had little to look forward to anyway, he thought. Gromph schemed to put him here, the Vhaeraunite priests did nothing to release his pain, Drizzt and Entreri were plotting to kill him anyway, he was too decrepit alone to lead his mercenary band. Fortunately he had been found by his long lost father and had a true purpose now.
Jarlaxle would have gone completely into despair if his subconscious mind didn't remind him that all of those thoughts were prodded by Moril; a reminder he was thinking too loud.
"But you have a true higher purpose as my left hand," Moril said, the mass of scars that was his face leaning into Jarlaxle's. "Do not despair. You will have your ultimate happiness soon."
Jarlaxle merely nodded, wanting to clear his mind at last.
He stared at the wall, feeling his consciousness fading a bit more as if his mind was entering a waking sleep. The feeling of cold hands brushing against his bare sides and the Moril's horrible visage right in his face jolted his remaining senses awake. Cold, hard flesh was replaced with cold, hard steel. He let his eyes trail down to see a breastplate over his chest of drow fit. A clown face was emblazoned on the front; black and white embossed metal bearing the black diamond eyes and mouth with one side in a grimace, one side in a smirk. A set of shoulder plates was soon in Moril's hands and he placed them gently on each of Jarlaxle's shoulders.
Jarlaxle moved his arm slightly to his side, feeling the hilts of two longswords strapped to each hip; each bearing a more powerful magic than his usual weapons.
Moril's gauntleted hand patted Jarlaxle on the head as the other smeared a cold wetness on his face. Moril pulled back his hand, showing the remnants of a white cream on his fingers; stage make-up.
"Go forth now, my son," Moril said, looking over to the mass of scarred zombies twitching around in rows. "You are now a face of destruction. While mine is horrific, yours is beautiful; we are the perfect match."
Jarlaxle internally smiled before all thoughts gradually faded. All he felt now was rage. All he wanted was to taste the blood of a certain lavender-eyed drow in Vhaeraun's slavery.
One lingering spot of clarity was quickly hidden away for later use.
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Stealth was hardly the way Linuin was handling his plots, though Drizzt and Entreri both suspected there was a reason for this.
The sound of elven feet shuffling across the dried grass to one direction was grating after spending two hours walking across the silent landscape lit with a few faint glowballs with the strength of dying candles for those whose eyes could not pierce through the darkness.
Drizzt and Entreri gave each other irritated looks as they heard Linuin's robes swishing against the brush in the direction where they knew the blackguard Wenthias was walking. Each party member kept in their own personal space while walking and would earn a glare from the person near them if they strayed too far close to or behind someone. Everyone was on their own honor system under the circumstances, though everyone else was watching their backs.
Fielder was the only one wandering around the group, though he readied no weapons; something noted by everyone else in the party. Linuin had now broken from his position and was making a beeline for Wenthias for reasons Drizzt and Entreri already knew. They kept their concentration ahead, though locked their ears on Linuin's quiet huffs which were likely to become whispers against them any moment.
"We walk for two hours at their lead," Linuin whispered low enough to only be heard by those really straining to pay attention. "It is pitch black and silent as shadow. This territory becomes more and more unhallowed the more we continue and our course allegedly leads to the Underdark. You can smell the treachery, mi'lord."
"You can smell the stink of Moril," Drizzt said in a louder, matter-of-fact tone. "And he is in our unhallowed temple and we obviously know where that is."
Drizzt looked over his shoulder to see Linuin give a sneer while Wenthias seemed to pay no attention to the conversation. He smirked and continued forward, giving a glance to Entreri as if to say "you had better know what the Hell's you're doing."
Entreri returned the glance with a calm grimace and a nod. He didn't need to hear him speak his mild suspicion; it was plastered over his face.
There were a thousand things out of place with this and both of them knew that. Treachery on Entreri's part was not so much a concern for Drizzt; he had no reason to lie to the rest of the party and would get ripped apart by the other seven if he tried anything…as long as Moril's essence had really been destroyed after being sucked out of Mazn'reysla. Entreri had said the message had come to him as if he was spying on Moril in the house, though Moril likely sent those images on the astral line to lure the party into a trap.
Entreri knew this; Drizzt knew his human companion expected a trap around every corner and wasn't stupid enough to think Moril had no idea they were coming especially with everything that had happened in the past day.
Now they were dealing with a chaotic and unseen enemy who seemed to be everywhere. Improvisation would have to be the key factor; moving forward and expecting monsters around every corner.
Moril was only one individual, though a powerful individual surrounded by so many nasty minions who could create massive damage at his command, though still only one individual. Moril was only the sum of his guardians and guardians could be slipped through, but then Moril himself could have been loaded with so much power by now he was more difficult to deal with.
"The clowns can be destroyed without explosion," Mazn'reysla softly said to all members of the party. "They are undead like any others. Disrupting spells will work as will a blow to the neck. They're death tumble will be obvious, though it will not start immediately. When the tumble starts you have three minutes to destroy them before they explode."
"Mind telling us how you know this," Linuin huffed.
"That will be a story for a later time, Linuin," Wenthias piped up. "If you follow his advice and walk from here alive, you know it was good advice."
"So what if a hundred of them come after us at the same time," Regis asked.
"Moril won't want to waste all of his reserves," Maz replied.
"Don't worry about that little man," Fielder said. "The big man and I have a few little tricks to make sure that don't happen."
Drizzt and Entreri exchanged glances, both only guessing what Fielder had in mind. The tricks of the "big man," likely Wenthias, probably involved summoning a lot of devils; a likely useful weapon in his arsenal though neither of them trusted his use of them.
Drizzt casually glance back to Regis, seeing him nod at Wenthias while patting that same pouch.
Drizzt looked ahead, going numb for a moment as his suspicion was likely confirmed. It was still a long shot; Regis could have acquired so many magical toys in the past year and a half. His instincts, however, screamed he was right; the group would soon be joined by a 600 pound weapon of fur and claws. Whether she would see her old master as friend or foe was a different story.
A sharp elbow connecting with his ribs broke him from his heavy contemplation. He looked at Entreri, who remained stone faced save for a nod and a turn of his black eyes in a direction in front of them. Drizzt followed his glance, seeing a copse of dead trees growing on the hill over a gray, moss-covered cliff.
His infrared vision scanned the rock formation, seeing a large narrow crack that glowed an icy blue. The essence of magic poured from the rocks, especially around this one crack; the entrance to the caverns.
Drizzt glanced back at the other members of the party and nodded in the cliff's direction, pointing at them and silently indicating for them to spread out.
Wenthias nodded, though the other party members merely looked at Drizzt for a moment. Fielder shrugged and took a flanking position, grabbing Regis by the shoulder and dragging him along.
Drizzt did see Regis pat grab the pouch again, though his slightly tanned face was a shade of ash gray. The halfling visibly shivered, looking around frantically as he drew his mace. He sensed something, Drizzt thought. Likely a fell presence that affected him more than it did the other hardened villains in the group…himself included.
Asorath and Linuin looked at Wenthias, Asorath with a look of curiosity and Linuin glaring. Wenthias' face twisted in impatience as he gave the same direction Drizzt gave a moment ago. Drizzt rolled his eyes, watching Wenthias motion to Linuin to take a more behind position and motioning to Mazn'reysla to take the opposite side. Maz nodded, casually moving to his position while flashing Drizzt a small smile.
Drizzt returned the look with a grimace and another eye roll. As expected, the there were two different team leaders here, though they would all have to gel in order to get their task accomplished; unless a few of them had less cooperative ideas in mind. Drizzt, however, was also relying on Entreri for directions; an uncomfortable theory but, once again, Drizzt reminded himself he had little reason to distrust his companion…but every reason to keep a close eye on him.
A rapid movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Drizzt's scimitars were in his hands in a second as a pink blur raced toward him. On instinct, he slashed at the small mass of pink fur and gnashing teeth flying at him from the brush.
A small head with long, floppy ears fell to the ground before its body. A second later, several others of the same creature jumped out of the woods in a blur; all jumping for every member of the group.
Drizzt allowed himself a second to peer through the snarling blur to see what exactly was attacking them; the realization causing his brows to furrow and his jaw drop open.
They were large poodles; all dyed a messy pink, or the color of blood diluted with water. A black and white ruffled collar surrounded each of their furry necks; the same ruffle he had seen Moril wearing in his earlier vision. Their teeth were abnormally large and long as their eyes glowed amber.
Drizzt was soon holding up his scimitars as another demonic poodle did a high jump as it gnashed its teeth with a trajectory toward his throat. He easily beheaded the creature in a scissor cut, seeing another creature skewered on the end of Charon's Claw as a magic missile from Linuin's hand blasted the head of another into dust; Linuin whimpering as his eyes widened with the sight.
A green glowing blade was in Asorath's hand, no in his hand and ably hacking apart creatures. Wenthias pummeled the skull of another one with his mace as another creature was flying for Drizzt. The thing came to a land before Icingdeath could slice into it, though it was not able to dodge a downward slice from WraithKiss as easily.
As the poodle fell, another ran towards him only to be clawed to the ground by a small, yet powerful cat. Azril's red eyes were wide as she screeched before biting into the poodle's throat and severing its head almost immediately with the speed and force of her attack.
Three of the beasts came after Fielder at once but were mowed down in a whoosh of blades.
"Plow through them, get to the cavern," Entreri shouted, cutting down one poodle while running across the field for the cliffs.
Drizzt sliced at another creature lunging after him that managed to dodge one blade, then the other then having its head skewered by Icingdeath. A small cloud of acid gas descended on another one racing toward him before it dissolved with one last growl. Drizzt looked back to see Mazn'reysla still holding his wand out for the next poodle and smiling.
Drizzt returned the glance for a moment before seeing more creatures out of the corner of his eye and hearing two words from Regis he never thought he would hear again.
"Come, Guenwhyvar," the halfling shouted.
A moment later three poodles were crushed under the weight of a massive black panther. Another lunged forward, but a set of raking claws tore it in half. The teeth still gnashed for a moment before another mass of teeth crushed it.
Cold flowed through Drizzt's veins, his eyes locked on his long lost companion; the one who saved his life and his sanity in the Underdark, his companion through all those decades on the Surface. His closest most trusted companion. The best friend he has dismissed after that battle with the bandits, right before Catti-brie was murdered. The friend whose statue he left behind in his moment of utter despair, when all his other old friends had abandoned him and his only course was to abandon her to more trusting hands than his own.
A hot tear unleashed itself from his eye, triggering a snarl as he ran at three more of the creatures. A mass of whirring blades later, they were in pieces of dust before him as another three raced at him and met the same fate.
He met Mazn'reysla's glance for a moment before seeing a cloud of shadow pour from his hand.
The sight froze the Hunter where he stood, Drizzt's more reasoned mind falling to the shortsword on his back, which was in his hand a moment later as Icingdeath was in its sheathe. He pointed it around the perimeter, envisioning a mass of shadow pouring from the end of the blade.
An inky blackness shot out, hitting all of his companions and causing a few starts, yelps, and looks of annoyance, but causing nothing more to them than a slight chill as the shadow poured around them. The yelping dogs ran after them again, only to run in the opposite direction of the shadow. Some ran forward and were touched by the inky tendrils. In a second their bodies glowed white as they disintegrated into dust.
As Drizzt and Maz's clouds spread, soon the dogs were either running or destroyed.
"Saving some pets for the rest of us or did you just figure that trick out," Linuin snapped.
Drizzt didn't bother looking at him, seeing the rest of the party still inching forward, surrounded by piles of dust where the bodies of undead poodles had once been.
Another blur of motion caught his eye. Drizzt looked forward to see a pair of green eyes and a fur-covered face that was lost to him for what seemed like ancient history. Guenwhyvar bounded forward with a fast path toward Drizzt, who stood still; swords at his side and too exhausted to move.
Entreri tried to catch up with the animal, a branch in his hand as he tried to swat at her backside. She was too fast, bounding for Drizzt who stared into those eyes and readied himself for her final rejection. She could probably smell the blood on him, smell his coldness and rage, smell her old companion who had become a murdering monster like Masoj Hun'nett and so many of her other fell masters.
Drizzt felt his knees give out the moment he felt those rubbery paws against his shoulder. Her massive body pushed him backwards and onto the ground as she lay on top of him. Drizzt readied himself for those clenching jaws, those sharp claws.
A rough, wet tongue lapping his jaw was all he got.
He looked up, seeing a light shine in Guenwhyvar's eyes as she lapped the sided of his face lovingly; her paws gently shifting her weight between him and the ground as her warm body pressed against him.
There was no rage here, no sadness; only the glee of two old friends reuniting after being separated by tragedy and fate. Drizzt smiled, a sob escaping his throat. He put all thoughts of the Brute Squad, or Moril, of Maz and Entreri out of his mind as he threw his arms around Guenwhyvar's neck and buried his face in her fur and sobbing.
He was with his companion again; his closest…most non-judging companion. Guenwhyvar was an animal after all; a hunter of instinct who had no need for wanton slaughter yet did not exist by moralities either.
Drizzt laughed, pulling back and gently pushing Guen off him. He stood up, his tears clearing as he scratched behind her ear. The rest of the Brute Squad stared at him, though surprisingly Fielder and Wenthias had their own respective smiles. Regis looked at Guen, his face in somehow resigned.
Guen had recognized her true master. After several decades by each other's side, a year and a half of changing fortunes and philosophies would not completely separate Drizzt and Guenwhyvar.
A yowl sounded from behind Guen, prompting the panther to casually look behind her to see a small, yet muscular cat hissing at her. Azril clawed at her tail, which she whipped out of the way before licking the cat's face. Azril skittered back a step, completely put off by this reaction though somewhat intrigued.
"You and your godsdamned pet can have your own time together later," Entreri said, standing several feet away, one foot on a tree stump as he faced the group with an annoyed look. "We still have a clown to deal with."
The group slowly ambled forward, though another movement from the direction of the cave caught all eyes.
All party members froze, readying their weapons. Guenwhyvar circled around Drizzt and Regis, her eyes locked on the cave.
Entreri 's gaze was on the staring party members, yet the movement was hard to ignore as was the rhythmic swishing and crunching of brush.
"To the caves now," Entreri said, turning around in a run.
A mass of feet rushed behind him, all eyes getting a view of one lithe figure in a black and white leotard as another one was tumbling after.