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 29: Full Circle
His weapons hung heavily at his sides, the flats occasionally slapping against his legs with the violent shake of his hands. He thought to sheathe the blades, but forgot and continued walking; more attention now going into retaining his footing as he walked over the jagged rocks.
Drizzt knew it would end up like this; all he needed to do was stay still for one second and his adrenaline would crash and everything he had put his body through in the last few hours crashed on him like a pile of rocks he had stacked himself.
The godly energy still flowed through his body, though it was doing little against the inevitable. He swore he felt a hand on his shoulder patting him on the back in cold comfort as a small chill that seemed to crawl out of him.
A part of him wanted to look back up to see what he left on top of the hill; to see whose corpse he left on top of the hill.
The chill grew, taking over his body and threatening to freeze him in place for a moment before the sensation faded and the cool air felt almost stiflingly hot.
Gradually, his consciousness caught up with him enough to keep the thought of sheathing his blades. One scimitar went into its empty sheath and one shortsword slid into the scabbard on his back, both with screams of metal that made him cringe and were the death knell of all that he had been through.
He managed to walk a few steps down the steepest part of the hill before stopping at a flat plateau overlooking the plain and tufts of trees that dotted the land below joined by small piles of ashes. Drizzt did not want to look directly below him to see the scattered bodies of Moril's servants…of Vhaeraun's servants defiled in death.
Drizzt closed his eyes and gave a heaving sigh with a sob sneaking past, feeling himself gently drop to his knees on the boulder. At last he looked out on the plain, not flinching when seeing the painted white faces on the detached heads and bodies frozen on the ground in one final contortion.
Drizzt shifted his weight and sat on his legs while taking a series of deep breaths, inhaling the cool night air and the smell of trees tainted by the smell of blood lingering in his memory.
Those memories of the last few hours called to him, beckoned him closer though he knew if he drifted toward them it would rip him apart. He did not to think on the horrifying reality lying in a river of his own blood on that hill. He did not want to think on the brother, the closest friend he had in too long that had run himself through on Drizzt's own blade.
Drizzt's shaking hands reached into his belt, a part of him crying out in relief when he found rolled clove stuck in his pouch.
He took the stick out of his pouch and placed it between his lips. He then drew a match, though his shaking fingers almost dropped it before he gained enough of a hold to strike it against the stone and light the stick.
Drizzt took a long draw, ignoring the slight burn from shallowly inhaling the smoke as he pulled it from his lips and blew a long stream while shaking out the match and dropping it on the rock. The smoke from the end of the stick jumped around in correspondence with the violent shaking of his hands.
The smoke calmed him slightly, putting a sweeter smell in his nose besides the blood and connecting him with the other natural smells surrounding him. He took another hard sigh, not knowing if he wanted to cry or break something.
A cold hand gently caressed his shoulder. He did not need to look behind him to see who it was; the chill through him and the rising shadows around him were enough of an indicator.
"My champion," the oily voice said, the sound clear to his ears and not ringing through his brain. "You have fought well. I am pleased."
Drizzt managed a smile in spite of himself.
A pair of gold eyes dancing behind a shadowy mask appeared in front of him, mouth in a wicked smirk as gold hair danced in the breeze around his face.
"That is probably the happiest thing I've heard in a while," Drizzt said, a cackle escaping his throat.
Vhaeraun smiled and laughed, his gold hair almost glowing.
"There is much happiness to be had, my champion," Vhaeraun said.
Drizzt felt another set of arms wrap around his body; cold arms of shadows. A lock of white hair rested on his shoulder, causing him to look back into another pair of lavender eyes.
He smiled on Hallia's face for a moment, before his vision washed into a mass of shadows.
A horrid, skeletal looking figure in a robe, black on one side white on the other; body bound in a cord of shadow as his screams wailed through the universe. A heavy mace smashed into his abdomen, a light mace wielded by a halfling's hand smashed into his hip.
A black-clad figure casually approached; black hair matted in blood, unkempt beard giving him a wild appearance though his cold black eyes were pure control focused on his prey.
Charon's Claws red blade pierced through his gut as a wreath of shadows surrounded Artemis Entreri.
"I hope you enjoyed yourself," Entreri said.
In the shadows behind his companion, Drizzt swore he saw another figure; a drow with Entreri's features looking on, shadowed cloak whipping in the astral wind as he watched his descendent with vindictive pride.
Moril's body erupted in shadowy flames as he screamed one last time through the universe; against everything he had manipulated that had claimed him at last. His body erupted into ash and scattered on the floor.
Drizzt's vision returned, leaving him again face to face with Vhaeraun. Drizzt smiled, a heaving sigh escaping his lips as he sat back on the ground.
Vhaeraun snickered, raising the clove stick he took from Drizzt to his own lips and taking a long draw, blowing out a stream that more resembled shadows than smoke.
"Nice work," Vhaeraun said with a cackle. Drizzt could feel the final joy from his god, though the sight of Hallia Mourbasin standing beside him, nodding at him in approval that truly gave him glee.
Vhaeraun and Hallia's forms dissipated in a mass of shadows and soon cleared the mountain.
Drizzt's back gently came to the ground, his adrenaline crashing. He gave a cursory glance around the perimeter before passing out.
The soft press of lips against his mouth returned a bit of his senses. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, though managed enough awareness to slowly open his eyes and see a pair of large red eyes framed by a mass of champagne blond hair.
Drizzt's hands reached up to Mazn'reysla's shoulders as he pulled him down for a deeper kiss. Maz's hands caressed the sides of Drizzt's neck, running through his hair as both kissed each other with passion and the satisfaction of seeing a nightmare ended. A small tear ran down Drizzt's face as a sighing chuckle came forth; it was the purest form of relief.
Drizzt opened his eyes, allowing Mazn'reysla to gently lift him to a sit. Maz nodded, motioning his head to look behind him with a small smile.
Lazily, Drizzt turned his head, having no idea what the cleric was showing him.
Lying on the hill side, attended by a mass of drow in black masks was Jarlaxle. Drizzt's stomach sank for a moment, though a fire burned through his chest when he saw his companion turn his head and look around at the priests, his lips moving in a few bits of struggling, yet active conversation.
Drizzt came to his feet in a second, meeting Jarlaxle's gaze. Jarlaxle smiled at him, one upraised thumb in his direction. Drizzt's knees felt weak, though he kept standing.
The mass of drow, likely from House Mourbasin, looked down at him; faces in near awe. One priest bowed, followed by the other clerics, all giving him shallow bows of profound appreciation.
Drizzt returned the bow, unsheathing the shortsword on his back and saluting with a wide grin.
There was much happiness to be had here.
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The nerves in Entreri's torn scalp screamed with the gentle lay of hands from his attending cleric, the pain soon replaced by a warm mass of energy. A moment later, the pain was gone and only a slight tenderness was left.
His hand reached for his scalp, feeling his ponytail still in place and the mass of torn flesh around it in tact as if nothing had happened. He smiled, thinking they would have to cut his hair, though this seemed to do the job.
Entreri looked back at the young drow behind him wearing a black mask, a sight that he found almost comforting.
"Thanks," he said.
"It was nothing," the drow, Vraenil Entreri remembered him called, said. "Your leg still feeling better?"
Entreri looked down to his exposed shin, his trousers cut away and covered in blood though the skin underneath was slightly pink. He flexed his ankle and felt a slight strain, though nothing some light walking couldn't cure.
"Nice work," he said with an approving nod.
"You tell me if you need any more aid," Vraenil said, aside to a small group of clerics at the side of the large, stone chamber.
Entreri put his hands behind his head, lying back on his cot while his eyes scanned the side space used as a makeshift triage area.
Another cot on the side of the room held Asorath Wenthias, one cleric laying hands on him as his head turned back and forth against his pillow. The blackguard Wenthias kneeling at his side and watched on in concern.
Regis stood by the wall, nervously looking over the scene. His eyes occasionally came to Entreri and lingered for a moment before darting off to something else. Entreri gave him no glares, no smiles; just a momentary glance of recognition, noting how Regis was not flinching his gaze away.
"Hey man, you look like shit," a laughing voice called from the side of the room.
Entreri lifted himself to a sit as Fielder looked at him with a manure-eating grin. The ranger's armor bore a few scratches and splashes of black blood. Other than a small scratch on his forehead, he looked fine.
Linuin stood behind him almost as if trying to hide. Entreri saw one female drow in leather armor emerge from the blue glowing portal behind them before the portal's light dissipated and a rocky frame was left. Linuin's robes were slightly torn, though not a scratch marred his pale, moon elf skin.
"I see you made it out," Entreri said dourly. The sight of the savage ranger would typically produce an eyeroll, though he was actually happy to see him. Even the sight of Linuin, who he still had not completely excused for the incident on the Dragonmere, was something positive.
"Fuck man, I haven't had fun like that in too godsdamned long," Fielder said, shaking his fist bearing his blood-covered claw bracer.
Fielder approached him and clasped his forearm. Entreri allowed the gesture with a stiff smile, though kept his other hand close to his dagger.
"You fucking did it, man," Fielder said with a laugh.
"He did indeed," another voice said from Entreri's side.
Entreri's legs casually swung to the other side of the cot and he brought himself to an aching stand. He would have a clearer shot at Wenthias' midsection if he was sitting, though the idea of this bastard looking down on him again was one he could not bear at the moment.
"He proved my own hypocrisy," Wenthias said with a small bow. "My pride got in the way of reason, Master Entreri. The closer we got to Moril, the more I wanted my weapon to deliver the killing blow."
"And I just happened to be in the way of your prize," Entreri said with a stiff smile, keeping the situation light while communicating he still wasn't amused.
"Yet you saved all our lives when my pride could have destroyed us all," Wenthias said. "Master Entreri I profoundly apologize for my foolishness. I acted hastily against a foe about whom I knew little and acted against an ally who knew his weak points."
Enteri's smile widened. Wenthias was a snake; he could just smell it on him. It was another contrived statement, though Entreri did read a small bit of sincerity in his voice. Appreciation for retaining one's skin was universal as was digging oneself out of a hole dug by his own stupidity. Entreri knew a humbled creature when he saw one; he didn't trust him as far as he could throw his corpse though a bit of diplomacy was in order.
"Apology accepted," Entreri said. "We all should be walking out of this alive and that is recompense enough. How fares your son?"
Wenthias gave a glance back at Asorath's cot.
"It was a minor mental blast," Wenthias said, wincing slightly. "I am told he should be awake soon, back on his feet within a day or so."
"I wish him the best then," Entreri said in the sincerest voice he could muster. The kid staying alive would be another slice of humble pie for Wenthias and he could tell the blackguard truly cared for his son.
Wenthias nodded and walked away, his attention back on his son. Regis also carefully approached him, not looking at Wenthias though walking up to Entreri with mustered pride.
"Glad to see you are well," Regis said.
Entreri smiled.
"Thanks to you," Entreri replied in his sweetest tone, though the halfling's nervous shift at the words made his heart leap.
The assassin was tempted to gloat, tell the rat how he saved his own life by not taking that swing. Entreri kept his mouth shut, though; it was a revelation best made for another time. Regis nodded and shifted back toward Wenthias.
Entreri saw no awkwardness between the halfling and the blackguard; Wenthias probably couldn't have care less about Regis' momentary valor, in fact he was probably glad for it for the sake of his own neck.
"Well this is boring as shit," Fielder said, walking away from Entreri while patting him on the shoulder. "Hey anyone got any liquor here."
Entreri gave an involuntary snicker; a good hard drink sounded good to him too.
The portal glowed with a blue light again. Entreri looked over to see a familiar blond drow stepping into the room. Mazn'reysla apparently survived his part of the melee. The drow who stepped in next made him smirk wider than he intended.
Drizzt Do'Urden stepped through the portal; his clothes torn and covered in dried blood. His ebony face was almost a shade of gray and his short, white hair was tousled with drips of blood. He had been through the Hells, but he was alive.
Drizzt and Entreri locked eyes, both men giving each other a nod of recognition though smiles fought past their stony exteriors.
Drizzt walked up to his human companion and gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. Entreri returned the motion with his opposite hand, though both soon pulled each other into a loose embrace. True affection was never Entreri's intention, though seeing his surviving companion after all they both had been through warranted some gesture of appreciation.
"Well met, monster slayer," Drizzt said to Entreri, pulling him in tighter for a moment before both let go.
Entreri wanted to make a comment in return, though the sudden tightness in hthe back of his throat kept him quiet. He needed to ask about Jarlaxle, but he knew what the answer would probably be.
Another flash from the portal provided his brain a needed distraction, though the sight of a group of drow grasping the corners of a blanket made him go numb.
Entreri slowly walked forward, staring through the throng of masked drow down at the figure on the blanket for one final confirmation.
His newly grown white hair was covered in blood as a mass of dried blood caked his bare torso. Jarlaxle's face was still ash gray, the spidery veins all over his bare skin. His head was turned to the side and Entreri could see his eyes were closed; at peace at last.
The drow carrying his body paused, allowing his companion a better look at him. Entreri walked closer; the sight of his chest steadily rising and falling with peaceful breaths froze him in place.
"Did we make a little discovery?" Drizzt asked.
Entreri walked to his prone companion, reaching forward and putting two fingers on the side of his neck; feeling a weak, but steady pulse. Jarlaxle's head slightly shifted, his lips momentarily quirked into a smile, though his eyes remained closed.
The drow carrying him gave Entreri a nod before walking off, placing him on an empty cot across from Asorath as a mass of clerics gathered around him. Wenthias gave Entreri and Drizzt a surprised look. Drizzt's attention, however, locked on the wide smile on Regis' face; he looked almost happy to see him still alive.
"He lives," Mazn'reysla said, walking closer to Drizzt and Entreri and placing his gaze on the human. "I am sure from your perspective, and Moril's, it did not sound that way."
Entreri was momentarily taken aback by the priest's observation, though it did not surprise him as much; he was probably listening to the same astral messages.
"You took him down," Entreri said, looking at Drizzt.
"He took himself down," Drizzt replied, face grave. "Grabbed my sword arm and used it to run himself through."
Entreri shuttered and nodded. Jarlaxle had slipped from his leash long enough to get at Moril by allowing himself to be hurt.
"It was all he had left to do," Entreri said.
"It was Vhaeraun's sword that ran him through," Maz continued. "Out lord's champion focused his energy and obliterated the leash that held Jarlaxle. As for Jarlaxle himself, he was near death when Moril met his end. I little spell from my hand kept him on this plane, for a little while at least."
"What happens now," Entreri asked.
"We examine him, find how much his disease has progressed, and determine the best course of treatment," Mazn'reysla said. "It is nothing beyond our knowledge or our resources."
"He will live by our power," Ilzir said, walking from the side of the chamber and approaching the group. Her spiderweb dress took Drizzt aback a little as Entreri still smiled with the irony. "The son of the man who betrayed us saved our House through his sacrifice. I cannot guarantee he will be restored to full health, though he will be a bit more functional."
Entreri and Drizzt exchanged glances. Entreri was still not entirely thrilled with the idea of trusting a companion to the care of any cleric. Under the circumstances, however, he was willing to let down his guard if only an inch.
Drizzt could see the reluctance in his eyes, though he would also see a hint of resignation.
"I will trust your skills," Entreri said. "Though only knowing he is resigned to his fate either way."
Ilzir simply smiled.
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Regis had mentally traced the blue glowing veins in the stones that comprised the ceiling, hoping sleep would come to him at last.
His heart still pounded in his ears and the sensation of swinging a mace or running at a foe twitched through his muscles though the battle ended several hours ago.
Regis pulled himself to a sit in the plush bed in his guest room, his mind desiring sleep though the rest of him would not yield. His eyes instead scanned the large room he had been given for temporary quarters as the rest of the company rested and recuperated from the final battle against Moril.
The caverns of House Mourbasin were still unstable. Matron Ilzir, as that was apparently what she was calling herself now, said the remaining drow would have to sift through the remains of their House dissipating any necromantic taint or disposing of any more creatures Moril may have brought in during his stay. It was even debatable whether the current caverns would continue to be their haven, especially with stirrings that minions of Lolth now knew the location of the renegade House.
It was a concern the House members kept to themselves and their immediate allies. Regardless, the caverns were especially not an appropriate space for Asorath and Jarlaxle, the two members of the company who required the most healing after the battle.
The champions and their associates were taken by portal to a kind of Underdark townhouse near the city of Sshamath that Ilzir owned with her cousin Zaneil Vlath'Olrun, House Mourbasin's weaponsmaster. The house had mostly been used for boarding space for House members who were doing extensive business in Sshamath where regular portal commute would have been too inconvenient.
Judging by the wide space and many rooms Regis had seen before being shown his own space, it looked like a drow's version of a cosmopolitan hideout. His room was in the same wing with the blackguard Wenthias and his son, who had opened his eyes and spoken a few coherent words last Regis saw him.
Fielder and Linuin were gone. Once the company had settled into their respective rooms, the ranger and elf wizard were soon in Regis' doorway.
"We'd love to stay and party, little man, but we got some more fun things to do back in Cormanthor," Fielder said, getting on one knee to better speak to the halfling. Linuin remained in the doorway rolling his bulging eyes.
Regis had also recalled Ilzir mentioning the House had a portal to Cormanthor that would easily transport everyone to their respective homes. He remembered seeing Drizzt's ears perk up with the announcement; though to Regis' knowledge, Drizzt and Entreri were in the townhouse, likely to stay with Jarlaxle.
Regis nodded with Fielder's announcement. He knew knowing full well Fielder wasn't waiting up for Wenthias, likely wanting to get away from him or at least a head start. Regis knew of no conversations between the blackguard and the ranger since the end of the battle. Wenthias was staying quiet, though the look of annoyance on his face every time Fielder was a few feet from him was in plain view.
Fielder did give Regis a huge hug in parting.
"You ever want to come to my woods and hang out, little man, I'm not hard to find," Fielder said. "I got an old friend who's also a halfling, runs a little grove and makes the best meat pies. Her name's Miss Biddy and you guys would get along great."
Regis smiled and wished both of them well. Whoever Miss Biddy was, she was probably someone he would likely not want to be near without a weapon; though it was the thought that counted. Knowing Fielder, the thought of what was in those meat pies made his stomach churn a little, though did made him want a snack, or at least an excuse to get out of the room for a while.
He swing his legs off the high bed and walked toward the thick curtain that comprised the door, pulling it back a peek to see no one in the wide expanse of hallway before carefully walking out.
The rest of the hallway was comprised of the same glowing rocks, though small sconces with glowing balls lit the hallway enough for the halfling to see. No one passed through the hallways now; he saw a few members of House Mourbasin milling around a few hours back though the townhouse was mostly quiet now. To his knowledge, likely the only occupants now were the rest of the company.
It was around noon, though everything looked like night. Such was the nature of the Underdark, Regis thought, though the idea of living with a space with no view of sunlight made him slightly uneasy. No wonder why Drizzt made a point of watching the sunrise every morning.
He passed one curtained doorway, pausing in front for a moment of internal debate that ended quickly. A small hand slightly parted the curtain a crack; he had spied through many of these kinds of doorways to know a small shift of the curtain was not enough to trigger any alarm spells or wards. Under the hand of a halfling thief, it would be as if the curtain shifted slightly with its own weight while the halfling saw everything.
The fact he was peeking through the doorways of merciless, trained killers did not give him as much pause as it should have; it actually made him reminiscent.
The room had the same slight glow as his own, giving him the faint yet obvious view of Sir Wenthias' form bundled up under the covers and sleeping blissfully. Regis saw the faint peak of a white bed shirt under the mass of covers he had pulled around himself; face relaxed, almost in a peaceful smile while his chest rose and fell.
Regis smiled, gently letting go of the curtain and walking to the next room where he knew the drow had taken Asorath.
A small hand slightly brushed the curtain as the halfling looked in to see Asorath sitting cross-legged bed. His back was to the door and his attention was on a small flame floating above his upturned palm. A moment later, the flame puffed out and reappeared shortly after. Regis looked in at another angle to see a smile form on the tiefling's face as he nodded; his powers had already recovered from Moril's attack.
Regis let go of the curtain and walked down the opposite end of the hallway.
Wenthias had mentioned something to Ilzir about wanting to leave as soon as Asorath had recovered enough of his strength; he was anxious to get back to Castle Wenthias for reasons Regis could only imagine.
He and the blackguard had spoken little since the end of the battle; Wenthias hardly seemed to care about Regis' last minute decision to spare Entreri, though he had not been as open for conversation as he had been. It could have been due to his worries for his son, or perhaps he was making arrangements to punish the halfling somehow. That punishment had yet to happen and Regis doubted it would under the circumstances; Regis would just be forgotten and left to his own fate.
That fate was something Regis had tried hard not to ponder yet he had to make some decisions soon. Every other member of the party had somewhere to go after the dust settled.
Regis, however, had options for places yet none that truly made him feel like any home. He knew he should return to Waterdeep, tell of the mission's progress to the temple of Tymora and oversee any proper memorial to Jordani Pilazi. The thought of returning was hardly a warm one; he would return to the temple…then what.
Jordani was dead, the rest of the company likely scattered in Saerloon after Regis was pulled in other directions. He barely even cared that much about Jordani's hangers-on to even know all their names let alone consider them friends.
Returning to Mithral Hall was not even an option at this point. Bruenor and Wulfgar, if he was even still around, were the two people he wanted to see the least. He was primed for more adventure and had no desire to return to a tomb.
Knowing what he did about Drizzt further sealed off that possibility. He would be returning to a lie; not just the lie about Drizzt's death but the overall lie that the Hall seemed to embody. The Companions of the Hall were a memory locked in the very stones of Mithral Hall.
Mithral Hall was now home to a population of war mongering dwarves lead by a king who had lost interest in life and a barbarian prince whose ego grew by the second. The princess was dead and the drow hero had lost his soul…or perhaps found another one.
Mithral Hall was now a shrine to the memory of Drizzt Do'Urden the storied drow ranger; a champion of goodness who died fighting his evil kin. That man was dead, or maybe had never truly lived at all.
Regis continued down the hallway toward another wing of the house where he knew a few other people took their rest.
His thoughts went back to his room where a certain figurine remained hidden in a small bag of holding tucked under his bed where no one could find it. A part of him knew he should not be the one to protect it now; he was not her true master.
A drow emerging from behind one of the curtains down the hallway sent Regis scuttling behind a pedestal on which a stalk of moss grew like a twisting tree. The drow, a masked male cleric, walked down the hallway past Regis and not seeming to notice his presence at all.
Regis carefully shifted from his hiding space and moved back to the middle of the hallway, walking a few more steps until he was at the door from which the cleric had emerged earlier. He carefully peeled back the curtain, though knew whoever was inside was likely not coherent enough to notice him.
A small glow ball on the wall illuminated the room in a soft, bluish-white light fully revealing Jarlaxle's unconscious form lying in a plush bed surrounded by silk sheets and a silk coverlet. He was clad in a gray cotton bedshirt that exposed a portion of his chest to his collarbone.
He looked emaciated, though his complexion was much darker than the deathly pale from before. Most of the spidery veins scattered across his skin were gone, a few remaining on his neck and exposed hand. His chest rose and fell with strong breaths and Regis swore he saw a hint of a smile on his face.
The long mane of white hair that was matted and wild before had been carefully brushed out and framed his face. Regis swore for a moment he was looking at a completely different person, though that face would be etched in his memory forever.
Regis gave a silent nod with a smile while walking away from the doorway; Moril's champion was healing rapidly, being scoured of the taint that cursed his veins.
He proceeded further down the hallway, stopping in his tracks at a light from around the corner. Regis carefully peeked around the hallway to see the light from a glowing lamp that illuminated a small sitting area at the end of the hallway.
Artemis Entreri sat on a couch looking over a few items laid out on a long coffee table with a somewhat confused expression. He sipped a small glass of wine before putting it down on an end table and picking up what looked to Regis like a silver collar.
Entreri put the item down, and picked up another item; a small disk with a spider embossed in it.
Regis mentally lauded himself for being able to look at this horrible man for so long without any desire to flinch or even look away. Maybe he wasn't as scary as Regis always remembered him. Maybe Regis now saw him like he did back in Pasha Pook's guild; a hardened killer, yes, but just another rogue he passed by everyday. Such things never bothered him as much then.
Then he would spend the next twenty years with Bruenor and his family where such thieves and brigands were hunted down for their proper "punishment;" people like the ones Regis had called friends and protectors for most of his life.
Entreri looked almost casual right now, clad in a simple white shirt; his long black hair was out of its usual ponytail and cascaded down his back and shoulders bearing a residual wet slick from bathing. He had shaved since the battle, though Regis was still not used to seeing him with a thin beard instead of an unkempt shadow.
The way he was blinking hard and making a clear effort to keep his head up also indicated he was close to nodding off, though Regis knew better than to assume his guard was down.
The curtain on the last door down the corridor was open, signifying to Regis that particular room was Entreri's, though the halfling stood by another door with a closed curtain.
Regis stepped away from the corner, Entreri still not giving any indication he had seen him as he carefully peeked through the last doorway.
The black skin and short white hair was an instant giveaway, as was the long scar across his back a certain human had given him ages ago. The scar now rested under a tattooed imprint of a mass of green leaves collecting at the union between his neck and shoulders.
Drizzt Do'Urden lay on his stomach, eyes closed in peaceful Reverie. Regis took another look through the blue glow of the room to see another black figure lying underneath him as his arm rested across his bare shoulders.
Mazn'reysla also looked asleep; his champagne-blond hair crunched against the pillow, a slender arm around Drizzt as his face was nuzzled into Drizzt's neck like a cat nuzzling a pillow.
Regis never wanted to snoop on an intimate moment, though the scene struck him deep.
His hair was different, his skin was marked with ink, and he cradled the sleeping, naked form of a male dark elf and couldn't have looked more at peace.
Regis remembered seeing this scene a few times before; Drizzt and Catti-brie in their tent during an adventure or in their room at the Hall. Those were happy times then.
Those times were over, though another time had come in and taken its place.
Regis casually closed the curtain with a tear forming in his eye, walking away and letting the two have their moment of peace.
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"You back from the dead, khal abbil, or just loitering among the living?" a familiar voice said.
Jarlaxle turned his head toward the door and managed to pull his aching body up a bit more as he watched Drizzt take a seat in a plush chair next to his bed.
"The living are so much more amusing," Jarlaxle said, his voice still weak though Drizzt only heard his friend in that voice.
Jarlaxle still looked like the Hells, though not like a corpse; nothing like the dying flesh puppet Moril used against him.
It had not even been a tenday and already he was coherent. His complexion, while still pallid, was more drow ebony than corpse gray and bore no memory of any of the spidery veins that coursed his skin. What gave Drizzt the most pause was his eyes; back to their normal bright red hue and surrounded by healthy white and not sickly yellow.
The fact he was actually moving was miracle enough. The image of him throwing himself on Drizzt's blade and lying in a river of his own blood would be one that would not leave Drizzt's memory for a while.
A part of Drizzt wanted to throw his arms around him, though another part that had become stronger in the last five days held him back.
"I have to say your clerics know what the hells they're doing," Drizzt said.
"Now what have they told you," Jarlaxle said, putting his hands behind his head and lying back, his long, white hair pressing against his black skin and the gray pillow.
"Want to compare stories do we?" Drizzt said.
"Let's say if I have been declared dead I would appreciate being at least in on the announcement," Jarlaxle replied.
"Oh you're hardly dead. From what I've been told Mazn'reysla's spell took care of that little prick you gave yourself."
"A little prick cured by a little prick, how appropriate."
Drizzt gave a chuckle, hearing his companion making witty remarks again was another miraculous occasion.
"That was not the worst of your problems though," Drizzt continued, pausing and looking at Jarlaxle with a smile.
Jarlaxle sighed and nodded his head.
"You are asking me if I knew I had another problem besides Moril, or whatever the Hells he's called," Jarlaxle said. "The answer is I was not aware until I managed to get him out of my head for a second enough to look down at my own body, and that moment occurred while the two of us locked blades. It's not a condition I am unfamiliar with; I have been hired on many occasions to dispatch such individuals with the same condition as a mercy killing of sorts, or as a way to keep them from sharing information that Lolth apparently cursed them for in the first place."
"Lolth's curse, I assume, is when drow poison destroys a drow's body after centuries," Drizzt said.
"The mark of the subject is obvious," Jarlaxle said nodding his head. "Poisoned yellow rims the eyes and the Spider Queen brands her or him with spiders, indicating the final rejection. Among more educated and less fanatical circles, the condition is simply called liver failure. Now what have my esteemed clerics told you is my prognosis in that regard?"
"Your prognosis in that regard is you'll live," Drizzt said, sitting back in his chair. "A cure spell reversed the process and several regeneration spells later, it's almost like you have a new liver. I think we were all surprised to see you coherent this soon."
Jarlaxle smiled and managed to sit up slightly.
"Good, we have heard the same things," he said. "I have also heard I could be on my feet in a few days, possibly close to normal in another tenday; maybe more, maybe less."
"What then," Drizzt said, his expression casually grave.
"You tell me," Jarlaxle replied, though Drizzt could tell the question troubled him and he was trying his best to avoid it.
"Are you saying you plan to join us again? Your future rests with ours?"
"Can I assume you mean yourself and Master Artemis? You have allied yourself with such a motley crew as of late I don't know who you call companion and who you call meat shield."
Drizzt was tempted to ask him the same question, though under the circumstances it could wait. He was saving his battles for at least a few minutes, so he held his tongue.
"Myself and Master Artemis of course," Drizzt said. "As for the rest of them, they have crawled back under their respective rocks. The ranger and his pet elf took off a few hours after the hurly burley. The blackguard left a long sleep after that, his tiefling spawn in tow."
"What of your old halfling friend? Did he leave on his feet or in a bag?"
"He hasn't left at all actually; due to his own decision and not his own demise I assure you. Apparently he asked to stay and help with the clean-up."
Jarlaxle gave a dirty chuckle.
"Any idea why?" he asked. "Masochist? Thinks he can convert you? Thinks it's his goodly duty?"
It was now his turn to see Drizzt in an uncomfortable position; Drizzt shrugged, though a hard reasoning was etched in his grimace. He was at a complete loss for words.
"I can only speculate, though I'd like to think he sees it as repaying a debt," Drizzt said, old pain and vindictive pride oozing from his smirk.
Jarlaxle knew better than to press any further, but the meaning of that statement was obvious from all he knew if what happened with Drizzt.
"Though you are making it a point to tell me he is not dead, and I hear no boasting of flaying or even flogging him, physically at least," Jarlaxle said. "One would almost think you have tolerated his presence."
"I don't know if I'd say that," Drizzt said with a shrug. "He stays in one end of the cavern, I stay in another, our paths occasionally crossing. I've gotten a bit more used to him, maybe to the point of tolerating him."
"What of Artemis? What fun has he had torturing the little scamp?"
"Surprisingly none. He seems to tolerate him as well, which boggles my mind. I believe the world has gone mad."
"So will we have a halfling as part of part of our band now? He will have to have amazing tolerance himself."
"Regis leaves tonight," Drizzt said. "Most of the clean up is done, or at least our half of it; we have put rooms back together, rooted out nodes of taint, obliterated the rest of Moril's little pets scurrying around. Regis said he had business with his church in Waterdeep he has been offered full, legitimate transport to the city as a thank-you."
"Transport to the bottom of the Clawrift would be ungrateful, of course," Jarlaxle said with a smile, shifting his position in bed. "Where are you and Entreri scurrying off to now?"
"Cormanthor," Drizzt said, his grimace turning to a beaming grin. "We're tying up loose ends today and leaving tomorrow."
"Artemis as well?"
"He said something about needing a long stretch of quiet, though Baldur's Gate has come up quite a few times in conversation. I think he wants to take a breather in the woods before finishing off Bani Pilazi once and for all."
"Though I am curious about one thing," Jarlaxle said. "I assume you will be picking business back up with your fellows but what of the human? I heard a rumor he has joined Vhaeraun's flock as well; will he live his days as a masked brigand?"
"He's hardly signed up for the clergy, though is a bit more sympathetic to the cause," Drizzt said with a smile. "Some men learn they cannot live life by their swords and wits alone; recognizing the need for some higher inspiration and such is Artemis' case."
"Pretty words," Jarlaxle said with a stiff chuckle, hoping this wasn't going where it could. "Are they a statement or an offer? A threat perhaps?"
Drizzt gave a dirty cackle.
"Relax, converting isn't my thing," Drizzt said. "I typically wouldn't give a sweet shit who your soul belongs to; whether it's my god or not doesn't concern me one bit."
"Typically?" Jarlaxle said, his smile stiffening at Drizzt's tone.
"Now that you're back among the living, now that the dust has cleared, my concern relates to who you made a deal with to put yourself here," Drizzt said, leaning forward as his smile took more of a sneer.
"You and Entreri already asked me that same question under a truth serum and you had your answer, plus an audience with our employer," Jarlaxle said.
"Our former employer," Drizzt said, getting some pleasure out of the mildly crestfallen expression on his companion's face. "You knew he would never follow up on his offer."
"I can't say I'm surprised," Jarlaxle said, knowing he would have to face this reality sooner rather than later. "I will say I had a feeling we were all being used as bait as soon as the proverbial dung hit the proverbial wind on my side. I know both of you were thinking it so I might as well say it."
"You were indeed set up, Jarlaxle," Drizzt said, his expression dead serious. "Artemis looked through your possessions as a security measure; making sure there were no cursed items from Moril or Gromph that could cause us any more problems and consulting Ilzir for further analysis. I assume you knew about the silver collar, the disk with Gromph's seal, the black pendant you gave to the rest of us."
Jarlaxle shrugged, looking less annoyed and almost glad to have that information out of the way after the storm.
"Tools Gromph gave me against Moril," Jarlaxle said. "The silver collar was a neural disruptor to capture him; the seal would send messages back to Gromph, the amulets resisted enthantment."
"All useless for what we were dealing with; a necromancer not an enchanter," Drizzt said. "Ilzir's analysis confirmed all of the items you just named, though none of them were strong enough to do their jobs."
Drizzt didn't want to mention the seal did indeed trace to the archmage's office. Jarlaxle doubly didn't need to know Drizzt had dropped a little note telling the final story through the seal before Ilzir destroyed it; a rolled parchment with Moril's seal Jarlaxle used as a ruse map.
"You were given flashy decoys," Drizzt said, "he served you up to Moril on a proverbial silver platter, or was it a silver hook?"
"The latter, Gromph told me as much back in Saerloon," Jarlaxle said with a sigh. "He was trying to lure Moril into his net for whatever reason and Moril worked past the trap to run off with the bait."
"I remember you said he wanted to use Moril as a way to take control of House Baenre," Drizzt said. "Though the matter was a bit more complicated and you know that."
"I am still trying to wrap my mind around that," Jarlaxle said, laying back in bed and looking a bit more drained as the conversation progressed. "It's not as if the names Gromph and Vhaeraun have never been uttered in the same sentence. I don't know how Gromph was involved in House Mourbasin, or what ties he has to Vhaeraun; Moril wasn't exactly sharing that information. As for Moril's involvement with someone else, that has been clearer to me the more I have gotten my own brain back. And yes it did likely have to do with my condition other than Moril's little siphon."
"What of your father," Drizzt asked.
"No tears for his passing," Jarlaxle said with a wicked smile. "I am nothing but empathetic for the position he was put in with my mother, an all too common story. The sires of my younger siblings were destroyed just as horribly and the same is probably true for my elder siblings. As for everything else, I toast his demise."
Drizzt nodded, but saw Jarlaxle pause as if he had more to say.
"I also recall making a few comments about your sire, Moril diving into my brain to emotionally hamstring you," Jarlaxle said.
Drizzt shifted in his seat and gazed at Jarlaxle intently to show he was listening for more.
"Regardless, that was a raw version of my perspective with Moril's usual colorful comments," Jarlaxle continued. "I felt you had a right to know."
"I can't say it was shocking," Drizzt said. "The same thoughts occurred to me, though I only knew him through my own rosy glass; you probably saw him better."
"I do owe you a few tales, though I'll save them for fireside and not bedside," Jarlaxle said with a smile that grew with Drizzt's calm nod.
"Well Moril's gone, you live another day, what happens now," Drizzt said. "Or have you not thought that far yet?"
"In complete truth I'm lucky I'm laying here and talking instead of laying in pieces, especially when that small bit of psyche on which I held knew that would be the end and not this moment right here," Jarlaxle said, managing to pull himself up a bit more. His tone to Drizzt was clearly boastful, though there was a hint of quiet optimism in his voice. "I call that progress and I don't, as you say, give a sweet shit about the rest until I'm a bit more upright."
Drizzt smiled, leaning forward until he was nose to nose with Jarlaxle. The words made him happy, though he had his own words to add.
"Artemis and I still think we should kick your ass for all the horse shit you put us into," Drizzt hissed. "We waded through this mess for six days that felt more like two years, risked our skin and our souls to a madman and you were the one that put us there."
Jarlaxle's gaze stayed calm; at first thinking he was being ribbed, though Drizzt's increasingly intense tone told a different story.
"Though both of us agree that you have been punished enough for your arrogance," Drizzt continued, his smile now a sneer. "You are the one who will have to live with that now wherever you choose to go."
Jarlaxle nodded; his expression still calm, though Drizzt saw no smugness in that face.
"Though I do live," Jarlaxle said.
Drizzt smiled and stood up, patting Jarlaxle on the shoulder.
"And for that we are sincerely glad," he said, giving his friend a somber smile before walking toward the door.
---------
The eventual need to blink told Drizzt he needed to pry his eyes away for a moment; a difficult proposition indeed under the circumstances.
His hands found grips on the short bureau in his room at Matron Ilzir's townhouse and he supported his weight with his arms, feeling lightheaded for a moment before taking a few breaths to calm down.
If this were a trick or some sort of prank on Regis' part or anyone's part someone would have to hurt for it, though another side of Drizzt's brain half-expected this moment would come.
An ebony hand carefully reached forward and lightly touched the onyx figurine placed on the bureau, picking it up with no activated traps or bursts of magic. It was just the same as Drizzt had always remembered it.
His other hand picked up a piece of paper left below the figurine, recognizing Regis' neat handwriting.
Drizzt,
Two years ago Stumpet found this figurine in your room in Icewind Dale with the saddest notes my eyes will ever read. I knew from that moment you were lost to me forever and a broken scimitar confirmed that fear.
The Drizzt Do'Urden beside whom I once traveled and spoke with for many hours is lost to me forever, but you aren't. You have found yourself, moved on with your life and for that you are far better than the rest of us.
Your life now is not a life I would have the stomach for; your creed, your morals, your companions, and many of your actions are not my cup of tea though it is not my place to judge what a man does with his life, especially after all he has been through.
No words could ever fully express my regret for how I treated you, how Bruenor and Wulfgar treated you, how Icewind Dale treated you after Catti died. It weighs on my heart everyday, but I will sleep better knowing you are alive and I have done all I could do for the people you have called your own. My work over the past five days is hardly enough recompense, I know, but it is my way of trying to do what is right.
I will go to Waterdeep to finish my duty to Tymora's church and then I will find my own life wherever it takes me. You have taught me there are many paths one can take and one person can truly adapt.
I will leave you with an old friend who is dear to both of us, though she has been your longest traveling companion and is truly better served by your side.
Fare thee well, Drizzt Do'Urden, may the path before you be open and may your friends be true.
With warmest love and wishes
Regis
Drizzt stared at the letter for a while, reading the words repeatedly and letting them sink in. The sides of his mouth quirked into a smile, feeling a sense of vindication though relief ran deeper.
He stepped away from the bureau and held the figurine in his raised hand.
"Come, my shadow," he said, the words catching for a moment a light laugh.
Gray mist swirled around the figurine and the massive black form of Guenwhyvar materialized before him.
Guenwhyvar looked up at him with a feline version of a smile before nuzzling his leg with her nose.
Drizzt came to his knees, scratching behind her ears and rubbing his cheek against her soft fur.
"I'm so sorry, my friend," he said with a sob, pulling back and looking into her bright, green eyes. Those eyes looked back into his soul with love and not judgment. Drizzt's grin widened as he gave her a look of happy mischief. "Let's see how we can make up for lost time."
Author's Note: Next chapter, the conclusion of "The Lesser Evil: Hooligan's Holiday."
