Updating at last. : )
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Intersection
"Menzoberranzan is one of the cities of the most consistent Elvish construction," S'kaerik remarked from her sitting position on a crate. They were in Narbondellyn, where the little debris that still remained was being cleared up. The city was surprisingly intact in most areas, and did not need much restoration, except in parts where some monsters had moved into the outskirts. Perhaps there was some forbidding aura around Dark Elven cities that discouraged habitation by other sentient creatures such as goblins, which would have destroyed it.
Scaffolding had been carefully placed over the buildings that needed restoration, and from this angle, sitting on a crate in the Narbondellyn square, it looked as though the area was frozen in between reconstruction and deconstruction, metal fingers rising starkly out of the stone to cross each other in unbroken cages of light altitanium.
"Is that a positive or a negative aspect?" Jarlaxle inquired. He stood casually next to the crate, and S'kaerik thought the mercenary leader looked a little more furtive than normal.
"Positive," S'kaerik said absently, then added, in case the elf had a hidden opinion, "In terms of archaeology."
"Ah. And archaeology forgives the prejudice and slavery of the common folk that led to this pattern of construction?"
She glanced at him quickly, to check if she had offended him despite her wording, but his expression had not changed – faintly curious, faintly bored – and furtive. He must have done something. "Archaeology observes and proves."
"And what is past is so interesting?"
"Of course," S'kaerik said, deciding not to take the bait. "Sometimes living in the present becomes tedious, so we intersperse it with a weaving of past memories."
"You should have become a poet," Jarlaxle returned some of her earlier words at her in a gentle jibe.
"Not enough imagination, I'm afraid," S'kaerik grinned.
"But even your family title – Dancer of the Eclipse – is poetic." Jarlaxle chuckled. "Which reminds me. How exactly do you cats get these titles?"
"The normal way other creatures get family names, I guess. One of my ancestors danced in an eclipse, hence, the title, which sounds considerably more impressive than it should be."
"'Danced in an eclipse' is a flippant way of describing that ancestor's work, is it not?"
"I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. You checked out my history?" S'kaerik raised an eyebrow at the mercenary.
"It was highly interesting," Jarlaxle said mildly. Words that, S'kaerik knew, could mean nothing whatsoever.
"It was rather lurid, if you picked out that bit," S'kaerik said, realizing her voice had turned defensive, and then growing annoyed with herself. Jarlaxle was sure to pick up that sentiment, and the accompanying embarrassment about her family history.
"Has the Company looked into Narbondel as yet?" As she had expected, the mercenary changed the subject, never being the sort to risk giving unintentional offence by probing into sensitive subjects. However, the raw, scrubbed sensation that washed over her whenever she felt that she'd again given too much away seeped in. Self-doubt and speculation made her a bit more frank than she should have been.
"Yes… found some strange relics in there as well, before we cleaned it up and lighted it."
Narbondel now glowed like a torch, illuminating much of the city around it, yet not being bright enough to hurt the eyes when one looked at it. Gyers-sol light was useful in that way, though at first there was some uneasiness on whether Jarlaxle would protest, it turned out that for some reason none of them objected, or seemed uncomfortable in the brightness. Perhaps some spell.
"Relics?"
S'kaerik blinked, and then inwardly cursed her loose tongue. "This and that. Like much of the items found around the city."
"Ah… it so happens that there are items of sentimental value that I put in Narbondel before leaving the city. May I have a look at your Company's findings?"
She'd expected that, and had to grope for an answer. "Well, we'd need proof of your ownership… "
"I can describe the items to you."
S'kaerik looked uncomfortable. "Although that may have some credence I… "
"I know," Jarlaxle said patiently. "I meant the items as a whole are encased in translucent blue-grey crystal. They cannot be too difficult to identify, and the crystal is a spell that is keyed to me."
"Jarlaxle… please don't take this personally, but as an archaeologist that's still… "
The mercenary leader laughed. "What do you wish to find, my name carved on every single item?"
S'kaerik smiled cautiously. "Well, that would help."
"There should be Bregan D'aerthe symbols on some of the items in that crystal, if I remember correctly. It has been a while."
"Your sense of understatement is overwhelming," S'kaerik chuckled. "You have seen the rise of my civilisation, and you call that 'a while'?"
"To a dark elf?"
"True." S'kaerik agreed.
Jarlaxle straightened slightly, signifying that he was about to leave the scene.
"Where are you going?" she inquired quickly.
"To look at your Company's 'relics'," Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. "Aluve', malla S'kaerik.."
"Wait… I think I will accompany you," S'kaerik said quickly, getting up from the crate.
Behind the lowered brim of his hat, Jarlaxle permitted himself a small smile. With S'kaerik around, he would less likely be challenged as he examined the findings. There was something very important that he needed from the crystal. Vaguely, he was surprised that the crystal was still in Narbondel – some of the other items had been valuable to the Lloth elite, and he'd rather expected them to at least attempt their retrieval.
Perhaps the dark elves had really begun their degeneration those years ago. The new, 'modern' ones could hardly be called dark elves by their ancestors of thousands of years ago – they were more tolerant, somewhat less prone to mindless cruelty. Not to mention more and more of them were turning atheistic, preferring the precise impartibility of science or, in some cases, magic. Contrary to what many Surfacers believed, dark elf technology could at least equal that of the surface world, though they lacked the large-scale plans of the humans and dwarves. Trains into the Underdark, indeed!
The cities all used the old architecture, however. There wasn't much sense giving out this much of an advantage, after all – and it was fun to try and hide their technological aptitude from the discerning outsiders. Sometimes Jarlaxle thought that for beings that could enjoy a near-immortal span of life, or because of it, his kin were very easily amused.
**
"That," Jarlaxle pointed confidently.
The blue-grey crystal, perhaps about the size of the crate she had sat on earlier, squatted prominently between the other items they had retrieved from Narbondel. As Jarlaxle wandered closer to it, it began to glow warmly, in soft blue hues that danced on the metallic colours of the other relics.
The items inside the translucent crystal could barely be seen – here the beginnings of something that looked like a sword hilt, there a pendant, some sort of cloak, armour… and a lot of jewellery, some of which seemed extremely familiar.
S'kaerik vaguely remembered reading an extremely old set of accounts by the once extremely famous Calimport assassin Artemis Entreri, who had been a companion of Jarlaxle in the period where the mercenary had temporarily left command of Bregan D'aerthe to his subordinate to wander around the surface world. Those bangles shaped into little Kara-Tur dragons biting their tails… and yes, that dagger certainly looked very familiar. If Entreri's memoir was correct, it was no wonder that this crystal would have sentimental value to the mercenary, since the assassin was supposedly once his close friend.
Jarlaxle laid his hand on it, almost like caressing some favoured pet, and the glow increased, flaring brightly once and enveloping the mercenary's hand. When it cleared, all the items were stacked neatly on the ground – there were a surprising number of swords. The mercenary delicately picked up two daggers and a necklace, wordlessly handing them to S'kaerik. Helplessly, she looked at them, conscious for the first time that the Bregan D'aerthe mercenaries, though appearing casual, were all armed, and surreptitiously checking out the other Weyr-cat archaeologists in the room with apparent indifference.
The symbols on them were unmistakable, however, and she sighed, knowing defeat when she saw it. "They certainly seem genuine."
Jarlaxle looked mildly mortified. "Of course they are." He took them back from her and nodded to one of his mages. "So… may I?"
"You won't consider donating some items… ?"
"All of these have value to me," Jarlaxle said somewhat distantly. "It just would not… I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to display them for all to gawk at. Perhaps if you – or some of your Company – would like to examine them, that would be very acceptable, but not public display."
"I understand," S'kaerik nodded, watching as the mage somehow made the items disappear. "May I examine them at this moment?"
"Immediately?" Jarlaxle seemed amused now, the cold distance dissipating. "You are very dedicated, Lady Cat!"
"And you can stop teasing me."
"Am I?"
"I'd tell you to shut up, but your friends will probably kill me."
**
"Good!" Jarlaxle laughed, as he sidestepped another swipe. His age certainly hadn't diminished his speed, S'kaerik decided rather sourly, as she ducked a nasty slice and kicked at his kneecap fluidly. He leaped back lightly, then leaped again as she followed the kick with a feint to his right, then slash at his unprotected face.
"How are they?" Jarlaxle inquired, gesturing with a jerk of his chin at the weapons she was trying out – metal claws, which resembled those described in the book she was translating. A very close resemblance that gave her certain probably well founded suspicions about its origin. They were very well made, and fitted her, but fast as they were, she still couldn't touch the mercenary, a point of frustration, since she wasn't considered slow by any standards by her kin.
"Fast, but apparently not fast enough," S'kaerik informed him behind gritted teeth. Blocking one of his swords, she managed to clip a bit of his other hand – sheathed by a glove – with a claw, and felt a surge of triumph quickly doused when the mercenary turned, using the momentum to bring up his leg in a tight arc kick which knocked her onto her back. She rolled instinctively to one side and leapt to her feet, in time to avoid a stab attack, close enough to succeed in scything out his legs beneath him.
Annoyingly enough, he recovered even more quickly than she had, somehow managing to land another kick, this time on her stomach, which knocked out her breath, and moving fluidly to his feet to attack again, as if nothing had happened. She scrambled somewhat awkwardly out of the way of a slice, deflecting his wrist with the back of the claw, then proceeding with a twist of her hand to rip a hole in his gloves – he'd moved away too quickly for her to catch the flesh.
Frustration made her reckless – she attempted a roundhouse kick at his neck, but he avoided it, knocking her leg with the butt of one sword, throwing her off balance. Recovering took a bit long – he tapped her neatly on her hip with the flat of a blade.
"I hope you're amused," S'kaerik told him dryly. She'd known all along that he was only toying with her – Jarlaxle's skill was very well known, even in the Surface world.
"You're doing very well, considering you've not been practicing and you've certainly never used this weapon before," Jarlaxle said mildly.
"It was your suggestion," S'kaerik reminded him.
"You agreed to the duel," Jarlaxle responded, happy to argue even whilst fighting, not even out of breath.
"Duel? Thrashing, more like it," S'kaerik corrected. "I only agreed because you said you'd give me the claws if I did so."
"With practice, you would be a fine warrior," Jarlaxle glided neatly out of a trap of feints that she made up on the go.
"My profession happens to be looking at these relics, not using them to… oh, that was good… try and hurt people."
"You find poring over dusty tomes and ancient artefacts more exciting than this?"
"Definitely," S'kaerik smiled, and took a swipe, knocking off his hat. "Ha! Do I get to keep this too?"
Jarlaxle hooked the hat with the tip of a sword and flipped it back on his head before she could catch it. "Surely you do not intend to strip me of house and all, Lady Cat?"
"I'd be quite happy to just disembowel you," S'kaerik growled, as another feint trap failed.
**
Tired even after a bath, and still irritatingly sore, S'kaerik collapsed on her nest of pillows and contemplated the book next to her. "Now I know what you mean," she muttered, and it wasn't certain what, or who, she was talking to.
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Translation:
Aluve', malla S'kaerik: I leave you, most honoured S'kaerik.