Chapter I
Jarlaxle always kept his promises.
Not much else was certain in life, but one could not find a single incident where Jarlaxle the mercenary had not held true to a promise he had made. Granted, Jarlaxle often found ways to slide past promises that he did not want to keep, dodging them by loopholes and such, but never in his entire life had Jarlaxle broken a promise.
This is almost asking a bit too much, Jarlaxle grumbled in his thoughts. He kept the brim of his large and colorful hat low so that his face was hidden from the glares of the surface sun and the people that he passed. Both were equally blazing.
"Never were the people to accept new things," Jarlaxle muttered under his breath, glancing at the men and women who had stopped in their work just to stare at the mercenary as he passed down the road. The merchant caravan had stopped dead at the very sight of him, even their horses eyeing him with a sudden cruelty.
Jarlaxle's flowing cloak of colors rippled behind him as he walked, offering added protection to the stares of the people. Any lesser man would have buckled at the attention he was being given.
Fortunately for Jarlaxle, he was a drow - not a man - and the cocky mercenary thrived when given attention such as this.
The silence on the road Jarlaxle now walked was deafening. He kept his feet rolling, always landing on the balls of his feet in his perfect balance. He turned his head to the side and saw a small girl child staring at him questionably.
Jarlaxle smiled calmly and gave her a wave. She screamed in fight.
Instantly the entire caravan seemed to burst with life. Men appeared with swords drawn and woman stood protectively beside their children.
"Well, damn," Jarlaxle sighed, stopping his walk and turning to face the men that were merging at his back.
"I mean no harm to any of you," he announced loudly. The men gave each other uncertain glances at the sound of his voice. He spoke the Common Tongue perfectly. "I only mean to use this road to travel, nothing more."
"Travel where, drow?" one of the men yelled angrily. "To bring others and attack our towns?"
Jarlaxle waved away such foolishness with his hand. "I would do nothing of the sort," he promised them.
The men did not seem comforted, but they were silent. After a moment of completely stillness, Jarlaxle turned, feeling quite certain that they would not attack him while his back was to them. They were men of the surface, and here in their world of light, honor did exist.
Jarlaxle's walk was brisk as he put the distance between him and the people of the merchant caravan. He had places to be, after all, and there was little time to waste. His duties to the Bregan D'aerthe were trying in the times of late and there was much that required his attention. But at the moment, there was another quest for the mercenary of Menzoberranzan, although he was uneager to journey to this foreign surface world for so long.
But, Jarlaxle does not break his promise.
Jarlaxle always kept his promises.
Not much else was certain in life, but one could not find a single incident where Jarlaxle the mercenary had not held true to a promise he had made. Granted, Jarlaxle often found ways to slide past promises that he did not want to keep, dodging them by loopholes and such, but never in his entire life had Jarlaxle broken a promise.
This is almost asking a bit too much, Jarlaxle grumbled in his thoughts. He kept the brim of his large and colorful hat low so that his face was hidden from the glares of the surface sun and the people that he passed. Both were equally blazing.
"Never were the people to accept new things," Jarlaxle muttered under his breath, glancing at the men and women who had stopped in their work just to stare at the mercenary as he passed down the road. The merchant caravan had stopped dead at the very sight of him, even their horses eyeing him with a sudden cruelty.
Jarlaxle's flowing cloak of colors rippled behind him as he walked, offering added protection to the stares of the people. Any lesser man would have buckled at the attention he was being given.
Fortunately for Jarlaxle, he was a drow - not a man - and the cocky mercenary thrived when given attention such as this.
The silence on the road Jarlaxle now walked was deafening. He kept his feet rolling, always landing on the balls of his feet in his perfect balance. He turned his head to the side and saw a small girl child staring at him questionably.
Jarlaxle smiled calmly and gave her a wave. She screamed in fight.
Instantly the entire caravan seemed to burst with life. Men appeared with swords drawn and woman stood protectively beside their children.
"Well, damn," Jarlaxle sighed, stopping his walk and turning to face the men that were merging at his back.
"I mean no harm to any of you," he announced loudly. The men gave each other uncertain glances at the sound of his voice. He spoke the Common Tongue perfectly. "I only mean to use this road to travel, nothing more."
"Travel where, drow?" one of the men yelled angrily. "To bring others and attack our towns?"
Jarlaxle waved away such foolishness with his hand. "I would do nothing of the sort," he promised them.
The men did not seem comforted, but they were silent. After a moment of completely stillness, Jarlaxle turned, feeling quite certain that they would not attack him while his back was to them. They were men of the surface, and here in their world of light, honor did exist.
Jarlaxle's walk was brisk as he put the distance between him and the people of the merchant caravan. He had places to be, after all, and there was little time to waste. His duties to the Bregan D'aerthe were trying in the times of late and there was much that required his attention. But at the moment, there was another quest for the mercenary of Menzoberranzan, although he was uneager to journey to this foreign surface world for so long.
But, Jarlaxle does not break his promise.