The infinate blackness that surrounded the solitary figure seemed more welcoming than imposing to his wretched soul. It was like home to him, a world where his talants and strengths were desired... Ney, Required, to survive. This was his life... His world... With webs of deception so thick that they rolled back upon each other, intertwining until even the spider- creater or these webs- was unsure of what lead to where. But this spider... This master of these webs always found his way to where he desired, often with the most direct route, and with unmatchable grace and dignity.
Artemis Entreri was a master of these webs that so many had fallen victim to.
He fingered the sharp edge of his prized blade. Not the one to which he had spent half of his 40 years attempting to aquire, but his trademark weapon. The small dagger, a sentient blade without a name seemed to purr back to him as he let the tip of the pointed edge cut a fine line along the tip of his finger. Barely a drop oozed out, but his hungry dagger felt warm to his touch, content, overjoyed at being fed such wonderful blood.
Entreri grinned despite himself. This blade, his blade, had been given to him by someone whome he had despised. They had neatly stabbed him in the back, figuritively speaking. It had felt more painful than any superficial cuts and bruises that he had felt before... Even from his arch-rival Drizzt Do'Urden's twirling blades.
So, Entreri had stabbed them in the back... Not so figuritively speaking.
Thus Entreri had burried his past deep beneath his cruel and superficial goals. He wanted to be the best, only to prove that he was better than what he had done before, better than a cowardly stab from behind.
Of course, those who watch their backs meet death from the front.
That was an age-old saying of the drow, or so Jarlaxle had told him. It was insane how true those words were, especially when the assassin paused to consider them at length.
Everyone died, and so few died from natural causes any more.
Unless, of course, you consider a dagger through the heart a natural death...
... Actually, if Entreri thought about it, it WAS the most natural form of death for those in Calimport... And in Menzoberranzan.
Oh how Entreri hated the city of the drow! It mocked him, his very existence, and everything Entreri had strived to become! Even the weakest of drow had aspired to a level above most able assassins in Calimport...
He shook the thoughts from his head... They plagued him, followed him and consumed him...
But he could fight them, placing up that wall of hatred he had come to rely on like he relied on his dagger.
The dagger that still purred gently in his grasp.
Roughly he shoved the blade into his belt, without the grace he usually held, or even bothering to make sure it did not cut him as he jammed it in. It nicked his side and the blade tasted a bit of the assassin's delicious blood once more.
"DAMN YOU!"
He was not sure who he was shouting to, but Jarlaxle- his drow companion- seemed to believe it was himself.
"And what has this poor surface-bound dark elf done to deserve the wrath of such a fine assassin this time?" Jarlaxle's grin mocked Artemis on a level that only Jarlaxle could. A light chuckle escaped his parted ebony lips, adding to the sarcasm and mockery of the confused assassin.
"... Damn you." He said quietly once more before turning to regard the elf.
His glare alone told the drow that this was not a time to be joking as he was. No. The assassin appeared to be ready to cut out the mercenary leader's heart at any moment.
Though the cunning elf highly doubted that the volatile human could ever complete such a feat, especially with temper guiding his movements and not his usually cool and calm mind.
Entreri took in a deep breath to calm himself, then turned his lifeless grey gaze upon the blood-hued orbs of his comrade.
"Nothing."
Jarlaxle did not press the point, though, and instead nodded once before leaning back on his bedroll to gaze at the sky.
The red hues were fading, allowing Jarlaxle his infravision once more.
Also affording Entreri a chance to sleep.
"I will take the first watch tonight." The drow said, gazing lazily around at the forms about them.
Entreri shrugged and leaned back on his bedroll, covering his head with his blanket in a weak attempt to convince his mind to sleep. His body needed the rest, he knew, for he still had a long journey left before he could reach his destination in the North, but his mind was too active to let himself rest. So many thoughts were plaguing him.
"Elf."
Jarlaxle chuckled at the impersonal reference to him.
"Human?" He asked back, playing what appeared to be another game.
A heavy sigh escaped from beneath the blanket.
"Jarlaxle."
"Artemis?"
"Do you trust me?"
Jarlaxle contemplated the question after a moment.
"Trust is such a meaningless word these days, is it not? But if you must know, yes, I would believe in you to watch my back should I ever become unable to do it myself."
Entreri was satisfied for a brief moment.
"... I long ago I thought I despised this world, those within it, and every action that they took. But now... Now... I'm just not sure any more."
Jarlaxle chuckled.
"Ahh, Artemis. Is this what has been plaguing your mind since the Snowflake Mountains? You are simply unsure? Entreri, the world is what you make of it, nothing more and nothing less... You are simply afraid to make of this world something that is not what you have been used to... Open your eyes and mind, and perhaps if your body allows you, open your heart to your surroundings and the possibilities."
"Then where from here? Do we follow the paths we had once lead, or do we forge a new role in life for ourselves?"
"I believe I already have, Artemis.. I'm just waiting for you to catch up."
The simple statement shocked Entreri... But it was true. Jarlaxle had changed, had grown from such a simple, cunning mercenary to become a surface-dweller at heart that was either respected or feared... Usually more respected..
Entreri continued to consider this... Jarlaxle was carving a reputation for himself much like his hated rival Drizzt Do'Urden had...
And Entreri was still standing at the crossroads, staring down towards Jarlaxle and Drizzt, but afraid to alter his direction from that which he had followed all of his life.
He groaned, rolling over on his bedroll to face the drow, then he pulled the blanket from his head. His ebony hair was disshevelled, but still that same raven it has always been, not reflecting any salt-and-pepper specks. Nor did his five-oclock shadow fade, nor deepen... He looked the exact same he had 5 years ago... 10 years ago... Almost a full 15 years ago.
Yet he had changed so much, the drow elf could tell.
"G'night." The assassin said, yawning and allowing his tired body to take him into slumber.
"Sleep tight, my dark friend, and perhaps your dreams will help clarify your confusing thoughts..."