Midsummer
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.
Author's Note: From here on, I am writing Catti-brie without much of her dwarven accent; going on the assumption that she started to lose it near the end of The Two Swords, though she does get it back occasionally. You have been warned.
Chapter 2: Another Sunset
Three flat stones landed on the green leather mat with a dull slap as the others tumbled in the grass along sides. The round, smoothed out pieces of quartz were painted in varying shades of red, blue, green, and white with a few in silver. Nialian Springleaf allowed himself to gaze at the stones, attuning with their energies before reading the symbols delicately painted in black. He turned his green-gold eyes up at the sky to see the sun had almost fully set as a large, full moon now dominated the horizon. He then closed his eyes and let his old body feel the energies of the earth. It was Midsummer's Eve, a time of magic in itself. It was also the night of the full moon, which tended to raise the energies of everyone. This combined with the natural vibrations of the holiday had the potential to cause great merriment, or great catastrophe.
The elderly cleric looked down at the stones, a divination tool popularly used by barbarian priests he had adapted for his own use, to try to get an idea of what held in store for this Midsummer. Every stone was painted in the color corresponding with the elemental power it represented: green for earth, white for air, red for fire, blue for water, and silver for spirit; what many clerics and mystics considered the fifth element. On one side of each stone was a symbol for the varying emotions and actions attached to each element to give a more accurate reading. The stones that landed on the short, rectangular mat were the major issues of that night, while the ten stones that fell to the side reflected more minor issues. In the five hundred years Nialian had been using these stones, they were rarely wrong.
Nialian rested his angled chin in his small hand, tapping the side of his face as he read the main stones on the mat: two were red while the last was blue. It would be a night of passions, but blue indicated the flow of water, another great bringer of chaos in the form of change. He traced the line with his other finger and nodded his head in conclusion.
"Expect the evening's song to be a discordant wail of the sweetest harmony," he said to himself.
It was a meaning that might be considered completely nonsensical, yet to Nialian, himself a creature of chaos, it made perfect sense. The night would not be plagued by danger. Instead all its passions would be the stuff of chaos, yet in the most benevolent way. It would be a terrible night for anyone expecting any kind of order or predictability in any way. Yet to the ones who enjoyed everything that went against that order, it was the perfect night. Hearts would be bursting with love, yet the minds would be less filled with reason. All in all, it would be an ideal Midsummer's Eve.
Satisfied by this reading, Nialian's eyes then turned to the various stones that had fallen to the side, all signifying the individual interactions and relationships that would be affected tonight. The particular position of five of the stones especially drew his attention, for four were lined perfectly together, forming their own circle, all representing the four main elements, while one silver stone touched the outside of the circle. It was rare that the stones would form a perfect formation such as this, signifying a major development among what looked to be four different people, while another would be close on the side; part of the interaction yet at a distance. Nialian also knew that a silver stone positioned in such a way most likely signified a cleric, most likely himself.
Nialian smiled and gently picked the stones off the ground, placing them back in their black, velvet pouch as he quietly gave a prayer to Corellan Larathien for a peaceful and happy evening.
And it appeared as though much was in store already.
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The low moan of a distant wooden flute rang through the trees as if it was carried along by the soft breeze that caressed the oaks, birches, and evergreens and carried the scent of fresh forest steeped in night air. A hazy cloud covered the purple sky of the dying minutes of twilight, until the bright, silver rays penetrated the haze and the large, full moon shown clearly through. The silver light cast a rising glow over the canopy of Moonwood, revealing the forest in its full glory.
Innovindil leaned further against the trunk of the high fir under which she had taken a seat. She stretched her legs out on the grassy hill that was high enough to overlook much of the forest. Her blue-gold eyes eventually fell on the bright moon, which became her focal point above all else; a point of simplicity where she could find a focus for settling her various troubling thoughts.
It seemed like only yesterday that she sat on this exact hill. Her lover Tarathiel was lying on the soft ground; his long, black hair cascading across Innovindil's lap as her slender, white fingers ran through every soft strand. She remembered he was in a long, flowing tunic of white linen that partially open to reveal a portion of his chest, that Innovindil would caress with her free hand. She could still feel his soft skin and hear him give a small chuckle in protest as she purposefully reached his ticklish spot.
Innovindil shuttered, and then turned her attention back to the moon lest her recollection also bring her to that horrible evening when Tarathiel was taken from her. She still saw that moment in her dreams, though her Reverie had become slightly calmer over the past few moons. She found a way to turn her dreams away from the image of Tarathiel's body falling into pieces at the end of Obould Many-Arrows' flaming sword. Whenever the image came, she would immediately focus on the soft, white hair that fell on her face and the ebony hands that wrapped around her shoulders as she screamed for her lover. Innovindil would only focus on the warm feeling of Drizzt Do'Urden's arms around her trembling body, the warmest touch she had ever received in those cold times.
It was Drizzt who had kept her sane during that horrible period, Drizzt who became her friend and companion throughout The Thousand Orcs War and on many other occasions over the past few years. Their relationship did go deeper, maybe too deep. After all, it was the war that ultimately brought him together with his true love Catti-brie. They were happy, the couple always meant to be together.
Yet last Midsummer, she and Drizzt were caught in a moment of passion and made love to each other under the stars. When their passion was spent and their bodies separated, both saw Catti-brie glaring at both of them with sad eyes. They had betrayed her, and she had seen the entire moment. Innovindil felt guilt for violating a friend's trust; for savoring a body that was bound by honor to another. Yet she never regretted her moment of passion with Drizzt, for it was the most beautiful thing that had happened since those dark times. She closed her eyes and still recalled the feel of his body wrapping the flesh inside and outside of her lonely form in gentle warmth, letting her know she was not alone and should not live in the cold. It was the consummation of a pure emotion that both had held back for too long.
Did she love Drizzt? As a friend and companion maybe, though she did not feel any devotion of body and spirit to him at all. Maybe she had used his body for her own pleasure, yet Innovindil knew it was a pleasure shared. She remembered well the sound of his sighs and the pulse of his skin with its furthered passion, knowing full well that this had been a moment of ecstasy for him as well
These emotions lingered with her for the past year, which she spent traveling all over Faerûn and experiencing every new thing that she had not thought possible before. The time traveling on her pegasus Sunrise also gave her an opportunity to sort through her emotions alone. She would return to Moonwood occasionally, though only for a few days before going off on another adventure. She had returned home from Lantan three days ago after spending the past month helping the gnomes repair an old temple of Garl Glittergold that had been damaged in a storm.
When she returned to Moonwood for the Midsummer festivities, she was given a letter that had come the day before. The handwriting outside was completely familiar; the flowing yet slightly scratchy script of an elven hand that had been formed under harsh conditions. She took the letter into her tent and ripped it open, finally reading what Drizzt Do'Urden had in his heart since that night. It read:
Dearest Innovindil,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I apologize for not writing sooner, especially how I merely dashed off with barely a word last Midsummer. There was no excuse for how I treated you after our moment, so my sincerest apologies.
Catti-brie and I are still together, yet our relationship has become more strained with the passing of time. We were allowed a blissful, yet grim distraction in the form of our voyage to find the Gauntlgrym (an adventure better told in volumes than in one little letter, so I will save the details for next time we meet), which gave us a focus and a reason to work together during the more harrowing moments and find our peace in each other's arms in quieter times. When we returned to Mithril Hall six months later, our distractions were gone and the full weight of our situation came upon us. She tells me she forgives me for last Midsummer, yet it is still a weight she bears: a weight likely released with our relationship.
The past year has been filled with varying degrees of silence mixed with the occasional snapping of tempers and the even rarer moment of passion. The thought of losing Catti-brie once gnawed at my soul, now the idea no longer bothers me. I cannot help but think now that maybe I felt strong affections for Cattie-brie, yet my own concept of love is so distorted. I never allowed myself to recognize my emotions before the war, living as a cold and closed creature so wrapped in his own mission. That all changed during those awful moments of the war, yet further helped by your kind words and firm advice. These lead me to sweep Catti-brie up in my arms for the first time, though maybe this was more me finding my own heart than uniting my heart with Catti-brie; an old, dear friend who became my first love. I cannot help but feel that maybe though her, I have found my heart; though maybe it has grown apart from hers now that I recognize its existence in the first place. Maybe I need to sort out my emotions and find myself before declaring my love to another. I have been so tangled in my own ideals that I never allowed myself to live. Now I have that opportunity and time and chance have taught me that I should not squander it.
With that said, I will tell you now that I do not regret what happened between us that night. It was a natural expression of passion that I had so long denied myself. You have helped me find myself, and last Midsummer was a perfect part of that. I give you many thanks for sharing your body that night, for you soothed mine in every way. I have always thought that physical passion should be a reflection of one's emotions, and it was for us in so many ways.
Another Midsummer is drawing nigh and it is only right that I inform you that I am coming to Moonwood with Catti-brie by my side. She insists on this trip, saying she wants this to be a night where we rekindle our dying romance. Yet there is a more vocal part of me that knows she either means to test me, or maybe she wants us to have one last chance together before she releases me. Perhaps it is a mixture of all. Regardless I welcome it all. Whatever comes to pass this evening, it will be for the best. So I shall come to Moonwood this evening with open arms and an open heart, ready to see you at last.
With all my affections,
Drizzt Do'Urden
Innovindil sat straight, the words of the letter ringing through her mind. She smiled and relaxed her body; concentrating fully on the moon and feeling its rays permeate her being. Her eyes closed and she opened her spirit up to the silvery rays, feeling a surge of power gradually spreading through her lithe form. It was a meditation common among elven women and many said it was as if the maiden was taking the moon into herself. After a few minutes, she slowly opened her eyes and came to her feet in one perfect motion, feeling the moon energy pulsed through her being.
Innovindil then smoothed out the folds of her long tunic of blue silk with a smile, before walking back towards the village to fully greet this festive night.
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"Oh, Petey," Maggie said in a scolding tone that carried an amused laugh, "please don't play with the elf's ear. You know he doesn't like that."
Despite the reprimand, Jarlaxle still felt the stubby, furry finger whose previous locations he did not even want to think on, still poking the tip of his long, pointed left ear; leaving him with a cramping chill down his neck every time this little…creature touched this rather sensitive area.
"But, momsy, it'sa so pointy," the small bugbear replied, giving Jarlaxle's ear one last poke. "I never seed dat afore."
Jarlaxle casually raised a hand and gently brushed the child bugbear's finger away. Petey seemed to get the message, yet he still exposed his fangs and twisted his ugly, furry face in an amused grin while giving a stupid laugh. Jarlaxle crossed his arms and leaned back in the rickety wooden chair while watching the slumped, elderly human woman in a baggy, gingham dress set wooden bowls on the equally unstable wooden table, her other two "sons" leaning over and watching her with love in their yellow eyes. His attention turned back to his companion, who was reclined in what was an easy chair by basic definition only, paying more attention to putting a whetstone over his dagger, though his black eyes would occasionally go up to the happy family as he passed the stone over with a longer, more pronounced swipe.
This little moment had been carried out for the past four hours. Jarlaxle was usually a good sport about such circumstances, but even this was beginning to wear on his nerves more than a little. Just five hours earlier, he and Artemis Entreri had been scouring the edge of The King's Forest on a mission for their most frequent employers Tazmikella and Ilnezhara; two sisters who were mysterious, intelligent, and beautiful…copper dragons, who frequently recruited them to add to their respective hordes. A tenday ago, Tazmikella gave the pair a scrap of parchment that appeared to be a map leading to a treasure buried by the elves on the outskirts of Cormyr before the Retreat.
"Rumor has it the site has been long abandoned, so you won't need to worry about your…kindred," Tazmikella said, her gaze focusing on Jarlaxle. "You will need to watch for orc patrols, yet they are sparse. I will also warn you that spot may also have contained some workings of Elven High Magic that may have affected the Weave around the area. Most of the effects have probably dissipated by now, but you have been warned."
A teleportation later, the two mercenaries were in Cormyr on their latest mission. The next day was Midsummer; a Midsummer of torrential downpours welcoming them into the woods, though a bit closer to their destination. That was until they walked down a long, sloping hill whose rocks and sand decided to give way and slide down into the valley. Jarlaxle easily jumped and avoided most of the barrage. Entreri was usually possessed of the same grace, until one rogue stone founds its way under his foot in the right way and sent him tumbling down the hill landing wrong on his right ankle. A crack of bone and a few howled obscenities later, the two were stuck in their location.
Jarlaxle managed to get Entreri to stop cursing and sit still long enough so he could snap the bone back into place and produce his healing orb…only to have the orb simply act as a heavy weight while its lack of powers along with Jarlaxle's perpetual uneasy feeling about the whole area suddenly make sense: they were in a dead magic zone. In orc infested woods. In the pouring rain.
Their salvation came in form of their current host; a tiny, slumped figure in a bright yellow cloak out gathering wet branches for some purpose. She saw the two men and immediately came to their aid despite the fact one of them was a drow and the other was an injured, irate human with two rather deadly-looking weapons. The kindly, ancient lady, who said her name was Maggie, helped Entreri off the ground and her and the assassin's companion led him a few feet further into the woods to a rickety shack that looked to consist of a million spindly twigs that had been positioned in the perfect way so they wouldn't fall on each other, at least not now.
"My boys and I never have company," she said as they drew closer. "This should be delightful."
Only a minute later, her three "boys" came scampering out the sagging door flap of the cabin: three small, mangy bugbears, who appeared perfectly willing to accommodate the stranded travelers. Maggie later told them she had found these three brothers when they were just toddlers orphaned when a tribe tore itself apart. She took them in and raised them as her own sons and the relationship seemed to prosper. Drewby now helped "momsy" clean the dusty floor with a broom that left more of itself behind with every pile of dust it swept up, as Niky came through the door bearing a small, iron pot steaming with…something. Petey, the littlest, finally left Jarlaxle's ear alone long enough to scratch his own backside with too much effort for the drow's present comfort.
The mercenaries agreed to stay in the cabin until the rain let up, which had been a span of five hours of family bliss. Jarlaxle kept his gaze on the flap of the cabin, which had likely been a fine quilt a century ago and was now sagging from the top enough to give a clear view of the goings on outside. It appeared as though the rain had let up a little and was now a heavy shower as opposed to a river being dumped from the sky. He took one last look at Maggie, who spooned out the brownish concoction from kettle that smelled like boiled mutton and wet leaves, then at Entreri, who added another dab of oil to his dagger from a tiny bottle he kept with him at all times.
Jarlaxle put all four legs of the chair on the floor and swept up to his feet, walking over to his companion, whose injured leg was wrapped in a surprisingly clean green blanket and propped up on a wooden stool.
"It appears the rain has held off for now at least," he said to Entreri in drow. "I am going to venture out and see how far out this dead magic zone goes. Will you be fine here alone for a while?"
Entreri looked at Maggie and passed the whetstone over the dagger with a louder, more pronounced swipe, which gave a shrill ring.
"I think I'll be fine for now," Entreri said calmly.
"Just try not to kill anyone," Jarlaxle replied. "I find this little clan rather charming."
"Why does that not surprise me?" Entreri asked with a tired glare.
Jarlaxle smiled and gave his companion a nod before walking towards the door.
"Mistress Maggie, it is with great regrets that I must leave before this grand feast," he said. "But I must find the nearest border where magic is still active."
"Oh, Master Jarlaxle," she replied with concern, "That could be for miles."
"For the sake of my injured companion, I am willing to travel that distance."
With a grand sweep of his wide-brimmed, plumed hat, he turned around and walked through the flap. He did take a last look at his companion, who had since sheathed the dagger and drew his fine sword, Charon's Claw, while flashing a last smirk to his partner. Jarlaxle allowed himself a small chuckle as he walked from the cabin and into the woods, knowing that, even with a broken ankle and no magical enchantments on his weapons, Entreri was perfectly fine in this company; physically at least.
Jarlaxle continued walking; keeping his keen elven senses open for the presence of magic in the area. He walked down a brambled path and through branches hanging with the soaking wetness of the rain, which had now completely subsided, while enjoying the fresh scent of the trees in the beginning evening; an aroma that made him glad to be out of the stale Underdark and in the presence of such sensory wonders. It was Midsummer's Eve, a night that Jarlaxle felt his senses were even keener while the air seemed to radiate with a powerful aura, even without the presence of magic in the area. This was his fifth Midsummer on the surface and every one, for some reason, seemed special.
The dark elf found he was too caught up in the beautiful smells and sights of the lush woods to realize exactly how far he had traveled. At last, he felt the slight tingle down his neck signifying an aura of magic that was very close. A few hundred feet later, the aura returned in full and Jarlaxle saw his rings take on their usual bright luster instead of the dull hue they had taken earlier. He walked out further to confirm this was the official end of the dead magic zone.
Jarlaxle was about to walk back, until his uncovered eye caught sight of what appeared to be a stone house covered by vines. He walked closer to find the vines washed over a whole series of white and gray stones that were once in the shape of pillars, houses, and various statues. He reached into his belt pouch and produced the scrap of parchment Tazmikella had given him at the start of their journey, comparing the markings to the general layout of this ruin and smiling.
"So this trip wasn't a waste after all," he muttered to himself with a small laugh as he took cautious steps closer to the ruins, scanning the area for any hidden creatures and wishing he had his companion with him.
As both a reasonably skilled ranger and a master rogue, Entreri could have easily maneuvered through these ruins, finding the tracks of potentially hostile creatures and disarming any ancient traps. Jarlaxle decided to scout out these ruins so the two could return here, heal Entreri's broken ankle, and conduct some actual business. He walked forward and stepped around the vines, finding that nothing in this area seemed to radiate with any particularly powerful magical energy. Following the map, Jarlaxle located the small building almost the shape of an outhouse where the map indicated an X.
"I hate to find what treasure this building holds," he said to himself with a dirty laugh. "Though maybe it is all diamonds now."
Trying to keep from laughing out loud at the thought of diamonds pressed from rather interesting components, the drow raised a slender hand and slightly parted the vines that covered the one side of the building, revealing a grand painting of a sunset over a silvery lake. Its hues were painted on with pigments naturally occurring in the woods wielded with delicate skill. Jarlaxle, still wrapped in the quiet awe of the magical evening, stood back and admired the painting. Without a thought, one finger gently bushed the wall, sending forth a bright burst of light as the drow felt himself pulled in through the wall and into another dimension.
Before he could even comprehend what had happened, Jarlaxle regained his senses enough to find he was lying in the soil and inside what appeared to be a large hollowed-out tree. He looked behind him to see a similar painting, though this one of a brilliant moon, on the wood surrounded by an ornately carved, arched wooden frame. It was now obvious he had been sucked through a portal that still obviously worked despite what probably had been decades of abandonment. The site was probably also the cause of the dead magic zone around his former area, as potent elven magic was still in place in that place left behind for the ages.
Jarlaxle knew the wise approach would be to go back through the portal…and return to a nice dinner of steaming leaves. Instead his curiosity got the better of him. He looked upwards to see the top of the hollow was a series of pointed branches bunched together that probably could be pushed upwards to an opening. Jarlaxle found a foothold in the side of the hollow, which bore the same consistency as what was probably the bark outside, and climbed upwards. After a minute he finally reached the branches on top, finding his balance with one hand grasping the side and the other sticking though the branches and prying them apart to reveal a series of hanging branches and a bright, night sky. He positioned himself further up, and then enacted his levitation allowing himself to slowly rise while prying apart the branches.
At last he rose out of the hollow and perched between high branches of what appeared to be a relatively short oak tree, while breathing in the fresh air and letting his eyes scan the expanse of woods below and the bright, full moon in the starry sky above. Then came the faint voices and rustle of leaves indicating a few passing beings below. Jarlaxle scrunched further behind the leaves, while still giving himself a decent view of the path. Five creatures dressed in colorful robes passed underneath; their slender forms, silvery-white skin, and long, pointed ears exposed by parted black and silver hair indicated this to be a party of surface elves, moon elves most likely.
Jarlaxle concentrated on their conversation and managed to pick up a "here in Moonwood" among the various ravings about the fantastic weather and the lovely night. So the portal led from one elven settlement to another, he thought. It only made sense. Jarlaxle knew this was his best time to leave, lest the whole population of Moonwood find a drow skulking in their trees; though it was a thought that came and went as he continued watching this group passing into the wood.
A few more elves passed though, all wearing bright colors and flowing garments. It was obvious the elves were celebrating Midsummer's Eve in some grand gathering. Then came a small parade of elven maidens all dressed in blue, silk robes playing wooden flutes in a merry, yet haunting tone and Jarlaxle found himself unable to keep his eyes off their beautiful forms let alone even consider returning to the portal.
As the last procession traveled by, the night became silent, all but the hooting of owls and the swish of leaves in the breeze. Then came another set of footsteps from what was probably a smaller party. He looked down and almost fell off his branch when he saw one of the travelers; an elven form with long, white hair obscuring his features, though clearly revealing an ebony neck and jaw. After a more careful inspection, Jarlaxle saw a thin sword strapped to each hip and breathed a sigh of relief as a red-haired human woman walked up behind him. It appeared he had crossed paths with Drizzt Do'Urden and lovely, supple Catti-brie once more.
Drizzt was dressed in simple trousers and a pale, green linen tunic with no adornments; his dress probably casual for the festivities. Catti-brie wore a long, flowing brown tunic that Jarlaxle noticed was slightly sheer at the right angle, allowing his honed sight a view of her shapely assets. Jarlaxle took his gaze off this beautiful form long enough to notice Drizzt had stood still and folded his arms over his chest and placed a calm glare on Catti-brie, whose expression was equally grim.
"What now?" she asked impatiently, her placing her hand on the oak in which the hidden drow had his perch and leaning back.
"I am just curious as to your expectations for this evening," Drizzt said gravely with a hint of hostility in his voice.
"Eat, drink, be merry," she replied in a similar tone. "That is the whole purpose to this gathering, isn't it?"
Drizzt fixed his gaze on her, remaining completely silent.
"Fine," he said at last, though his expression and tone indicated he had not received a sufficient answer.
"What do you want me to say?" Catti-brie asked, her voice a bit more strained.
"Let us start with why you insisted we come here in the first place."
"It's sad to hear you feel like you were dragged to this place you have so come to love, and the friends you will spend time with tonight."
Drizzt slightly winced, making Catti-brie realize her statement was more caustic than she had intended.
"Drizzt, it's Midsummer's Eve," she said, coming forward and stretching her arms out grandly. "It is a night of peace and love, where everyone is supposed to be merry. Relax, Drizzt, for once; take a few breathes, and enjoy the night however you may."
"You're absolutely right," Drizzt replied, his tone calm yet biting. "I will come here, spend much warm, close time with friends, and enjoy myself in whatever way I find appropriate. And you will not care no matter what."
Catti-brie locked him with a sad gaze and sighed.
"No, I won't care," she said. "I have stopped caring. Is that what you want me to hear?"
Drizzt stared at Catti-brie with heavy eyes.
"Yes, I believe that is what I did want to hear," he said, "though not for the reasons you are likely thinking. Catti-brie, too much has passed between us and I will say now that I can no longer tolerate this. I want this night to be a deciding factor in our future, whatever may occur."
"I couldn't agree with you more," she sneered.
The two locked stares for a second; blue and lavender eyes piercing through each other and communicating so much with merely a look. At last, Drizzt averted his gaze and turned back to the path, with Catti-brie following close behind.
Jarlaxle rested his chin in his hand, gently biting his index finger to keep from laughing at the rather amusing drama that played out below him.
So Drizzt Do'Urden, the hero of the land, is having problems with his princess, Jarlaxle thought with a grin as he watched the couple fade into the trees. Maybe the princess needs a new prince; perhaps someone more dashing and with a bit more humor. She seems to fancy dark elves already.
Jarlaxle allowed himself to be caught up in this fantasy, until he heard a slight swish of leaves behind him. He carefully turned his head in the direction of the sound to see four small creatures perched on the branches around him. All were small in stature and bore a spindly build. Their faces reminded him of child elves, yet their ears were longer and more pronounced in shape and the bright green leaves perfectly outlined their papery, blue wings. All were clad in what almost looked like large flower petals of varying varieties as their tiny feet were adorned with green shoes that curled at the toe.
All four creatures, whom Jarlaxle knew were pixies, glared at him with bright, yellow eyes while twittering a few words amongst themselves about the intruder. Jarlaxle returned the gaze, knowing that pixies were notoriously tricky creatures; especially towards creatures that exuded the aura of a not so pleasant nature, a description which Jarlaxle was fully aware applied to him.
Jarlaxle gave a warm smile and slowly came to his feet, finding balance on the forked branches and bowing low.
"Good evening, my friends," he said in elven, tipping his hat. "I apologize if my presence is unwelcome in your wood. I assure you I mean no harm and I was just about to depart in a peaceful fashion."
The pixies twittered amongst themselves again. Jarlaxle allowed himself to relax a little, before feeling a pricking sting in the back of his neck. He managed to reach his hand and pull out a tiny arrow the length and width of a hat pin before his thoughts rapidly clouded and his senses dulled.
He was aware of the whoosh of leaves and the swift momentum propelling him downward just before everything went black.