This was a longtime in the coming, but I've decided this is the best way to do answers to reviews for now. If not for the backlog, this wouldn't be so long.
Alzadea: Yeah, the psionic idea for the sword pretty much shaped this entire fic. And as for Jarlaxle, I think you'll be shocked at first when it finally comes to the surface what he's up to.
Lord Onisyr: Jaka's relationship with everything is clinical. When you think of sentient creatures as herd animals, it bleeds over, but there's another thing at work, too. Glad the black bones and hair thing worked for you and Alzadea.
Ariel: I love it when you pick out details like that. I think Jarlaxle is very dependent on being part of a society, even if he is running around with a consummate loner.
hakatri: The more disturbing you find it, the happier you make me. And writing Jarlaxle's little moment of stupid-greed was very enjoyable. He totally cracks me up. Writing him is actually harder than Entreri.
Death Knight's Crowbar: I adore your pen name. It is hard to write original characters that fulfill a function without taking too much focus from the story. Tan was a bit of a torment to me, which will become obvious when I finish the fic and add a chapter of cut scenes. I cut the extended scene where I established his character. I also cut the beginnings of a scene where you would have seen Narbeli. I'm glad you're reading it like a novel, because I write it like one.
Witchwolf: I can't cover everything you write here! I resort to e-mail most of the time. But I wanted to address a couple things: still think Ashrei is stupid? (grin) And back when you mentioned that horses are edible; I've eaten raw horse (basashiis a regional dish where I used to live in southern Japan)so I had that in mind! But I couldn't find a seamless way to insert Jarlaxle commenting on that.
A/N: I think I've disclaimed enough. Next chapter puts the 'psycho' back in psychological.
"Here, stretch'd upon this heav'n-ascending hill,
I'll wait the horrors of the coming night,
I'll imitate the gently-plaintive rill,
And by the glare of lambent vapours write."
-Thomas Chatterton, Elegy to the Memory of Mr. Thomas Phillips
cats and mice, mice and cats
Entreri eyed the drow with a blend of irritation and uneasiness before speaking again. "Finish healing him or I'll be forced to gag him."
"The orb cannot heal a mind." Jarlaxle spoke soberly, fingering the eye patch that covered one of Jaka's shuddering eyes, and shutting the other. "If he continues to speak, we'll gag him. Unfortunately, even if I call Kimmuriel, he would not appear when we would need him."
"He's not expendable, if I recall correctly. I'm becoming less enamored of this plot to capture Vektch by the minute." The assassin threw his hands up shoulder height before him in a rare gesture of utter frustration at the maddening psionic element. It was more proof of the man's acceptance of Jarlaxle's friendship that he did not think to taunt, threaten to kill or abandon the male.
"By the minute?" The dark elf asked blandly, unmoved by his partner's display of recalcitrance. "How enamored of the plot will you be in fifteen of them? And really, Artemis, your word choice amazes me. Enamored, indeed."
Entreri's ire could not have been more plain on his face as he clapped a frigid stare on his calm partner. It was one in a collection of occasional moments where he questioned everything about their association. Jaka, considered a means to an end by both of them, lay in the torn grass, his body occasionally jerking, his mouth whispering low grade nonsense, and his mind probably completely raw and ravaged. The lad had been meant as psychic protection for Entreri since Jarlaxle's protective eye patch was a unique item that would not be leaving the male's person.
The idea of leaving his mind open to the sort of attack they both assumed had just befallen their young psionicist did not set well with the assassin. However, there was not a small matter of pride at stake that Entreri had been considering of late. His gauntleted hand settled on Charon's Claw's skull-pommel as he turned away from Jarlaxle to think.
Not long ago, the two had been involved with another psionic item that had a will of its own and the unbridled ambition to enslave and destroy all in its path. Said item had virtually enslaved Jarlaxle to its will while it had been in his black hands. In Entreri's possession, it had been completely denied, thanks to the man's iron control, strict discipline, and the unremitting loathing he felt for the controlling item. When the assassin heard the young dark elf shape the word 'mother,' it had become clear to Entreri the lad's mind was shattered. What drow would ever call for its mother, knowing what the females were like?
That could be him on the ground, Entreri reasoned, and the sword, Vritra, could just as easily be another Crenshinibon. Their mission was self-imposed thanks to an unhealthy amount of boredom in a protracted spate of bounty hunting jobs without challenge and some ulterior motive Jarlaxle had yet to disclose. In the course of pursuing Casteja Vektch, the two continued to be eaten alive by the local insect population, ended up an unwitting party to an attempted assassination (a point that had the highest irritation value) of their prey, and endured some of the most uncomfortable weather and terrain in the Realms. And now, their bounty's sword was shaping up to be a bigger problem than the bounty himself.
"That's almost five minutes," Jarlaxle commented, beginning to pull the eye patch up Jaka's heated forehead, millimeter by cautious millimeter. "How much love is lost? I admit, my dedication was jolted, but I still feel smitten. That said, I think a ménage a trois was short sighted. I can be a selfish lover; perhaps it is for the best I enter this stage of the seduction alone."
Entreri's knee-jerk revulsion to Jarlaxle's metaphoric speech did not surface immediately. He tuned the mercenary out long enough to consider the skeletal sword strapped to his lean hip. No inanimate object, crystal shard, Netherese blade, or psionic weapon was going to dominate him.
"No," the assassin ground through teeth gritted in angry resolve, "it seems I'm still in love. The bitter and bloodthirsty kind."
The smile that turned up the corners of Jarlaxle's mouth was laced with subtle nuances of sincere appreciation that Entreri didn't know well enough to understand. "In this drama, you will be cast as the spurned lover come to wreak bloody vengeance on your rival."
"Doesn't that role get defeated or humiliated by the hero?" Entreri asked, hardly impressed with his partner's choice.
"Please, my good friend, there are no heroes," Jarlaxle chuckled, his blood red eyes gleaming in the illusive green light of the prolific fireflies. "I would never tell so dull a tale. In this story everyone gets what they deserve, whether they like it or not."
"That's what I'm afraid of," the assassin replied grimly, gripping the hilt of his sword meaningfully. He had no illusions the kind of fate a man like him deserved.
They had little time to hide Jaka properly, but managed to remove the eye patch with no ill effects. Before stowing the quietly delirious lad among the haphazard granite remains of another small worship structure, Entreri took the precaution of searching his soft piwafwi for anything of use.
Jarlaxle suppressed a chuckle at the assassin's pragmatism, and suggested Entreri search for the poor lad's House insignia. Entreri didn't need the suggestion, he was already taking stock. Among the other interesting items stowed in the wooly silk folds, the assassin found a few more ioun stones, a packet of several bone needles, the boy's red measuring cord, a small pouch containing an unidentifiable dust, and the valuable House insignia.
"What spells do you think it has?" The assassin drew only the single item out and flipped it over to observe House Mi'iduor's crest. A hard look entered his gray eyes the moment he got over the initial shock of what he saw. "Does he have two insignias?"
The mercenary leaned over Entreri's shoulder to take a look and smiled. "It has been known to happen and I'm sure he carries his old insignia as a useful memento, but that's the one I had in mind. It should have more than one stoneskin enchantment and possibly web, but there's no telling what else."
"Kimmuriel is going to kill you," Entreri stated firmly, undoing his cloak and laying it over the newly silent youth to further camouflage him. The assassin checked the boy's pulse to make sure the silence was not that of death, but the heat radiating from Jaka's delirious body was proof enough of his continued life.
"He's not going to be very happy, no." Jarlaxle didn't seem worried as he replaced his red eye patch over an equally red eye. "But that's going to be more his problem than mine, I'm afraid. Luckily, I'm fully confident in Kimmuriel's ability to escape the wrath of House Agrach Dyrr in one piece, if not a little chipped around the edges."
The assassin, having spent far too long in Menzoberranzan working for Jarlaxle against his will, was not impressed with his obvious oversight. Of course he had never heard of Mi'iduor; there was no such house in Menzoberranzan. Jarlaxle had been cryptic yet again and used the boy's house name to remind Jaka of his vast informational resources and to keep Entreri in the dark. The male's instinctual knack for surrounding himself with smoke screens was an infuriatingly annoying survival mechanism.
Putting the thought out of his head for the time being, Entreri divested himself of his leather shirt and the long sleeves of the black garment. The night was beginning to cool from the top down, giving rise to growing ground fog, but the assassin anticipated enough exertion to make him uncomfortable with all his layers. A stoneskinenchantment would be useful in the humid environment. "I have just one question."
The two began walking back up to the shrine together, both contemplating the possibilities that awaited them. Jarlaxle could imagine the business-like man's inquiry. "How do we neutralize the sword?"
Surprisingly, Entreri paused and considered the point before he shook his head. He'd had a minor epiphany concerning the sword during the unexpected struggle with the seizing Jaka. "No, I think I may have that covered. I want to know if you have a buyer for the sword or not."
The dark elf would have been surprised by Entreri's answer if he had not realized years prior that the man was exceedingly intelligent. This was why Jarlalxe did well to keep sly suspicion from his face as he replied. "Several, should I choose to let them buy the information that leads to the discovery of such a blade. Why do you ask?"
"You don't have a buyer." Entreri was ever one to cut to the chase, especially when he could manage to do so against Jarlaxle's endless verbal bobbing and weaving. "We get rid of it should it turn out to be like the crystal shard."
Sighing at the assassin's wasteful crusade against psionic items, Jarlaxle nodded. "Only if it turns out to be like the shard, though I doubt it is the same; I can't take another bloody great red dragon. Look at what Casteja has done while he's had the thing. It has taken the man seven years to do what Crenshinibon could do in seven days. I hold no doubts that it is a powerful item, but it obviously moves slowly, if it is the ambitious sort at all."
The two stopped at the top of the hill, just inside the mouth of the small shrine and took their remaining conversation to hand code. They discussed their plans of action quickly, settling on several alternatives, each dependent on various outcomes. The main problem was to ascertain the location of Casteja's mysterious sword and separate it from the man, even if that meant severing his hand in the process.
It was for that reason alone the two had opted to meet Casteja and his people face on, rather than take them in the shadows of the wood.
They didn't have long to wait for the group, both males heard the quiet rustle of their approach before they saw them. Entreri's eyes narrowed as he noted the whisper of Tan's stride and the telltale hobble of what was possibly Casteja's gait. He wouldn't believe his ears until he saw the man with his own eyes. By the sound of the approach the six soldiers with them were hanging back a few yards and splitting into two groups of three to flank the small granite shrine.
Entreri and Jarlaxle exchanged knowing looks; of course Casteja didn't trust them. Why would he? The man had not survived his insurgency for seven years by making stupid mistakes and casual blunders. By the time Tan took the corner at a wide angle, Casteja's tread sounded completely normal. The man looked completely normal, too, though not Chondathan with his pale skin and light eyes.
The first thing the two marked was Casteja Vektch's penetrating blue gaze as it collided with each of them and seized their measure instantly. Casteja was not especially tall, but he was above the average human height. His demeanor seemed deeply serious, which matched the circumstances of their meeting. His hair was dark, likely black, and his pale skin weathered by the elements and battle. Four long scars were struck pinkish silver by available moonlight as they stretched over fine cheek bones from the corner of one eye diagonally toward the sharp angle of his jaw.
Like Entreri, the man was dressed for the heat in a pale sleeveless shirt, though his left forearm was sheathed in a black leather bracer adorned with silver chasing and decorative red fabric drapery. The drapery effectively concealed the man's hand and wrist; which Jarlaxle was certain was to hide the manacle or bracelet he believed was linked to Vritra.
"Artemis Entreri and Drizzt Do'Urden, I presume," Casteja began abruptly, pointedly gazing from Entreri's deceptively relaxed stance to Jarlaxle's playfully insolent bow, which came complete with the doffing of his monstrous hat.
"At your service," Jarlaxle grinned, standing up straight again. He extended his left hand, hoping the man would shake it and thus expose his wrist. Vektch did no such thing, obviously suppressing a wry smirk at the attempt.
"One doesn't shake hands in Chondath," Casteja explained, his tone casual though his wording was not. "Good lord, Do'Urden, I expected a bit more hair than that. Master Tan informs me you cut it due to the heat."
Jarlaxle chuckled, congenial as ever. "Is it so hard to believe?"
Vektch made a noncommittal gesture. "And where is your legendary panther?"
"She is an extraplanar creature," Jarlaxle soothed, "and not a great fan of soggy environments."
Standing with arms crossed conveniently over his weapons, Entreri listened to the conversation closely. It seemed Casteja was doing his best to catch the elusive mercenary in a lie, something not even Menzoberranzan's matron mothers found an easy task.
"And Catti-brie," Vektch smirked, his eyes betraying true amusement, "where is the lovely lady rumored to always be at your side? To be honest, I was more interested in meeting her."
On a certain expansively lecherous level, Jarlaxle could agree with Casteja completely, but he knew he could reintroduce lechery to the conversation after they were on their way to Arrabar, 'bandit captain' in tow. Feigning an intensely pained look, Jarlaxle quickly looked from their mysterious quarry to stone-faced Entreri and back.
"Now that is a tale," he whispered in a confidential tone, red eye darting again to the assassin while he made a cutting motion at his throat, "best not discussed in front of my current partner."
Entreri did not need to pretend in order to add authenticity to Jarlaxle's performance. He turned his head slightly and with a pointed look communicated his desire to strangle the dark elf with the drow's intestines. For a moment the flamboyant male was not sure if the shudder that threatened to run down his spine was the result of a satisfyingly direct hit or a premonition of certain death.
Keeping his eyes on Jarlaxle an extra few beats, Entreri growled, "Are we here to take a job or not? I don't care who dies as long as my price is met." He turned his gray stare on Casteja, emanating nothing but stark seriousness. "You want Eles Wianar. I want a challenge worthy of my talents. Are we at a confluence of interests?"
Vektch's eyes widened slightly, not in surprise or fear, but in interest with a brazen streak of dangerous intent. For a long moment it seemed the leader of the rebellion and the coldhearted assassin would have a staring match.
Jarlaxle was interested in the outcome, but placed his bet on his partner and took advantage of the distraction to stare at Casteja's left wrist. He had noticed the decorative loops of silk hanging over the man's hand move slightly more than once, but not with the weak breeze wafting through the surrounding swamp. As he watched, he was rewarded with the sight of another movement, but what little of Vektch's fingers he could see moved not at all.
Connecting a deep knowledge of magical items with the manacle he had witnessed chaining the sword to Casteja's wrist, the dark elf presumed Vritra had more than one form. Jarlaxle had seen animate jewelry many times, though he found such items too distracting to wear on his person. Mentally, he grimaced, recalling the ropes of stylized tentacles on the sword's hilt and crosspiece. It seemed entirely possible those appendages were writhing around Casteja's wrist, squirming about the huge jewel eye. Why else would the man, bare of ornamentation other than a few earrings, wear the single decorative bracer?
"Just as I am beginning to enjoy a game of verbal cat and mouse," Casteja murmured, declining to further entertain a contest of wills, "I am reminded of the importance of directness." Neither bounty hunter mistook the softness of the man's tone as weakness, if anything they both took his calm as another sign Casteja was a dangerous man. Entreri particularly understood the value of a menacing silence as it was often one of his most useful psychological tactics.
"And being reminded," he said, directing the conversation to Entreri, "tell me directly, what was your involvement with that shipment of healing potions?"
Even though he could trust Entreri to answer wisely, Jarlaxle answered instead. "We were hired in Shamph," the drow explained in complete, deceptive, honesty, "to protect the merchants on the way through Chondalwood. It so happens we were interested in going that way in the hope of meeting one of your representatives. We were much more fortunate than we expected to be, I assure you. We didn't even know there were potions of healing on the caravan or we would have sampled more than the lemon peel."
Casteja's open glance at Tan and the cleric's bare nod confirmed the enchantment to detect lies. Jarlaxle felt a momentary twinge for the cleric; he was not above feeling sympathy for an opponent, especially when he considered the magnitude of the loss. Tan's eyes were fully armored, confirming Jaka's words regarding the man's wife. He made a note to be wary of the cleric lest his loss be converted to momentary, and unpredictable, strength.
On the other hand, Entreri felt no sympathy, experienced no softening of his heart toward the cleric at all. His long held belief was that people were born at the beginning of life, died at the end and usually suffered regardless of morality in the middle. Life was too miserably common to be of much worth. Not long ago, he had killed Dondon, the first of the very few creatures he considered friend. He had also killed old man Basadoni, the only man who had ever inspired vague stirrings of filial emotion within the same period. Having spent most of his life as a finely tuned instrument of death, he placed no value on life and took no stock of the consequences when it was lost. Tan's wife was dead; perhaps the cleric would soon join her. It was an attitude difficult to overcome.
"Have you wittingly had any dealings with Eles Wianar or his general, Ashrei?" Casteja asked, not missing a beat.
Jarlaxle grinned expansively and nudged Entreri, and in doing so pushed the assassin's arm in order to brush the man's hand against the hilt of Charon's Claw. "Do I have to answer everything? Speak up man! Have we ever knowingly had any dealings with Eles Wianar or that general of his?"
"No, we have not," Entreri returned, looking first Tan and then Casteja in the eyes. "Will we now discuss how interested you are in Wianar's death?"
Casteja did not back down from Entreri's gaze the second time, either. He turned his head slightly to capture the sight of Tan's nod, further indication that the enchantment was still in effect. Entreri found the exchange puzzling; Jarlaxle's nudge had hinted that he knew where the sword was located, but the strange thing had yet to venture into his thoughts. Was it too subtle for notice? Was it not reading his mind for Casteja?
As soon as Casteja's gaze was averted for just an abbreviated moment, Entreri shot Jarlaxle a quizzical look. In response, the drow kept his hands casually at waist level but signed, The sword is on his wrist. I'll take the cleric and then aid you if there are problems.
Entreri made no indication that he had been spoken to, though Casteja surely saw Jarlaxle's subtle hand motions. The assassin tightened his focus on Casteja and Tan as they stood outside the small blackened depths of the shrine. He found it curious that Casteja's face had become a perfectly composed gambler's façade. Perhaps they were about to discuss meaningless particulars of their supposed employment.
Slowly, Casteja shook his head and took a step back from the mouth of the shrine. "This doesn't look good," he sighed. In response to his voice, Entreri and Jarlaxle heard two sets of rushing feet on either side of the shrine. The assassin was not idle during this turn of events. He was distantly grateful he was not obliterated when he called on and received the stoneskin from the Agrach Dyrr insignia.
"I'm afraid you were only half right, Do'Urden." He raised his left hand with the palm facing away from them. Gravity pulled the silk curtain from the back of his hand, revealing the baleful orange stare of a large wet eye gazing out from his flesh. The movements Jarlaxle had witnessed were not slithering tendrils rippling around Casteja's wrist in the form of a bracelet, but underneath his skin. "Kill them."
Entreri and Jarlaxle were instantly revolted by the sight of the eye and movement under Casteja's skin, but both were hardened warriors who would not easily succumb to the element of surprise. They shot into action with singularity of purpose and the sort of teamwork that came from months of fighting in tandem. Forced to fight in the open, Entreri's sword and dagger flew out of their sheathes as he launched himself after Casteja. Just behind him, Jarlaxle was seizing the first of his never-ending supply of throwing daggers to cover the assassin's attack.
Each was intercepted by a pair of the six soldiers Casteja and Tan had brought to flank the shrine as security. The two pairs, coming from either side, were armed with longswords and covered by crossbow wielding back up. Secure in the first layer of the stoneskin spell, Entreri came out brazenly, completely ignoring the crossbow bolt pointed at him in order to quickly dispatch the soldiers immediately before him.
Charon's Claw came on in a powerful arc of ash, crashing against one soldier's sword with an angry shriek of metal on metal and blinding the man with a surprising and sudden face full of thick ash. Despite his surprise at the assassin's unthinkably blunt attack and the unexpected ash, the soldier countered by his blade back relying on his greater strength rather than finesse. He managed to throw Charon's Claw out wide, forcing Entreri's chest open for the inevitable crossbow bolt and finishing blow from his fighting partner.
The crossbow bolt came in exactly as expected, followed by a hard thrust from the second swordsman. The bolt hit Entreri squarely in the middle of his seemingly unarmored chest, as the assassin knew it would, while the blade took him full in the stomach. Entreri was not distracted and he was anything but overmatched by the combination the three soldiers provided him. All he wanted was to get past them to Casteja before Vritra began to unravel his mind in bloody strips. He thrust his jeweled dagger through the screen of ash at the same time he allowed Charon's Claw to be pushed wide. As the crossbow bolt bounced harmlessly off his chest, the dagger was digging deep into one swordsman's ribs; stealing life and savaging lungs.
If he had bothered to look, Entreri would have found horror in the man's eyes as he died; a victim of the metal and magic that comprised the trademark dagger. Looking into the eyes of the dying wasn't the assassin's intention: he came on, shoving the dying man directly into the other soldier. His body was buzzing with excess energy and the fine edge of danger danced across his fingertips as he slid his sword under the arm of the dead man in order to efficiently return the second soldier's gut thrust.
When he turned back he saw the skin of Casteja's hand was already rippling as the evil looking eye closed and ropes of bloody flesh began to erupt from his palm, slithering over each other in a vile orgy of blood and mucus. Growing, surging, rupturing as more tendrils of flesh tore through them, they shot into the air in a column, vaguely resembling a sword. Entreri grit his teeth at the speed of the transformation, but came on swinging Charon's Claw, just as the now jewel-like eye opened amidst the carnage in Casteja's open palm.
Another swift step in his unrelenting charge took him within reach in time to bring his swing to fruition; the devilish blade sliced directly for the column of writhing flesh. As if the bloody ropes were a guttering flame, the tendrils flew wide, laying down in a spasmodic horizontal line as Entreri's blade slaughtered the air above it. Undaunted by the miss, Entreri already had his jeweled dagger in line for a devastating overhand strike aimed for Casteja's left hand.
Casteja was prepared for the attack and seemed undaunted or phased by the whipping tendrils flinging thick fluid in heavy drops all around them. Entreri was far faster than any foe the man had ever encountered and had selected his action accordingly. With the first attacks so powerful and swift that he had little time to react, Casteja relied on the element of surprise; working with Entreri's focus on Vritra as a visual block for his opening salvo. His timing was excellent: the right cross thrust through between Charon's Claw's recovery and under Entreri's left hand, which held the dagger.
The attack was not unexpected, in fact, Entreri welcomed it for the close range it would bring. The punch, thrown by a man who obviously knew how to fight hand-to-hand, came right through Entreri's defenses and headed for his solar plexus.
And struck the stoneskin with enough force to break a lesser man's knuckles.
A grim smile appeared on Entreri's face as pain registered in his opponent's eyes. The dagger made contact with skin and began to sink in. His sense of satisfaction evaporated just as quickly when the first wave of devastating confusion and anguish broke over him.
Entreri's concentration was scattered, but his forward momentum was not arrested; he crashed bodily into Casteja with all the force his compact frame had mustered. They hit the ground in a tangle of flesh and magical steel. Vritra had finally achieved its sword state, but flew from Casteja's hand between being slammed by Entreri and then hitting the ground with equal force. More importantly, the impact also interrupted Vritra's psychic attack.
Their momentum was strong and the hill steep enough that they began to tumble down the incline, initially without control. If Casteja wasn't tripping over Entreri's arms or legs, the chain shackling the sword to the man's wrist was fouling Entreri's attempts to take to his feet. It took the agile assassin throwing himself away bodily to free him from the uncontrolled fall. Entreri kept hold of his own devilish sword the whole way, impaling neither Casteja nor himself.
When he gained his footing, he slammed his dagger back into its sheath and took Charon's Claw up in his left hand, thus freeing up his gauntleted right hand. This was doubly convenient as Casteja displayed strong left-handed tendencies. He had gauged Casteja's skill in their brief exchange and knew he far outclassed the younger man even without the advantage of higher ground. Mainly he needed a free hand for his plan, particularly his right.
Casteja was better off for Entreri's skillful disengagement, and quickly came to his feet, only to fall again when his injured ankle gave out under him. Compensating for his injury, the man rolled again to his feet in time to find a blur of movement descending upon him. Jerking his left hand back hard brought Vritra from the ground and straight into his waiting grasp.
On disadvantaged terrain, against a highly skilled foe with a stoneskin enchantment, while further hampered by a battlefield injury, Casteja's second best option was to choose the better part of valor. His best option was to rely on Vritra to turn his opponent's mind into so much quivering gray goo. He brought the sword to bear, accepting the coming attack with firm determination.
Entreri brought Charon's Claw on in a direct thrust and Casteja brought his sword in line to parry the blow. Both were again surprised when Casteja's sword was uninterested in making physical contact with Charon's Claw. The Netherese blade was repelled as if it were a magnet meeting another of opposing polarity making the duel feel as if they were fighting against air.
Entreri hadn't counted on breaking the sword or running Casteja through with his thrust; he only wanted to get close enough to seize the topaz in his gloved hand. He recovered quickly from the initial surprise of his opponent's odd blade and quickly began to control the give and take of the duel.
As he had thought, Casteja wasn't bad with a blade, but his level of skill was not enough to challenge the assassin, it was only the man's advantage of reach and Entreri's focus on getting through to the sword that drew the combat out for much beyond the initial combinations. He kept working inside Casteja's reach, creating an expanding cage of steel between the two that would soon encompass his enemy's sword hand. His opening came in the same moment Vritra again unleashed a scrambling blast of impulses, pain, and defeated emotion directly into Entreri's mind.
All structure, all cohesion, flew as the man felt a white hot needle of pain stab straight through his head. He was vaguely aware of a body, perhaps his, crashing forward into another, felt the muted sensation of that body react on decades of instinct. In the absence of balance, one hand was grasping through a heavy curtain of agony to catch hold of something to right the frame to which it belonged. Even though that frame was arching back in a constricted pose of blood-bright pain.
An ear shattering screech of metal on metal nearly blistered Entreri's ears as the heavy confusion and mind altering agony faded abruptly to background annoyance. He had somehow body-checked Casteja into one of the crumbling shrines that dotted the hill. Of more relevance was his right hand, which was gripping Casteja's left, fingertips half digging into the amber malevolence of Vritra's suddenly flesh-bound eye. Mind still sluggish from the attack, Entreri could not defend against a hard knee to his groin. Fortunately, the stoneskin lingered. It was not prepared, however, to defend against the entirety of a flurry of savage right-handed uppercuts that battered against it. Two of the strong punches landed, giving Entreri the harsh benefit of four knuckles against either side of his jaw.
"Rot!" Casteja freed his left hand and shoved Entreri away. With his best option questionable, Casteja Vektch followed the code of battle that had served him well for many years: when the enemy is too strong, retreat. Though his head was again rattled, this time by the solid punch, Entreri recovered quickly and darted down the hill and into the swamp, his head clearing minutely with every step.
The fleeing Casteja was not a quiet phenomenon; he had abandoned stealth for speed. Entreri did not fault the man for this preference; Casteja was smart enough to know he simply couldn't be quiet enough or traceless enough to evade the master assassin. The man knew not only Entreri's reputation, but he had taken warnings from his highly perceptive cleric; a man that was no stranger to conflict.
He crashed through brush, his main advantage being knowledge of the terrain. Quick-witted and perceptive though he was, Entreri was not at home in the morass he found himself leaping through. It was thanks to the moonlight and his shade attributes that he was able to see the clever leaps and bounds his quarry made as he endured the excruciating pain of a sprained ankle to keep to the most stable surfaces on the treacherous ground. Were it not for his improved night vision, Entreri had little doubt that he would have had to rely on the sound of Casteja's footsteps to guess the proper footing.
As it was, he could see the man ahead, his powerful gait unstable thanks to his battlefield injury. There was no telling how soon it would be before Casteja's ankle would give out, but Entreri wasn't willing to give Vritra the time to recover from whatever shock his gauntlet had given it. He was smaller than Casteja, but much faster on his two uninjured legs. A burst of speed, perhaps a touch of recklessness, and the assassin closed enough distance that he was getting hit with much of the brush swinging back into place from his prey's passing.
Entreri slammed Charon's Claw back in its sheath as he gained, freeing his hands for his next move. The light impacts of his feet on moist but stable ground picked up again as he built up a little more speed and threw himself forward. The plan was to tackle the man by the knees, but Casteja's ankle gave out in almost the same instant, sending him down in a hard descent. Entreri ended up slamming into the man's back, pounding him awkwardly into a fallen tree and flipping them both over the top.
Twisting like a cat, Entreri managed to save himself from the bulk of the impact with the ground. His opponent was less wiry, but definitely an old hand to such a situation; Entreri could feel the man's body shift to minimize the collision. Casteja hit the ground with less grace than Entreri, but with minimal damaged, especially in light of the sort of terrain the two were thrown in.
The assassin found himself sliding out of control when his feet hit the thick gray mud and slid nearly three meters before coming to a stop and sinking knee deep in sucking muck. Half his opponent's body was claimed when he landed sideways, favoring his bad leg. The man struggled to his knees before making it to his feet. He came up coated in sludge from one shoulder to the opposite hip and wiped his right hand off on his opposite bicep. Entreri noted Casteja was chuckling slightly at the situation.
Fighting knee deep in mud was an experience Entreri had never encountered, but he didn't expect it to inconvenience him enough to cause him to throw the coming fight. He stared at Casteja for a moment. "You find this funny?" It only took a few words to remind him that Jaka had split his lip earlier in the night and learn that Casteja had knocked his jaw out of joint moments earlier.
Casteja nodded, "This is the second time today I've had the occasion to be clothed in mud. I'm satisfied to report I have not collected any injuries this time."
"That will change," Entreri growled, advancing on the man slowly, but faster than the wounded man could escape.
"Sounds like rot to me," the other man replied nonchalantly. "Don't make me wait, man; I'm still possessed of several measures of the impatience of youth."
Entreri ignored Casteja's remarks, especially the latter which smacked of an outright lie in light of Jarlaxle's psychoanalysis. He did not advance any faster as he was trying to get used to the characteristics of the mud sucking at his every move and challenging the firmness of his balance.
In preparation Casteja did not call overtly on Vritra, but raised his fists in a style and confident attitude that bespoke a man trained in hand-to-hand combat. His stance was certainly fouled by mud and injury, but Entreri didn't find the ready position familiar. Everything about Casteja Vektch, from his sentence structure to his fighting skills, was foreign.