Don't go to Sleep
by Iliana Maura
Note: Ahhh! I'm so confused! The chapters are not lining up the way they did in the original-see, the first scene in this chapter used to be the last of scene of last chapter. If this keeps up, I'm gonna need mental help...
Chapter Five : Brorn Melae
To his surprise, Jarlaxle found himself at home in Skullport. He shared all elves' dislike of filth and uncleanness, and had therefore steered clear of the underground city before now. However, despite its obvious differences from Menzoberranzan-it was louder, cruder, and far more diverse-he like it anyway. There was a feeling of reckless fun that could not be found in his home. The port city deep beneath Waterdeep made him feel young.
The drow lounged at the bar of the Fighting Book and studied the various clientele in the common room while sipping his limp human wine. It was full of long tables interspersed with rows of smaller ones, and an incredibly mismatched assortment of chairs. Behind him, on a shelf above the bar, a large book-the tavern's namesake-thrashed at the end of its chain. Currently, an impressive brawl engaged almost every patron in the house, though precisely what they were fighting he wasn't sure, and was confident they weren't sure either. The bartender seemed disinclined to make any effort to stop it, which amused Jarlaxle, because such behavior simply would not be tolerated in Menzoberranzan.
A human female, scantily clad, swaggered through the door. Jarlaxle studied her discreetly from under the brim of his hat. Slender, leggy, shoulder-length hair, large eyes, small, pouting mouth, and large nose-she matched the description Phystus had given him perfectly. The woman scanned the room, paying no attention to the brawl. Seeing the outrageously dressed drow, her eyes lit up with a hungry light, and she smiled suggestively.
Hips swaying as she crossed the room, delicately picking her way among the brawlers, she seated herself on the stool next to him. Shooting him a smile and a wink, she said to the air, "Ooh, I'm so thirsty."
Jarlaxle smiled, understanding her game. "Let me buy you a drink," he offered, signaling to the bartender. "What would you like?"
"Beer." She faced Jarlaxle and looked him up and down, her expression mock-dark. Obligingly, the drow leaned back slightly and lifted the brim of his hat, letting her get a good look at his fine, angular features, and firm, toned muscles.
"That's really sweet of you, sexy." She reached out and ran her hand down his bare arm, caressing his black skin. "And I don't even know you."
"Then it's a good thing I know you," Jarlaxle responded, grinning playfully. He sipped at his pathetically weak wine. "Medavin, I believe?"
"You found me, love." She scooted closer, until she was nearly sitting on his lap. Her breath was warm on his face. "Anything I can do for you?"
He beer arrived, but she ignored it. "Indeed," Jarlaxle murmured, feeling himself grow hot. If only there were females like this in Menzoberranzan! "I have some questions to ask."
Medavin pulled back slightly, though obviously not ready to give up. "Oh?"
"A few weeks ago, you sold a number of gems to the Venorik Orbb merchant band in Menzoberranzan. Tell me about them."
She appeared to think for a moment, running her hands almost absently over Jarlaxle's abdomen. Unconsciously, he raised his free hand and stroked her side.
"I remember that," she purred. "That was two hundred stones from Blingdenstone. You know-the gnomes. I made a nice profit off that."
"Was there anything special about them?"
"Special?" Her hands were all over his chest and back, now. "No, I don't think so. Definitely not as special as you."
Jarlaxle grinned, happy to accept her compliments-and her attentions. "How can I ever repay you for the help you've given me?" he asked playfully.
Leaning close, Medavin nipped at the point of one long, slender ear. "Oh," she breathed, "I can think of a few ways."
Councilor Firble ran a wrinkled hand over his bald head and flopped gratefully into the chair at his desk. It had been a long day.
Although he was a svirfnebli, a deep gnome, one of a race famous for their love of stone, Firble had not gone on a mining expedition in years, and likely would never do so again.
"Politics," he muttered.
And soon he would have to perform and unwanted duty that went with his position: contact his informant. Svirfnebli sometimes used polymorph spells to spy on the drow, but there was only so much one such spy could learn. That was why Blingdenstone, the deep gnome city, had and informant in Menzoberranzan who would tell them anything for the right price. And now Blingdenstone need that informant: things were too quiet.
The settled stone before the earthquake.
Firble's eyes swept over his desk and focused on an unfamiliar scrap of parchment. With a word, he lit a small globe that rested in the corner of his desk, and picked up the paper. Written in fine, if slightly ornate, svirfnebli script was a short message.
In three days-same time, same place. Jarlaxle.
The deep gnome set the paper down and leaned back in confusion. It appeared as though his informant had contacted him first.
Weapon Master Du'vess paced the battlements with his older brother, Ikavul, the house wizard. The secondboy grimaced with every step; his back stung terribly beneath his armor.
He pulled his mind away from his pain to listen to his brother's words. "With the magical defenses the other house wizards and I placed, no more assassins should be able to enter the compound through the Shadow Plane-or by any other magical means, for that matter," Ikavul was saying.
Du'vess nodded. The elderboy had explained to him the concept of the concept of the Shadow Plane, a plane through which one could travel long distances in the Prime Material Plane, while only moving short distances on the Shadow Plane. By traveling through the Shadow Plane, one could also transcend such things as gates.
"I trust you have seen to the physical defenses," Ikavul continued.
Du'vess nodded again.
Dropping some of his formality, Ikavul shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "How's your back?"
The Weapon Master grimaced. "How do you think? I hadn't realized she could be so angry."
"A hundred soldiers is a lot to loose without a single alarm being raised."
"It wasn't my fault!" Du'vess snarled. "I'd never heard of the Shadow Plane!"
"Do you think she cares about that? If I were you, I would be very careful about keeping the compound secure."
Du'vess snorted. "Easy for you to say. You're going back to Sorcere tomorrow. Even if you weren't, you still wouldn't be charge of defenses."
Ikavul opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a sound a tiny crossbow bolt buzzed in so close it became tangled in to wizard's long white hair. The brothers dropped to the ground, thinking to keep the battlements between them and their enemies, until they realized the shot had come from within the compound.
Du'vess scanned the soldiers in the courtyard below him. Were the commoners attacking? Was this some sort of conspiracy? But no, most of them seemed not to have noticed anything had even happened.
Out of the corner of his eye, the Weapon Master saw a drow raise tiny, one-handed crossbow, the trademark weapon of the drow, and point it in his direction. Ikavul saw as well, nudged his brother, and nodded toward the commoner. Du'vess nodded to show he saw.
"Can you hit him with a spell?"
"I don't think so. There's not enough time."
"We'll have to dodge-I don't know which of us he's aiming at. I'll fire back, to buy us some time, and if I don't get him, you can."
Ikavul gave a short nod of understanding, and the brothers watched out of the corner of their eyes, pretending they did not know who had fired on them.
"Now!"
They split, Du'vess going left and Ikavul right. The crossbow bolt stuck the stone where the weapon master had been only moments before. He pulled out a crossbow of his own, but before he could fire, another bolt slammed into the side of his neck. He yanked it out in disbelief and stared the archer-another one.
"There's more than one!" he hissed to Ikavul.
Du'vess fired at the first archer, who was forced to dodge aside, then quickly reloaded and fired at the second, who was caught in the middle of reloading his own weapon and took the bolt in his right eye. It was a small weapon, and it likely would not kill him, but it certainly put him out of the fight. Ikavul, finishing a hurried chant, raised his hands, lightning flashing from his fingertips. The first archer danced wildly as the bolts struck, before dropping limply to the ground.
By now the commoners had noticed. There was a sudden scuffle in the middle of the courtyard, and drow broke out of the crowd and ran for the gates. Du'vess tried to raise his crossbow, but his limbs felt limp and heavy. The famous drow sleeping poison was seeping into his body. He swore weakly.
Ikavul, seeing that his brother would be of no more use, launched into another spell. The running drow suddenly froze in place. Without wasting any time, the wizard hurried to him.
"Hold him," he ordered the closest soldiers. They obeyed, searching the frozen drow for concealed weapons and twisting his arms behind his backs. Ikavul released the paralysis spell, and the drow immediately began fighting to get loose.
"Who are you?" the wizard demanded. Du'vess staggered up behind him, swaying unsteadily but putting up a good fight against the poison. "What is your name?"
The drow only fought harder.
Ikavul began casting a spell. As he finished, the drow ceased fighting and stood perfectly still, his body rigid.
"Who do you work for?" the wizard asked.
The drow's eyes were unfocused as he answered. "Orbb-"
With a cry, the common soldiers jumped back as their captive burst into flames. Within a few scant moments, there was nothing but a pile of ashes, glowing red in infravision. Ikavul swore.
"Some sort of. . . spell?" Du'vess whispered.
Ikavul turned to face him, and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, simply because his brother's swaying made him dizzy.
"Yes. The spell would destroy anyone who tried to reveal a secret. I should have thought of it." He gave his brother an annoyed look. "Just give up," he snapped. "You're not going to overcome the poison, and no one could get you an antidote before you fell asleep anyway."
Du'vess struggled to focus. "Good. . . point," he gasped. Apparently taking his brother's advice, his eyes fluttered closed and he collapsed to the ground.
Ikavul sighed and motioned to two of the soldiers. "Take him to his room and get him and antidote." The wizard turned back to the pile of ash and swore with a vehemence that surprised even himself.
Breakfast at Mithral Hall was a cheerful affair. The mess hall was filled with long tables and low chairs which were in turn filled with food and dwarves, respectively. At the head of one table sat Bruenor, his friends on either side.
When the meal was nearly half-finished, and Drizzt still had not appeared, Bruenor asked, "Where's th' elf?"
Also missing their drow companion, Catti-brie looked about, as though expecting him to appear. "I'm sure he'll come," she said. "He probably just slept late."
As if on cue, Drizzt appeared in the doorway and made his way to where the Companions sat. He took his seat and smiled.
"Good morning."
"Late mornin'," Bruenor corrected. "What took ye? Rumblebelly's nearen ate all the food!"
Regis squeaked in protest. "I did not!"
Drizzt shrugged, seeming not quite awake. "I. . . I guess I slept in."
Catti-brie looked over to Stumpet Rakingclaw, one of the most powerful priestesses, who sat close to the Companions, and had been looking after their elven visitor. "How's Ivellios?" she asked.
"Doin' fine," Stumpet assured her. "He's been gettin' better a bit slower than I'd've thought, but gettin' better he is. I say he'll be ready t' go by th' end o' th' week."
Ignoring Catti-brie and Stumpet, Regis began to defend the amount of food he ate, but broke off when he saw Drizzt's face. The normally lustrous black skin had a dull, ashen hue. "What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.
Drizzt ran a hand through his white mane, a nervous gesture. He had not touched any food. "I don't feel well," he admitted.
Catti-brie reached out and touched his forehead, then gasped. "Ye're burnin' up!" she exclaimed. "How long have ye felt like this?"
"Just since this morning."
"Let me help," Stumpet offered. Walking around Catti-brie to stand beside Drizzt, she began chanting. Once finished, she stepped back, satisfied. "There!"
Drizzt paused, as though mentally checking himself over, and then shook his head. "I don't feel any better," he said, almost apologetically.
Catti-brie felt his face again. "He's still hot!"
Stumpet frowned, confused. "I don't understand. That should have worked."
"Try it again," Bruenor ordered.
Before Stumpet could begin, Regis gasped. "Remember Ivellios?" he gasped. "He said a man would try to kill you with a magical disease!"
The Companions and Stumpet exchanged grim, worried looks. No one felt like eating breakfast anymore.
Red sunlight poured in through Arvylyn Quenvath's west-facing window. The gold elf leaned against the sill and looked out. A thick green carpet of forest rolled away from him, gilded crimson in the low sun's light. Clouds above the horizon glowed dusky purple, brilliant orange, vibrant pink and rich blue. A flock of geese flew in a V-formations.
There was a tiny noise behind him, a small scuffing sound. He turned and felt his blood run cold.
"I knew you'd come," he said quietly, trying to stay calm.
"I knew you would, too," the other replied. "I just don't understand why."
"I can't let you do it," Arvylyn explained. "I can't let you kill him. He didn't do anything to you. You've never even seen him before!"
"That doesn't matter!" the other snarled. "He is drow! There is nothing more to it than that! Drow must die!"
"Give him a chance!" Arvylyn begged. "Everyone agrees he is different from his kin."
"Everyone believes lies. Drow are untrustworthy. Those who believe him are fools for falling into the trap of his lies. He is using his false front to destroy the lives of innocents."
"How can you!"
The other interrupted. "Do you know him any better than I? I think not. But, knowing you, it won't matter if you know him or not-you'll warn him anyway."
Arvylyn swallowed nervously. "I-you don't know-not necessarily-thing could-"
"You know far to much," the other interjected smoothly. "You should never have come."
The gold elf tried to bolt past his unwanted visitor, but the other silently drew a dagger and drove it into his stomach. Arvylyn gasped in pain as the other pushed him back to the window and whispered in his ear.
"You should never have come."