They continued on the next day, leaving earlier than Jarlaxle had planned (or wanted to) because Judas had been extremely impatient. Although, Jarlaxle had little problem agreeing with the man; now that the townsfolk were over their shock, the air was heavy with menace. They were frustrated and enraged with what was happening to their friends and relatives in Perth, and were liable to take it out on anyone. They walked out of the town, all except for Judas, who rode on an old nag. A donkey trailed behind them all, weighed down with Judas' supplies. Jarlaxle carried nothing; he had enough supplies stuffed into his magically concealed bottomless pits about his person to feed an army if he so wished. Entreri was only weighed down with the bare essentials in a small pack on his shoulders.

It wasn't long before they reached the place the priest had described. There was a pile of rocks in the middle of the road, and a sign stuck in it with both a warning and holy symbol crudely painted onto it. Further off, he could see the holy sign hacked into the trunks of trees at regular intervals, about ten feet apart until they disappeared in the distance.

"Let's go." Judas grunted impatiently.

They crossed the line; Jarlaxle half-expecting a sensation of crossing a barrier, but felt nothing. Jarlaxle was not all the disappointed, he hadn't really expected the priest's line of blessings to be a true one; if it had he would at least felt a faint tingle as he crossed it. Still they plodded on.

"What are your senses picking up on Judas?" Jarlaxle queried, as much a stab at gathering information as being social to the man.

He grunted, then drudged up the energy to give a real reply. "Nothin'. No magic here."

"Just as well." He shrugged, and then took another stab at it. "What do you know about the area?"

At first, the man didn't reply. Then he straightened up an actually looked the drow in the eye.

"The town is in a small valley; about two days walk long and only a half-day walk wide." He rattled off. "Soil is rich and loamy, good for farming; better for wine. That's their main export; made them pretty damn rich for such a small town."

Jarlaxle blinked rapidly. Apparently, he'd stumbled on the right question to get the uncommunicative man to talk. "What important features are in the surrounding area? Hidden areas; spots where people could hide?" He wasn't convinced by the priest that something supernatural was the only thing at work here; bandits could be just as effective as spells.

"None that the locals know. None that out-of-town troublemakers would know." By that Jarlaxle supposed he meant bandits. He was quiet for a while.

"But there is."

Jarlaxle looked up at him; but the man was slumped in his saddle again, that hostile look back on his face. He knew the man wouldn't talk any more.

The town was nothing short of an anti-climax.

Perth was as normal as normal could be; the people milling around in the well-paved streets stopped to stare at them-well, Jarlaxle, at least-like so many other slack-jawed idiots that they'd met in towns like these. They always stared; usually just before dragging out the torches and pitchforks.

But they wouldn't, not today. Entreri had been pleasantly surprised that Judas had come in like the Calvary; snarling that Jarlaxle would do as Entreri said and wear the goddamn mask so he could be a white-skinned elf. He would still be as queer-looking as a three-pound-note, but at least a species of elf that wouldn't get them turned out of town. Entreri liked Judas; as much as a man like him could like anyone. The image of Jarlaxle's normal shit-eating grin turning into a grimace of disgust when the man had snarled inches from his face; spittle getting flecked onto the black skin and breath like rotten meat misting into his face...was priceless.

He'd treasure the scene always.

The scenario was similar to the other town. They breezed their way past the townsfolk and into the cutesy, syrupy 'bed-and-breakfast' and got their rooms. Entreri grimaced at the doilies on the couches in the lobby.

"This is nice." Jarlaxle said sincerely. He could see precious china in the display cabinet; real silver candlesticks. "I believe this is one of the nicest inns we've stayed in on the road."

"Pink." Entreri snarled in the direction of the satiny couches.

Jarlaxle considered. "No, it's more of a Salmon."

Entreri gave him a baffled look.

"It's a color. A shade of pink."

"It's a fish." He said, wondering if Jarlaxle had such a good grasp on common as he seemed.

"You need to expand your vocabulary." He sniffed.

"You need to learn the difference between a species of fish and color shades."

Jarlaxle nearly made a reply; but decided not to. First Judas, now Entreri; did he have no one left that respected him? He'd best stop this before it got any worse or Entreri would pick on him all day, and he'd soon be drawn into a verbal tit-for-tat contest.

The owner decided at that moment to waddle up out of nowhere.

'Pink' was the first think that came to their minds (or salmon). Next was 'unnecessarily frilly'. The last was two words because of the shear amount of ruffles and lace that completely covered every square inch.

'My god she's fat' only came too Entreri because Jarlaxle was too polite.

Her doughy face squished into a smile at the sight of Jarlaxle. "Law, aren't you a character!"

He did one of his trademark flamboyant bows and she nearly squealed with delight. "Oh, It'll be a treat having you here; I just love your clothes."

He stroked the brim of his hat, flattered. The only comments he usually got on his clothes was Entreri asking if he was colorblind.

"Thank you my dear." He crooned. "I do like the best fashions."

"I can tell!" She said happily, piggish eyes twinkling as she eyed his vest. "Authentic silk, I take it."

"Spider silk, specifically." He sighed theatrically. "Regular silk isn't nearly as fine."

"Oh my! I've always wanted to get my hands on some, but it's just the most elusive thing..."

"I have my own private supplier."

Entreri shuddered and withdrew from the both of them. For the love of... I couldn't believe that there could possibly be another like him. How wrong I was.

Thankfully, Judas stepped in. His made a beeline for them both, upper lip curled like always; the owner frowned her displeasure at the mud tracking from his boots. The giggly, sugary mood they had been setting with their fashion talk evaporated in the hot, stinking wind that was the old mage.

Entreri couldn't be happier to see him.

The owner huffed and pattered away, and as soon as the man reached them he hissed. "We have work to do; no time to waste on frivolities."

"But we haven't even unpacked." Or eaten, or bathed or-

"Later." He snapped. He whirled around and marched off, clearly going whether they were coming or not. He turned to Entreri but found no support there.

"Work to be done." He said smugly.

Jarlaxle mentally threw his hands up in frustration, and followed behind.