A Drow stood in a forest – the one place he despised the most.

Much of his existence had been spent in an urban jungle, stone pressing in on him from every direction. The cramped streets, the narrow alleys, and the plethora of ceilings above all felt right to him. To exist in a space where the sky was always blotted out felt more natural than anything else he’d experienced. Perhaps that was why any collection of trees felt hostile to him; to glimpse the night sky so open was anathema to him.

Even now his skin crawled from simply standing beneath the stars, as covered as they were; the canopy overhead rustled as the wind whispered through the leaves, raining down gods only knew what upon him. Though the breeze was pleasant, hiking through the undergrowth had left him with a thin layer of sweat under his leathers, furthering his already foul mood. And perhaps worse of all, the typical noises that emanated from a forest so late into the night had fallen away, animals and insects alike utterly silent.

He huffed and crossed his arms; he was better than this, but the burns that laced his body – itching horribly under the leathers – made moving without a sound a difficult affair. Though he’d been reassured month after month that he would be fine now that most of the wounds had healed, he had yet to see any improvement. Yet, despite his predicament, it was nothing compared to the stomping that sounded further ahead.

So dense were the trees that he didn’t catch a glimpse of the romping group until they were far too close; seven Drow, each as thin and armored as the other, dull black half-plate their uniform of choice. They made no efforts to disguise themselves, no efforts to blend in at all, but then again, he hadn’t expected them to. Their house was notoriously horrible at the traditional Drow arts, and no amount of time would change that. If anything, he found it almost refreshing; there remained no patience within him tonight to deal with anything less than direct.

When the group finally caught sight of him, taking far longer than they should have, they halted, hands darting to the various weapons that were strapped against their bodies. From the middle of the panicking bunch, a thinner woman stepped out, hands against her hips; despite the darkness of the forest, the wrinkles carved into her face stood out like canyons, a fact that he knew irritated her to no end.

“You there!” The woman barked, voice like sandpaper. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t skin you where you stand for making me come out all this way.” She looked up at the tree canopy and bared her teeth. “Who in their right mind –”

“Cut the bullshit Jantree,” He barked back. “I haven’t the time, as you’ve wasted all of it.”

The woman’s head snapped back to him, a grin slowly creeping across her face; in the darkness, her red eyes looked far more horrible than he remembered.

“Oh, please do take my apology Jarlaxle dear,” Jantree said. “I just had to make sure it was you. It’s so very rare we get a letter like that anymore.”

“On the account that no one gives a shit about your house, I’d assume.”

Whatever mirth existed in her eyes faded as Jantree curled her lip; behind her, the sounds of unsheathed blades rang out into the night.

“Chosen to be rude tonight, have you?” Jantree growled. “Dragged us up here just to insult us? I’m sure that would all change once we haul your traitorous hide back to the Matron Mothers; the bounty is more enticing than whatever lies you have in store for us this time.”

“No lies.” Jarlaxle said, digging into his pant pocket. “I haven’t the time.”

He tossed the contents at Jantree, who caught the object without much effort. Her eyes lingered on him, hate boiling within them, before she glanced at what was in her hand.

Shock smashed into her face like a mace, her eyes shooting open, mouth falling agape; Jantree’s hand clenched the object as though her life depended on it, before marching over to stand directly in front of Jarlaxle, her gaze never leaving his tired eyes.

“You have him?!” The Drow screech, sending a jolt through her entourage as they crept closer. “Where?! Lolth’s Breath, where did you –”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“It’s not him.” Jarlaxle said, taking a step back. “I haven’t the faintest idea where he’s hiding, unfortunately.”

“Then what the fuck is this?! A fake?!”

“It’s real. His daughter wore it until recently.”

Jantree’s eyes narrowed, her face scrunching in disgust; from behind, a few of her group stood on their toes, peaking over her shoulder for a glimpse at the pendant in clutched in her wrinkled hand.

“The bastard bred then?” She asked. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Yes, and with a slave, no less. I suppose he finally fulfilled his end of our bargain, but I’ve come to find that I have no use for the girl.”

“Ho-o, but I would.” Jantree stuffed the pendant into her pant pocket and advanced a pace, red eyes gleaming. “Name the price.”

“I’m not selling.” Jarlaxle mirrored her step away.

“Because you think use destitute!?” she spat. “We have funds, always have! Name your fucking price!”

Jarlaxle’s nostrils flared as he bit his tongue; talking with this woman always proved to be more infuriating than he remembered.

“I’m not looking to sell.” He said. “And I will not repeat myself on the matter. She will remain in my possession until I say otherwise.”

“So all this was just a waste of time?!” Jantree snapped. “An excuse to mock us?! You expect me to take this lightly?!”

“I expect you to listen to my offer.”

“Of what?!”

“A partnership.”

No sooner than the word had left his lips did Jantree’s shrill laughter echo through the trees, violating Jarlaxle’s ears like a dagger. Her guards leapt into the air as birds shot into the night, shaking the canopy above. Jarlaxle recoiled as the hideous noise continued for far too long, before Jantree’s lips suddenly snapped shut, her red eyes narrowed.

“Of all the people,” She said. “you, asking for a partnership. You think me daft? You think me ignorant of the stories? Every partnership you create always end in death, which unfortunately always seems to miss you.”

“I’m well aware of the rumors.” Jarlaxle gritted his teeth. “But times have changed. The giants have inflicted a larger blow upon my resources than I previously thought, and as such, I need to look towards hiring outsiders, a practice not under me.”

“Yes, as you slit their throats once they no longer become useful. Spare me the bullshit Jarl –”

“The only bullshit here is the lump found in that hideous head of yours!” He stepped forward, hand snapping to the hilt of his rapier; the guards behind Jantree mirrored him, through the Drow herself only stared. “Now listen to what I have to say you miserable excuse for a bitch before you lose out on the best fucking deal your house will ever get.”

“Bold words. Spit it out then.”

“What I’ve been trying to do...” Jarlaxle sucked in a breath, shoving aside his anger. “This girl is the key to figuring out Vorn’s whereabouts. She knows where he is, I’m sure of it. Extracting that knowledge from her, however, is a delicate process. The girl proves rather…difficult, more so than what I’ve dealt with previously, and the wrong move would result in a failure that I cannot currently afford. I –”

“You’re scared of a little girl?” Jantree smirked.

“That girl was responsible for the lights over Waterdeep.”

The smirk vanished.

“You’re lying.”

“I haven’t the time.”

“Those lights –”

“Were apocalyptic, yes, I’m well aware.”

“Why haven’t –”

“I don’t have the fucking time.”

Jantree pursed her lips, eyes flicking about Jarlaxle’s face.

“So…you’re scared of the girl and need to adjust everything based around the idea that you haven’t a clue what would happen if you went ahead with your normal…bullshit.”

“Horrible way of putting it.”

“Yet it’s the truth.”

“As loath as I am to admit it.”

“What would you need of me then?”

“Your cooperation and guarantee that you’ll do nothing to fuck this up.”

“And why should I guarantee anything to you?”

“Because I’m offering you a way of getting back at the house that decimated your own.”

“You think I can’t manage that myself?”

“Of course not, you hag. What do your current efforts have to show for? You’d floundered for the last two decades and come up with nothing, same as me. But now, I offer you a chance at something, a thread that benefits both of us. You may decline it if you wish, though you’d be an idiot to do so.”

Jantree rolled her eyes as her guards stiffened behind her; evidently, they disliked the name calling more than she did.

“Fine.” Jantree spat. “What guarantee do you need from me then?”

“Your daughter. She’ll work for me for the time being, and the moment you fulfill your end of the bargain, she goes right back into your service. A fair trade.”

Jantree looked over her shoulder and barked an order; immediately, one of the smaller guards – a youth perhaps barely older than Vorn’s welp, her narrow face making her look almost identical to her mother – stepped forward, red eyes wide.

“Asking for a daughter seems rather unbecoming of you.” Jantree said.

“The idea of breeding with what looks like a horse is perhaps more disturbing.” Jarlaxle jerked his head; the girl obeyed, walking to his side with eyes still wide. “No harm from my hand will be inflicted upon her. I cannot guarantee anything else.”

“Fine. Now, explain this plan of yours.”

“It’s rather straightforward but walk with me. There’s much to discuss…”