#and after that kimmuriel Always Asks

[rukafais]

today, i'm thinking about how jarlaxle and kimmuriel go from an implied high trust level, hinted at or stated to be pre-timeskip stuff:

Jarlaxle’s principal lieutenant in his powerful mercenary band was an accomplished psionicist, and had taught Jarlaxle much in the ways of mental trickery and defense. Jarlaxle brought every bit of that knowledge to bear. (Ghost King)

“Many have promise,” Kimmuriel reminded. “Few will see it bloom, as you yourself know well.” (Rise of the King)

Intelligence alone didn’t guarantee psionic prowess—the brilliant Jarlaxle was quite fumbling with regard to the psionic powers, after all— (Archmage) which both allude to Jarlaxle letting Kimmuriel into his mind, repeatedly, to try to teach him psionics ultimately unsuccessfully

So, Jarlaxle is leaning on Kimmuriel a bit! He's allowing him past certain boundaries!

And then this happens, talked about in the Neverwinter quartet:

There it was, spoken openly, and Jarlaxle suppressed his initial response to lash out at the dwarf. Athrogate was right, he knew. Jarlaxle had betrayed Entreri to the Netherese many years before, when the empire had come in force for the sword, Charon’s Claw. It wasn’t often in his long life that Jarlaxle had been trapped without recourse, but the Netherese had done it, and before physically surrounding the pair, the powerful lords of Netheril had appealed to greater powers in Jarlaxle’s own circle of potential allies, to Kimmuriel and Matron Mother Quenthel.

Indeed, the snares of Netheril had been complete.

And so their offer had been accepted.

[...]

But that rescue attempt had never occurred, and indeed, many years passed before Jarlaxle had ever learned of the conspiracy working against him. Kimmuriel and the Baenres, for Jarlaxle’s own sake, had worked in concert to break down Jarlaxle’s magical defenses and thus allow the psionicist to invade Jarlaxle’s mind and alter the details of the Baldur’s Gate betrayal. [...]

Thus, by the time Jarlaxle had even sorted out the truth and remembered that Entreri had been taken as a prisoner of the Netherese, it was too late for Jarlaxle to do anything about it.

By that point, Matron Mother Quenthel had made it quite clear to the outraged Jarlaxle that he needed to forget the whole ordeal. (Charon's Claw)

and then in Jarlaxle's narration in Neverwinter quartet, when he clearly knows about his memory being fucked with:

Kimmuriel had witnessed the exchange with Tiago and the others in the bowels of Gauntlgrym, and so he understood the true desire behind Jarlaxle’s gracious offer to lead Bregan D’aerthe back to the City of Sails, and so, indeed, Kimmuriel’s invoking of their agreement was entirely proper regarding the interests of Bregan D’aerthe. Jarlaxle had done well in selecting this brilliant lieutenant to serve in his stead.

Too well, perhaps. (Last Threshold)

His narration starts being suspicious about Kimmuriel's motives again.

For contrast, the last time Jarlaxle really talked about him like this was when Jarlaxle first transferred power to Kimmuriel in Sellswords, specifically Road of the Patriarch:

Kimmuriel, and not Jarlaxle, ruled Bregan D’aerthe, and would continue to until Jarlaxle returned to Menzoberranzan and formally retrieved his throne. That was as they had agreed upon after the destruction of the Crystal Shard. Neither held any illusions about that agreement, of course. Jarlaxle knew that if he stayed away from his homeland for too long, allowing Kimmuriel to make inroads into the supportive relationships Jarlaxle had built within the City of Spiders, then Kimmuriel would not relinquish control of Bregan D’aerthe without a fight.

(and then he goes on to argue with himself like but kimmuriel doesn't LIKE leading...so it's fine...right? But he's still suspicious about Kimmuriel in a way that gradually goes away...and then pops up again, in Neverwinter.)

So the first House twisted Kimmuriel's arm to modify Jarlaxle's memory so he wouldn't go haring off to save Artemis and jeopardize business deals with the Netherese and also get himself murdered, Kimmuriel did so, violated the trust that Jarlaxle placed in him in allowing him access to his mind and imo, prioritized Jarlaxle's life over what he would want (better to beg forgiveness than permission etc),

and in doing so takes a hammer to every single bit of built up trust between them that took almost a century to grow and now they have to start from the bottom again and that's a lot of what informs Kimmuriel's approach to Jarlaxle in the second half of the series. Ouch.

[drizzit]

#11.5 Servant of the Shard

Date start: November 12th, 2022

Date end: April 2nd, 2023

Card: jack of hearts - curiosity and speculation. It means balance, fairness and justice but there’s also an element of freedom. This Jack can connect with almost anyone but doesn’t get weighed down by others’ expectations or assumptions

Tweet: “- Artemis and Jarlaxle go to a rehab retreat in the alps while everyone wants them both dead - Hey the spirit soaring crew is here- Sharlotta + Berg are dead idiots now - Overall confusing and why does everyone get into fights they don’t need to? - Dragon. Nuff said.”

Rating: 3/10

Man this one was… a slog. took me 5 months to get through the first 80 pages ; and then a week to eat up the rest of the book. I don't know if it's just this between sea of swords and this one but I would be lying if some parts made me have to put the book down and take a lap.

A point just for Dwahvel being there of course. But her friendship with Artemis is sort of weird? I can't really tell whether or not they even care about each other at this point? until they hug <3 very sweet letter

sharlotta is annoying; her character used to be she would look out for herself no matter what side she had to take but this book plays her look an idiot that can't think for herself

hey have you heard about charons claw? the sword that artemis entreri has always yearned for? me neither.

Kimmuriel: "I wanna go home" Rai'guy: *snorting a line* "Do you wanna plan a coup."

Jarlaxle is a clown that fails to make me laugh. The honor bound thing about fighting the orcs and pretending to be Drizzt ugh - I'll cut him some slack because he's going through a crisis after going awol

i will say my favorite parts were between Artemis going over contingencies with Dwahvel to when the two spend the first day in the magical tent ; specifically when Jarlaxle thinks he overcame Crenshinibon with the power of determination or whatever, when the two of them are fighting and Jarlaxle looks over Entreri and hits him with that 'Do you think I need the shard to destroy you?' ;;

Thinking about the epilogue when its dropped that Jarlaxle is a baenre brings up some questions such as:

Why did he bring in Berg'inyon?

Is he really a revolutionary built upon his own? Or his his he another asset of house Baenre?

Why does Yvonnel have so many sons?

Zak and Jarlaxle held relations even during Drizzt's young life - could Zak have asked of him to see it he ended up alright?

I sort of get why Bergie died this book - I don't think Bob could do much with him while still alive. His story (that is to say his purpose) was already fulfilled. During Drizzt's years in the academy he bossed him like a Baenre ought too, made sure the drow kid wasn't the Baenre princess (I'm fuzzy on the details but he was really panicked then, whether that be simply to protect his house or maybe he really cared who can say?). I think the most important part was during Siege of Darkness, on how Jarlaxle get's his mercenary members. He doesn't really coerce or threaten, he's a glowing exit sign, a bit of comfort, a welcoming place that says "We'll take care of you." And then he dies only speaking in the second half of the book. Which the way that he dies is so weird! At recruitment Jarlaxle asks whether or not him being there was about seeing if he could beat Drizzt (and by extension Zaknafein as the best weapon master) but he doesn't care! And then years later he does when he fights Artemis?? Did jarlaxle take him in out of nepotism? Maybe he saw himself in him?

i love Dwahvel, I hope Artemis and her meet again, to sit and take up space at the same time.

I don't have much to say about the cleric quintet crew except boulder shoulder brothers my beloved <3

[solvicrafts]

13, 14, 15, 26, 29 from the recent ask meme?

(13) Do you believe in reincarnation?

For the most part, I'd say yeah. I think it's very plausible, but I also think it's probably not *quite* what we think it is, if that makes any sense. That's basically my stance on all spiritual and religious beliefs -- there's probably truth to it, but we've probably got a few things wrong.

(14) Would you want to be reincarnated?

Mm... maybe. I lean more towards 'no,' but we don't always get what we want.

(15) Do you think you're special, or just another person among billions? Can you be both?

I think I'm a special kind of pain-in-the-ass.

Bad jokes aside, I think everyone's fairly unique or special in their own way and has potential for something, but few are able to really act on it. So I guess I think we can be both. Some are certainly more charismatic or influential than others, but I don't think any one human is inherently more special or valuable than the other.

(26) What's the most life-changing choice you've made so far?

In middle school we were studying ancient Greece and I decided to write a paper on Achilles (but you'll see me refer to him as 'Akhilleus' on my blog if I ever talk about him, for personal reasons).

Spoiler: I didn't stop researching after I finished my project and it led me down a whoooooooole different path in life.

(29) Do you believe in some form of god/s?

I do, but my beliefs are hard to explain with words and kinda... complicated, I guess?

I definitely believe in some forms of gods, but my belief is that the true nature of divinity is very much beyond human comprehension, and that gods have a symbiotic relationship to humans the same way different animals in the ecosystem do.

Like... I don't believe gods necessarily created the world, or that humans invented gods. I think gods exist in some form we cannot understand, and that much like humans and other animals, they adapt and change over time.

I don't believe ANY religion has all of the answers or even most of the answers, and I think it's absolutely bonkers how wild people will get about their arguments over gods and religion.

I think there's just a lot of things humans will never, ever fully understand, and the challenge of that is what makes it all so very fascinating to me. I'm a lot like Kimmuriel in this regard, I suppose: somewhere out there, there is a hard limit as to what I am capable of knowing, but that does not deter me in the slightest as I will keep trying to learn anyway.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

From the character solidifying asks for Kimmuriel if you’re into it? 2, 4, 23, 33, 35, 46, 49

2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?

So, this is going to be a two-part conversation about firstly, his relationship with K’yorl, and then I’m gonna roll over into discussing Kimmuriel’s relationship–or lack thereof–with functionally an OC I made that is Kimmuriel’s mother, playing on an old headcanon of mine that a lot of the psionic commoners adopted into the house are descendents of House Masq’il’yr that sought refuge in House Oblodra after it was destroyed (and I do run with this headcanon as if Kimmuriel is one of those descendants).

K’yorl is, as far as I’m aware, not actually Kimmuriel’s mother, but in essence he understands her as his mother and their relationship holds similar parent-child complexities.  I think Kimmuriel hates K’yorl, but sometimes he struggles to really come to terms with the notion that she has, in her own way, profoundly damaged him and his mental health.  It’s kind of a natural throughline of how he feels about House Oblodra as a whole, not helped by the fact that K’yorl clearly favored him above her natural born sons.

As for his biological mother…He doesn’t know her.  That was the stipulation for House Oblodra fostering him, Kimmuriel’s mother could never see or speak to her child again.  She’s part of where he inherited his talent and while she harbors the same raw power as him, she lacks the control–she’s a wilder.  I don’t think Kimmuriel would have any interest in meeting his mother.

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

Strict, extremely strict.  Kimmuriel was, firstly, not born of K’yorl, though he does have blood from the main family imo.  Secondly, with the hc I run with, his psionics are borne partially from a line of wilders, meaning his psionics could, in K’yorl’s mind, have the propensity for overflowing and causing problems.  Kimmuriel likely doesn’t remember any discipline he underwent particularly fondly.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

I think Kimmuriel craves understanding above anything else.  He doesn’t want someone who looks down on him or hates him for what he can do, but is willing to understand and respect him.

As for sex, I think Kimmuriel likes it fine, but I don’t think it’s in any sense a priority in his world.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?

I’ve always contended that Kimmuriel rarely drinks, and likely associates strong drugs with childhood punishments.  Things that impair Kimmuriel’s psionics are likely things he tends to avoid.  In the same vein, Kimmuriel likes to keep physically healthy because it aids his ability to control and use his powers.  Psionics require, on some level, an amount of balance and wellness and Kimmuriel likely keeps on top of that as best he can.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Kimmuriel definitely rationalizes errors, and I feel he’s fairly calm in the face of disaster and failure, even if he’s screaming internally the whole goddamn time.

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

Kimmuriel is goddamn tiny.  I headcanon him as being around 4’11”-5’0”, with his weight being fairly solidly on the lower end.  I think there is some muscle definition, but it’s mild and he’s mostly just very thin.  Kimmuriel also has pretty good posture when standing, but that tends to go out the window when he sits (Kimmuriel slouches and likes to lay across couches and armchairs rather than sit properly).  I think Kimmuriel is…just okay with how he looks.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

So I’ve mentioned I do have a VA headcanon for Kimmuriel (Patrick Pedraza).  I think he’s on the lower-end of a tenor, and keeps his voice fairly level.  It’s not monotone, he’s just not showing any particularly strong emotions.  He speaks quietly but firmly, and despite being very good at speaking Common, still has a slight accent when he speaks it.  He also has a light accent when speaking Drow that’s common among psionicists of House Oblodra and House Masq’il’yr where there’s a slight upward accent on certain vowels and they roll their Rs, especially at the end of sentences.  It originated in House Masq’il’yr, formed from how they said Ghaunadaur’s name in Deep Speech, but it flowed into House Oblodra from association.

[psionicmolotov]

"Kimmuriel? Do we have anything scheduled today?"

"Nothing comes to me, unless you consider the usual book-keeping to be part of the schedule."

There's always busywork to be done to keep a mercenary company running smoothly - it's a company, after all - but for once, nothing exceptional has occurred.

"Is there something you have in mind to change that?" Jarlaxle rarely asks questions for no reason.

[artemis-entreri]

Entreri, flatly: "Where did you get that?" Jarlaxle, 'innocently': "I should think it would be obvious, abbil." "Put it back." "Don't be silly." *deploys wand, summons apparently nothing but a small raptor-shaped shadow on the ground.* Jarlaxle: "Hmm..." *looks disappointed.* Entreri: *looks up.* "Jarlaxle..." "I'm disappointed. ...Hmm?" *the shadow rapidly grows less and less small. Quite large, soon, in fact. Distressingly so.* "JARLAXLE." ((slightly too long -- to be continued))

“I still fail to see why you could not simply order your pet psionicist to make you a new one.” 

The diffuse light in the spiraling stair column was so scant that only the assassin’s furrowed brow and prominent cheekbones would’ve been seen by normal eyes. However, Artemis Entreri didn’t need light to clearly discern his feathered companion nestled snugly in his left palm, but he wondered if the transformed Jarlaxle could, in turn, see him just as well.

Not that the drow-turned-hummingbird seemed particularly interested in looking at the human. Those ruby eyes, clever even in their smaller incarnation, darted to and fro, and Entreri resisted the urge to clap his right hand over his left one, lest the troublesome mercenary spot something else “interesting”.

Troublesome indeed, the assassin thought with a scowl. His body was still taut from the earlier ordeal imposed upon him by his now feathery handful, and this was compounded due to his inability to employ his left arm thanks to it being the new home for the trouble’s originator. Finally, that inability to shed tension from his form only served to prolong his feeling of needing to sneeze.

Back in the room with the endless glassy pairs of beady eyes, Entreri had been at his wit’s end, keeping his legs underneath him in the wake of Jarlaxle’s relentless “onslaught”. Thankfully, the transformed drow had apparently overestimated the amount of energy that his tiny body possessed, suddenly falling onto his side, then rolling onto his back with his sprig-like feet stiffly clawing the air. When the bird didn’t respond to his pokes, Entreri had started back for the wand, and his fingers even brushed it before his keen eyes noticed the faint rise and fall of the iridescent chest. 

A tingling in his palm called the assassin back from the memory.

“Not again!” Entreri’s glare shot to his companion, and his mouth opened to berate him, but then noted that in lieu of the precise, deliberately measured strokes that the bird had performed before, now, Jarlaxle was flailing his wings and kicking his feet. The perplexed human wondered briefly if the transformed mercenary was attempting again to fly, but there was no buzzing. 

Realizing with a start the alternative possibility, Entreri hastily set the bird down on the next step, hopping back as soon as Jarlaxle rolled out of his palm. Even still, he wasn’t swift enough, for the drow reverted back with a loud “pop!”, then promptly vomited onto his companion’s boots.

“Seriously?” Entreri exclaimed, disgusted, but also surprised at the lack of rage in his own tone.

Jarlaxle was leaning heavily against the wall and retching. A stray ray of sunbeam caught his slender form as it convulsed, and the assassin wondered if the mercenary had always looked so delicate. 

Entreri eyed the puddle running down the stairs and plotted a way around it. He began moving towards his companion. “How fare you?”

Jarlaxle had drawn a handkerchief and was wiping his mouth with it. He’d begun to stagger to Entreri when his eyes bulged.

“Privy?!”

“What?”

To Entreri’s great astonishment, Jarlaxle charged past him back up the stairs, the abruptness of his rush forcing the assassin to reflexively jump aside. 

Unfortunately, the drow’s earlier discharge was directly in his chosen trajectory, and the poor man had to forego his usual grace in order to save his boots from being further coated by his companion’s ejecta. 

Although no stranger to tainted environments, the assassin reluctantly set off after his companion, preferring to draw his quickened inhales in cleaner air. His steps were slowed, however, by the painful moans echoing through the stone corridor. He wondered where to stop, to grant the drow proper privacy, and more importantly, not subject himself to a different but equally unappealing odor.

Thankfully, Entreri didn’t need to contemplate the matter too much, for Jarlaxle, a shaky, unsteady Jarlaxle but Jarlaxle nonetheless, awaited him around the stairwell’s next curvature. The mercenary’s usual obsidian-black skin looked ashen as spent charcoal. 

Entreri shook his head and sighed. Without a word, he firmly seized his companion’s left arm, threw it over his own shoulders while his right hand simultaneously caught the drow’s waist. He knew Jarlaxle’s weight well enough to discern that the mercenary was leaning heavily on him, the sensation heightening the uneasiness that’d been stirred by his recollection of the room full of lifeless stares.

Wordlessly, the assassin eased them both down the long, spiraling stairs. More than once, he wondered if the shallowness of his own breath was influenced by the drow’s soft panting.  

“Kimmuriel is preoccupied with other tasks,” Jarlaxle croaked.

Entreri flinched, the drow’s soft tones cutting through the rhythm of their shuffling steps. 

“Why didn’t you just use your portable hole?” 

Jarlaxle craned his neck up to regard his companion with a raised eyebrow. “Unthinkable! Surely, you know of how often I use it as a pass through!”

“So, before the next time you use it, clean it.”

The drow shook his head. “There might not be a chance to do so. Before our journey’s end, we might have need of it, employing it in its proper custom. Besides, I would not so mistreat that which I’d often use to store precious things.”

“Such as myself, I presume,” Entreri intoned sarcastically.

Jarlaxle hid a laugh in a cough. Entreri knew it to be fake, but still, he could feel the occasional shudder coursing through the body against his own, and knew through their proximity that those convulsions were involuntary.

“You’re fortunate that I haven’t dropped you,” the assassin nonetheless rebuked, scowling.

“I’d never doubt you, my abbil.”

“Which is why you held your tongue until after we’d long passed your earlier discharge, and all of its propagation.”

“If you ask me, this one might be beyond him,” Jarlaxle continued as though Entreri hadn’t responded. “I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, because I asked you.”

“And I foolishly agreed to help you.” Entreri snorted. “Never do I seem to learn my lesson, although I hope that you’ve learned yours.”

Jarlaxle didn’t respond, and Entreri knew that he wouldn’t get an admission out of the prideful mercenary. They’d finally reached the bottom of the long and winding staircase anyway, and the assassin was more than a little eager to leave behind the eccentric wizard’s beady-eyed hoard.

The assassin wasn’t comfortable in the woods. Rather than the irregular alleys and rickety walls describing every city block, nature made its own maze following a logic that he did not fully understand. But his companion, who was now leading the way, seemed confident enough, and he was further galvanized with each step that separated them from the tower. 

By the time that they finally emerged, Selûne’s glory shone across the deep tapestry of the night, and the lack of any of her trailing tears allowed the assassin to judge the the hour to be not so late as the darkness implied. He frowned. Despite his ability to see perfectly without Selûne’s light, Entreri was more attuned to brighter circumstances at this hour, an effect of the conglomerate of light sources melded within a city’s walls. 

Jarlaxle, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered to look up at the moon or the sky at all, but had already made his way far enough out of the woods that he wouldn’t start a fire. As the drow bent to set down his obsidian figurine, the assassin saw, descending fast from the sky and headed right for Jarlaxle, a swarm of large birds. Entreri began to call out, but his words died in his throat, as each member of the flock gracefully circled his companion before beating their wings to retake their altitude again. 

The bewildered man couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but after blinking, even rubbing them with both hands, did he ascertain, even if his mind couldn’t quite understand it, that most, if not all, of the birds had pointedly turned their heads to study the drow.

Jarlaxle was patting the back of his neck, studying the airborne visitors as they resumed their journey when he felt Entreri’s hand land on his shoulder, heavier than a plate pauldron. His cheery countenance turned to meet a taut deadpan.

“Who was the wizard whom we’d just called on?” Entreri bit off every word.

“Ah, the bird enthusiast?” Jarlaxle raised both white eyebrows, his smile wide and innocent.

Entreri nodded, his unblinking stare locked upon his companion’s ruby gaze. “Yes. What did you call him? Something… thologist?”

Those ruby eyes wanted to dart out of that awful stare that captured them, but Jarlaxle knew that even the slightest shift would give him away. He held out both hands helplessly – slowly and out very far from his body, the assassin noted.

“…Ornithologist?”

[[ To be continued... ]]

[beekeeperofeden]

1,2,3,17,18 from the Fanfic Asks! (I hope that's not too many!)

Are you kidding? I love talking.

1. If you’re an author how many WIPs do you have? (Be honest!)

I had to go through and count carefully, because a few are spread across multiple files and others are all stuck into a single .rtf document because they follow a similar theme, but I think I have about 65 WIPs (including Memory of Ashes) scattered throughout roughly 138 files. (I tried not to count files which are only a prompt or a few lines of dialogue without context, so depending on your definition, there may be more.)

2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise)

Right now I’m in the middle of rereading A Civil Campaign by Lois McMaster Bujold. The next thing I’m likely to read is Memory, also by Lois McMaster Bujold. (The problem with rereading one book in the Vorkosigan Saga is that it makes me want to reread three other ones.) On the list of new things, the next thing on my list is probably Five Hundred Years After by Steven Brust.

With fanfic, I tend to read too spontaneously for anything resembling a list, but I’ve been meaning to reread “Devil Takes Hindmost” for a few months now.

3. Do you prefer canonverse or AUs?

Canonverse, usually, but with a side of “for want a nail, the horse was lost.” Not that I’m not a sucker for AUs, under the right circumstances…

17. Describe a fic that is still in the 'ideas’ stage.

too damn many of them

I’m so glad you’re the one who asked this, because one of the painfully nebulous WIPs is directly a result of your post-canon fics being adorable and making me want to roll around in that era.

This is #51 on my hastily-constructed WIP list from question 1. Post-canon fic where Entreri tries to figure out how grocery shopping works while Dahlia and Jarlaxle secretly plot Kimmuriel’s murder. At first it was supposed to be a compare and contrast thing with the sellswords era, about how living with Dahlia is different than living with Jarlaxle was and how loving someone doesn’t always mean successfully cohabiting with them. Then murder happened.

(Other than murder, you can also expect bread fraud and Entreri refusing to tell Jarlaxle which grocers are pawning off bad produce, because Jarlaxle is almost a Respectable Authority now and Artemis “joined the mob when he was 14” Entreri ain’t no snitch.)

18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?

Not a routine per se, but very often, I’ll sit down with the urge to write and no idea what I want to write about. In these cases, I’ll go down my list of 138 files and open the ones that catch my eye – often these are the ones whose names I don’t recognize any more. Then I read the file, maybe add a line, or possibly start a new scene. Sometimes I’ll get an idea that is a variant or a contrast to whatever story I opened, and then start a new project. This is probably why I have 65 WIPs, actually…

[solvicrafts]

1, 11, 31, 43 for that ask meme!

Friendly warning this may get long especially that first one

(1) who is/are your comfort character(s)?

Jarlaxle Baenre, Valas Hune, and Kimmuriel Oblodra. And all for very different reasons. Also, I have more, but these are the Big 3.

Jarlaxle is #1 for some pretty personal reasons; when I got into the Legend of Drizzt series, my life started going really downhill and it wasn't long before I lost my home, and my pets, and having my entire life totally uprooted was deeply traumatic for me in some ways I still haven't fully recovered from.

I got a B&N giftcard for my birthday a few months later and, after having read Exile and really liking Jarlaxle's character, I skipped ahead to the Sellswords trilogy. I had just enough to pick up all three books and man I was hooked. I just really loved the focus on healing from past traumas and I loved how Jarlaxle would just take one look at fundamentally broken and traumatized people and go, 'you know what? You're one of us now.' I spent a big part of my adolescence feeling lost and like no one 'got' me, and Jarlaxle made me feel less isolated.

Valas is next up because I very much relate to the desire to say, 'you know what? People suck. Screw 'em. I'm gonna go live in the woods.' There's... admittedly not much more to it. I just absolutely adore him and smile every time he shows up for another LoD cameo.

Kimmuriel is a complicated one; I started out not liking him (OR Entreri, actually!) when I first started reading about them, and it wasn't until a few years later that I started to appreciate and understand Kimmuriel better. His journey through emotional isolation and reaching a point of finally starting to open up and let people in resonates with me.

(11) favorite extracurricular activity?

Sadly, I did not get into these in my high school days, or in the limited time I was in college. I actually plan on going back now that I have a better idea of what I want to do though, so we'll see how that goes!

(31) what type of music keeps you grounded?

I'm a weirdo who almost exclusively listens to instrumental music. I'm talking movie scores, videogame soundtracks, just random nice stuff I sometimes stumble upon.

My favorite videogame soundtracks would be from Okami and Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn. Movie & show scores would be lots of stuff from Hans Zimmer, some of the MCU (I really liked the soundtracks for the first and second Thor movies, and Loki)

I tend to listen to this kind of music when I really need some inspiration and sometimes get some good creative ideas from it. Basically... music is always a brain exercise for me in some form and I never just tune out, I'm always actively engaged. I don't have an off-switch.

(43) what’s your take on spicy foods?

I love me some Indian and Pakistani food. Unfortunately, I got really, really sick a few years back and damaged my throat from the severe coughing, so I can't eat spicy food as easily as I used to. :(

Sometimes I just choose to accept the pain and eat it anyway.

[rukafais]

at the dagger’s point

Years after the fall of his House, Kimmuriel learns a truth his mother hid. He takes it poorly, to say the least.

Or: Friendship is when your lieutenant threatens you with a knife and you don’t immediately respond by stabbing him, probably?

[AO3 mirror]

"Kind of you to use a physical weapon for this, my friend," the drow sitting in the chair says pleasantly. His voice wavers not even the slightest amount, even with a dagger at his throat, and Kimmuriel - suffused with all-consuming, uncharacteristic rage - hates him all the more for it. 

"For I know that if you truly wanted me dead, you could simply use the power of your mind to finish me off, and I would be helpless before you..." 

Jarlaxle sighs, his glance shifting over to what he can see of his lieutenant. Naturally, the other drow had come from behind, a standard tactic. With a knife, even, another standard tactic....

But Kimmuriel is far from standard. No, this strikes him as simply worrying, for multiple reasons.

"Is it my charming manner that brings this about? My reckless deeds, growing by the day? Have I crossed the line with one too many jokes, perhaps?"

"You know what brings this about," Kimmuriel manages, his voice as rough and shaken as his sudden act of violence. "Don't play the fool with me, Jarlaxle."

"Oh, but I do it so well!" 

He doesn't flinch as the dagger presses harder against his throat. He could have been done with this already - beating Kimmuriel in solely physical combat would not be hard, especially with his eyepatch - but he stays his hand, despite the threat.

His drive for survival is insatiable, but so too is his curiosity. To delve, to understand. Not the depths of the mind as his oh-so-clever lieutenant does, but the depths of other people.

"You could at least tell me what this is about before you start trying to cut my throat. Or take me out to dinner first, perhaps," he adds, with a grin. No laughter comes, nor any reaction at all, to suggest the joke was appreciated.

But then, what did he expect? Kimmuriel, ever always, has been dispassionate about such things. 

"You are a Baenre," comes the hiss from the darkness behind.

"So I am," Jarlaxle admits, the eye not hidden by the eyepatch closing. Yes, he remembers that day just as vividly as Kimmuriel likely remembers it. The punishment of Lolth, an entire House dragged into the Clawrift...

Kimmuriel had not reacted much to the loss of his House. Or, at least, he had tried not to react much. He had dismissed any concern directed his way, saying that he would continue to serve Bregan D'aerthe in full, as he was practically doing already, so it was no matter.

Well, that had been a lie, hadn't it? Even if the survivors of Menzoberranzan's way of life became numb to such atrocities and spectacles, some wounds were too deep to heal. 

Or, perhaps, we simply grew experienced at ignoring them, he muses. For survival. For our own sakes. At the expense of remembering that other people have wounds at all.

"Will my death benefit you, my friend?" he asks the wielder of the knife. "Will it soothe you to know that you have killed me?"

"I will have robbed House Baenre of a valuable asset," Kimmuriel snarls. Jarlaxle can't help but smile, rueful.

"My dear Kimmuriel," he says, and notes the strange flinch, the shakiness to that hand, that comes with speaking his name and that small endearment - ever an oddity, even now - "I am a rebellious, houseless son with no official ties. It would be rather easy to dispose of me, don't you think? And, I will add, I bore your House no ill will. In fact, I may be the only person of my family who didn't view it as a good thing." 

"That means nothing."

"While I can admit that appealing to your sense of sentiment isn't tremendously effective on my part - though I must at least try, for we are friends, after all - think of it this way. Killing me doesn't benefit you. It comes with immediate downsides, in fact."

"Such as?"

"You lose a person - perhaps the only person in this entire city - who understands that you are a valuable individual and not, ah, a possession. Or a weapon. Or a curiosity. Or, most likely, a heretic that should be thrown into the Clawrift where the rest of his House resides, for surely to take you in would be to invite destruction at the hands of Lolth, yes?"

Silence.

"Nobody would harbour you, Kimmuriel," he continues. "This is not a threat - this is a warning. You know as well as I do that the name of Oblodra is a burden anywhere in this city except here, beside me."

"Under you, you mean," the psionicist snaps. 

"Beside me," Jarlaxle corrects. "You are my valued lieutenant - and more than that, you are my friend."

"You use that word far too easily."

"And you know me well enough to know that I mean it, in special cases - one of those special cases being you." 

More silence. The dagger is sharp enough to wound even with a light press - Kimmuriel had sharpened it well - but it isn't pressed any further. It doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Unless the all-seeing Kimmuriel is not as all-seeing as he thinks?" he teases, his voice light. "Surely he knows enough that he can keep Jarlaxle Baenre under control standing at his side, rather than running away from all the Underdark who might want to use or kill him?"

"Nobody can keep Jarlaxle Baenre under control if he doesn't wish it," comes the dry tone he's more familiar with, rather than that uncontrolled and shaking rage. But his voice quivers with frustration, still. With anger.

Grief?

He takes a gamble and raises his hand, bringing it to rest over Kimmuriel's own - not to disarm him, but simply to touch him. They stay there together, this odd tableau, for what seems like a small and frozen eternity.

"I suppose you are right," the psionicist says at last, turning the edge of the blade away from Jarlaxle's throat. "Killing you would simply present more obstacles. It is convenient for you to live, if only so I can continue my own work."

His hand lingers, slow to move away from that connection. Reluctant? Jarlaxle wonders, wonders if he's capable of wanting affection at all - and then almost laughs at himself for asking the question.

Of course Kimmuriel is capable of such feelings. Much as he'd hate to admit it, as much as he doesn't want them. And who can blame him for rejecting such things here, in this wretched city that flenses them all to the bone? Better to hate, to reject, to shut yourself away entirely from pain.

And despite everything the psionicist had done, as dispassionate and near-emotionless as he had already been, pain had reached him still.

Lady Lolth would be pleased at that, he's sure. It's a bitter, dark thought.

"You'll be here tomorrow, I assume?" he asks, at last, thinking that his lieutenant might well need time to himself - more time to himself than he already has.

"I will be here," Kimmuriel says with finality, pulling the weapon away from him at last. The clatter of metal indicates that it's been dropped, or thrown. What use is a dagger to a psionicist, after all? 

Jarlaxle is about to respond, and then the other drow continues.

"I have nowhere else to go."

There's a bleak, exhausted finality in those words, something that goes beyond sadness and into the ashes of it; a resigned despair. Whether Kimmuriel has deliberately revealed it or the whole thing is accidental, he doesn't know.

But he says nothing, not a word, as Kimmuriel - for once - uses the perfectly mundane door.