Hook, Line, & Anchor (Limbo) (7/12) - Jaezred

“Jeez! Whatever this was, it really did a number on your threads.”

“Yes, well, Farstep caught me off guard with a spell,” Jaezred lies.

Igrainne shrugs and begins casting mending on one fist-sized hole on the back of his blood-stained shirt, conjuring silken threads that move criss-cross across the rip and sew it shut before disappearing. She repeats it for the seven remaining holes in the shirt, and the eight on his frock coat.

“Thank you,” he says, casting a glance over his shoulder. He puts up the hand crossbow he is holding in the air so she can see it from where she is. Langston Farstep’s hand crossbow. “He paid for it dearly, I’d say.”

“Ha! Well done.” She finishes fixing up his clothes and steps in front of him, beaming. “You did really well, mate. I’m proud of you.”

“Ugh. Do not say things like that to me. You are reminding me of my sister.”

The half-drow chortles and raises her tankard to his own. “Okay, fine. To the deaths of Farstep and Jack?”

“To the deaths of Farstep and Jack!” he answers, and beer is sloshed around as they make a merry toast.

His merriment is short-lived, however, when in the middle of drinking his beer, he hears a familiar voice from behind him: “Well, well, well… Don’t tell me our illustrious Lord Jaezred has actually met someone he hasn’t immediately upset now?”

They turn around to see Imryll standing behind them, a roguish smile on her lips. The grin instantly drops from Jaezred’s face. He looks nervously between the two women staring at each other. This was bound to happen eventually, he just wishes it wouldn’t catch him by surprise in this way. After a beat, he gathers his courage and opens his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Igrainne’s face twists into a scowl that is directed at Imryll.

“Oh, it’s you again,” she says, the disdain clear in her voice. “Have you been stalking me this whole time? Can’t you take a hint, lady?”

Imryll’s smile only widens. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, you seem to think you’re important enough to remember?”

“The frog bog, remember? You was following our party around because Stripes stole your sending stone? Like, sorry that happened, but you could’ve done it in a much less creepy way! Well, whatever. Hope you enjoyed the aftershow.” She snickers and makes an obscene noise of flatulence using the thaumaturgy cantrip.

Jaezred’s jaw goes a little slack. It never once occurred to him that they may have met before.

“Oh yes! Well, it’s rather presumptuous of you to think I’d follow you through the bog when I can just teleport wherever I wish. Though, as I remember, you managed to deal with a tiny patch of that dreadful mould well enough. Still, the grung were most happy with the acres of it that we cleared for them… But, sweet child, I should also add that wasn’t actually a sending stone your friend’s pet badger took. The moment I left I stopped listening, but I’m glad you had fun playing with yourself!” The eladrin lets out a snicker herself, which only annoys Igrainne even further.

Whilst Imryll is busy aggravating Igrainne, Jaezred tucks the crossbow under the arm holding a tankard and, with his now-free hand, makes a series of discreet signs in Drow Sign Language. She’s Nicnevin’s right-hand woman. Probably wants to speak to me about something important, he signs.

Igrainne catches that and stops herself from saying whatever rude thing she was going to shoot back at Imryll. She makes a single, small nod. “Whatever, weirdo. I’m just gonna go now.” Before leaving, she puts a hand on Jaezred’s shoulder and says in Undercommon, “I was gonna warn you that this is one annoying surface elf, but I guess you already knew that? Well, in any case, don’t cause a scene!”

And with that, she disappears into the crowd of revellers.

“Ta-ta!” Imryll calls out after her. She then fixes him with a big grin. “So… Alive, I see?”

Almost immediately, Jaezred pulls her into a one-armed hug.

“I was worried about you,” he murmurs in her ear.

“Aww, well, you are sweet. I must admit, I’m happy to see you’re fine, too. Did the dynamic duo give you much trouble in Limbo?”

He lets go of her and grins, taking up the hand crossbow again and wiggling it at her, the mechanics within rattling as he does. “A little. But I shot a guiding bolt through Farstep’s skull and burned off his face, so it was well worth it. Come, let’s get you a drink and sit down.”

“Well, it is about time! I just gave away the few drinks I managed to grab and I can only avoid Ivan asking for gold for so long!”

“Of course he did. Classic Erikson.”

After several long moments of struggling through the throng of partying adventurers to get to the bar and shouting and waving wildly to get the ragged staff’s attention, he gets ahold of a cocktail for Imryll (he’d ordered a margarita, but what he got doesn’t seem to be the right hue — free drinks night must be an absolute bane to Coll’s people) and more beer for himself. By some miracle, they managed to find an empty table in the packed great hall to sit at.

“So… What happened in the Feywild?” he asks her.

She inspects the cocktail with a dubious look before taking a small sip. “Oh, the usual… Had to banish that Sorrel for a moment, bit of an anger problem in her, it seems. The small loud one over there”—she points at a red-bearded halfling with blue, tribal tattoos all over his small, wiry body—“turned into a bear and raided a tent. Oh, Langston apparently decided to wear Jack like some kind of suit of armour. Never managed to wipe the smug look off his face in the end, that was a shame… But then again, I spent most of the time preparing the means to break the machine on our end while they handled the clones. They really did rather well, though, I must say.”

Jaezred arches a brow at the mention of one of the adventurers getting banished. “Really? Why, did this Sorrel attack you or the others?”

“Hmmm, seemed to fall into a bit of a berserk rage. The pale one actually had her hand-cuffed at one point to try and control her, but I thought putting her in time out for a little bit would be much quicker.”

“Huh, fascinating. Good call on that, it’s what I would’ve done too. Well anyway, there was none of that nonsense in our party, thank Lolth. And in fact, we did manage to wipe the smug look off Langston’s face, and also wipe his face off entirely, thanks to yours truly.”

She gives him a small, quiet applause before chuckling. “So go on, how was Limbo?”

“It was…interesting, and full of twists. They hadn’t realised they’d been put in a time sink until we arrived and broke it. We tried to delay for as long as possible, got Farstep to monologue like the egomaniac he was. He actually offered to make us gods too, the absolute gall of him. Exactly what he did to the Collector. Obviously, no one bought what he was saying.

“So then it was Farstep versus the seven of us. He used up the very last souls in the Orb of Souls to survive as long as he could, whilst Jack just…sat there and watched as his partner was being killed.” He gulps from his tankard and stares down at the crossbow. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine souls. That's how many he used up during the three years he had the Orb. And when he died, the bells of the deepest Hell tolled to claim his soul.”

“Indeed! Very poetic, darling. What of the modron, though? He just watched Langston fight?”

“Yes. Farstep called to him for help several times, but he didn’t move a single tentacle until after he died. Then he launched his own monologue about how Farstep was an idiot, how he’d already built himself into a god within a week, but he was still blackmailing the Lady of Pain so she would do whatever he wanted. In the end, Jack was the mastermind all along. The conman was conned.”

“Devious. Well, we knew he was incredibly intelligent. What happened to him after that?”

“You only knew that because I told you,” he reminds her with a smirk. “After that, well, we fought a god, or at least something like it. A mechanical god. ‘Devious’ is right — the clockwork bastard even created a mechanical puppet of the late Mr. Greyheart and made it recite a poem in his honour, just to boil everyone’s blood. I, for one, thought it was quite amusing! But anyway, we managed to break through his divine armour and sever the tentacles holding onto the switch controlling the machines. And that was all the Lady of Pain needed. She pounced on him in the blink of an eye and impaled him with a thousand blades.

"For all his cunning, it was such a foolish endeavour, trying to extort the Lady of Pain like that. If he’d just given himself god-like powers and left Sigil be, he might have gotten away with it. Cockiness was his undoing.”

“Hmm, yes, I don’t envy his position there. The Lady of Pain is not to be trifled with. As for his foolish endeavours, I had heard he had gone quite mad thanks to his extended time in the Feywild as Sarastra’s pet. He was a being of order once and well…it is called the Feywild…” She takes a sip of her drink. “Perhaps that would explain his odd behaviour, or even his scheming against Langston at the end? In any case, it’s a fitting end, I feel.”

“That wasn’t quite the end for Jack, if you can believe it. There was a birdfolk druid in our party who used to be friends with Jack during the Amaranthine Games. Before the main body met his demise, Jack created a little mechanical bird and gave it to him. He tried to squirrel it away but we saw it, and I sensed that some part of Jack’s consciousness remained in it. Fortunately, Delilah was quick to grab it and knifed it dead. It was a close one…”

She looks surprised at that. “Seems some of you adventurers are about as chaotic as the mad modron was! That is interesting… I take it they weren’t too happy with that, though? What on earth did they expect would happen?”

“No, he was not. He believed it was simply a mechanical bird. A deeply foolish assumption, especially after Jack himself told us that it was parts of him containing his consciousness who murdered your previous Ascendant.”

“Hmmm. Well-spotted, it seems then, particularly if he is able to pass on his mind like that. Otherwise, we might have been back here again next year! And well, as much as the new colour is a significant improvement on this toy fort you all live in, I’m sure we can find somewhere more interesting to be.” She winks at him, and he rolls his eyes as he stifles a complaint about how the fort is a complete eyesore on the skyline now.

“Yes, I’m glad it’s all over now. Oh, on that note…”

Jaezred pulls the Orb of Souls out from his pocket. When it still contained souls, it glowed an ominous green and appeared to have a tiny tumbleweed within; but now, in its dormant state, it just looks dead and grey. “It’s empty now, and I’m not sure if it can be filled up again, but perhaps it can. In any case, it should return to the Witching Court.”

He rolls it across the table towards Imryll, in the same manner she used to do with the round rubies she paid him with. She takes it and inspects it in the light of the party. “Yes, I’m sure someone inventive enough can start to fill it up again… And I’m sure we can find somewhere safe for it, though.” She slips the Orb underneath her robes, where it seems to vanish into thin air.

“And that, I suppose, ends my foray into espionage.”

“Ah, well now, don’t be too hasty, dear… You really were doing so well! And you can't deny you haven’t enjoyed it!” she teases him.

He smiles. “You think so? Regardless, it’s…not what I’m made for. I’m a creature of war, Imryll, my magic is good for killing and destroying and little else.”

“Well, people can change, dear. Some creative application can go a long way…”

“I don’t know about that. But anyway, did you see that our friends Oziah and Delilah finally, finally got together?”

“They DID!?” Her eyes light up at this juicy, new gossip. “Then why are we still here?” she demands, standing up already.

They find the other pair of strange bedfellows in the party, and the four of them go outside to half-drunkenly shoot at trees with Langston Farstep’s hand crossbow, using twigs as ammunition. Oziah patronisingly instructs Jaezred on how to use a crossbow (as if he hadn’t been using one for most of his life), and Delilah in turn critiques both of their techniques. They take turns firing the weapon and have a little competition as a summer eladrin nearby accompanies the display with his flute. Eventually, when Jaezred and Imryll’s questioning and teasing got too much, Oziah drags Delilah away to her suite. Jaezred shrugs and pulls his own lover into a kiss. They wrap their arms around each other, and when he opens his eyes again, they are standing in Imryll’s bedroom in the Mountain Palace.

---

As Imryll lays her head down on his bare chest, bedsheets tangled around their legs, she looks up at him and asks, “So, who was that absolute gem of a friend of yours earlier?”

Jaezred hesitates, staring up at the ceiling and putting an arm around her shoulders as he exhales through his nose. “My young cousin. The surfacers call her Igrainne.”

Her green eyes light up again. “Really now? Yes, I suppose I can see the resemblance… Oh come now, Jaezred, you have kept that quiet for far too long. We have so much to catch up on!”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, of course…but…”

“…But…?”

He purses his lips and his voice goes up a nervous octave when he speaks again. “…She may be under the impression that the person I’m seeing is a dark elf.”

“Wait… So you are saying you lied to her about me?” The tone of her voice is upset but the grin on her face is incredibly wicked. “Jaezred, this may be the juiciest bit of information you’ve told me yet! And you are going to tell her it’s actually me you’re seeing?”

“I didn’t technically lie,” he protests, his already flushed face gaining a slightly deeper red hue. He is not usually one for pedantry, but he really has no other defence. “She just…assumed that you were, and I may have gone along with it. But yes! I will tell her…eventually…I promise.”

“A lie of omission, then. You forget, darling, I know all too well how to use words to get my way! Well… I certainly do look forward to that dinner chat when it comes!”

She is thoroughly enjoying this, likely having pre-empted the delicious awkwardness of this future conversation. He sighs.

“I was going to tell her just now, when you showed up, but I didn’t realise you’d already met. That caught me off-guard. She…already doesn’t like you.”

“I noticed! Hard to believe, really… Although, you took a little longer to warm up to me, if I recall, too.”

“Which was entirely your fault. As is this, I imagine.”

“Come now! I merely turned up looking for my gem — that was stolen, I might add — and then I offered to help those poor grung out in the swamp deal with their mould problem. You make it sound as if I attacked them!”

“It sounds as if you did, with your disarming charm,” he replies sarcastically.

She feigns being offended. “Slander!”

“You say slander, I say accurate. Now deal with it.” He gently rolls her onto her side with her back to him, so he can wrap his arms around her from behind.

The silvery mist of moonlight that hangs high up in the room dims with the two elves about to go to sleep. As a gentle darkness settles around them, he hears her mumble softly in a final protestation: “I’m a delight.”

He smiles into her hair. He can’t argue with that anymore.

---

Co-written with the incomparable Anthony.