Ok my peeps, the second part, as requested. Took me a bit, but I feel that is worthy enough. Again, I don't own any of these characters. Salvatore and Hasbro do. Enjoy and do please leave a comment. I thrive on them.

Jarlaxle peered hard out at the distant horizon ahead of him. The sun shown brightly in the cloudless sky past it's zenith and slowly starting to sink towards the west. Precisely the direction the drow needed to go. Heliogabalus. A grin crossed his dark skinned features as the memories of his previous adventures in the Blood-stone lands crossed his mind. When Artemis and he had made their dramatic exit the last time, it was been on pain of death. Neither of them were ever to return again. As a male dark elf in the strictly matriarchal society of drow, he was used to being barred from many things in life. And he chose to make the same decision this time as he did many other times, to ignore it. He looked down at the small child, strapped to his chest with a leather harness and nestled safe in a swaddling blanket. Grey eyes were shut tight and a thumb stuck firmly in a tiny pursed mouth. Jarlaxle touched a finger to to the soft curls, like black silk, that covered the top of the babe's head and then looked back up at the horizon. He kicked his heels and urged his flaming hellish steed onward into a tireless gallop.

As the sun fell further in the sky towards the land, the air grew cooler over the badlands. Autumn was approaching. Soon, he knew the Ice-lace River would appear appear to his right, easily leading him to his destination. He hoped that he would arrive in time. Long after the sun had set, Jarlaxle dismissed the nightmare back to its home plane. With a now awake and fussing baby Artemis freed from his harness and cradled safely in one arm, Jarlaxle fished a small item from a pouch on his belt and crouched down to set it on the dry and dusty ground. Softly he spoke the trigger word as he stepped back, allowing what appeared as a miniature tent to enlarge to full size. Shifting his tiny friend into the crook of his other arm, he whispered soothing sounds and gently started a bouncing motion before entering their shelter for the evening.

Inside the tent everything was, in traditional Jarlaxle style, lavish and comfortably furnished. There were two large beds, both frames elaborately craved from exotic hardwoods and expertly lacquered to shine. Each had a thick, comfortable feather mattress. Jarlaxle had purchased them shortly after they had come to their first large city in the continent of Kara-tur. Reliefs of unfamiliar deities helped form the corner posts, their exquisitely formed hands grasping giant orbs of golden amber at the top of each post. The headboards and baseboards held more reliefs of phallus's and human couples caught in various acts of lovemaking. Artemis had absolutely hated them. He argued that the gaudy and dramatic show of wealth would bring them unwanted attention in a hostile environment that already shown ample evidence of despising foreigners such as themselves. The grouchy assassin didn't, however, shun the comfort of the mattress that accompanied his new bed and it time ceased his complaining.

Thick rugs with bright colors and intricate geometric designs covered the floors. Again, something that the abnormally un-materialistic man scoffed at. It wasn't until their current adventure that the assassin had truely come to appreciate them. Trying to pick the colorful shapes themselves off of the rug had entertained a crawling Artemis for many days. A pair of rather plain wooden chairs surrounded an equally plain round wooden table, on which sat a silver ewer of water and basin for washing.

The newest addition to the tent however was something rather odd indeed, even for the eccentric mercenary. And he was sure that the old Artemis would have approved as it cost him not a single copper to acquire. It was a basket, woven not from reeds or mushroom stalk as Jarlaxle was more familiar with, but of some grizzly sort of rawhide. He had seen it while quickly paying a visit to his older brother, Gromph, back in the darkness of Menzobarranzan and smuggled it back to the surface with him. It was a perfect bassinet.

Jarlaxle continued to bounce the tiny human as he made his way the basket where it sat on top a squat looking chabudai, another purchase from the far off land they had traveled to. Gently he placed the babe inside it and un-swaddled him. Inside the swaddling blanket, it was evident that the child had wet himself and defecated as well. Jarlaxle ignored the smell and sighed, leaning over towards the round table with the ewer and basin. He grabbed both and sat them on the chabudai. Artemis squirmed and let out a louder cry, his arms flying out above him uncontrollably.

"I know my abbil, it can't be comfortable in the least bit. I'm sure that once you are back to your old self, you will have your fine dagger aimed at my heart yet again. Just remember, this is a task that neither of us enjoys. Do be thankful I do this for you." The drow kept up a steady stream of one sided banter, explaining to Artemis again what the plan was to be once they reached Heliogabalus. They wouldn't risk entering the city itself. It was dangerous enough, returning to the Bloodstone lands so soon after their near disastrous last visit. For Jarlaxle to enter the city while carrying a human infant would surely draw much unwanted attention.

Soon enough the child was clean. A rash had formed during the day on his rear and inner thighs due to the long ride in the soiled blanket. Jarlaxle gently touched the reddened area with a clean finger and cringed at the heat coming off the angry flesh. He remembered a crone telling him to apply lard to swaddling rashes. She had been brought to their rented room to investigate the child at the tavern they had stopped at when he had arrived in Almorel. Almorel was the first settlement they had come to along what was known as the Golden Way trail, leading from Kara-tur into Faerun. Jarlaxle had grown increasingly alarmed by his lack of knowledge when it came to his friend's changing needs. He had used a magical mask to form a disguise, appearing as a human father who had recently lost his wife and was traveling alone with his very young child. Lard would help heal it. Leaving Entreri safe in his basket, he stood up out of his chair and walked around to the bed that had been his companion's prior to the entire reverse aging issue with the wand in that dilapidated jungle temple in Malatra. The bed had become a catch all for things collected along the way as their journey progressed. He picked up a tin containing the needed lard and an enchanted water skin filled with goat's milk. Whatever liquid that was put in it would be kept at the proper temperature and plentiful. It was a temporary and pricey enchantment, but price had not been an issue if it meant his friend would be able to eat.

The entire time he went about what had become routine, his mind raced. He still held hope that Ilnezhara and Tazmikella could be of assistance. As he went about swaddling and carefully hand feeding his companion, he was unusually quiet. The weeks had taken a toll on him. What had started out as a reasonably upbeat adventure for his small friend, had become a living hell for them both. Artemis had continued to lose more of himself. Loss of control over his bowels happened about the same time Jarlaxle thought it safer to strap the shrinking toddler to his chest. The crying tore at Jarlaxle's normally resilient spirit. It was a constant reminder that the whole situation was his own doing.

Once Artemis was asleep, Jarlaxle slumped onto his bed and slipped into his reverie, praying to any deity that may listen that he could find help for his friend.

Something triggered Jarlaxle's brain and he shot up off his bed, his wide eyes hurriedly scanning most of the tent, only to that something was horribly wrong. Ignoring the minor aches in his body, he approached the basket to find it empty. It was then that the suddenly panicked drow turned towards the entrance of the tent to see Ilbezhara, previously unnoticed and standing there in her human form, her curves sensual and exotic with long, wavy copper colored tresses and bright blue eyes. She looked as beautiful as he remembered, but what he truly noticed was the baby Entreri cuddled in her arms, cooing quietly with his tiny fists waving at a lock of her hair hanging near his face.

"You never cease to surprise me Jarlaxle. How can drow such as you be so alert and yet manage to completely ignore the cries of an infant resting mere feet away from you? Yet that in itself also begs a different question. Why do you have an infant with you?" Her blue eyes ever left Jarlaxle's red as she spoke. Little Entreri was still engrossed in his efforts to touch the gentle red waves hanging beside him, just out of reach. Jarlaxle felt off balance and at a loss as many questions came rolling into his mind all at once. He realized that they didn't matter. She was here. That she found him and not the other way around was inconsequential.

"A grievous miscalculation was made with a wand that I had newly acquired… please say you will try to help me fix this, oh beautiful lady." Ilnezhara took a long look at the drow that had been such an enjoyable lover. He looked surprisingly hagard and unkept. There was no calculation in his voice, no acting. His posture, tone and look all conveyed something very un-Jarlaxle like… helplessness. Jarlaxle was vulnerable, his inner feelings worn out on the surface her to plainly see. This strange realization secretly shook the normally unshakable Ilnezhara.

"The child-"

"Is my companion, what is left of the human that is Artemis Entreri." At that remark, the copper dragon in desquise looked down at the tiny babe in her arms. Feather wisps of black curls covered his head and as the two beings locked eyes for a moment, steel grey orbs seemed to focus on shocking blue. For an instant, it seemed as if those eyes had indeed the spark of intelligence that was the adult Entreri. She glanced back up at Jarlaxle, her tone grim.

"A wand, you said?" Jarlaxle walked over to where his gear was sitting beside his bed.

"Don't bother showing me here. Meet my sister and I at my home. Bring the wand and the child. We shall see what we can discover." She approached Jarlaxle and with such care, handed over the small, loosely wrapped bundle. Artemis began to fuss a little and automatically Jarlaxle started bouncing and humming to him, missing Ilnezhara's silent exit from the tent.

"Shhh shh my abbil. We will get you help in no time." After a brief check and adjustment of his friend's swaddling clothes, Jarlaxle strapped the infant to his chest and away towards the outskirts of Heliogabalus they rode, their nightmare steed running hard at full gallop.

Inside the small, but stylish home of Lady Z, Ilnezhara's human alias, Jarlaxle sat hunched over in a red stained wooden chair, detailing all that had happened and all he had learned in his search for a cure to this strange and horrible malady. While he poured over every detail, Ilnezhara listened, her sharp mind taking in the information. Her sister, Tazmikella, paced the visiting area quietly, also listening while a sleeping Artemis lay cradled in her arms. Had Jarlaxle bothered to look up at her as she made her unhurried laps around the room, he would have perhaps noticed how perfectly she fit the image of a doting grandmother with her gray hair and the motherly expression plastered to her softly wrinkled face. But he didn't.

"So the wand was created by and once belonged to a female wizard in Long Saddle. That is near the Sword Coast, north of Baldur's Gate. The Harpells still run strong there to this day if my memory is correct. Have you not simply thought to contact them and inquire about their knowledge of the wand or it's previous owner?"

"I was just about to get to that, and yes I have sent scouts there and inquired more than a few times. None of the wizards that were questioned could recall a wand made by her or even having an ancestor with that name. None have ever heard of a Margo, nor have they found word of her or a wand of such capabilities in any of their vast libraries of family historical documents." Jarlaxle swept his hat from his head, no flourish involved.

"And you say that you have also attempted to reach the spirit of this Margo Harpell?" Holding onto the wide purple brim, Jarlaxle was growing exasperated at having to repeat himself so many times. He used the fabric of the familiar hat to help ground his mind, knowing that there was a valid reason for all the repetition.

"Five times I have searched fruitlessly for Margo Harpell in the lands of the dead, only to come up empty each time."

"Then perhaps she is among the living."

"The wand is several centuries old, as the creator of the wand, Margo must surely be gone from this life." Jarlaxle's ears caught the sound of his small friend starting to fuss in Tazmikella's arms.

"Unless she is elven, dwarven, a lich, a vampire or even a dragon…" Ilnezhara's remark fell on deaf ears. Jarlaxle's attention lay on the increasingly vocal infant. Tazmikella bounced and cooed at the child, but it was proving to be ineffective.

"He is growing hungry." Jarlaxle fought the almost violent urge to take the wailing bundle from the woman as he spoke, suddenly surprised by how protective he was feeling. It was his fault he knew. In his hurry to get to the dragon sisters after the visit from Ilnezhara, he had neglected to feed the babe beforehand. He felt a moderate stab of guilt as Artemis's cries grew louder seemingly by the second.

"If Master Artemis is hungry, then we will have to feed him, won't we?" chirped Tazmikella, her voice thrown high and a silly smile spread across her face, trying to distract the poor child. To Jarlaxle's amazement, Tazmikella shifted the low collar of her plain cotton gown to reveal her breast. Tenderly she arranged the infant infront of it and chuckled happily as the babe ceased his crying and latched on eagerly. Ilnezhara cleared her throat loudly to get the shocked drow's attention back to the conversation. Truly it was completely unexpected.

"I was able to fill her in on your predicament before you arrived so she could act accordingly. There are spells out there, for those who know, that enable one who can, to produce milk. But for now let us get back to the matter at hand Jarlaxle. Let me see the wand responsible for all this."

Two days passed. Jarlaxle and Ilnezhara put their collective minds together trying to reverse the spell while Tazmikella acted happily as nanny and wet nurse to the helpless Entreri, throwing her own two coppers worth when it seemed appropriate. Evening of the third day came.

"The babe is growing smaller, sister, despite his lusty appetite." Tazmikella whispered to Ilnezhara as they both stood watch over the sleeping Jarlaxle, the white swaddled bundle that was Artemis tucked into his arm, as the drow slept comfortably up right in the over stuffed chair he had taken as his own.

"I can see that as well." Ilnezhara's low voice echoed the concern heard in her sister's higher tones. "It won't be much longer till the end at this rate."

"Do you think we can stop it?" Ilnezhara turned to her twin sister and shook her head grimly.

"Possibly, if we had more time, but as it is, no. Jarlaxle will watch he who was the impressive and dare say even legendary fighter, Artemis Entreri, take his last breath and grow forever still." Tazmikella put a hand to her breast and frowned, a movement that wasn't lost on her sister. There was legitimate sadness in her movements. "You've grown rather fond of mothering, haven't you dear sister?" Tazmikella didn't bother to answer. The two simply watched the strange pair before then. Both knew that death was the inevitable ending of this strange tale, as is usually the way with life.

The next morning, Ilnezhara left her home, walking into the city to open her shop. With a heavy heart, Tazmikella did so as well, leaving after failing to rouse the sleeping child from his slumber. She didn't bother waking Jarlaxle when she came to feed Entreri, but he was aware of her efforts and appreciated them.

Jarlaxle sat in the blue heavily padded chair there in Ilnezhara's den, his purple hat hanging off the back of it. In his arms slept his dear friend, so tiny, so frail. Moisture rimmed his tired eyes as he took in every detail of the infant's face. How translucent his skin appeared. Jarlaxle could see the fine network of blood vessels underneath the top layer of skin. He could count each tiny eyelash and studying the tiny rosebud of a mouth only caused his shoulders to tighten and his breathing to catch in his chest. Such minute wrinkles those lips had. Those same lips that refused to latch on to the breast that had been offered to them earlier just before dawn. He didn't want to think about how infrequent his helpless companion had been awake since noon the previous day. Jarlaxle carefully removed the loose swaddling and stared. Artemis's small body looked so perfect with the five rounded toes on each foot, the ten delicate looking fingers all curled up into two tiny fists. Again he could see the framework of blood vessels. Also visible were the remnants of scars, so many scars. The Artemis he knew was highly self-conscious about them.

One night after drinking far too much, the two of them had almost laid with each other. Jarlaxle remembered that night well, not because of the acts they had come close to doing, but because of the genuine intimacy they did share in it's stead. The drunken and ultimately exhausted human had lost his nerve as Jarlaxle was unlacing and removing his linen shirt for him. The scars were all over his chest and back, some even laying over his shoulders. Jarlaxle thought they were beautiful and even voiced his admiration of them. Artemis, however, couldn't be lead to believe his words. Instead, he shrunk into himself and pulled away, shaking, breathing erratically and withdrawing into whatever obvious hell lay inside his mind. Jarlaxle didn't know at the time why his friend acted in such a way, but knew that that was not to time to press matters further.

He had done the best he could to calm and comfort the upset assassin, patiently encouraging he to share his fears and helped him to redress. It was the only time that Artemis had ever been in such a sad and vulnerable state around the mercenary. The drow never knew how much the human remembered of that long ago night. The next day the hungover Entreri acted as if nothing had happened.

Looking at those faint white lines, Jarlaxle realized that he would never know the full story behind them. He would never again meet the cold glare of those gray eyes or hear his friend's remarks dripping with pessimistic sarcasm. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Trying ever so ardently to hold back what he knew would be a flood of tears he would be unable to stop, he closed his eyes tight and leaned his head back against the chair in an attempt to regain his composure. Little Artemis shifted sleepily in the drow's lap, causing Jarlaxle to open his tired orbs yet again. He re-wrapped the assassin in the swaddling blanket and held him close. There was so much he wished to could say to his beloved comrade.

"I am beyond the realms of sorry that I have failed you my most dearest abbil. I care for you more than I should and have cherished our time together more than any other in my long and sometimes weary life." He took a deep steadying breath and sniffled a moment before he felt he could continue. "I have buried many an ally and friend throughout the centuries, but never had it been due to my own carelessness. I have always had a certain measure of luck, but in this instance, I fear it has run dry. I hope you are able to find what peace you may, for surely no deity is worthy of such a being as you, good friend." Finally, unable to hold back anymore, Jarlaxle allowed his silent tears to fall.

Evening had come again. Ilnezhara entered her home to find it dark, not a single candle lit. In the dimness, she made out the darker form of her former lover seated in the stuffed blue chair, his head hanging down against his chest, eyes seemingly shut. In his arms the bundled body of the babe lay. She approached and looked closely. The babe was completely still, it's skin tinted strangely in the dark. The assassin had passed on to the next realm. She considered waking the apparently sleeping drow, but chose instead to leave him to his needed slumber. She walked passed him to the staircase that led up to her private rooms. Barely had she set a quiet foot on the first step when she heard someone clearing their throat.

"He's gone now." Jarlaxle's normally warm, mellow tones came out flat and his voice cracked at the end, almost as painfully as a whip. The dragon turned her human form back towards the chair and the rest of the furniture and stared at the outline of the foppish purple hat hanging off the corner of his seat.

"I know." She paused, trying to think of something more comforting to say, however it was he who spoke first.

"I failed him." Again the flat, defeated tones were uncomfortable to hear coming from him. The great wyrm walked back to sit in the chair across from the drow, the red stained wooden one that he had been crouched over in, eagerly and frantically racking his brains for any information he may have overlooked just those couple days before. The room itself began to feel cold and uncomfortable.

"Would you like assistance with burying him?" Jarlaxle looked up at her, her blue eyes watching him. His sensitive eyes saw her features as easily as if they were standing under open, sunny skies. His own gaze was clear and dry of tears. The question wasn't entirely out of place, but the offer of help was unexpected. The idea of the sensual and stylish Lady Zee wielding a shovel and wading in dirt for any kind of situation was a strange one. He looked down at the still cooling body bundled up in his lap, the small, flawless face frozen in mask of perfect peace.

"I sincerely appreciate the kind offer my lady, but there is not to be a burial." His mouth moved fluidly, his words smooth despite the turmoil behind them. He looked back up, locking eyes with Ilnezhara. There was a glimmer of a brief smile in them. "After our time dealing with the Witch King on your behalf, Artemis had made a comment about wanting his body to be burned so that his bones could never rise again and be used so disgracefully by any necromancer who happened to stumble by. While he never professed any spiritual allegiance to any certain deity, I feel that this one request should be honored and therefore I shall fulfill it for him." The two sat in silence for several moment, both thinking back to that time when the sisters had hired the two mercenaries.

"It will take a hot fire indeed to render even his small, fragile bones to fine ash." The drow nodded his head absently in agreement and again looked down at the lifeless shell of the human that he had become so close with. "Let my sister and I help you with that." He lifted his gaze up to the patiently waiting female and nodded his head.

"When would you like to-" Jarlaxle cut his former lover off with a single word, his gaze again falling to the dead child.


Jarlaxle looked at the completed timber pyre, the wood, fetched from the far off hills by Tazmikella in her dragon form, stacked just so, to encourage a thorough burn. His friend's body lay up on top of it, wrapped with upmost care in fine white linen. How minuscule the bundle looked, cocoon-like upon it, the Surrounding him were his belongings that Jarlaxle had acquired for him over the last several weeks. Each of the fine, child sized garments carefully folded, each carved wooden toy, arranged just so, and the halfling sized sword and dagger with their gracefully tooled sheaths and belt. At the bottom their of the wooden structure lay the few items from Artemis's adult life. His clothing and travel pack, all well worn yet meticulously mended over the many years, and his boots. New boots, that Jarlaxle had bought him, of the Eastern style in leather that was a striking, deep blood red color. Boots enchanted with levitation abilities and that hadn't quite been broken in yet. Jarlaxle thought at first to include his fine weapons as well, memento's , along with the three finely enameled toy dragons Artemis had enjoyed playing with so much in his child state.

The mercenary looked up at the horizon. The sun would soon crest over the hills, pouring it's light over the vast dusty plains. He glanced at the two dragon sisters, both in their human disguises, wearing shrouds of black, signs of mourning. The two had once been their employers, both as sharp, fearsome and cunning as any Matron Jarlaxle had ever dealt with, only with the added advantage of being able to easily destroy either of the two sell swords with a single bite of their powerful jaws when in their true forms.

A horrible thought occurred to him as the three of them stood there waiting for the sun to illuminate the dark land. He was alone now. It was an unpleasant thought that didn't bode well at all with the pragmatic adventurer. The notion of returning to the Underdark and back to the helm of Began De'Arthe full time was not a welcome one. There was another option however. A strange, black haired and heavily scarred dwarf who wielded an enchanted set of twin glass steel morning stars. Surely the boisterous and hard drinking mercenary was still nearby, haunting the taverns of Heliogabalus and drinking his insatiable fill. The drow was positive that he could tempt the curious but undeniably talented warrior into traveling with him. The creature was no Artemis Entreri, but would offer an intriguing brand of companionship of his own and plenty of entertainment to be sure. Jarlaxle suddenly caught a hold of his train of thought and silently berated himself. He had to finish this last task, collect himself and only then could he plot his next move.

As the first rays of sunlight crested the eastern sky, the three solemn figures all summoned magical streams of fire, aimed at the pyre. Hastened by the force of the flames, the dry wood and oil soaked wool woven within the inner structure would catch and burn soon enough. The flames kept coming, building, higher and higher, and hot enough so as to cause the trio of silent casters to feel it's intensity from where they stood, safely out of the blaze's reach . For several long seconds, the three held their focus, their spells combining, causing the very tips of the flames to reach higher than a hill giant and burn seemingly brighter than a dwarven forge.

Finally, one by one, the three ceased their actions. In silence they stood, observing the burning funeral pyre for many long minutes. All three were lost in their own private thoughts. None noticed the strange lack of acrid stench that normally accompanied the burning of human flesh. It wasn't until the height of the flames had died down some, the sun now fully risen over the far off hills and into the unobstructed sky, that something seemed off. Ilnezhara had turned her back to the popping and crackling of the fire, preparing to make her transformation and fly back towards her home, some miles away. Tazmikella glanced over at Jarlaxle, still staring off into the fire, his eyes, adapted for the light-less depths of the Underdark, surely burned at the intensity of the staggering contrast that was the flames. She was about to join her sister when she heard a most peculiar sound amongst the whooshing flames and crackling of the wood. It sounded like an infant's gurgle. She froze and looked back at the fire.

Jarlaxle at first thought that he had imagined the sound. That his mind was playing tricks on him, the guilt he felt trying to eat at him even more now that the deed of cremating was being done. Then he caught it again. His sensitive ears strained, trying to better determine what it was he heard. Finally the start of a hearty cry could be heard clearly by all three witnesses, Ilnezhara turning around sharply in mid step her eyes wide open in horror and disbelief. Without thinking, Jarlaxle sprang towards the fire and entered the biting flames. Knowing that the many enchanted items he wore should protect him enough to avoid death, the mercenary scooped up a very much alive Atemis Entreri out of the inferno, not a moment too soon before the top tier of the wooden pyre he laid on collapsed. The drow clutched the naked child to him and threw himself back out away from the blaze, rolling along the ground to extinguish any possible flickers or embers that may have clung to him. Tazmikella and Ilnezhara both ran to him, helping him to his feet. The three adults looked down at the now loudly screaming infant pressed tight to Jarlaxle's chest. All were in indescribable awe.

"He's alive!" Murmured Ilnezhara, still somewhat horrified. Tazmikella could barely restrain her astonishment.

"And there's no burns! Not so much as a blister!"

Jarlaxle said nothing. He felt as if his heart and head were going to explode. He didn't hear the excited chatter of the sisters despite them clinging to him, each trying to get a better look. Those soft black curls on his amazingly unmarred head... Artemis was alive again!

"Like a phoenix!" Exclaimed Tazmikella. "He died, but then was reborn from the ashes of his old body. And look, he lacks a belly button!" Jarlaxle furrowed his brow as the theory, and odd observation sunk in. He started bouncing the wailing Entreri and took a closer look at the infant's skin. He found no trace of burns, no trace of blisters, and no trace of the old scars. Once he took it in, that realization caused the elf to let out a great long, high pitched shout of excitement, like those often heard in battle in the Calimshan region that the assassin was from. Every ounce of relief, astonishment and joy was evident in his call. Tears started to spill down his cheeks unchecked as he smiled from ear to ear. The two dragon sisters shared in his pleasure, both abandoning any caution, changed into their draconic forms flew and frolicked around the still burning pyre and the ecstatic dark elf as if they were young wyrmlings once more.

Two ten-days later, Jarlaxle sat astride his hellish nightmare, a sleeping infant Entreri curled in a sling against his chest. He whistled a bawdy tune and occasionally looked down over at the curious black bearded dwarf atop his new hell boar riding beside him. Out of the blue, his dwarven companion gave a characteristic "Bwahaha!" Jarlaxle grinned and gave a chuckle himself.

"What amuses you so my friend?" The battle scarred Athrogate glanced up at the drow, his twin morning stars bouncing gently against his back with the movement of his mount, a smile peaking out of the braided facial hair.

"The two ladies said, get big, he's gonna. Does that mean he's to grow up calling ye Momma?" Jarlaxle grinned, his amusement at there dwarf's habit of rhyming as of yet still intact.

"Athrogate, I would refrain from saying saying anything of that sort. I have a feeling that our beloved Artemis will be back to his usual surly self soon enough. I'd wager on fact that he will be back to being lethal before the month is out." The dwarf frowned for a moment at this, then pictured a toddling baby Artemis attempting to stab him with one of Jarlaxle's throwing daggers, his mobility limited to whatever furniture would be nearby. He grinned again and gave a hearty "Bywahaha!" The old dwarf had seem many strange things in his abnormally long life, but this was to be one of the strangest. He found himself grateful that he wasn't Jarlaxle, because if Entreri did indeed remember everything that had gone on, as the sisters predicted, the elf had better watch himself. And there was no way Athrogate was going to step into that fight.

Alright, I hope you enjoyed it. As I requested beforehand, drop me a note and tell me how you liked it.

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