First Entrance
The faint sound of chanting that is in the background has a frantic note to it and there is the scent of blood, sulfur and musty sickly-sweet incense that fades into nothingness when the sound dissipates. Somewhere out there, four priestesses assume that their offering was accepted; and a dark goddess assumes her traitorous prey is in the hands of
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Zevran shucks off the strapping that holds his daggers to his back and sets it aside so that he can recline in the seat more comfortably. He doesn't sit so much as he lounges and drapes himself over the furniture, a picture of relaxation and contentment.
"Hmm, I have not heard of your world. I am from Thedas, where we have but one race of elves and we are all generally looked down upon, no matter what color we happen to be. Except in Rivain, of course, where everyone somehow manages to get along. I myself am from Antiva City, in the country of Antiva, the most beautiful place in all of Thedas. Though the Orlesians would contest that, no doubt."
He grins. "Well, Zaknafein. I am Zevran Arainai, murderer, assassin, thief, rogue, bastard, whoreson. All of these I have been called and all of these I am, so take your pick. You may call me Zev, however, if you wish."
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The way Zevran is relaxed as he describes himself, the grin and the way he is draped over the seat is oddly comforting, even if the words themselves are not.
Perhaps it is because Zak is not used to meeting many people who are so seemingly at ease with themselves, who describe themselves with such honesty and whose smiles that are not born of satisfaction over a kill or the suffering of another individual or a sudden rise in rank. Such people are rare where he comes from. (Case in point, the only others he knows to act so at ease, being Jarlaxle and Drizzt.)
The strange elf's nonchalance and ease in his surroundings, his seeming lack of desire to do people harm (at the moment), are very comforting though it will take further acquaintance with him, before Zak can fully relax around him.. Or anyone really.
The drow raises his eyebrows in curiosity when the strange new elf speaks about his city, and his homeland.
The description of Thedas is strange to the drow, used to so many elven races and their sub-variants; the idea elves are looked down on is not particularly appealing, even though learning about this strange world Zevran is from is interesting. Especially with the obvious love and pride the strange elf displayed for his home, something Zak himself had little of.
"I have never heard of your world either, but it seems interesting. And calling you by your name seems preferable." Zak agrees mildly, now curious about both his booth-mate and the Bar they are in, but not quite willing to risk reprisal on the former issue.
"You said this bar has some rules that not even deities can go against, yes? What would these rules be?"
Zak has no intention of being evicted from the Bar, when the alternatives might involve being tossed to the Yochlols.
"And, ah.. to clarify my previous statements, a Yochlol is a tentacled demon that looks as if it is made of melted wax." He ventures cautiously. "It is a servant of Lolth, the deity I am... avoiding."
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"And the rules, ah yes. We cannot have a place where there is more than one person without rules to keep people from killing each other, no? You do not bring personal business here, meaning that if your most hated enemy were to saunter through that door this moment, hellbent on doing gruesome things to you, they may not do so. And you may not do anything to them. Likewise, there is no violence permitted, though sparring and such is acceptable out by the lake. I have not had cause, to investigate any self-defense clauses. And then, there is no nudity or sexual behavior allowed downstairs, which makes me wonder what most of these people do for fun while they are here." He grins, the expression heavy-lidded and heated. "Upstairs, of course, you may do as you wish."
A luxurious stretch, and another grin. It seems like Zevran spends a great deal of his time smiling.
"And the first drink is free, of course. To help with the shock. Something to eat may help, also. If you do not have money, and the bar takes every form of currency, then you may run a tab until such time as you are able to pay or can find employment. I believe they are especially forgiving of those who are unable to return home."
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Eyes alight with amusement, he pointed out. "Well, generally they tend to be humongous, the height of a female at least, so I doubt this plague of yours caused you to spawn any." he sobered slightly. "Though I am.. pleased you survived this plague. Such a thing is rather.. worrying. Are they common where you come from?" he asked curiously.
"These rules seem very good to me,since it is likely I would be the one seeking sanctuary under them." Zak agreed, more at ease now.
The drow raised an eyebrow in surprise at Zevran's sensual expression, given that he'd not expected a surface elf not to kill any drow on sight, having that same elf direct an expression that was lustful at the aforementioned drow instead was even more unlikely. And yet it was happening to him right now.
The drow was puzzled, intrigued in spite of himself by the way the conversation had gone..Especially since the one seemingly offering such a distraction was so fair. But Zak still remained wary, since he hadn't anticipated it, and because he had just left a horrible relationship. The drow was not eager to jump into anyone's bed, no matter how attractive and friendly they seemed to be.
"Perhaps they acclimate themselves to the surroundings." he suggested neutrally. "Or try to learn more about those around them?"
A moment's pause as he considered the other elf's words. "The free drink sounds good. I think I will need it to settle my nerves. Though if I am to stay here from now on, then I suppose I should look over my finances and how to make my way in this world, first." He murmured. "After all, I have nowhere else to go, as of yet. And no other options."
Zak had only ten silver coins in his pouch. If this afterlife had to be paid for, given it could last for eternity... The drow reluctantly admitted, he was screwed.
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The elf looks contemplative for a moment, and then shrugs. "I suppose it is certainly possible, though one can only watch people for so long. At least, in a place such as this, where the usual reasons for paying such rapt attention are frowned upon. But there are certainly those who are worth speaking to, and I do encourage you to learn who you will be seeing around from now on."
He spends a bit more time thinking, before he speaks again. "If you wish, you may use my rooms until you obtain your own. I do not stay overnight too often." It's a generous offer, certainly, especially to one Zevran hardly knows. At the same time, it's an extremely low-risk offer as well--the Antivan does not have anything at Milliways that cannot be replaced, or which must be kept secret--and has the added bonus, hopefully, of netting him a potential ally.
"But come! For now, we will drink. The bar can produce almost anything you wish with regards to food and drink. I, for example, have been sweating it out in the rafters and would not say no to... oh, a strawberry milkshake, say." Antiva may have the best food in Thedas, but there are definitely some off-world things that Zevran has learned to appreciate, too. One of them is the milkshake that appears on the table near his elbow. It's almost painfully pink, with a whole strawberry split and hooked over the side. That has a bright orange umbrella stuck into it, which matches the orange straw.
It's what Zevran fondly refers to as "a man's drink," though no one has yet been able to determine whether he's serious or not.
"You may order directly from the bar, or at it, or from the-" He seems to choke a bit. "From the wait-rats. They are hygienic, or so I am told."
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Zak did not know what this could cost him in the long run, when he could offer this strange elf little in return. Except for his skill with blades.. or in bed. Did Zevran plan to use his services to help him commit murder, or would the price be more... carnal?
None of this showed in his expression though, since the drow knew quite well that changing his expression might give his strange companion an upper hand.
"It is a very generous offer, and I am indeed grateful; but everything has a price, does it not? What would the cost of such shelter be?" Zak asked him outright, expression completely neutral.
The free drink is a welcome distraction. He smiles slightly. Since the drink is free and he has always been... curious, he may as well throw caution to the winds this once and ask for something he would have had no chance to taste in his homeland. Now, what would be the most difficult beverage to acquire had he been home?
"Perhaps you are right and a drink would be very much warranted...I would like a glass of Elverquisst, then, should this truly be free.." Zaknafein murmured contemplatively. "Centuries old, made only by high elves and horribly difficult to acquire." Especially since the liquor was only made in the high elven sanctuary of Evermeet.
The elegant, slightly frosted glass of ruby-colored, golden-flecked, iridescent liquid that appeared in front of him definitely startled Zaknafein badly, since he'd had no idea the Bar was even capable of producing anything from his world, much less this.
Somewhere out there, a high elf was probably swearing viciously out of rage. This knowledge only made the rare liquor taste that much better.
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"You said that you were a weapons master, did you not? And you use two blades as well, it seems. Very well, I should consider it ample remuneration if you were to spar with me here, from time to time, and perhaps teach me techniques that I could use to my advantage back home. I am familiar with most of those I have the opportunity to cross blades with, and I would welcome a change of pace--and some new skills."
The friendship is still given freely.
He could ask for carnal gratification, of course. But that is a currency that the Antivan is accustomed to offering, rather than accepting. Zevran enjoys sharing his body, knows its value and capability. But he's also aware that he is an exception rather than a rule with regards to that mentality. It is one thing to seduce, to engage in pleasure for the sake of it. It is another and darker thing to demand sex in return for services rendered. The Antivan may offer himself freely to others, but he has never reacted particularly well when people have demanded the use of his body.
Zevran arches an eyebrow at the glass that appeared on the table. "Is it supposed to look like that, or did something go wrong?" Generally, the only opaque drinks that Zevran sees aside from strong coffee or chocolate, and milk on occasion, are ones that have either gone bad or are too young to drink yet, and he makes it a policy not to drink anything that he cannot see to the bottom of, if he does not know what it is or who prepared it.
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While Zak had stated he was a weaponsmaster, what he hadn't taken the trouble to mention was that he had been arguably the best weapons master in the entire city of Menzoberranzan. Some even said he was the best in a thousand generations. It had driven Dantrag Baenre, the weapons master and prince of the First House of the city, practically mad with rage. Especially since Zak had refused to battle him or spar. Mostly because the Do'Urden weapons master had nothing to gain from it.
While he specialized in the Draa Velve, or two-sword style, Zak had also more than a rudimentary amount of training in the remaining 11 traditional drow fighting styles; if only because he needed to counter them. And this time, passing on these techniques would be a pleasure, since it was to train someone who would not aid in the fall of a House and thus aid in the deaths of children. Doubly so, because he was repaying a significant debt in doing so.
To Zaknafein, sex was a matter of survival skill, nothing but method of currency to barter with. Malice herself had said, the only reason he was still alive was because he amused her in bed. For himself, the drow had taken little pleasure in it after centuries of disillusionment, of having to use his skill in it to placate those higher in rank than he.
No, Zak was not willing or ready to go to anyone's bed yet. The Matron had left her clawmarks on him in more ways than he cared to acknowledge.
It was a very good thing that the Antivan had not asked for sex as a payment. For Zak would not truly have enjoyed it.
Zevran's last comment won a slight smile from the drow who held up the darkly translucent ruby fluid in the glass to admire the way the light set it seemingly afire, and aglow from within before he sipped at it and put it down to answer his question. "It's supposed to look like this, yes. Part of the brewing process is magical in nature."
Zak carefully didn't mention that it had... extensive effects on most people who weren't Faerun elves, and lacked their strong resistance to this type of alcohol.
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It has running water. One thing Zak will have to adjust to about having Zevran for a sometimes-roommate is that the other elf can and will monopolize the bathtub--and that he has very little concern for shame or modesty. At least he doesn't have a tendency to kick or toss and turn while he's asleep, nor does he snore, which should make things more tolerable should they find themselves both staying the night.
Still, Zevran thinks that he's definitely gotten the better part of the deal. He has never been one to pass up opportunities to learn skills and talents that will give him an edge over his fellow Crows and over his targets. After all, one does not rise to become a master by being merely good at one's job, or even excellent. One must become exceptional, and not be afraid to use one's fellows like rungs on a ladder to get to the top.
Zak, fortunately, is neither a Crow nor a Thedosian. He is a tentative friend and ally, which means that he's safe from getting stepped on.
"Is it, indeed. We Antivans take a more traditional approach to things, but then, Thedosian magic is more limited in some regards." Zevran knows more than most who aren't mages or templars, given that he received instruction in countering magic users as part of his training. Still, he doesn't claim to have an encyclopedic knowledge. "What does it taste like, if you do not mind my asking?"
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The Drow as a race did have some similarities with the Crows when it came to status hunting; which was why Zak was equally pleased his prospective roommate was not of his own race and from a completely different arena, with what Zak hoped would be different rules. After all, as a heretic, Zak was sure he would have a large bounty on his head, the moment Lolth learned he had escaped her claws... or the Wall of the Faithless.
His new tentative ally seemed to be more considerate than Zak was used to. Which was the main reason the drow male was pleased with this turn of events.
Zaknafein smiled slightly as he noticed Zevran's interest in his drink.
"Very good. Much better than the wine I'm used to, actually." he admitted. "But then, the high elves generally get the best of the harvests, and my people only get what we can raid from them." He set the glass down, somewhat regretfully. It was still half full.
"There's still half left. You could try some, if you wanted."
Zak had originally wanted to savor it, but then, one does not refuse the will of those one is indebted to... Besides, it could hardly hurt him; Zevran was an elf too, was he not? Surely the innate strength of constitution must be there.
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He looks a bit surprised when Zak offers the glass, but nods. "A sip only," he says, and that's all he takes, just enough to smell and taste. It's good, but it's also strong. It's also nothing like the traditional reds that the Antivan is familiar with, full-bodied and sweet; if anything it tastes and feels more like a crisp white, refreshing and dry rather than sweet or overly complex. He considers for a moment, before swallowing.
"The usual," he says after a moment. Given that there's not much delay between the request and the food appearing, it seems that the bar is familiar with Zevran's customary order. Fresh pasta, tossed with olive oil, melted butter, garlic, plump rock shrimp, halved cherry tomatoes, and more spices combine to make a savory aroma that's carried with the steam rising from he food. The Antivan nudges the full plate and a fork across the table toward his companion, after deftly plucking one shrimp from it and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before nodding to himself.
"Eat," he says with a grin. "It will go well with this wine of yours, I think, and it will help to fortify you for dealing with this place."
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On the other hand, said ally has already offered Zak the use of his room and doesn't know Zak well enough that this would be normal. Only Jarlaxle would have offered him a meal and a place to stay, just like that, and he hardly knows this elf that well.
He doesn't understand Zevran at all. What's his ulterior motive for this? But all he can say is a startled, "Thank you.", before he takes the surface elf at his word and begins to eat, cautiously at first, then, wide eyed with surprise at the flavor.
The food is delicious. Absolutely delicious. Miles above the food Zak is used to having to eat on a daily basis back home.
Mostly because the diet in the Underdark is spartan at best. Rothe, blind cave fish, lichens, mosses, mushrooms, if one is lucky a giant crab...
No. Zak has never tasted anything like this before, and a meal like this would cost a Matron several gold pieces. He doesn't even have one gold. The sinking feeling of being indebted to this elf only gets even deeper.
The flush of infrared heat that rises up his cheeks is an unsaid embarrassment. "It's very good."
Unsaid are the words /How much more can I possibly owe you for this?/
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The idea of having friends is still new, and sinking in slowly. Zevran likes the idea, certainly; he has people he calls "friend" back in Antiva, but there are always the realities of the assassin's profession that prevent the formation of any independent bonds. It's a problem that's compounded by years of "lessons" at the hands of his tutors about the dangers of emotions and attachments. Zevran is still having difficulty separating friendship from opportunity, though he is learning.
Zak has the potential to help the Antivan catch the notice of the masters, certainly, and the smaller elf is more than happy to accept the help, since Zak feels the need to repay his kindness. But it is the fact that the drow is not a Crow himself that allows Zevran to consider giving without any attached obligations, and he is finding it surprisingly pleasant to do so without the burden of wondering when a favor is going to be called in, or trying to get as much as he can for as little as possible.
And, quite frankly, Zaknafein Do'Urden is the first being that fits the "elven" descriptor that Zevran has encountered in Milliways, that he hasn't desired to punt across the room.
"It's Antivan," he says cheerfully. "We find that conversation and food go quite naturally together. I am surprised that we are not all as wide as we are tall, in fact, given that conversation and Antivans go together quite naturally, too."
He lounges back in the booth again, making slow but steady progress on the disturbingly pink milkshake. "It is also the pride and pleasure of any Antivan host to provide for his guests, and it would be a rude man indeed who expected more in return than the pleasure of his callers' company."
Zak owes him nothing for the meal. Extending what hospitality he can is practically hardwired into the Antivan's brain; he rarely entertains back home for a large number of reasons, and this is one of those rare opportunities he has to enjoy doing so.
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It's understandable, given how Drow think. True friendship is almost a myth, given the natural lack of trust between Drow elves, the potential for betrayal in every relationship, and the Drow's natural hunger for power, wealth and status.
Given that to get power, wealth and status, one uses other drow, betrays other drow, and to actually rise any rung in society, one must kill a drow higher ranked than oneself, this is not a combination of circumstances that allows for friendship.
Friendships as most drow know them, are temporary alliances; they come into being when a threat or target is to be dealt with, and exist only as long as it benefits both parties. Threat of betrayal is ever present.
A drow can be fond of another, yes. But for most, it is a wary fondness, shallow and easily purged. Such an emotion is indulged only so long as it does not interfere with the drow's goals, or as long as it cannot be used to betray, supplant or harm them.
Zak has had only one 'friend' in the surface elves' sense of the word that he acknowledges even now, after he has died. And even that friend betrayed him. Zaknafein has forgiven him for it. It was inevitable in the UnderDark, after all. As long as they both lived in Lolth's shadow, it would have happened for one reason or another... and Zak is fairly sure Jarlaxle never meant for this to happen.
Zak is not sure if he will ever see Jarlaxle again, but he wants to.
Jarlaxle was a bastion of familiarity in the Underdark, the one person Zak maintained ties to out of his own House, though he could do so rarely as time went by and he was dragged deeper into the affairs of his House.
But even Jarlaxle did not hesitate to manipulate or use his friends to gain profit, though it is to his credit that he always worked for both parties to profit and not merely himself.
Now though, this strange surface elf is offering him friendship of a different sort, moving far faster than Zak is accustomed to... and seemingly simply because he wishes to do so. Zak is not sure where it will lead. He has no proper reference for this, and is fairly sure he will make a lot of mistakes along the way.
Training is one benefit that Zevran would get from this, of course. and Zak could try to base this strange hospitality the Thedosian elf is showing him on that, but he has already offered Zak shelter. He did not need to offer him food too, and it certainly doesn't cover the way he smiles or displays what seems to be complete contentment in providing for a virtual stranger. Zak is not used to this openness in his companions.
Hearing Zevran say that "It is the pride and pleasure of an Antivan host to provide for his guests..." is even more confusing. Zak cannot imagine such hospitality. Generally drow hosts extend hospitality to further intrigue.
Zaknafein is grateful. But very much out of his depth and, in Zak's own estimation, very much in debt to this elf. A debt Zak intends to repay as early as possible.
For now, the drow looks at Zevran with utter confusion, gratitude and a slight hint of suspicion, though the latter is fading.
"Your people seem to be very hospitable, if the way you have received me is any indication." Zak says cautiously. "I am unused to such hospitality. But I am grateful."
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Not that those do not have their own merit and entertainment value, of course. Zevran likes being an assassin, loves the life and the challenges that go along with it.
"But you are welcome, of course. It was not a problem, truly. Indeed, I was a bit worried that the food might not be to your liking. Some people are quite adverse to eating animals that so much as looked at the ocean before they died. Were there such things, where you came from? I know that in caves and caverns in Thedas, one will sometimes find shrimp and other such creatures that have adapted to the environment, but they are not as flavorful, or as good to eat, as the ones from the sea."
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"The only thing similar to any of this were... blind cave fish and giant crabs. And the cave fish were rather bland. The giant crabs were tasty, but were huge and preyed on anything they could get; so one was as likely to eat a drow as the drow were to eat them."
He sighed. "Other than that... we ate mushrooms, lichen, moss, and large shaggy animals known as Rothe. None of which were particularly tasty compared to this, but one makes use of what one can get."
An amused, rueful smile. "One may say the UnderDark is good if you are looking for gems or metal, but not so good if food, conversation, or company is to be considered. A surfacer would be likely enslaved by the residents the moment he entered a drow city. And that is only if one manages to make one's way there without being eaten. The monstrous denizens of the surrounding UnderDark wilderness are likely to eat any... tourists.. that don't come prepared. As you may have guessed, there are many reasons I do not miss my homeland. Or plan to return there."
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