Excerpt: untitled

"I once knew a place in the Underdark," Jarlaxle began in a steady voice behind him, "where a tree grew right at the edge of a deep chasm. I didn't know how the tree had ended up there, nor did I know how it lived. Judging by the way its leaves emitted a soft light, it was the heir to a long line of trees, the first one of which had somehow survived and continued its species down there, in the dark."

Entreri closed his eyes, considered telling his dark-skinned companion to shut up. A nagging feeling spurred by the sombre tone of the elf told him that perhaps he should humour him and listen to the tale.

Seeing that the assassin was not going to turn and face him but was nonetheless listening, Jarlaxle continued. "There was, next to the tree, a large boulder that had fallen from higher above. The boulder leaned heavily on the trunk of the tree and bent it as years went by. The tree’s roots would not give, for they had dug deep into the cracks in the cliff, but I could see the pressure wearing on the trunk. Little by little the arc of it became more pronounced."

He sighed. "One day, when I returned, the tree was gone and a part of the rock had gone with it. Since the tree had not bent out of the way, the boulder had eventually pushed it into the chasm."

"Is there a thinly veiled moral to this story?" Entreri asked acidly. "Am I the tree?"

"It was a beautiful tree," Jarlaxle said simply. "I thought it a shame that it died."