A Deadly Tune

The Drow shifted in his chair again, uncomfortable despite the opulent pillows swollen with down with padded the ornate chair. It was really more of large bench, raised upon a dais at the back of the room. Behind it there was a large balcony which opened up only the ever-dark city behind; thousands of candles and mage lights casting a warm glow over the sepulchral skyline.
"Stop it," muttered another Drow sitting at a nearby table. He was eating a small assortment of meats and, unlike it counterpart, was dressed for practicality rather than style.
"Stop what?" moaned the other as he melted deeper into the chair.
"That," the one said and pointed with a large serrated dagger. "You're sulking. It doesn't suit you". The miserable Drow feigned upset and sat up in the chair, puffing out his chest.
"I am Jarlaxle Banre. Leader of the Bregan D'aerthe, and the Mercenary King of Menzoberranzan," he said proudly. "I don't sulk Kimmuriel - I brood," he added curtly and crossed his arms as he sat back in the chair. Kimmuriel rolled his eyes and turned back to his food.
"Well stop whatever that is then. If you have troubles, be out with it and let us see it done. I'd prefer to avoid the theatrics," Kimmuriel replied. Jarlaxle frowned as his companion for a moment in an attempt to wither the Drow with his seething frustration but let out an exasperated sigh when Kimmuriel's own ignorance bested him.
"I'm feel we have unfinished business," Jarlaxle said, he rose from the chair and with an elegant twist flared out his coat tails in an overly elaborate display.
"You'll have to be more specific," Kimmuriel responded. "We have lots of business which needs attending to. Nothing specific that comes to mind which should be troubling you and doing this to you," Kimmuriel retorted and motioned to Jarlaxle with his fork.
"It's about the Tabaxi," Jarlaxle said with a moment of hesitation. He winced as he looked to his Lieutenant and was surprised to see the Drow nod in muted agreement.
"Understandable. He did just leave. We don't usually let people leave. Not without insurance - manage the liability." Kimmuriel added. He turned on the best and looked back to Jarlaxle who was leaning against a wall and fingering large tassels of a tapestry hanging on the wall. "Are you concerned about a possible leak? Did he see anything vulnerable?" he asked. Jarlaxle shook his head and muttered something incomprehensible.
"-no, no no...it's more the...the...what's the word?" he said and then snapped his fingers. "It's the principle of it all." He strode across the room to a small lounge area set in the back of the room. There were sheer linen drapes suspended from the ceiling to partition off the lounge from the stateroom and provide the occupants an element of privacy, if even just a modicum of it. Two scantily clad Drow women were loitering on the couches. They were passing the pipes from a large smoking contraption on the nearby table. There was a sweet smell of fruits and berries wafting in the air around them. Jarlaxle waved impatiently at them to move and they shuffled out apart. He threw himself onto the couch and draped his arms over the two women. They giggled and snuggled into the mercenary's arms, whispering lewd statements to one another. One pulled open Jarlaxle's already open shirt and began to caress his chest as the other planted several passionate kisses up his next.
"It is so hard for me right now," Jarlaxle moaned. "I'm finding this particular loss difficult to endure Kimmuriel."
"What do you want done?" Kimmuriel asked. "Do I put a bounty on his head? Last I heard he was heading towards Neverwinter. Long ways from here."
"Nothing an inelegant like that. He was a treasured possession. I enjoyed owning him. He was like a pet and certainly more pleasurable of company than anything I have now," he said and then quickly nodded to the two women. "Except you two of course. You entertain me in other ways".
"So something more refined," pondered Kimmuriel. He tapped a finger on his chin pensively as he considered the options.
"Perhaps a dedicated mark then. If you'd rather not open the coffers to any cut throat in the Storm Coast we could hire someone more creative. Give you the assurance you need that the problem is dealt with and with the finesse and elegance you desire?" Kimmuriel offered. Jarlaxle's eyebrow raised, clearly intrigued in the proposal.
"I'm interested, who do you suggest?"
"We could hire the Hunter? He is effective if not unconventional." Kimmuriel suggested.
"Bah! That Do'Urden kin is too grim for my taste. No, not him." Jarlaxle scoffed.
"The Dragonkin then? Mehen is one of the best?"
"I heard he retired...in any way he's too stoic for my taste. Our prey requires a more refined touch. Someone more in tune with his own music..." Jarlaxle said distantly, mind elsewhere. Realization washed over his face and he clapped his hands in excitement. He pushed off the two women and stood up, his shirt hanging loosely open as well as, to Kimmuriel's surprise, his pants.
"I have it," Jarlaxle said with a wild smile.
"Who?"
"The Minstrel!" he said. Kimmuriel sighed and shook his head.
"He's not right in the head."
"The perfect man for the job."
"He's likely to get himself killed. And the fool demands payment in advance...no respect for the Code,"
"The Code is more of a suggestive treatise than a binding pact," Jarlaxle said dismissively. "I heard he killed the High Priestess of the Silent Shroud...while she was cloistered."
"Bold claim. Killing someone who doesn't exist." Kimmuriel replied.
"Oh stop it, you're being obtuse. You just don't like him because of all of the tools he employs." Jarlaxle quipped. Kimmuriel frowned at that comment but nodded slowly.
"That may be true. I don't agree with all of his foul dealings. His connections to those wild magics are...uncomfortable. It's addled his brain...as has the silkroot." Kimmuriel said, wagging his finger at Jarlaxle. The other Drow was entirely ignorant of him and strode down towards a set of stairs leading downwards to a chamber below.
"What are you doing?" Kimmuriel asked.
"Getting someone to find him of course." Jarlaxle said in an exasperated tone.
"You're going to regret this," Kimmuriel added.
"Regret is for the poor Kimmuriel and danger is the companion to fortune," Jarlaxle said. The Drow bellowed a few commands down the stairs in an unknown cant, common amongst the lesser lackeys of the Bregan D'aerthe. He turned back to Kimmuriel, a smile plastered across his handsome face.
"And now....we wait".

A Fortnight Later

"He's late," muttered Kimmuriel. The two of them were sitting out on the balcony attached to the room. Kimmuriel leaned over the railing and surveyed the vast city of Menzoberranzan. The tall spire of Narbondel cut into the purple-hued skyline in the distance. Jarlaxle lay on a padded reclining lounge chair with a blanket draped over his face.
"He will come," said Jarlaxle. "He's just peculiar. I don't think he understands the concept of time...or commitment," he added.
"And you want to give him gold?" Kimmuriel asked.
"Aye, lots of it. So long as he gives me what I want." Jarlaxle replied.
"-And what is it that you want," a cool voice said behind the. Jarlaxle darted out of his chair with inhuman speed and grace, a slender dagger appearing in his hand. Kimmuriel adopted a kneeling position and a loaded hand crossbow was in his right hand and pointing to the source of the voice.

There was no one there.

Suddenly, there was movement behind them and they reeled around to see a slender figure sitting on the lounge chair with Jarlaxle was draped over moments before. He was wearing a patchwork cloak made of a hundred small misshaped squares of colored fabric. It was a sullen rainbow, the vibrancy of the rich colors seemingly drained by the purple-ish glow of the Underdark metropolis. His hood was drawn around his head and a two purple glowing eyes stared at them from the darkness of the cowl. There was movement near his lap and a quick glance saw what appeared to be a small silver mandolin was on his lap, the instrument looked so delicate but on closer inspection caused Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel to be drawn into the stare deeper. The cravings were incredibly ornate, performed with a detail and craftsmanship impossible to reproduce. Even the most skilled of artificer's would pale at the task. The details were of cities long forgotten. Runes of a long-dead language wound around the edge of the instrument. The soundhole was dark as if beyond it was not the interior of the instrument but rather a portal to somewhere else entirely. There seemed to be hundreds upon hundreds of strings woven into the bridge, each now producing a somber melody which at one point sounded distant dirge and another sounded like a chorus of instruments. Fingers darted over the strings, blurring with inhuman speed over the narrow silver strings. Jarlaxle felt the music drawing him in and he began to question who he was. He looked out into the beautiful city beyond the railing and smiled. He could go there right now. It was so close. Just a quick walk off the railing and he would be soaring among the towers. He head a muffled shout behind him, it sounded as if a voice was coming from behind thick glass. His ears were full of the music and all other noises sounded as if they were underwater. Suddenly a hand grabbed him and shook him violently, breaking him out of his stupor. Reality came crashing down on him and Jarlaxle gasped as he looked down and saw the rocky expanse of the stalagmite below him. He was teetering over the edge of the railing - one foot outstretched to take that final step. Kimmuriel heaved him back onto the balcony and turned on their guest, his sword raised and hand crossbow braced on the hilt. Collecting himself, Jarlaxle whirled on the minstrel and raised his own blade, preparing to gut the bounty hunter for the attack. The Minstrel raised his hands in surrender and lowered his head.
"Forgive me," he said and he slid onto the ground to prostrate himself. "I often forget the affect of my music on those not familiar with it's discord," he said. Kimmuriel grunted and pressed the crossbow into the back of the Minstrel's neck. He looked to Jarlaxle for orders.
"I should kill you right now for that," Jarlaxle fumed. The Minstrel withered under the tip of the thick bolt and whimpered another apology.
"Although," Jarlaxle muttered and sheathed his sword. "It does lend credence to your credentials." he said. He motioned to Kimmuriel to stand down. The other Drow glared at Jarlaxle, clearly disagreeing with the decision but stepped back - not before delivering a swift kick into the Minstrel's ribs. The Minstrel grunts in pain and then slowly rises to his feet. Kimmuriel uses the tip of his sword to push back the hunt and reveal the face of their visitor.
"Aasimar," Kimmuriel sneered and spits on the ground. The Minstrel bobs his head in greeting.
"I am the Minstrel," he says and bowed deeply, flaring out his cloak behind him. "What services can I render for the Dark Blade of Lloth".
"I need someone removed - with impunity of course," Jarlaxle said.
"Understood - and the target?" the Minstrel asked, his voice bobbing and weaving with a music-like cadence.
"A former possession of mine, a Tabaxi. Last seen in Neverwinter from what I can gather," Jarlaxle said with a sneer.
"And would you like your possession returned to you my Prince?" the Minstrel asked, cold eyes glowing in the dark light.
"No..."