Out of the frying pan and into... the celestial plane? [Active]

[master-deceiver.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Jarlaxle, Vexen(?), open
Content: Entrance
Setting: Niflheim
Time: Late evening
Warnings: Lies, deceit, mistrust, and confusion shall abound. As well as some double and triple crossing.

Through astounding heat and stinging light, Jarlaxle ran. Behind him lay a rather large, rather angry dragon and a relic that was in the process of dying. Of the two, he wasn't quite sure which was worse.

What he -was- certain of was that he didn't want to be anywhere near either of them when the explosion came.

It didn't take him long to run out of room to run, but that had never stopped him before. A quick portable hole applied to the wall, and he was out of the cave completely. In what was perhaps the first really telling mistake he had made in quite some time, he took down the hole before he was completely aware of his surroundings.

Last time he had checked, Faerun did not have any domed cities.

Comments

[le-verglas.livejournal.com]

Vexen was, to say the least, not pleased. Plans were not proceeding on schedule, and he'd just discovered that the young man he intended to observe and possibly forge an alliance with had, like so many others in the domed city, "mysteriously disappeared." He was rather irked as he headed towards the Niflheim gate, trying to clear his head in order to get down to business.

The last thing he was expecting to see was a portal of darkness, of all things, appear in the street and what looked to be an elf exit it.

Well. There were surprises everywhere.

He quickly hid his surprise behind his every-handy polite mask and stepped forward, addressing the newcomer. "Good evening."

[master-deceiver.livejournal.com]

Jarlaxle's grasp of the common tongue had been fairly honed in the preceding months, so it was with impeccable intonation and an utter lack of accent that he addressed the figure who had greeted him. "Ah, good evening. I'm at a bit of a loss; could you, perhaps, tell me which of the Realms this is? And the name of this city?"

While Jarlaxle's banter may have been idle and befuddled, his brain was not. The unleashed power of Crenshenibon must have catapulted him into whatever realm this was; it certainly was not Faerun, with a stranger of fair skin addressing a drow elf so calmly. That meant opportunity in the long run, but it also meant danger. One does not fear so readily what one does not know.

Already, he was making his plans. Within a year, this city could - and very likely would - be his. And whatever magic or craftsmanship had raised the domes would be at his command.

A fitting start for the newest cell of Bregan D'aerth. All he needed were some relatively capable lieutenants...

[le-verglas.livejournal.com]

Vexen had to admit he was curious at the arrival of this newcomer. he'd known that other visitors to the city could create their own portals, but he'd not seen one in action before.

Greater than his curiousity, however, was his annoyance. He was a scientist, not the welcoming committee. One of the neophytes should be out here doing this - he had work of his own to do!

But the polite mask stayed in place as he answered the newcomer's question. "You've arrived in Paixao. The gatekeeper," he guestured to the gate several yards behind where the newcomer had appeared, "should be able to give you more information, as well as a journal for your stay."

[master-deceiver.livejournal.com]

Whatever work Vexen may have had to do of his own, Jarlaxle was, on the surface at least, glad that he had met someone willing to part with information, no matter how trivial.

As often as he had worn those same masks, Jarlaxle could easily recognize them in others. This, then, was a person who considered himself of some importance... or a mage. It was hard to tell, sometimes. Nonetheless, he did not sense the typical auras, though there was something peculiar. Time for that later though.

Right now, his mind churned. He was no longer in Faerun, he was certain of it. Nor was he in any of the Planes he was familiar with. "A journal, you say?" he asked politely, making idle conversation while his mind worked. "What would I need with a journal? I prefer to keep my thoughts where only I can peruse them at will..."

[le-verglas.livejournal.com]

Not only was Vexen treated as a welcoming committee, but he always got to deal with the particularly difficult ones. Wonderful. He was locking himself in his laboratory after this newcomer was dealt with - maybe then he could actually get some real science done.

But for now, he had to deal with the man in front of him.

"'Journal' is a bit of a misnomer," he replied smoothly, politeness still firmly in place. "It's a communication device, used to connect with other journals and communicate over public message boards. A very helpful way of gathering information. The journal function is strictly optional." So go and get one. I haven't got all day.

[master-deceiver.livejournal.com]

Adopting the classic thinking pose, with one arm across his midsection bracing the other arm's elbow and his chin cupped. "An interesting little tool... Though, I suspect that its abilities would make one far too easy to find should he wish to remain hidden."

Ah well. Even if it did, it could always be left behind someplace, or even used as a lead-in to an ambush. "Very well. Good day to you, then," he said nonchalantly, and started walking toward the gate. "Until we meet again," he added casually. Until we meet again, indeed...

[le-verglas.livejournal.com]

"Indeed," Vexen replied to the man's retreating back. "Until then." He had no intention of answering the comment about the journals - after all, he wasn't about to reveal that this man had indeed hit on one of the more useful (for Vexen and the Organization, at least) functions of the journals. No need to give that information to one who neither needed or deserved it.

Without further use for the man, Vexen turned on his heel and simply left.