And it would take less than half a second for Jarlaxle to hurl three daggers; that, coupled with the fact that his cape - which bore a heavy displacement enchantment - would make it very difficult for even a spell to hit him, evened things up quite considerably. It was all relative, where dark elves and magic were concerned.

Not that he had any intention of doing so. Illidan intrigued him, and he had already pledged his aid. "It has been said that the simplest way to take the measure of a man is to engage him in combat, and to observe the way he fights. In Menzoberanzan, such fights usually prove fatal; I prefer to avoid them. It would seem that we have a good deal of time, if any of the various information flitting about on these... 'journals' is an indication. Let us first share a meal, and perhaps some conversation." This human method of getting to know one's acquaintances had impressed itself upon Jarlaxle, during his time on the surface of Faerun; he was curious, and perhaps a bit eager, to see how well it worked when individuals such as this Illidan were involved.