Archive of Our Own

"Captain."

Jarlaxle hummed, his eyes still trained on the target below. Rarely did missions call for his personal touch now. He was needed here though, no one else was acquainted with poisons or stealth or traps. Jarlaxle had spent years perfecting his craft. He had to put it to use every now and again.

"I wanted to bring an issue to your attention…"

"Speak, Orgoboros." Jarlaxle whispered. The woman below was a nursemaid. She had not yet stepped into the position for Jarlaxle to act. "I trust your judgment."

"It is… Istolil." Orgoboros quietly replied.

"Speak quickly ." Jarlaxle hissed at him. He was thrumming with nervous energy. He hadn't assassinated a female in sometime. Especially not without offering a sacrifice in kind. Especially not one from the third House.

Orgoboros nodded. He was hesitant because he knew how found Jarlaxle was of Istolil. Many loved the warm-smiling strategist. The man was very out-going, he offered kind words to everyone, made some of the most desired food, and had personally assisted Jarlaxle with lying careful plans that benefited Bregan D'aerthe greatly. Istolil was, in a word; popular. 

Istolil also had seniority over Orgoboros. For Orgoboros to raise a concern wouldn't only be a social blunder… but it could be interpreted as him trying to usurp the man. Still, Jarlaxle turned his ear toward Orgoboros inquisitively in the middle of a mission.

"He had begun ceremoniously braiding his hair."

Jarlaxle's eyebrows raised. His hand tightened on the magical glass orb he held. "That is an issue. What is your thought on it?"

Orgoboros frowned. "I had only meant to make you aware…." He had not expected to be asked for his input. He searched for his opinion. "Istolil must be punished. Stopped."

"Punished?" Jarlaxle repeated inquisitively.

Orgoboros wanted to squirm where he stood. He could not though, and held himself in check. He was valued for his discipline. His strength. Grit - Jarlaxle called it. He continued to stand where he was, holding strongly the precarious block of ice.

"It would be the appropriate course of action."

Jarlaxle hummed. He watched as the woman beneath him finally came within throwing distance. He let the orb fall from his hand. It spun as it fell, dropping in a straight line. It crashed below, a pace in front of the woman. Too close for her to react, not far enough away for her to escape. She gasped in shock as it hit the ground, her foot sliding in the water which rapidly spread, and her eyes swung up as her body started to fall.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat down at her, seeing nothing more than the shocked panic of suddenly losing one's footing. Then Orgoboros lifted the ice with his strength, not grunting from the massive weight, and the huge block shifted, thundering down from the window toward the ground below.

Jarlaxle watched until the wet-nurse went 'splat.' Orgoboros didn't watch at all. He looked at his freezing hands, invisible in his eyes because they had no heat, as invisible as the ice, as the water, and then stuffed them into his coat to warm them up.

"Ah, well, I shall think upon it dear Orgoboros." Jarlaxle finally replied, stepping away from the window and into the shadows so he couldn't be seen. "Consider this issue with Istolil moot."

"Yes, Captain." Orgoboros responded, dipping his head in respect.

Jarlaxle slapped him on the ass, making the much bigger drow jump. "Fine work, as always. See you back at Bregan D'aerthe."

Jarlaxle left with a wave. Orgoboros wondered if anything could catch the man's attention.

Sengo picked his fingers through the little bruises and scratches on Solral's back. He had wanted a reward for mastering a new level in spell casting, and the fiery drow had gotten it. Sengo liked him a lot, and Jarlaxle liked Sengo, hence why the three of them had finished sharing a tryst. Sengo happily made the sleeping squirm with his fingers, teasing him despite the satisfied smirk on his face.

Jarlaxle tied his robe close and stood from the bed. He walked over to his small humidor and picked out some roots to stuff his pipe.

"Hey, you got a comb I can borrow? I want to pretty up his hair." Sengo softly called, running his fingers through Solral's wild curls.

"That's a bit inappropriate." Jarlaxle chuckled, reflecting on the devious things they'd done which weren't nearly as scandalous as brushing an unconscious man's hair. 

"Solral would let me. I could simply comb it out, nothing more…" Sengo sighed happily. His hand reached up toward the man's ear, but at the last moment he thought better about violating the boundary and settled for rubbing his neck. "Solral…." Sengo called softly to the sleeping drow. "Can I comb your hair?"

Jarlaxle took up a pinch of roots and his pipe, putting them together peacefully. He summoned a small flame from his finger tip and lit the herb. Jarlaxle lightly held the mouthpiece with his lips, smoking it while he sat back down on his bed. "Do restrain yourself from such things in my room, hm? What would people think, hair-play with Captain Jarlaxle?"

Solral let out a moan, and he cracked an eye open. A satisfied smile spread over his serious boyish features. "I would endorse it."

"Solral's fine with it." Sengo cooed, kissing the man softly. "Besides, s'not more scandalous than you letting Istolil continue his uillo. "

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "Istolil continues?"

"S' got three now, since you sent him on the last mission."

Jarlaxle hummed as he smoked. Ceremonial braiding for having killed. It wasn't allegiance to a single House, per say. Mainly, the tradition went back to raiding missions, which all partook in, when a drow would go to the surface and kill elves they'd tie in a braid to show it. They were a common mark of victory in battle. Uillo seemed harmless enough. It wasn't as if one could identify a member of Bregan D'aerthe by participating in the custom. 

However, members of Bregan D'aerthe were identifying those who continued the practice. Jarlaxle had practically deemed all hair styles forbidden. No one was to participate in any drow customs, no traditions, no insignia's. That meant people could wear their hair down, perhaps in a plain pony-tail or bun, or in the style of a commoner. Jarlaxle himself had made it a point to cut the hair of stubborn nobles, or take their hair down. 

Yes, that did mean he forbid hair styles and all the customs which followed.

"Istolil had performed wonderfully last mission." Jarlaxle commented, not voicing his thoughts. "To kill two gnomes is no small feat when acting as a sentry. He is a fine shot with his hand crossbow."

"Yeah, but it's odd, seeing him around. People are talking already. A little bit of the swish-swish" Sengo mimed using a brush, "here with Solral isn't going to cause more trouble."

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes. He opened his bedside table and took out his fine emerald comb. Then he heard Sengo's gasp of elation and replaced it with a plan metal one. "Be gone to your room. I wish to retire."

Sengo took the comb happily in one hand, and then pulled Solral up from the bed with his other.

"You know," Solral sleepily commented as he stumbled after Sengo, "I could off him for you. I do so enjoy a fine murder-plot."

"Do. Not." Jarlaxle sternly replied. "And don't defile my comb too much."

Sengo laughed, snorting as he pulled Solral from the room. 

Jarlaxle frowned, worrying the bite of his pipe between his teeth. He ran a hand over his head. His bald head. He was still getting used to that. Perhaps that too was a reason so many brought this issue with Istolil to his attention.

He huffed out a cloud of smoke. Jarlaxle would finish his pipe, take some sleep, and then prepare for tomorrow. He had more important thoughts than someone's fling with hair .

Jarlaxle looked at the map before him. It was of the Hun'ett compound. It had changed in the last two months. Many times. The Hun'ett's were known to have the best mages. 'Good breeding stock,' was the official statement. A good fucking kidnapping was the true reason. Jarlaxle had that stock change through his hands many times. This though, was not such an occasion. This was not giving to the Hun'ett's . This would be taking from them.

Clearly, from the massive changes, they expected such a thing. Jarlaxle kicked his feet up to the table and steepled his hands.

"One course of action is to, if Captain finds it wise, withdraw from the deal." Istolil proposed stoically, respectfully gesturing to Jarlaxle as he spoke.

"Are ya nuts!" Zaona gasped, "Ya tells me the Big-Bad-B is the ones who hired us and-"

"Quiet." Kilzzium hissed in his thready, tired voice. He clearly had no patience for the new member. Not so new he didn't know better than to speak during a strategy meeting.

Zaona grumbled and made a disgusting noise in his throat, then shook his head and crossed his arms. He was a tiefling drow. All back skin, dark scales, and two massive curling horns. He was not from Menzoberazzan, stubborn and  brash, but he was a member regardless, and he knew to not disobey their high-mage. After being directly called out he settled down.

Istolil continued, looking at Jarlaxle "One course of action is to steal into the Hun'ett compound, and then remove our target."

Istolil lifted up a scroll case, and held it out to Klizzium. "The last course of action, and my recommendation, is to lure our target away."

"Well ain't that a hot-stone, as if ya could!" Zaono shouted again, raising a hand. "How ya expect a dra-go-loth to get lured! Wha'cha gonna use; got ya some meat with a virgin hole lying about!"

Jarlaxle looked at Zaona, and that alone made the tiefling twitch. "Do not be asked a third time, or you will be excused."

"Er-uh, yes, Captain." Zaona mumbled, stepping back from the table and trying to blend in with the wall.

Klizzium opened the scroll case and passed the paper to Jarlaxle. 

"I recommend this action because it involves the least amount of men, least risk of discovery, and we have all the current intel and resources to carry it out. To inform the Matron Mother we cannot fulfill her request is to return her retainer fee, and risk falling from her favor. Not only that, but we could expect a few members to be injured by those nobles in retaliation."

Jarlaxle nodded, and he began reading Isolil's charts and plans and battles as the man spoke. They weren't flawless, but they had details, scales, weight to them that others couldn't quite understand yet. Even Numrini'th was left behind in comparison, and Jarlaxle groomed him.

"In the course where we infiltrate the compound, we risk open battle with the Hun'etts. We have injury to men, to the target, we have uncertain maps, and we have little idea of how our target will react. Not only that, but there could be trouble in retreating, if the Hun'ett's are anticipating a kidnapping then they would do well to have a quick strategy to isolate the compound from the surrounding area and trap us."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Yes, go on." He already had decided. The third plan, Istolil's proposed one, would be how they proceed. The scroll had all three, the good reasons to carry them out alongside the bad, and yes, he could back the third.

"In my proposed course, the risk is only to one member, and of mission failure."

"All have a risk of failure." Klizzium hissed in his dark tone.

Jarlaxle rolled up the scroll. "Explain it to Zaona, please."

"Huh-what-now?" Zaona asked, stepping up to the table. "I - er - didn't do nothing."

Istolil smiled. "The plan is for you to lure out the draegloth."

"Me!" Zaona explained, "Ah hells! What for?"

"You are the most suited." Istolil began, "You've a natural charm, you are half-demon, you can teleport in and out of any room-"

"In my line of sight!" Zaona interrupted, and he turned to Jarlaxle, "Ya can't be putting me ahead of him in the line just 'cause yer sweet on 'im!"

Jarlaxle sat up right, setting his boots on the floor. "It is of Istolil's opinion you are better suited, therefore you will go."

"Nuh-uh." Zaona crossed his arms and stood up straight, his tail slapping against the ground and rattling. "I bet's he wants me to go in, alone, like he said, risk me and myself cause you won't let him. It's Istolil's plan, he can make it happen. I was wondering why ya's called me, but it's just cause you, Captain Jarlaxle, sir, respectfully, don't want Istolil getting hurt in this lil' seduction plan of yours."

Jarlaxle, were he an easy man to insult, would have felt so. Jarlaxle, were he an easy man to anger, would have felt enraged. He was neither. He was Captain Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe.

He merely got to his feet, and placed his hands flat on the table. "Zaona. Your thoughts on the matter have been heard. You are excused ."

Zaona's face paled at the use of Jarlaxle's dark tone. His direct stare. The feeling of Jarlaxle's sharp threat, his position over him, and the real danger his entire life was in seizing him suddenly. He started sweating as Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes sharply. Jarlaxle was not very physically intimidating, but he was older, more dangerous, and far more powerful than Zaona. The tiefling looked away first, almost shaking, and sweat dripped from his chin to the floor. Chastized and fearful.

"Captain," Istolil interrupted, actually putting himself between the two, "Allow me to apologize on my junior's behalf. I understand you've been allowing me more certain freedoms, and I am sorry for allowing such gossip to affect my - our -" Istolil looked at Zaona, "work operations."

Zaona looked stupefied behind Istolil. Klizzium appeared as if he were ready to burst a vein. Jarlaxle merely snorted. He did like Istolil. Istolil might have done it clumsily, but he was trying to be a mediator. Keep things on track and set emotions aside. Jarlaxle rolled his shoulders back and then crossed his arm placing a hand on his chin.

"Have I been, Istolil?"

Istolil respectfully bowed his head. "I am aware you are making an exception for me, in regards to my hair. Again, I apologize for this causing conflict during this planning. Please, forgive me and Zaona."

"Alright." Jarlaxle glanced at Zaona, who continued to look astounded. "Zaona, you will do as instructed not because of any favoritism, but because I believe you are the right person to execute this one-man-mission."

Jarlaxle pointed at him seriously. "Take that as an honor ." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. " Humbly ."

"Er - yes, Captain Jarlaxle. Sir." Zaona replied, shifting his feet shamefully.

"And know the only reason you are still in this room is because Istolil stood up for you out of his superior sense of duty. Not because I find Istolil incredibly handsome."

Zaona and Istolil glanced at each other in shock and embarrassment. Istolil looked away first, and cleared his throat, a blush tinting the top of his ears. 

Jarlaxle sat back down and kicked his boots back to the table. "Please, Istolil, continue explaining the plan."

"Yes, Captain." Istolil began, a measure of decorum falling over him. "As I was saying-"

Jarlaxle finally had to do something about this. He drew the line when Wuzaxle came to question him about it. Wuzaxle had grown much into his own man, but the sweet and soft spoken drow, with short curly hair and bright eyes remained. Not just Wuzaxle, Wuzaxle and his khal'abbil ; Relrin. 

"It's called a Uillo ." Jarlaxle kindly explained to the naive bright-eyed drow. His deaf and mute partner waiting patiently at his side. "A ceremonial braid. Istolil ties them in his hair because he has slain that many enemies."

"Oh?" Wuzaxle quietly realized his eyes darting down and aside. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "Is that… so?"

Jarlaxle let out a sad breath. He rarely had time to come out to great dinners like this, be surrounded by his men, chat with them, be a bit less than a Captain and more Jarlaxle. He didn't want his time to be wasted in this way. Not by sweet, kind, charming Wuzaxle. And his deadly silent shadow. 

Relrin clearly knew what the braids were for. He had been a barbarian. A gladiator. When he arrived, he had happily removed himself of the ones he wore, and now his long unevenly cut hair hung in a tie. The man had evilly brought Wuzaxle to Jarlaxle.

Relin was deaf, and therefore couldn't speak, but the silent man was deadly cunning. He was the one who wanted to come to Jarlaxle, present his thoughts through Wuzaxle. Let his mere presence convey his opinion.

"Isn't it… isn't it a bad thing? For Istolil to wear his hair like that?"

Jarlaxle wondered if it was. 

"He has five braids…" Wuzaxle unhappily mumbled.

Jarlaxle perked up. He hadn't heard that. Last time it had been three.

Relin stepped up, placing a comforting hand on Wuzaxle's shoulder. 

"Don't worry Wuzaxle." Jarlaxle comforted, taking his hand gently. "I will speak to Istolil."

"Well it's just -" Wuzaxle glanced at Relin, who nodded, "I wanted to ask if you could check on him? M-mentally? Emotionally?" Wuzaxle's face turned worried and empathetic. "Make sure he is doing alright. I'm worried about him."

Jarlaxle put on a kind smile. Ah, Wuzaxle was too kind. He didn't care about the hair, he cared about the meaning. About Istolil killing. Jarlaxle remembered them - the first two being gnomes. The third was a lone rogue drow. The forth and fifth must have been recent, and the most recent mission was a raid against the dwarves. Not deep-dwarves either. Good old fashioned mountain dwarves.

Jarlaxle took  Wuzaxle's hand and gently patted it. "I will check on him Wuzaxle. Thank you, for worrying about him." He raised his hand to sign. "Relrin."

Relrin stepped up to Wuzaxle's shoulder at being addressed. 

"You are welcome and belong here. Thank you as well."

Relrin dipped his head. His eyes never quite could meet Jarlaxle's. He was not humble, or respectful, he was still culled. Wuzaxle was working on it.

"I hope you two can enjoy the party. Take care for me, loves."

Wuzaxle gave a soft relieved smile. "Thank you Jarlaxle. I knew I could depend on you." 

Istolil was a fine looking man. He had a round head. His ears were longer than usual. He wasn't muscular, not in the corded and intimidating way everyone was, yet he was large. Fondly, people called him fluffy, because he had big arms, a bit of fat on his stomach, and a warmness around him like a furry billibol .  He wore warm clothes too, because Istolil always ran a bit cold, and he wore them a size slightly too big. Easier to hide his fountains of bolts, knives, blow pipes. Jarlaxle envied that long black jacket with its high collar and silver buttons. It did look invitingly warm. Under that he wore a single body suit with a high neck.

And he had six braids in his hair. Three on the left side of his head, starting behind his proud pointy ears, and two on the right above his ear. One held the rest of his hair tightly together. Istolil's hair was a darker color, almost gray. Not black like Orgoborous', or as pure white as Jarlaxle's had been.

"I will not waste time on niceties, Istolil. You must stop braiding your hair. You know I have been far more unprofessional about it than I should have. Take your hair down."

Istolil frowned. His dark orange eyes narrowed, though not in hatred. In thought. Then after a moment he raised them to look at Jarlaxle directly.

"Captain Jarlaxle, I am sorry, but I must refuse you."

Jarlaxle let out a put-upon sigh. "It is not something I would enjoy, Istolil, but I would maim you. Too many members are disturbed by it. It scorns too much of Bregan D'aerthe."

"I understand Captain." Istolil didn't waver in his gaze. "But I will not. The uillo - the braids - they mean too much to me."

"You went many years without them, you may go without again. Undo them. I will hear nothing further about this issue."

Istolil let out a breath. He reached into his jacket. Jarlaxle had the remote thought Istolil would stab him over the argument, and almost laughed at it. That didn't happen, of course. Instead, Istolil pulled out a small metal circular container. 

"Some tajein ?"

Jarlaxle knew this was Istolil's opening for a negotiation. Clumsy. Too direct. Open. Istolil was friendly, overly so, and Jarlaxle liked that about him. He could be a damn good member. He was . Istolil also had drugs.

"Please." Jarlaxle waved him over. 

As Istolil came over Jarlaxle opened his desk drawer of glasses. He got out two wide cups, perfect for the tajein juice. Istolil helped himself to the chair he preferred, and pushed it - not across from Jarlaxle at his desk - but beside him.

Jarlaxle sat back in surprise. He held out his hand for the little metal container. "Allow me."

"Of course, Captain. You'd know it better than me."

Jarlaxle took the circle. He flicked open the top, revealing the packed inside. The tajein was a mushroom. Thick with juice, a gloopy jelly like substance. Jarlaxle twisted the top around, so that he could press the metal top into the bottom, crushing the flesh of the mushroom, and the thick viscous red liquid dripped out a hole in the bottom. He filled both flat cups, then set the remainder aside.

Jarlaxle took up his glass first. "That I do. I also know you will do as I say and remove the braids."  He brought the jelly-juice to his lips and poured the sour drug onto his tongue.

"I knew you would eventually speak to me of this." Istolil admitted, taking a much larger portion than Jarlaxle. "I had hoped you would not, but you are a caring Captain, and I know you do look into such concerns."

Jarlaxle wondered if he did. He wondered if it mattered, being true or not, if that was what his men thought. 

"Before I do as you ask, may I explain myself?"

Jarlaxle thought back to Wuzaxle. He gestured in the affirmative with his glass.

Istolil seemed to relax at Jarlaxle's words. He stared at the cup in his hand. 

"I used to pass out at the sight of blood. I could not handle seeing my own cuts. I could never hold my guts at seeing another's blood. I was a shameful warrior. I was not a warrior in my house. 

"It was not a noble house. A lowly one, the name long washed away with blood. I hold no respect nor honor or love for it. However, it instilled in me an understanding. One must have power to be proud. One must hold themselves to be the master of their craft. That is not a thing to be shamed of. It is something you must show. Boldly.

"I have come far. The blood and distress of my allies still unsettles my stomach, it makes me sweat and pale, but I can fight now. Bregan D'aerthe has given me this, after my many years here. I am proud, knowing the options I give you are acted upon. Have brought us all power. Bregan D'aerthe brings me pride. My work here does.

"That work, after so long, finally includes the deeply, deepest instilled purpose of all drow. I know it has not been very long. I know I have not fulfilled the duty as boldly as Orgoborus, who is much stronger, or as impressive as Opho, who is… less well equipped. I cannot help but show this fact of myself, of what I have offered to Bregan D'aerthe.

"I cannot remove my braids, Captain. They are part of me, of me in Bregan D'aerthe, and proof of where I have come. I cannot remove them, Captain. But, if you must maim me. Then I shall allow it without protest."

Istolil had finished his cup. His last words weren't spoken drunkenly, but it was a close thing. His face was open. His eyes stared at Jarlaxle, though he wasn't looking at him. He was looking through him. 

Jarlaxle, on the other hand, was looking at Istolil's braids. They were less traditional the more he looked. They made more sense, the more he looked.The more he heard. 

"Bregan D'aerthe rejects such things." Jarlaxle finally said.

"Bregan D'aerthe embraces power. Killing. Talent. Influence." Istolil thought. "It is a home for males. It welcomes us."

"Bregan D'aerthe agents aren't allowed such displays, such customs or traditions, in their hair. That had never been allowed."

Istolil blinked. He saw Jarlaxle. "Captain I - I thought you had changed that."

"Excuse me?" Jarlaxle wondered.

"You shaved." Istolil dumbly replied, sitting back to look at him up and down, up and down, and then almost smiling.

Jarlaxle raised a hand to his head. He had. "I do."

"Is that not -" Istolil warmly laughed, "I thought you were making a statement. That it was allowed."

"Yours is one of tradition. Mine is not." Jarlaxle defended himself. "Mine was a rejection."

"Isn't that simply acknowledging there is a tradition?" Istolil pointed out. "A rejection that reinforces what is already there."

"Better than simply -" Jarlaxle searched for the words, but came up short as his head lightened suddenly. "Doing the thing."

"I mean to continue it." Istolil replied. "Doing the thing."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "It doesn't continue. You leave with them cut, I've decided. Bregan D'aerthe cannot have drow customs lurking around."

"Ha!" Istolil laughed, "Isn't that a Bregan D'aerthe tradition then? To destroy drow customs? What if I reject that tradition?"

Jarlaxle frowned, taking more of the red drug. It was sticky over his tongue and clogged his throat, the feeling rising up to his head. "Then you'd be a rebel."

Jarlaxle thought of what he said. Istolil gasped, and then both of them sat forward, speaking at the same time. "A rebel rebel!"

Istolil laughed, and Jarlaxle chuckled. Istolil lifted his cup and Jarlaxle toasted him.

"I suppose I cannot be too upset with that thought. That idea."

Jarlaxle thought to the reasons he founded Bregan D'aerthe. He thought to the reason he cut his hair. He thought and thought, and got lost in his mind pleasantly. The haze of the drug had settled over his shoulders pleasantly. It gave everything he thought of, including this conversation, a sweet red-rimmed glow. Pleasant.

"I shall keep my braids."

"No." Jarlaxle smoothly replied, a smile playing on his face from the fond memories. "I must address this. Give me a moment. I'll think of a plan."

Istolil nodded, he started to fill his cup again. Then stopped. Blinked again. "Captain?"

"I am thinking."

"Will you - shave my head?"

"I do not wish to maim you -"

"Jarlaxle, Captain, I have a-" Istolil raised a finger, "a course of action. One I propose. You listen to everyone. You find this balance between plans, you are that rebel rebel - different from everyone, holding us together, a warrior without fighting, you seek this mutual balance - what if you shave my head."

Istolil leaned forward, offering a liquid smile to him. "And I'll braid my hair."

"Well now, we can't do both." Jarlaxle responded, wrinkling his nose. Then stopped, finishing his cup. "Oh wait. Yes we can."

Istolil nodded happily. "Yes, we can."

"You have the best plans, Istolil. I knew there was a reason I let you get away with so much." Jarlaxle got to his feet, setting his empty cup down. He would never take more than his guest. No matter how loyal they were.

"You - you are good at shaving now, yes?" Istolil wondered. "Does your head itch? Is it cold? How does it feel? Do you shave everyday?"

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Are those your questions, or Bregan D'aerthe's?"

"One and the same, my Captain." Istolil responded, drugged and honest.

Jarlaxle went to his vanity. He unlocked a hidden drawer, where he kept two shaving razors. Jarlaxle turned back around to face Istolil with a smile. Maybe it was the warm feeling through him, or maybe it was how Istolil looked up at him with such trust and relief, maybe just the simple fact that he was pleased with his life. He could not claim to be Jarlaxle the Mercenary of Bregan D'aerthe if he so scorned such rebellion. Jarlaxle could not claim to be himself if he didn't endorse the act of Istolil; the idea of holding onto something so deeply personal, that united him with Bregan D'aerthe… and called to Istolil as a drow. 

There was not much more Jarlaxle wanted himself, or for his men, than to have a strong sense of self-purpose in Bregan D'aerthe. It was not an issue to encourage such things. This would allow the others to see Jarlaxle had taken care of it. It was unheard of, to have half a shaved head. Then to have uillo combined with that? Truly, as remarkable a move as Jarlaxle disowning his own pride. No, this was a perfect solution in Jarlaxle's starry eyes.

There was only one problem left for Jarlaxle. "Which side?"

Istolil had shaved the left and right side of his head. He had six braids, so tight they looked painful, starting at the crown of his head and spread out in  a V toward the back of his head. Tsadar shaved the left side of his head, and the right, and kept the top in a bun. Wuzaxle shaved under his long locks and tied the rest of his wavy up high, letting it down in a cute pony tail. Solral ended up shaving the left side of his head, and braided the right in a circle. Sengo shaved the same side, and braided the same in an opposite circle. Relrin shaved almost all of Xil'lyl's head by the time Jarlaxle arrived. Xil'lyl had a single braid upon his head, starting at the back of his skull and hanging down to the center of his back. 

Jarlaxle didn't walk into their rooms. He hadn't even interrupted anything specific. No. He simply was returning from a stressful meeting with a noble house. He merely entered the front of the headquarters.

"Savages." He bluntly replied. He placed his hands on his hips as he watched everyone look up at him. "Not even somewhere private?"

Relrin shrugged. Wuzaxle blushed, tucking his face into the man's shoulder. Sengo and Solral shared the same savage grin. Tsdar beat a hasty retreat. Xil'lyl stuck his tongue out and stayed carefully where he was - there was a razor being pressed dangerously close to his ear.

"We're making and breaking traditions, Captain." Istolil warmly greeted, stepping forward in front of everyone. 

Jarlaxle grinned, his mood immediately improved. "Making and breaking traditions."

"As Bregan D'aerthe is wont to do. And yourself."

"And yourself. Yourselves, as I see." Jarlaxle tipped his hat toward them. "As we are wont to do - as Bregan D'aerthe."

"One and the same." Istolil warmly replied. 

"One and the same," Jarlaxle agreed.