living skyward

He didn't expect to wake up in a castle. No, actually he fell asleep in an inn. After drinking. And a small bevy of women. No he remembered that clearly, pretending to be drunk was the best part of drinking in public.

The second best part of drinking in public and just pretending to be drunk was knowing damn well where he was going to wake up in the morning. No one could really shift him without his knowledge after all, not unless there'd been something special in those drinks.

That he missed with one of his eighteen thousand poison detection spells woven into and embedded in at least seven different pieces of clothing and jewelry.

So he was, and rightfully so, a touch annoyed to find himself coming to in a throne room. With no women.

Because he had three when he went to sleep and now there are none, which meant significantly less soft, warm bodies to lean into and look nonchalant around.

To be fair, he probably wasn't nearly as alarmed as he should have been, the drow getting up and fixing his hat neatly. Right. Well. Time to think of who did this and where he was, because this sure as hell wasn't his fault.

Anyone can find Jarlaxle having taken a seat in a throne comfortably, looking thoughtful, sprawled out across the arms of the chair like a great, elegant black cat.

In the worlds most fantastic hat.