Disclaimer: All Neverwinter Nights characters and settings are the property of Bioware and Atari. This story is not written for profit, merely for fun.

Prologue

An evil queen stood staring angrily into the darkness. Her servants were testing her patience, even though she had repeatedly warned them not to do so. She flicked her whip in frustration.

"Hurry up, iblith! I wish to see this being who my agents say can stop my great rise, and I wish to see it now!"

"We are very nearly ready, dread mistress!" squeaked the frightened wizard before her. He bent down and scribbled some more runes on the ground, tracing and retracing to make sure there were no mistakes. He remembered all too well what happened to the last head sorcerer…

"Proceed, wizard. Now!" screamed the queen. Patience was not a virtue she possessed. Of course, since she was an evil drow matron bent on world domination, she was not in possession of many virtues at all.

The ritual began. Flashing lights and eerie sounds filled the room. A dozen drow bowed up and down, up and down. Finally, a figure appeared in the center of the vile pentagram. A figure of a…

No. Something was wrong. It had to be. The queen did not say a word, but she could not stop her body from shaking in fury. The wizard met her fierce gaze and immediately fireballed himself to death, reasoning that it would be preferable to whatever torture she had planned. Unfortunately, his spell also hit the two priestesses on either side of him; needless to say, they were not pleased.

The queen huffed petulantly as the drow's body was carted away. She had been looking forward to roasting that one over some hot coals. She turned to one of the red-clad women standing next to her. "Fetch me the next worthless male," she droned.

This was not the first time the drow had performed this ritual. In fact, the male population had taken a serious hit the likes of which had not been seen since a matron some seven hundred years ago sacrificed all the men in her house to Lolth as a birthday present to the spider goddess, which went drastically wrong as the priestess in charge mixed up her lines of celestial communication and sacrificed the men in Helm's honor instead, thereby infuriating both of the divine. Like that matron before her, this Valsharess was running out of men. Each of her previous choices had tried and failed.

Or perhaps they did not fail. Each wizard achieved the same result; it was just not a result the Valsharess could accept. The ritual was designed to call forth the image of the one who would be her undoing, and each time an image did appear.

The image of a goblin.


Chapter 1: The Legend is Born, Reluctantly

Grovel was running away.

He wasn't sure how long the skeleton had been chasing him, exactly, but he could feel himself getting tired. He was sure that he would have run into a fairy or an ogre by now, something to distract the impending doom behind him. He ran and ran until he ran through a gate he had never seen before. Once he passed through, he was so shocked he actually stopped running.

Grovel had escaped from Undermountain.

He nearly jumped for joy, but the moaning of the undead a few steps behind him spurred him onward, right into the path of two mismatched travelers.

On his left was a kobold carrying a crossbow in one hand and a book in the other. On his right was a rather unremarkable looking gnomish woman with a very large wooden club. Both were looking at him as if they had never seen a goblin before, which judging from their expensive-looking equipment Grovel very much doubted.

"Help, help, help!" he screamed as he ran between them. The gnome watched him go with an impassive face before turning to join her kobold companion in battle. The skeleton was quickly reduced to bone dust, and the gnome turned back to gaze at the goblin. Grovel found her blank stare unnerving. He had to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Grovel's never seen you before!" he shouted.

"No, you have not," replied the woman evenly.

The kobold's quill scratched across the page, writing down every word of the riveting dialogue playing out before him.

"Grovel would remember if he'd seen you, yes? No? Maybe?"

"Maybe. It is not for me to say."

"No, no, no, Grovel supposes not…" In spite of the woman's refusal to ask him questions, she seemed interested in him. Grovel decided he should introduce himself, at least. "I'm Grovel… nobody important." He waited for her reply.

The woman blinked at him. After a moment, she slightly inclined her head. "I am Tree Branch, also unimportant."

Grovel tilted his head. "Really? Grovel thinks you look really important, yes, yes, yes."

The gnome spread her small arms as wide as she could. "Who is really important in the grand scheme of the Balance?" she intoned. "Each must play his part as best he can. There is no part of greater importance than another. There is only a successful life and an unsuccessful life." She brought her hands together and closed her eyes in meditation. She did not reopen them.

Grovel looked at the kobold, who shrugged his diminutive shoulders. "Boss does that a lot," he whispered. "She be great druid lady. Likes to talk about Balancing."

"Balancing what?" asked Grovel. "Balancing on one foot? Balancing golden goblets? Balancing over a pit of fiery death?"

"Balancing the harmony of the entire world," said Tree Branch, opening her eyes with a long exhale. "To that end, we seek the mage Halaster, he who is unbalanced. Do you know this man, goblin?"

"Halaster? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Crazy in the head he is, yes, yes, yes."

"Excellent," said Tree Branch, though you wouldn't have been able to tell she was pleased by her tone of voice nor the expression on her face. "You will lead us to him, Grovel."

"Ha, ha, ha!" Grovel laughed nervously. "That's not going to happen, no, no, no. Halaster is gone, yes, yes, yes. Kidnapped he was, maybe? Or he went on vacation, maybe? Grovel not know, no, no, no."

"You will lead us to him, Grovel," repeated the druid, completely unfazed. "Or you will go up the well and find a group of scared and hostile humans waiting anxiously to kill the next unfamiliar creature they see. It is up to you to decide which choice is most appealing to you."

Grovel gulped and looked at the well as though it would eat him. "Grovel not go to the scary surface, no, no, no. But Grovel not wants to go back to Undermountain, Grovel wants to be free, to run, run, run away!"

The druid simply stared at him. "That is not one of your options."

Grovel's eyes darted around him, looking for some crevice he could hide in until the strange gnome and her pet kobold were gone. Finding none, he stared at his feet, which he noticed were filthy. He would have to take a bath soon; he hated not being clean. Finally he said, "Grovel guesses he goes with druid then, yes…"

The kobold crossed his arms. "Why Boss take goblin for? Boss not needs his help… Boss gots Deekin!"

Tree Branch placed her hand on the kobold's shoulder and actually smiled. Grovel decided her face looked better without expressions. "I will always have need of you, Deekin, but we both have need of Grovel right now. He will be our guide in this strange new wilderness." She turned back to the goblin. "We are counting on you now, Grovel. Lead on!"

Grovel promptly fainted.


Tree Branch looked around her at the thrones lining the chamber she, Deekin, and Grovel had stumbled into. In each sat a "sleeping king", or so said the sign promising death to any who would disturb them. So much history in this musty room.

Tree Branch knew very little of her own history, but what little she knew she had to repeat over and over to curious strangers. After all, gnome druids weren't exactly common in the Realms.

She had, apparently, been abandoned as a baby in the branches of an ancient tree, where she was found by the local druid grove. They cared for her for a few days while they tried to find her parents, but eventually they decided to raise her as their own, naming her after the place where they found her. This particular druid grove wasn't exactly known for its creativity.

"Boss!" said Deekin urgently, pulling at her cloak. "You is balancing again. Stupid Goblin getting in trouble with sleeping king!"

Tree Branch strode briskly to the opposite side of the room, where Grovel appeared to be engaged in a heated argument with an inanimate skeleton. Upon closer inspection, she realized he was arguing with the skeleton's glowing red sword. She shivered. "This is all very unnatural. I will have nothing to do with it," she proclaimed.

Deekin glared at the gnome in frustration. Far be it from him to question his boss, but her habit of standing back and watching encounters unfold instead of attempting to intervene usually wound up getting them into lots of trouble. It was also very difficult to write an epic best-seller about a hero who refused to… well, be heroic. He felt the same way about her habit of talking with rats. Yes, they usually provided invaluable information about unfamiliar areas, and this latest rat had even pointed them in the direction of a hidden treasure room, but there was just something decidedly undignified about conversing with rodents. Tree Branch was right to call his first book a work of fiction. With the dull way she went about adventuring he had had to take a few liberties. The kobold sighed and quickly began muttering some defensive spells in preparation for the battle he was fairly certain would come.

Grovel was wringing his hands and talking even faster than usual. "Grovel not need longsword, no, no, no. Grovel shouldn't even be here, Grovel should be running, running! Not talking to demon sword, no, no, no…"

"Oh, will you be quiet, you infuriating little creature!" screamed the sword. "You there, gnomish one, will you take me from this wretched place?"

Tree Branch was as silent as her namesake.

The sword let out a shriek of annoyance. "Fine! Goblin, it's back to you. You say you have no use for a longsword, eh? Let me change my shape! How about a dagger? Or a short sword? A greatsword! Any of those! ANY!"

Grovel looked up at the sword. It was awfully shiny. Grovel wondered how it had managed to stay so clean in this dusty old room. He decided he might like to own a sword that could keep itself clean. "Hmmm… Grovel thinks he wants a short sword, yes? No? Maybe?"

"Well, which one is it?! Yes? No? Maybe? MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"

Grovel curled up into a little ball of fear. "A short sword, a short sword, Grovel takes the short sword!"

"Excellent!" cried the sword in a tone usually reserved for the most evil of villains. The sword shrunk before his eyes into a tiny glowing short sword. "Come, Sir Goblin! Claim your prize."

Grovel hesitated and looked around him. Deekin stood tensely with his crossbow aimed at the skeleton's head. Tree Branch's eyes were closed, the perfect picture of peace and serenity. Grovel turned back around. "Grovel can't wait to be free of them, yes, yes, yes," he muttered. Taking as deep a breath as his emaciated lungs would allow, he reached out his hand and took the short sword from the skeleton's loose grip. He beamed with pride until he noticed the deep glow coming from the skeleton's eye sockets.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Grovel screamed, and he ran for the nearest door.

As the goblin banged his fists uselessly against the locked portal, Tree Branch opened her eyes to see a dozen vicious undead rising from their seats. She really needed to stop meditating in unsecure locations. "Are we to have a battle then?" she asked Deekin as she raised her club.

Deekin fired his crossbow and sighed. "It be looking that way, Boss!" he said, and he began to sing.

"DOOM-DOOM-DOOM DOOOOOM! DOOM-DOOM-DOOM DOOOOOM!"

Grovel curled up in a corner, put both hands over his ears, and silently prayed for death.


Nathyrra kicked a rock impatiently with her foot. She had been waiting for hours for someone—anyone—to emerge from the upper level. She hoped her patience would soon be rewarded.

Although she was an assassin by trade, she no longer specialized in that kind of work. In fact, she would be aiding her targets, not trying to kill them. If only they would show up…

She wasn't even entirely sure who she was looking for. The Seer's prophecy had spoken of "the one who wields the sword that speaks", whatever that meant. However, the Seer had it on good authority that the sword in question had recently been removed from its resting place and that its new owner would be venturing deeper into Undermountain in search of the mad mage Halaster. Nathyrra had been sent to intercept them, offer what help she could, and recruit them to the rebel cause. She pulled her cloak tightly around her. Shadows were useful for hiding in, but they were damn cold.

Finally, a stroke of luck! Three small figures appeared at the top of the rock formation in front of her. She grew as still as the stone around her, silently listening to the words of those who approached her.

"Boss, Stupid Goblin is touchings Deekin! Make him stop touchings Deekin!"

"Grovel not touch kobold, no, no, no. Grovel's sword touch kobold, though, yes? Maybe? Heh, heh, heh…"

"Has it ever occurred to your tiny little goblin brain that I do not want to touch the kobold?!"

"Please be silent, all of you. I am trying to acclimate to our new surroundings, and your constant chatter is making it difficult to hear the patterns in the stone."

"Stop. Touchings. Deekin!"

"What did kobold say? Grovel couldn't hear, heh, heh, heh…"

"I swear, you dimwitted humanoid, if you stick me near that kobold's buttocks one more time…!"

"Silence!"

Nathyrra listened closely, but no one said a word until the last speaker spoke again.

"There. Now I will hang onto this for a while, at least until I have properly communed with the earth. No one is to speak until I have given him permission to do so. Have I made myself clear?"

Judging from the lack of response, Nathyrra supposed the speaker had.

There was no noise for a long time, to the point where even the silent assassin was growing uncomfortable. Finally, the last voice spoke again.

"We are not alone. There is another here, watching us from the shadows."

The speaker stepped into the light, and Nathyrra gasped at the sight. Not because the gnome was particularly imposing or beautiful or extraordinary in any way. Far from it. What caused Nathyrra's reaction was the sword in the woman's hand. A sword that glowed with a dull red light. The sword that speaks.

She stepped out from the shadows. "Hold your weapons. I mean you no harm."

"That remains to be seen," the gnome replied.

After a slightly awkward silence, Nathyrra cleared her throat. "My name is Nathyrra. I am a representative of a group of drow, not like the ones who have invaded Undermountain and attack the surface. We are different. We are rebels."

A kobold stepped out from behind the gnome and looked at her warily. "Deekin not know much about drow, Boss, but they be bad news," he said slowly.

Nathyrra held out her arms in what she hoped was a gesture of peace. "Admittedly, normally we drow are, as you say, 'bad news'. But I assure you, my rebel friends and I are different, and we want to help you. We want to help you free Halaster so you can stop the forces of the Valsharess from attacking Waterdeep."

The gnome regarded her with a penetrating stare. "I will accept your help gladly, Nathyrra, but you should know that my interest in this place begin and ends with Halaster. I care not for your Valsharess or your rebel cause. If that is unacceptable to you, then we shall depart from you in peace." She turned behind her. "Come, Grovel!" she called to the darkness.

Nathyrra couldn't believe her pointy ears. This woman was supposed to be the savoir promised by Eilistraee? Something must be wrong. "I do not understand," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "Are you not 'the one who wields the sword that speaks', the one who is foretold by the Dark Lady to save my people?"

The gnome cocked her head in confusion, and then she laughed. It was not a particularly pleasant sound. "This sword is not mine," she said, holding up the glowing blade. "It belongs to Grovel."

Nathyrra watched with growing horror as the gnome turned and handed the sword to the skittish goblin behind her.

"Grovel, say hello to Nathyrra the drow. Her goddess has decreed that you are going to save her people's lives. Is that not fascinating?"

The goblin met Nathyrra's eyes for a moment; then, uttering a strangled scream, he fainted.

The gnome sighed. "He does that a lot, I am afraid," she said by way of apology. "Still, he will adjust to his new role soon enough, if it will serve the Balance." She gently scooped up the prone goblin in her arms. "I am Tree Branch, and the kobold here is Deekin. If you promise to help us with Halaster, I promise I will help this young creature in his purpose."

"Agreed," Nathyrra said faintly. She stealthily unsheathed her dagger and stabbed herself gently in the thigh, but alas, she was not dreaming. She watched the strange druid march off with her incapacitated savoir and shook her head. She was startled out of her gloomy thoughts by the sound of a throat clearing somewhere around her kneecaps.

"Umm… Deekin be wonderings how drow lady spells her name," said the kobold, who was now holding a book and quill in his hands.

"Oh," Nathyrra said, surprised. "Umm, N-a-t-h-y-r-r-a. Nathyrra."

The kobold attempted to write it down, but somehow managed to turn the "y" into an "e" and left out an "r". When Nathyrra shook her head, he crossed it out. "Deekin just goings to call you Drow Lady. Much easier," he said happily and marched off after his master.

"Eilistraee, grant me strength… and patience," Nathyrra muttered as she followed the motley crew into the darkness.