Neverwinter Nights: The Return

Rain beat down upon the town of Farhill, slashing sheets of cold rain down upon the buildings and inhabitants below. The citizenry of Farhill were used to this weather and had noticed the warning buildup of dark clouds. When the first raindrop fell, they were already nice and cozy inside their homes. Due to the large amount of traffic the city got due to trade and travelling merchants, they had many foreigners come into their area with no idea of what the weather was like. As such, the people of this town liked to make a game of watching the reactions of those who learned the harshness of the swift-changing weather, and were currently enjoying the plight of one human trader.

Feldor cursed his luck as he clutched his soggy cloak about himself and pressed on through the wind and biting cold rain. He had wondered why his contacts in Neverwinter were so relieved when he, out of all the traders in his guild, took up the job. And he had wondered what his comrades had snickered when they heard he had been given the package to take to Farhill. Now he knew why they had avoided that assignment. The weather here was terrible and more unpredictable than a gnomish inventor. Relief came into view as his eyes caught the shape of a cup carved into a wooden sign.

The Stiff Cup.

He breathed a sigh of relief. That was the place where the buyer was going to be at and where he could finally get out of this confounded weather. As he took a step towards it, a particularly vicious gust of wind blasted him back a couple steps. Did this weather seek to ruin him and prevent this deal? He gritted his teeth in angry determination. No, he would finish this deal and show that he could handle it. Then he would get the better jobs, while those lazy fools back at the guildhall would have to scramble over themselves to get their beloved contracts back again. After a couple attempts, he managed to get to the door and opened it, stumbling inside. The clamor of the common room paused a moment, as they all turned to gaze at the new entry. Then after he had closed the door and pulled back his hood, the noise slowly returned, his entry forgotten. Slipping out of his cloak and setting it on the peg, Feldor wearily moved to find a table and found that all were full or had someone in them. Which meant he would need to rely on the generosity of these folk and many were giving him none too friendly glances.

"Need a seat, human?"

He turned at the voice, to see a cloaked figure sitting by itself at a nearby table. Feldor cautiously nodded; something felt odd here. "Yes, I do."

"Then come and sit down here. I do not mind the company, and you are too tired to talk my ear off like some folk."

Feldor cautiously sat down, gazing about the room. The gazes of the other inhabitants gazed suspiciously at the cloaked figure and Fedlor but quickly returned to their own conversations, the low hum of the room returning. A waitress came over soon with a mug of beer, some bread and cheese, with a simple cup of water to the figure. Feldor began to dig into his food, hunger attacking his stomach due to his trip. After a while, as his hunger dulled with the quick snack he got, he realized the figure had been gazing at him, not taking a sip of its water. From the sound of its voice, it sounded like a woman. So, the question was, who was she and why did she let him have a seat? Swallowing the last of his initial meal, he called for a large dinner and then turned to her. "So, uh, I didn't catch your name." The figure chuckled as it took a sip from its cup.

"I have many names, my friend. And each one has a story attached to it. You are tired; there is no need to waste your remaining energy on my tales. Not to mention I'd like to go a day without getting adoring fans pestering me."

Feldor normally would have left it at that but he had grown interested in this. Besides, he was a man who had a taste for history and this woman appeared to have a lot of it. He soon received his meal and began to eat. "I don't mind. I won't be heading to a room for some time and stories help pass the time. Here, I'll start." He swallowed and began to speak.

"I am Feldor, son of Turan, tradesman of the Silver Cloth guild. I have come here to conduct a trade with a gentleman in this town of Farhill, since most of my brothers and sisters do not like the weather here. This had made it hard to get someone and I volunteered, since the pay was quite good. I am afraid that I am but a simple tradesman and don't have much in the way of tales."

A moment of silence, then she speaks. "You are lucky, Feldor, son of Turan. For those of us who become 'heroes' are often thrust into the task, dealing with extraordinary events, and many fall before we reach the end. If you wish to know, I will tell you." She sighed and began to speak. Feldor's eyes bulged as she talked.

"I am Delewiel Reynolt of Neverwinter, half elf sorceroress devoted to Mystra and the so-called Hero of Neverwinter. I am also known as the Banisher of the Old Ones, Dragon-Friend, Honored Tribeswoman to the Uthgardt Tribes, and Anor Daelon, or Balor-Slayer. I have come a long way from my days in the Academy and I have many stories to tell. Do you still wish to hear them?"

The trader let out the breath he had been holding. A living legend, and one who had risen recently to boot, was sitting in front of him. He could see she had kept her hood up since she didn't want the entire bar swarming over her and this calm atmosphere of talk and merriment to turn into a show of displaying the hero to them all. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and replied, keeping his voice quiet.

"I would like that very much, Madam Reynolt."

She giggled. "Lady will suffice; Nasher made me one of the Ladies of Neverwinter for my service. Not to mention my…. other connections to Neverwinter."

Feldor nodded, blushing. "Uh…right…Lady Reynolt, why don't you being with your origins. There has been a few books written on you and your adventures, but none of them have detailed your early life." The sense from her changed and her tone of voice become mixed with nostalgia and sadness.

"Yes…. it is rather personal for me." Feldor held up his hands.

"If I offended, I-"

She shook her head. "Do not worry, Feldor. I did offer and you accepted." She took a breath and let it out. "I was born to my parents, Orilon Barhan, and Shar'liel Star-Weaver. I am a half-elf, with a human father and an elven mother. We lived In the Docks District in a nice little house. My father worked the docks while my mother taught the art of letters to any who would pay for it, as well as taking care of the house. I grew up in their loving care but I was attuned to the situation my kind was in from day one. The many humans I saw viewed me with aloof instead of friendly eyes, and the few elves I saw ignored me completely. It wasn't until I was in my teenage years, at least by human reckoning, that it was explained to me. I was an outcast to both worlds, human and elven. I was a human to the elves and elven to the humans.

It was a sobering experience for me and going to the schools was not a fun experience. I was teased by other humans and had few friends. And eventually, when we graduated, the few friends I had drifted away as we each pursued our own careers. I decided to go into magic, being the talent of my mother, and she began my education in the arcane arts. This was to be vital for what was to come. I had learned the most of basic of spells and had even finished my bonding with a familiar, as is common. My mother taught me that choosing a familiar is a very random if defining process for each mage, and that I had to be careful. So it was to our surprise and shock that when I called out, a Hell Hound by the name of Tiamat answered my call. When I felt her presence in my mind, it was like the soothing touch of fire. Just hot enough to discomfort but cool enough to feel soothing. My mother wanted to send her back, since Hell Hounds are known to be evil creatures, but I could not send her back. I had a feeling I would need her and the bonding had been completed. We would have continued my education but then came the greatest threat Neverwinter had ever known. The plague known as the Wailing Death.

At first, it began in the Beggar's Nest, which was the poorest district and a very dirty place. It was no surprise a plague began. The district was isolated and efforts pursued to cut it down. But despite the city militia's efforts, the plague spread beyond the district to infect all four districts and even the Core. Now, this was alarming but would not have been cause for despair except for a vital reason. The plague resisted all attempts at magical and divine healing, and the resurrection spells refused to raise the dead again. When it became apparent that it couldn't be cured, panic swept the streets as many lives were claimed. My….even my parents succumbed to its influence. I tended to them as best as I could and watched them waste away before my eyes. That is something I will never forget…

Order fell apart as people rioted and killing spread throughout Neverwinter. It was obvious Neverwinter would not last long. So Nasher Alagondar, lord of Neverwinter, had called upon his right hand and champion of Tyr, Paladin Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande. She began an effort to find a cure. An Academy was created, where the greatest minds in Neverwinter were placed and a call was sent out to prospective students. Whether for gold, glory, or duty, we all came. I was one of them, determined to spare anyone else my pain and to find out who caused this to happen. Many were tested and I was one of the lucky ones who were allowed in. The following months of training were grueling and difficult. I was taught the art of using the longbow, and of furthering my magical abilities. Eventually, the day came when I would undergo my final test and then graduate. I was confident in my abilities and looked forward to working with those who also graduated in the search for the cure. I did not know, however, what was to become of me and the Academy on this fateful day…"