Disclaimer: I own copies of the books or have borrowed them from the library. I have no connection whatsoever with R.A. Salvatore, the people in charge of the Forgotten Realms series or the people involved with Dungeons and Dragons in general. However, that doesn't mean I can't come up with my own story and fiddle around with theirs! (wink, wink)

Chapter 1

A hooded and cloaked figure bearing a staff stumbled along the dirt road, her cloak clutched tight about herself, perhaps to ward off the chill autumn wind, but also, perhaps to hide something. She made her way towards the nearby town, Thravven, which was at once strangely familiar to the stranger, but at the same time completely alien. Along the way, she passed many small farmhouses and cottages that were part of Thavven, but had yet to reach the town proper. Downtown, as it was jovially called by the locals, consisted of a main square, upon which were several wooden buildings that looked as if they had been new half a century ago, but had never been repaired or repainted, save for the signs. There was a bakery, an apothecary, stocked by the local witch who lived at the edge of a small wood half a mile to the west, general store, stable and an inn with a popular tavern. That place, called the Butterfly for some strange, forgotten reason, was the stranger's destination for dusk was swiftly approaching and she had no desire to spend another night out doors, especially since it felt like it was about to rain.

Sure enough, the moment she stepped onto the threshold of the south end of the square, the heavens opened up and a cloudburst ensued. Cursing her ill luck in words only she knew, the stranger broke into a run and managed to reach the door to the Butterfly before her cloak grew too damp. Upon entering, she was immediately greeted by the smell of warm broth and spiced ale, both of which were exceptionally good at this establishment, or so she had heard. After standing barely a moment in the doorway, she moved off to find a seat within, subconsciously keeping to the shadows and consciously bypassing the counter where one signed in for a room. Unsure as to whether she would be staying in the town, the traveler decided not to rent a room until the last moment. So well did she blend with the shadows, the stranger's presence went undetected by sight as she made her way to a clean and clear table by the fire, but a little to the side. Also, her tread was light and so soft that even if the place had been deserted, one could not have heard the ancient floorboards creak as she padded across them.

When the newcomer sat down at a table against the wall to the left of the fireplace, another did take note. The other sat a few tables away, in the corner, half hidden by flickering shadows. He was a young man of medium height and wiry build with deep green eyes set deep in a tanned and freckled face and framed by dull, brownish red hair that hung limp and strait to his shoulders. He had a triangular nose and a strong chin that rested in a long fingered hand while the other rested upon the table. The man wore a cloak, but it was cast back across his chair, revealing him to be wearing a plain, but well made cotton tunic of a tan color, deer hide pants and leather boots that came up almost to his knees. Around his waist was girt a thick belt of some animal skin and a sheath containing a short sword as well as multiple pouches and a scroll case hung off of it. There was also a loop for a staff, which was currently leaning against the wall next to him. It was a poll of unadorned gray wood with a single, seemingly lackluster crystal affixed to the top. Obviously he was a warrior mage, or at least a warrior mage in training.

The mage's black eyes were fixed intently upon the other who had entered bearing a staff, his ale forgotten. He tried to probe her aura, feeling whether she was magical and, if so, how powerful. However, either she possessed no magic and simply carried a staff around for walking, or she knew how to dampen parts of her aura and prevent others from finding out exactly who or what she was. The mage was inclined to think the latter for there was a strangeness about her that, to him at least, indicated power and inhuman power at that. Also, due to his keen eyesight, he could faintly see carvings of long forgotten symbols of power and many runes upon the gnarled staff she bore.

'Well, Marro," he thought to himself. "There are three ways you can do this. A: Observe her for a time, seeking a crack in her aura or a careless lapse of her concealment. B: Use your magic to create a breeze next time the door is opened and make her cloak and hood blow back. Or C: Go over and talk to her. The problems with the first choice are that there might not be either a crack or a lapse and that she will likely get suspicious of my staring or become aware that she is being probed, if she is not already. The problem with the second choice is that, if she is magical, she will sense my spell and either counter it or block it. The problem with the last choice is that, though I am good at wheedling information out of people, she may be hostile and it may be difficult. Oh well, I suppose I shall go with the last choice, but first I think I shall finish my ale.'

The stranger was aware of the mage in the corner, but, after feeling his light probe and his own aura, she deemed him of little danger to her. He did continue to stare at her with a puzzled expression, but she decided that, should he figure out she was a magic user as well, he wasn't the type to blab it to everyone. Her cloak she had cast back from her shoulders, but her hood remained low over her face. Her body was slim, lithe and strong, yet shapely. However, her frame was short, barely topping five feet. Even her staff was a few inches taller than her. She was clothed in a pair of dark green leggings, an ever so slightly lighter green tunic with bilious sleeves, tucked into elbow-length black gloves, and girt by a thin leather belt, from which hung several pouches, the sheath of a long, curved knife and a single scroll case. An empty water flask, too, hung from the belt. Upon her feet was a pair of well-worn leather boots, reaching to her knees.

The barmaid with the long, curly brown hair came to her and asked, "What would yeh be likin', miss?"

"Hot tea, please," replied the traveler. Then, as an afterthought, added, "And a bowl of soup."

Nodding, the brunette asked for the payment and it was brought out from one of the pouches. Smiling, the young employee of the Butterfly returned to the kitchen and retrieved soup and tea. A few short minutes later, she set the steaming bowl, a spoon and the chipped crockery mug of tea in front of the customer.

"If there be anythin' else yeh want, just ask," said the barmaid as she turned to go to another who required more ale.

With a contented sigh, the short female brought one hand to her hidden mouth and shifted something, though Marro could not figure out what. Then the lady sipped one spoonful of her stew. Finding it to her liking, she sipped another, letting her tea cool to a drinkable temperature.

'Now or never,' Marro told himself, gulping the last drop of his ale. He stood up, tied his cloak about himself again then grasped his staff and walked over to the table of the traveler.

"Excuse me," he said in a friendly voice. "May I sit here?" In an undertone, he added, "Actually, I want to ask you about your staff."

The other watched him a moment, her spoon resting upon the bowl. Marro noticed that he could see the glint of two green eyes from the hood's depths. Then the eyes blinked and their owner nodded. "Certainly," said she, a strange lilt in her musical voice. "But might I inquire as to your name?"

"Marro is what I am called," replied the young man, taking a seat opposite her and leaning his staff a short distance from hers. "And your name?"

"I am called Chenalai. If you're trying to subtly use your staff to figure out the powers and magic of mine, it won't work. Believe me, you are about the third mage to try."

Marro raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Are you indeed a mage?"

"Yes and no," was Chenalai's calm answer. "You see, I have never officially been called a mage and I don't think the Tower of Magi would accept me for reasons I shall keep to myself."

Curiosity gnawed at Marro and he longed to ask more of those reasons, but the other's tone had had a rather strong finality, ending that subject. "I see. Those runes and symbols on your staff..."

"What about them?"

"They are ancient and full of great power. I have not seen them borne upon any staff save for a few old ones at the Tower, but yours is different. The wood is newer, the marks not so old. How do you know of the runes of power if, as you hint, you have never studied at the Tower? But if you did study at the tower once, then how did you gain access and knowledge of them? Only the magi of high rank can read them, much less use them and even then, most of the meanings are forgotten, yet you have all of them."

Chenalai sighed softly, drinking the last of her soup. "The place where I studied, too, forbade the study and use of the runes unless you were high enough in power. Let us suffice it to say that I ignored the rules and learned all the secrets of the runes from the runes themselves. You can speak with the power of each rune, if you know how."

The mage nodded, thoughtful. "Do you think you could teach me how?"

"Maybe," replied Chenalai. "But most likely not."

Somewhat discouraged, Marro sighed, his eyes gazing at the other's staff. "It is rather warm in here, by the fire," he said at length. "Why don't you take off your hood? Surely it is hot and stuffy having your hood up."

Chenalai did not respond for she was quite unwilling to remove her hood. She was of mingled elf and human descent, her mother having been the daughter of a wood elf and a man, a mage. Her father, however, had been something entirely different; a dark elf, a drow. Chenalai did not like to dwell upon the details as to how she had come to be born. From her mother, the girl had inherited the eyes, figure and, from her grandfather, one of the greatest wizards ever to have lived, great talent for magic. From her father, Chenalai had received the skin, hair, speed and agility. Thus she bore this strange appearance: Almond shaped eyes of ever changing green, as the leaves of a tree in a summer breeze, set in an oval face of ebony skin and framed by a sheet of strait white hair. The hair was now plaited and hidden within her hood. Though the shadows cast by the hood hid her features well, Chenalai also wore a thin dark scarf wrapped in such a way as to cover all her face and hair, save the eyes. Therefore, as drow were hated and feared the world over, she had no desire to reveal her heritage so blatantly.

"Well? Are you going to remove your hood?" repeated Marro, breaking into her thoughts. His black eyes peered into the shadows of her cowl, seeking her eyes, or some hint of her face. "If it is some horrible scar or mark you are hiding, don't worry. I could care less about scars and that sort of thing. If you are skulking in your cloak because you are on wanted posters somewhere, don't worry either. I won't turn you in."

"Do you promise not to draw attention to what I look like?" Chenalai returned. "Do you promise not to run and not to fear or hate me for what I am?"

Marro, slightly taken aback by the questions, hesitated only a moment before placing his hand upon his stave replying, "So do I swear upon my staff."

Very slowly, Chenalai brought her hands to her head and pulled away the scarf, setting upon the table in front of her. Then, equally slow, she drew back her hood, her green eyes sad and pleading.

Marro's jaw dropped open and he stared for several moments, before realizing that he was doing so. Closing his mouth, his eyes remained wide and an expression of fear, wonder and awe crept over his face.

"So that's why you say the Tower would not accept you. You're a drow!" he breathed.

"Half drow," corrected Chenalai, a mixture of dull acceptance, bitterness and sadness in her voice. "My father was Nalfein Do'Urden of the drow city Menzoberranzan. My mother was Aishel Harpell, daughter of Miriel of the wood elves and Barnor Harpell."

Marro blew out his breath in a long stream. "What an interesting family tree you have," he said, then recalled something and gasped. "You mean to say that you are the grand daughter of /the/ Barnor Harpell? The greatest wizard of the past century and the only Harpell who ever gained acclaim from the Tower?"

"Indeed," murmured the half drow, slightly embarrassed.

"And would you, by any chance, be related to a drow by the name of Drizzt Do'Urden?"

"Uh... Yes," replied Chenalai, stunned. "He is my uncle, though he be a year younger. You know of him? Then he did escape the Underdark! Where is he?"

Marro was silent a moment, puzzling through his memory. "Well, I am a Harpell, and, if I remember my lineage correctly, you are my... um... cousin... though to what degree, I do not know. Anyway, Drizzt, a dwarf, a barbarian and a halfling came to Longsaddle not one day ago. I had to leave to deliver something here shortly after they arrived, though, so I had little chance to speak with them."

"Where is Longsaddle? How long would it take me to get there on foot?"

"A day south, along the road, if you ride, that is. I am unsure as to on foot, but I would guess that it would take at least half a day to a day longer if you do not tarry in one place for longer than a few hours. If you wait until tomorrow morning I shall journey with you and you can ride my horse in front or behind me," he offered. "Do you have a room? If not, I'll go and see if there are any more open."

"Thank you! I will indeed travel with you tomorrow. No, I do not have a room yet, for I was unsure as to whether I would stay here. Here is the money for the room."

Marro smiled and nodded, taking the coins and rising. He went to the innkeeper and purchased another room for the night. Returning to the table, he found Chenalai had wound the scarf about her head once more and pulled her hood over her face. He handed her the key and yawned, saying that he was off to bed and she should be too. Nodding, Chenalai followed him upstairs. Her room was across the hall from his and they bid each other good night.

So... What did you think? Please R & R... Also, if people wind up liking this story, I might just do anther about Chenalai's past and how exactly her parents, (and her mother's parents) met and... um... That story would be rated R... uh... yea...

I am almost done with chapter two, so it should be up by the end of this week... maybe? Hopefully?