Sisanae's Note: Ah, my return to fanfiction. Recently I've contracted my addiction to NWN2 again (It always seems to happen in March. Wierd.), and, well, I've neverbeen happy with the official ending of the OC and MOTB. So this was a little plot bunny that just refused to go away. I have attempted to put traces of actual seriousness in this story, but they've really been overwhelmed by my love of humourous writing. Ah well! :)

I'm uncertain about which characters willbe returning, right now, save for a few. Of course, ideally I'd want them all back, but that just wouldn't work; both for drama's sake, and the fact that the story would become far too long-winded! I also don't think my characterisation of Gann is particularly accurate; I have no real love for MOTB, so he may act a bit off. For which, to the Gann fangirls, I apologise!

I hope you enjoy this story :) Reviews are, as ever, love.

Kiadra Geldrayl stumbled wearily across the beaten path. Dizzy, and limping slightly from the wound of her leg, she squinted at the scrap of paper she clasped in her hand. The moon was low in the sky, casting its cold, tinted glow across the horizon, and giving a strange ghostly illumination to the rain.

Trailing slightly behind her, her companion cursed suddenly as he slipped and fell, ungracefully, onto the muddy floor. He groaned, rolling over and spitting the dirt from his mouth.

"Sometimes, I really, really hate you."

Kiadra gave a weak smirk, pushing her ragged hair from her eyes before turning to offer him her hand.

"If you hate me, oh Gannayev, what exactly are you doing here?" she asked jokingly. The hagspawn batted her hand away, continuing to curse under his breath as he continued to try, and fail, to get upright.

"You know why." he replied haughtily to the hunched back of the drow, as she attempted to read her paper by a hastily conjured, and generally unstable, light globe.

Kiadra paused, looking up with a thoughtful expression.

"Actually, I really don't. Why areyou here, Gann?"

He sighed in response. "Occasionally, Kiadra, I wonder if you would respond better if I hit you drastically over the head with something."

The bard furrowed her eyebrows, and shrugged. "You do that. Now, according to Safiya's map, by now we should be somewhere within the…Merchant Quarter of Neverwinter?"

Gann looked around, eyeing the reed incrusted river, which was a particularly unattractive shade of brown, the occasional stump of tree, and the decaying pile of rubble that was the current occupancy of a small badger, which glared angrily at him before running off. The hagspawn took a large, clear breath, and then let it out again.

"Well. Neverwinter's certainly gone downhill since you left, hmm?"

Kiadra fell to her knees, in the traditional manner of despairing bards everywhere. "We're lost! It's hopeless! I'm never going to find Crossroad Keep ever again! I'm never going to see them all, I-I.." her sentence trailed off as she began to bawl hysterically.

Gann's eyes widened, but he knelt down, putting one arm around her shaking shoulder. They had been on this road for month after month, as Kiadra refused to rest until she was returned to the waiting arms of, as Gann understood it, the most bizarre, most feuding, and most accident-prone group of people who had ever been gathered in one place. From the bard's fond recollections of their haphazard escapades, Gann had formed the opinion that the simple fact they could last together for so long, let alone defeat an apparently unstoppable evil, was cause for celebration across the Realms' entirety. A kleptomaniac tiefling… a gnome with the manner of a hyperactive eight year old…and a score of humans with opinions that were several acres-worth apart were the ones that scared Gann the most; he was not looking forward to the meeting, and wasn't particularly pleased to be here, but he couldn't let Kiadra do this all on her own.

He just couldn't.

Not after Bishop.

The drow's crying slowed, eventually stopping aside from the occasional hyperventilating gasp. She rubbed her eyes and blinked.

Hearing the silence, and automatically having the compelling want to fill it, Gann piped up again.

"This reminds me of one of the swamps in Rashemen. Do you remember? We traipsed across the whole thing on our own with our dear songbird, whilst we were waiting for Safiya to grace us with her presence, so she could fly us across? Then it turned out she'd walked peacefully around the outside, thinking that we would have taken the shorter, cleaner route as well. With Dovey? Hah!"

Kiadra stood up suddenly, the gleam of inspiration suddenly sparking in her eyes.

"Gann. What was that you just said?" she turned to him, pulling him up as well.

"…Dear Dovey's self-punishment approaches to travel?"

"NO! Before that!"

Gann edged a little away from the bard. The expression on Kiadra's face was rather worrying.

"Safiya? Rashemen? Swamps?"

"SWAMPS!" Kiadra cried, whirling around to point excitedly at the rubble, then at the floor, then at the sky. "Swamps! I know this place! We're…oh Gann, we're in West Harbor!" she beamed triumphantly. "It's a week or so march to the Keep, but we can stop in and get some more water and-"

She stopped when she saw Gann was giving her a long, slow look.

"Kiadra." the shaman said quietly, "Precisely how long, would you say, has it been since you were last in West Harbor?"

"Um…a while."

"Uh..huh. And how long a while, would you say?"

"…A long while. Why do you ask?"

The hagspawn wordlessly placed a hand on either one of Kiadra's shoulders. Turning her, slowly, the drow started to protest, but was silenced as her gaze followed the path of Gann's now outstretched right hand.

A few paces in front of them, was a sign. It was an unusual sign, bent at a peculiar angle thanks to the area's unique brand of tyrannical weather, and its was paint scratched and peeling,

It read, as far as the two of them could see, the words "Rosrod Kep".

***

The halfling village of Leeves was a calm, orderly place. The residents there went about their everyday business, tending fields, hunting, building, and generally behaving as they had before the threat of the Shadow. In this tranquil, ordinary place, there lived a young halfling named Fleet. Fleet was not a brave halfling, or an experienced farmer, or even, for the most part, that intelligent. He had spent a lot of his childhood being made fun of for his simple, unvarnished view of the world, and as such it is unsurprising that what he witnessed, one rather dreary afternoon, was never, ever, shared with anyone.

Fleet sat calmly outside his local tavern, sipping ale after a hard day's work of chores on his brother's farm. Despite the despondent light rain that pattered on the wooden cover above him, and the massing of darkened clouds to the south, the halfling was enjoying himself.

A sudden increase in noise above him made Fleet look up. There was a more forced beating now, but he could not see a change in the rain. He poked an arm out from the cover tentatively, and wiggled it around. Frowning, Fleet noted how the drizzle of rain was…well, a drizzle. Certainly not enough to cause such a racket, which, even now, seemed to be getting louder…

As he looked across the road, a sudden blur to his left caught his eye. Fleet turned, watching the black and silver blur speed closer to him, to the accompanying noise of the patter. Which, as it drew nearer still, Fleet realised were more like footfalls than rain fall.

As the blur drew level with him, Fleet spotted a second, larger blur trailing behind. It was bluer than the first, and stopped suddenly in front of him. A tall man, with blue skin and hair, tumbled to the floor.

"Kiadra, please, can we stop now?!" the man gasped; in an accent that Fleet couldn't place.

In the distance, a voice shouted in response, "No! Very close! Very close now!"

The fallen man opened his mouth, seemingly to reply, but then appeared to think better of it. Noticing Fleet, the man stood up. He strolled towards the halfling, gave a curt nod, and promptly downed Fleet's entire tankard of ale.

The man appeared to mistake Fleet's look of surprise as a look of horror, and promptly flicked him a shiny, golden coin from his pocket.

"Buy yourself some new shoes."

Suddenly, the pitter-patter grew louder again, the blur streaking back towards Fleet, stopping briefly to show a female dark elf, with unwashed, straggly hair and a large bruise on her right cheek bone. Before Fleet could call out in alarm, she had grabbed the arm of the blue skinned man, frowning, and the two disappeared into blurs once more.

Fleet had no imagination, so to speak, so knew what he had seen was true. He knew, however, that lots of others did, and as such would not believe him.

He turned the golden coin, which depicted a tall, glamourous wizarding tower that Fleet didn't recognise, over and over in his hands.

Fleet sighed wistfully, and went back into the tavern for another drink.

***

It took only half a day, thanks to Kiadra's spell, for the two travellers to reach the winding, cobbled path that led towards Crossroad Keep's main gates. Kiadra slowed as the fortress came into view, her eyes wide. Everything was, undeniably, a lot different.

Where before there had been only a vast expanse of fields, laying siege to the outer walls, there were now houses, too, spotted daintily around; like minor bumps on the larger tapestry. Small cottages, each backed onto their own, marked plot of land, had smoke curling from their chimneys, and children milling around outside. The fields themselves were full and busy; and a thoughtful person had planted apple trees outside the Keep's entrance proper.

Gann approached the doors, hand raised ready to knock, but his arm was stopped. Kiadra looked at her outstretched hand, then at him; her eyes twinkling.

"Not like that."

"What, is there a special knock for Captains, perhaps?"

"I'm a bard, Gann." The drow replied, sweeping her hands out dramatically, "And a hero, returning from a grand journey to her stronghold…she doesn't knock. I know how these things are supposed to go."

The hagspawn snorted, but stepped back anyway, rolling off a quick, sarcasm-laden bow. Inside, he was torn. The change in Kiadra as they had neared the Keep was noticeable. For the first time since Gann had met her, she seemed truly eager, excited…

…and something else, which the shaman couldn't quite put his finger on. And whatever it was, it was making him distinctly uncomfortable.

Readying herself, Kiadra breathed deeply, spreading her arms wide in front of the woodwork, hands outstretched and touching one each of the grand doors. The drow shifted her boots, as if checking her weight was spread equally.

Gann, who had sat down cross-legged to watch this escapade, pulled out an apple from Kiadra's dropped pack. After waving at the small crowd of young women who had gathered nearby to watch him, the hagspawn focused again on Kiadra, and began to eat with a vaguely amused expression.

The elf licked her finger, and held it up. Apparently satisfied with the direction of wind, she reached up calmly, and pulled the rest of her hair from her already disintegrating ponytail. Kiadra smiled wide as the hair fell, and was caught again by the wind.

Gann took another bite. "Before we've all grown old and unsightly, if you please."

A sudden look of disgust swept over his features, and the hagspawn paused, before starting to pick the apple seeds from his teeth. He looked around for somewhere to put them, then with a shrug threw them haphazardly behind his head.

One watcher, a dark-haired girl with freckles, broke off from the group quietly, and edged carefully over to where the offending seeds had landed. She bent over, and saw Gann watching her. The girl blushed crimson, and hurriedly straightened up and ran for her house.

The shaman laughed, causing several of his watchers to faint.

Kiadra frowned, but did not move from her pose. "You only encourage them."

"It's not my fault they're not blind. Now hurry up, I really don't like the expression on the blonde's face…"

But Kiadra wasn't really paying attention. All her years of bard training had been leading to this verymoment. Her Pierre de Resistance, her ninth symphony, her grandest masterpiece! Oh, they'd talk about this entrance for years.

Decades, even.

Maybe even centuries…

She threw her weight forward, and pushed.

A few moments passed.

She pushed again.

The doors stubbornly refused to oblige.

In the silence that followed Gann stood up, chucking at his friend's unmoving, horrified expression.

"Oh, for where is Kaji when we need him?" the hagspawn cried, raising a hand in faux drama to his forehead.

Kiadra remained motionless, hands still outspread, her eyes boring into the woodwork.

Gann, sighing, waved his hand hopefully in front of her face, but it was too no avail.

Gann really did not take well to be ignored. He glanced hurriedly around, before sudden inspiration stuck him. Summoning a spirit of the air, Gann poked Kiadra one last time to make sure she wouldn't move, before stepping onto it. Sudden coldness rushed over his boots, creeping up his legs, but he concentrated on keeping his will focused. Slowly, but sporadically, the spirit began to rise, carrying the hagspawn along with it. As the elemental levelled off with the top of the outer walls, Gann stepped daintily off, nearly crashing into a patrolling Greycloak.

"Halt!" the man, quickly gathering his composure, waved his halberd aggressively in Gann's direction. "Stay back, foul beast!"

The shaman raised an eyebrow. The Greycloak was not very old, barely into his thirties, but he already bore many scars of battle; two puncture wounds on his exposed wrist caused Gann to pause, but the man bore no signs of being undead.

"Lovely. Good morning, to you too. Are you in charge here?"

The Greycloak stared at him. This was not how battles against evil beings were supposed to go.

Gann rolled his eyes. "Look, my friend, I'll be frank. I have a lady down there, quite a pretty one," the hagspawn added, jerking his thumb lazily down, "who is about to collapse from a combination of sleep depravation, malnutrition, and failed dramatic aspirations, so unless you want to be cleaning dark elf from your-"

But the man was no longer listening. He had looked down, taken in the frozen form below, with its ridiculously extravagant embroidery, and long tumbles of hair that might once have been, under all the mud and general grime, white.

The Greycloak pivoted, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted down into the courtyard below.

"The Knight Captain! The Knight Captain! She's back!"

"Oh, gods."