The Book of Nine Swords:
By Slim Summers
Disclaimer:
Neverwinter Nights 2 belongs to Atari, Obsidian Entertainment and Wizards of the Coast.
As I am writing an adaption of the game, there are instances where a large amount of in game dialogue will be present which is intended and may spoil the game for those who have not played it. However I am including some original plot developments such as the history of the main character's mother and father.
This fan fiction will make use of classes not normally found in the game but rather in the Pen and Paper version, specifically using the Sword Sage class from the book Tome of Battle: The Book of Nine Swords. For those who don't know this class think of most Japanese anime heroes who are able to do various things with their swords through the use of their ki/chakra/energy etc.
I do intend to focus on a character that is not often given attention to in fanfic: The Sorceress Qara (Her, Neeshka and Khelgar are my favorite companions.) whether there will be romance between the main character and her or Neeshka is a distinct possibility which is still up in the air.
One last thing I should mention: In this story, the hero of the original campaign of NWN 1 was also the hero of its Hordes of the Underdark Expansion.
Prologue (Where Things happen) - Part 1
DR: 1377, 7 months before the events of the game:
'Calm, I have to stay calm.' Bevil thought, shaking his head slightly hoping to dislodge some of the sweat and stray hair that was clinging to his brow. If it had been one of the regular militia training sessions he attended he might have trusted his sparring partner not to attack while he quickly wiped his forehead but Bevil knew that his current opponent would take advantage the instant he saw an opening.
"Are you going to actually attack anytime soon or are you going to just stand looking like the dumb ox that everyone knows that you are?"
'Ignore him' Bevil thought as his cheeks flushed 'and stay calm.'
A small smile appeared on his fellow villager's face as Bevil kept silent. "Not even going to deny it, I see. Well it's good that you've accepted that you're a dumb ox and always will be."
Bevil's grip tightened on his longsword as he moved forward looking for a flaw in his opponent's defence.
There was none.
What happened next shocked him. The short spear that had been pointing straight at him was casually thrown aside. The arms that had been holding the weapon now casually across his opponent's chest and the smile on his face grew bigger.
'Wha…this is impossible' Bevil's mind went blank for an instant. Standing just before him with greasy hair and a taunting smirk on his face was none other then Wyl Mossfield.
"Seriously how someone like you could be of use to anyone is beyond me." The voice might not have been Wyl's but it was just as malicious as the bully of West Harbour had ever been. "Maybe I should go and offer your mother a helping hand, she'll probably appreciate that. Maybe she'll even thank me…"
"Don't talk like that about my mother!" Bevil roared as he charged straight at his tormentor, his longsword at the ready.
His opponent seemingly unaware that he should be trying to evade Bevil's attack or at least attempt to block it, actually stepped forward just as Bevil reached him. Bevil saw one hand reach out to hold his sword arm, preventing him from swinging then felt the second grasp his tunic for just an instant and pulling. The next thing Bevil knew he was being turned around and being pushed to the side.
'Wait, where's Wyl? that was Aresnar?' Bevil thought as he stumbled trying to stop himself, an effort that was some what hampered by his confusion over what just happened.
It was a pity about the tree that was straight in his way.
Aresnar gave a soft sigh as he watched Bevil hit the tree face first. 'He should have been able to stop himself before that.'
"Bevil," A young woman's voice rang out through the clearing. "are you alright?"
A muffled groan was her only answer as the second child of the Starling clan slowly turned himself around so that he lay on his back.
Knowing Amie would tend to Bevil, the young (for his kind) elf bent down to pick up his short spear and Bevil's longsword from the ground when he suddenly felt a sharp pain from his chest.
"Kelanen's swords." Aresnar muttered through gritted teeth. 'That's the third time today.'
"Ilmater's mercy, Ares, do you have to be so rough?" Amie chided. Turning around to face her elven friend, her eyes widened as she saw him kneeling on the ground, face crunched in pain and one hand over his chest
"Aresnar, what's wrong?"
Aresnar gave a pain filled grunt as the pressure in his chest slowly began to recede. Using his short spear as support the elf slowly got up before looking at his concerned friends.
"It's nothing. Just some chest pains, I've been having it'll pass." Aresnar said, not sure whether he was trying to reassure them or himself.
"You sure about that?" Bevil responded, looking up at Aresnar from where he was sitting on the ground. "You look even worse then I feel."
"If it gets any worse I'll speak to Merring."
"You might want to do that anyway. Your face is as white as a ghost." Amie said while coming over to take a closer look.
"By the way Amie, what are you doing here?" Bevil was completely confused. "You nearly never come to see us practice."
"I asked her to come." Aresnar said before Amie could barely open her mouth, seizing the opportunity to change the subject.
"You've been getting better at holding your temper during training and I wanted to see if you'd keep it when you sparred with the Mossfields." Aresnar continued, while reaching out with his hand to help his friend turned student up.
"Thanks." Bevil gripped his teacher's hand and pulled himself up. The militia man began brushing some of the dirt off his breeches when comprehension dawned on his face.
"Wait so when I saw Wyl Mossfield earlier…"
"That was me." The excitement in Amie's was plain to all three. "I mean it was an illusion I cast. I can't make it move or speak yet but I think I'm getting the hang of it now. It looked fairly real and it was a good likeness too, not that I hang around the Mossfields that much."
"Wait, an illusion?" Bevil interrupted his enthusiastic friend. "You made an illusion of Wyl Mossfield?"
"I asked her to." Bevil's head turned to face his other friend. The one he had been intent on beheading earlier.
"I told you, you're getting better." Aresnar shrugged. "You lasted almost an hour today and it took Wyl Mossfield to make you angry."
"Thanks, I guess." Bevil was uncertain how to take this. "I wasn't expecting to see Wyl's face though."
"That's why I asked Amie to cast that illusion over me." The elf said in a calm tone that reminded Bevil far too much of Aresnar's foster father's.
"You can keep your head with me but when it's Wyl Mossfield?" Aresnar continued as he handed Bevil back his sword. Aresnar then pushed the end of his spear into the ground, holding it in place before turning and walking back to the center of the clearing.
"The Mossfields' are very irritating though, Ares." Amie interjected as she saw Bevil's face grow slightly red, this time from embarrassment.
"If Bevil doesn't keep his temper then he's going to keep on loosing to them." Aresnar drew his longsword from the sheath at his hip. Holding the blade it up in two hands, he began going through his own exercise routine, the same as he always did after he finishing his spar with Bevil.
"He's right, Amie." There was a mixture of resigned acceptance and shame in Bevil's voice as he stared at the ground. "That's the main reason I loose to Wyl during practice. I get sloppy and make mistakes. That's the reason for the Starling curse; Lorne lost the Harvest Brawl to Cormick, because couldn't keep his temper."
"Your doing better Lorne ever did though." Aresnar said loudly, causing Bevil to look up at his friend, who was smoothly moving from one attack to the next. "He couldn't hold his temper nearly as good as you and he had no interest in trying."
"Really?" Bevil's surprise and pleasure was evident.
"It's the truth."
Bevil's chest puffed up slightly, while Amie shook her head bemusedly. It was all too easy for the two of them to forget that their friend was an elf who had lived five times as long as either of them already and had been present during the legendary West Harbour Harvest Brawl between Cormick and Lorne.
'I can't believe I'm friends with the guy who's been the first crush of every girl in West Harbour when they come of age for the last ten years. ' Amie grinned. Even Amie who normally stayed away from the rest of village girls when it came to gossip about boys knew that.
While Aresnar with his long black hair and storm grey eyes was somewhat attractive, it was the fact that he was an elf that really appealed to the young girls. The simple fact was that most of the men in West Harbour were farmers who eked out a rough living from the nearby swamp. Most were men like Bevil, honest, respectable and hard working but only a few of them could be called handsome and none could match an elf for simple exoticness.
'Wonder how big a shock it was to them when their knight in shining armour turned them down flat.' Amie giggled. For all the fact that West Harbour children were fascinated by Aresnar, the elf severely disliked childish behaviour if not actual children. The fact that he was a recluse who preferred to spend time practicing his sword work over spending time with others was another factor in the elf's annoyance with his young fans.
It was a small point of pride for Tarmas's apprentice that she was one of the few people whom Aresnar honestly called friend in West Harbour. Their relationship had sprung from the fact that Tarmas had asked Aresnar to help Amie learn draconic when she was younger with the incentive of having another partner to converse with in that tongue. While Aresnar could speak elven with Daegun and surprisingly even Merring, the only other one who could speak Draconic in West Harbour was Tarmas as most arcane treatises were written in that tongue but he made a very dour conversation companion. She never learnt why Aresnar could speak it however. She and Aresnar had struck up a friendship during the lessons with Aresnar being relieved that his young student was more interested in magic then in pestering him. The fact that she was remarkably intelligent for her age helped matters.
'It's a miracle that the village council still allows him to compete in the Harvest Fair. Guess they believed Tarmas and Merring when they said that ninty-eight is young for an elf.' Amie wondered, remembering what Tarmas had told her. 'Most elves aren't allowed to get married till they are at least ten years past their first century.'
Bevil meanwhile watched Aresnar go through his own practice intently as he always did if he could spare the time after their training. Aresnar was only slightly taller then average for an elf but he was still just as strong as Bevil and somewhat faster too. What really amazed the militia man when they sparred was that Aresnar seemed to have a knack for predicting attacks and moving out of the way.
In the center of the clearing Aresnar who had been weaving his weapon in an elaborate movement suddenly lashed out in an attack that always made Bevil's mouth drop when saw it.
"That's amazing." Amie muttered. For a second it had appeared as if there had been a second duplicate blade of the sword Aresnar was using during the attack. Beside her, Bevil nodded his head as he also kept his gaze fixed on his friend's movements.
"That's right you don't come to see us practice that often do you? He occasionally just uses these moves that I've never seen anyone do before. The one just now for example, I wouldn't which sword to defend myself against. "
"Didn't he learn that from Georg or someone in the militia?" Ami asked, not taking her eyes of the spectacle in front of her.
"Nope, I asked Georg. Georg said he'd never anyone fight like Aresnar does and he's fought with the Greycloaks."
"Apparently what ever Aresnar fighting style uses, it's really difficult to learn." Bevil continued. "Georg said he couldn't learn it when he tried training with Aresnar when he was younger. Apparently Cormick and Lorne learnt a little bit but they couldn't come close to what Aresnar does."
"Is it really that difficult?" Amie asked incredulously. While she did not share Tarmas's disdain for people who in his view 'bashed each other with swords all day because they did not have the intellect for more worth while occupations', she had never considered anything involving weapons to come remotely close to the difficulty of the Art or come close to being as interesting. Aresnar was currently proving her wrong on both counts.
"Well…" Bevil hesitated before whispering. "Don't tell Aresnar I said this but I think it's just that he's not that good at teaching. My first lessons with Georg were all about how to hold a sword, what stance to use and things like that, with Aresnar the first lesson was on meditation, how to feel your body's inner energies, how to become one with your sword and practically nothing to do with using a weapon at all."
"Inner energies?" Amie asked. 'That sounds like sorcery but even sorcerers' shouldn't be able to do things like this.'
"To be honest," Bevil said with a rising bit of confidence in his tone. "I'm not sure these moves will be very effective in an actual battle."
"What do you mean?" Amie asked, surprised. She rarely if ever went to watch the militia practice unlike most of the young women in West Harbour but what ever Aresnar was doing certainly looked effective to her.
"Take a look." Bevil gestured towards Aresnar who had seemingly paused in the middle of his exercise in a ready stance with the flat of his blade placed up against his forehead.
"He's doing it right now. Meditating in the middle of an exercise. He says he has to meditate briefly even while fighting to…to…Oh I don't know." Bevil shook his head in confusion. "To re-centre his energies or something like that."
In front of them their friend moved the blade away from his forehead and resumed his exercise as if he had never stopped cold, for six whole seconds.
"All I know is that in battle even tiny breaks in the middle of battle like the one he took can mean death" Bevil stated with certainty. "If not for you, then one of your fellows."
Amie nodded her head grudgingly. All she really knew of fighting was her experience in the last three Harvest brawls, so she was inclined to believe Bevil partly because of his experience in the Militia and partly because what he said sounded like it made sense. However watching Aresnar repeat some of the moves he had shown earlier was filling her with excitement.
'Is he using magic? While holding a sword?' She thought with a growing smile on her face. 'He never told me he was skilled in the Art. The only ones I know who can do something like that are those Elven Blade Singers that Tarmas told me about.'
Amie softly began muttering arcane words under her breath as her fingers slowly began moving through the familiar patterns of one of the earliest spells that Tarmas had taught her.
The spell cast, Amie focused entirely on Aresnar as he again meditated for a few seconds, this time in a more conventional guard position before resuming his practice and repeating some of the moves he had show earlier.
"What's wrong, Amie?" Bevil asked as he noticed the smile on her face change to a look of concentration then to one of determination and finally to a frustrated pout.
Amie gave a soft sigh as the spell of detect magic expired before turning her head to face Bevil. "I thought he might be using magic so I cast a spell to that would let me see if any magic was being used nearby but I couldn't find any not even when he made sword double again."
"What ever he's doing, it's not magic." Amie continued her frustration plain in her voice. "Where did he learn to do something like this?"
"Don't know." Bevil voice became slightly hesitant. "I think he knew whatever it is from before…"
"Before what?"
"You know…" Bevil hissed. "Before he lost his memory."
"Oh." Amie's face flushed as she mentally kicked herself. 'I should have remembered that.'
In front of them of them Aresnar continued his exercise, trying to keep his mind focused on his bladework rather then what he had overheard his friends discussing. The elf had been blessed with keen ears but he had always found that to be a mixed blessing in a small village, which was partially why he preferred spending most of his time alone.
'Wonder if I should tell them that I do remember where I learnt how to fight.' Aresnar thought. 'It's just that I don't remember where my mother learnt to fight. Abyss take it, I don't even remember if I ever knew.'
What frustrated Aresnar was that Bevil was somewhat right, the elf really was a lousy teacher however the flaw was less in the ability to teach but rather he himself had little idea of what exactly he was doing or how he was doing it. Using words like 'Inner Energy' was simply the only way the he could describe what it felt like to him. However what really frustrated Aresnar was that he might never know how and why he could fight like he did or more importantly remember most of his past other then vague images and scenes during his reverie5. While a person might recover from normal amnesia, recovering from one put in place by magic was another matter.
While most of West Harbour's townfolk believed that Aresnar had lost his memory in the battle in which the village had been destroyed sixteen years ago, the elf had himself learnt that they were mistaken. Even when he came to West Harbour with his mother all those years ago he had not really remembered anything. He knew his mother was his mother, he could remember seeing his mother practice moves even more intricate and beautiful then the ones he used. He could remember travelling through various lands with his mother always being in a hurry and never stopping to rest but he could never remember where they were travelling from or from whom for that matter.
Sometimes he would recognise would recognise the scent of certain spices and perfumes that the merchant Galen carried but never the names or how. He could be in the middle of cooking which was one thing he had never learnt from Daegun and suddenly remember large masculine hands skilfully cooking an exotic dish while he looked on but whose hands he never knew. The elven reverie, where elves instead of sleeping fell into a trance like state and could literally re-live past memories held no answers as he either relived memories of his time in West Harbour or received vague disjointed images and scenes of his past rather then actually reliving it.
Aresnar remembered visiting Brother Merring shortly after he had arrived in West Harbour to see if his divine magic could do anything but the priest of Lathander's efforts had come to naught. The priest had claimed that Aresnar was not suffering from amnesia but something else was blocking his memory. A follow up visit to Tarmas had confirmed the fact that someone had sealed his memories but the unsealing was beyond either Tarmas or Merring.
'I can't really blame them. Not even Rial'vas Starym's magic could discover anything' Aresnar thought, recalling the elven sorcerer who had visited West Harbour shortly after Neverwinter's war with Luskan. 'and he was the Hero of Neverwinter.'
'All I really know about how I fight is that it feels comforting whenever I practice and it's important that I do.'
Aresnar suddenly stopped his sword in mid-lunge and whirled about to face the east side of the clearing.
"What's wrong? Did you hear some thing?" Bevil asked gripping his sword when the voice of his friend's foster father rang across the clearing.
"I'm glad to see my lessons have not been entirely lost to you." Daegun said in the calm tone he nearly always used as he emerged from behind a tree. "Although it would have been better if you had noticed me approaching sooner."
"Foster Father" Aresnar greeted formally, sheathing his sword. Behind him Amie and Bevil echoed their own greetings.
"It's good to see you." Aresnar said calmly moving closer to his foster parent but not actually embracing him as other West Harbour children would do to theirs. "How was your hunting expedition?"
"Poor, unfortunately. There was a surprising shortage of animals to be found given the season." Aresnar's eyes widened slightly, his foster father's skills at hunting were the best in West Harbour. It was rare that he ever described an expedition as poor.
"That is not why I have come" Daegun's said with his eyes fixed to his foster child's chest. "however before I get to that I must ask you why is there blood on your vest?"
"Blood?" Aresnar looked down at his chest an action mimicked by Amie and Bevil. Sure enough there was a tiny blood stain on his light wool vest right where he had grabbed his chest earlier.
"Did Bevil manage to injure you at last?" There was a bit of a wry disbelief in Daegun's tone.
"I didn't even manage to touch him." Bevil protested as Aresnar proceeded to take off his vest. "He's too good for…"
Bevil's voice trailed off as he stared at Aresnar's chest along with everyone else.
"What is that?"
"Are those…scales?"
Daegun remained silent while Aresnar ignored his friends entirely as his mind tried to come to terms with what he saw. There was the scar near his heart that he had since the attack on West Harbour, a few drops of blood leaking out from a small wound he must have made when he clutched his chest when he had suffered that bout of pain earlier, however what truly drew his and everyone's attention was that the majority of his upper chest seemed to be covered in very light thin scales.
The young elf slowly reached out with one hand, using his fingers to lightly brush the small scales unsure if he should be relieved that his eyes were not playing tricks when he could feel them or even more worried.
'This is impossible.' Not really thinking Aresnar began to scratch the scales on his chest with both hands, hoping they would come off, that this would be some sort of joke being played on him.
"Stop Aresnar." Daegun said with surprising emotion, reaching out to grasp his child's hands.
Aresnar looked up at his foster, grey eyes pleading.
"Take a look at your fingers, my son." Daegun's voice was unexpectedly gentle this time.
Aresnar looked down, noticing for the first time that his normally groomed nails were slightly larger then before and pointed almost like claws.
'That explains that wound on my chest.' Aresnar found himself thinking in a clinical manner, as if this was happening to some one else and he was only observing. 'Must have scratched my chest when I clutched it.'
Beside him Amie and Bevil were muttering and making excited comments but Aresnar found himself still staring at his hands which were gently clutched in Daegun's own.
Daegun let go of his grip on his son's hands and slowly placing one hand on his foster-son's should and using the other to raise his chin so that he was looking at Daegun straight in the eyes.
Aresnar blinked before saying the first words that came in to his head.
"Daegun, What in Kelanen's name is happening?"
Author's Notes:
This chapter and remaining chapters of the prologue are all un-beta'd so far but are ready to upload otherwise. I might touch them up and re-upload if I get a good beta or feedback but otherwise they should be ok. I just really wanted to post them before I got nervous and deleted them entirely.
There will be a bit of exposition in the prologue as I try to explain some background info so please try and bear with it for a bit.
Also I realise that the amnesia trope is a bit over played, but I really disliked the fact that in the game my elf by default was 120 years and yet couldn't remember Cormick or the war with the King of Shadows.