Here begins the NWN2 fan fiction "Any Port in a Storm" by Phoebe. Maevril Loquerion is hers, the rest belong to Obsidion, Bioware, whoever. Those people that made NWN2. Enjoy!

Any Port in a Storm

Chapter one: Negotiability

"Oh my! Maevril's face is being friends with the wall again!" The gnome piped up.

"My lady, just because you are from a race that is murderous and cruel--" She heard Casavir, but couldn't see him. Her face was pointed towards that ever-nauseating salmon-pink.

"Oh! Now her face is hitting the wall! How odd..." Grobnar again.

"Oh look Paladin, now you've upset her. She's going to go to her room and cry! What a gentleman..." Bishop's evil snarl was added to the mix.

"Lass, don't be worrying about nothin, you'll be fine." Khelgar attempted to be comforting.

"Yeah, listen to the dwarf. I'm of questionable heritage and people trust me all the time!" She wondered if Neeshka ever said anything remotely helpful.

"And then you rob them blind, good, good. Speaking of that. Sal! Have you checked the wine cellar to make sure northing's missing?" Duncan, she knew, was rarely helpful.

"Nope. All there Duncan." Sal on the other hand was quite sane.

"I think this is stupid. Nothing is ever solved by the law. We just need to find Torio and set her house on fire." Of course everyone knew Qara was insane. Which the ensuing glare from the rest of her compatriots towards the wicked sorceress gave her the perfect opportunity to do what she'd been wanting to do the past three hours.

"Qara destruction would only lead to more destruction, we must find a peaceful way out of this...wait, where did Maevril go?"

"Probably to bed, the poor thing..."

"Maybe she ran off, not a bad idea..."

Escaping from a window like a schoolgirl. What next Maevril? Throwing a temper tantrum during the trial and asking Lord Nasher pretty please if you could be innocent?

Escaping from the window was desperate, but she had to.In many thoughtful conversations one could say it would possibly be danger, a fight, even a former lover come to visit that would cause one to do something so drastic. There were a multitude of probable, plausible things that could be the reason. Unfortunately the Sunken Flagon was never that simple. Occasional brawls would be a welcome retreat to the constant drone of bickering, plotting, insulting, and general insanity, but it rarely ever resulted to that unless Khelgar was in charge of the tap. That had only happened once. After that Duncan banned Khelgar from even being near the bar.

Maevril had nimbly jumped out of the window on the bottom floor of the Sunken Flagon without even the insects at the tables noticing. Neither did she rustle the ugly flower-patterned curtains on her way out. She sat beneath the window of the tavern with its salmon-pink walls listening to her companions kindly deciding her fate for her for the hundredth time. Their voices were so loud they wafted through the walls, past the window, and into the small alley she was now sitting in. Actually, she wouldn't have been surprised if all of Neverwinter heard them and Lord Nasher was sending out a search party to discover the disturbance. She sighed and heard Duncan's voice above the rest, shouting. She didn't even bother to listen.

She was relieved she'd managed to leave the usual circus of conversation early on this particular night. She was exhausted, upset, and generally in too foul a mood to listen to Duncan complain in a drunken stupor about how the Luskans were playing off her less than reputable heritage. The trial was in a day; she didn't feel like being accused of another murder and this time having actually committed it.

The only light in the small alley was one long ribbon of yellow from the window of the tavern. She could see fine despite this. She was a drow, after all. Questionable heritage, affinity for spider and dark evil things, all of that, or so that's what they said she should be like. She didn't mind spiders, especially the nice large one in the goblin cave, but she definitely didn't want to worship them. But this was only recently brought to her attention, she had never thought about being one of the dreaded "dark elves". Growing up in a small village next to a swamp with no entrances to the Underdark nearby made her believe she was more human than drow, making her current predicament a new one to her usually eventless life in West Harbor. The smell of musty tavern, spilled alcohol and perhaps urine began to permeate her senses and she decided to move.

She wandered the street, stealthily of course, she knew there were bandits, shadows, shadow-wielding bandits, self-loathing crypt-dwelling teenagers and gods knew what else around. Light streamed down from the oil lamps along the tiny streets of Neverwinter as she continued walking, the moon and the trail of stars behind it sat on the horizon. Without thinking she found herself going in a familiar direction. She knew it wasn't a good idea, the trial was soon, she'd most likely be disrupting the concentration of her only hope of survival while at the same time making a fool of herself.

But she couldn't go back to the tavern. She knew that if she didn't kill one of her companions, she'd at least make it look like Bishop did. She sighed.

Any port in a storm...

Sand was looking over his notes again. Bits of parchment and pieces of evidence littered his once active alchemy workbench. One thin eyebrow seemed to be constantly raised in question as he looked over it all. The trial was soon and though he of course knew he was capable of helping Maevril win, he wasn't sure Luskan would allow it. He sighed, he hadn't thought like that in ages, like the Luskans. Ruthless, self-devoted and reckless, but in a court of Neverwinter law? In front of Lord Nasher? He knew he was missing something. It was getting ridiculously late and he had thought of every comeback possible. He sighed, almost blowing out the few candles burning low on the table.

He felt something soft rubbing against the bottom of his robes and looked down.

"Jaral, you deplorable animal I thought I'd let you out-"

He briefly smelled leather armor and something else oddly pungent. Perhaps the stink that Duncan's inn left on one after living there an innumerable amount of weeks.

"Oh my, I believe there's a drow thief in my shop. Perhaps I should call the watch. What do you think Jaral?" He looked down at the calico cat who looked up at him expectantly, tail twitching. "Oh you're right, I believe the watch has been compromised."

"Very funny," the voice came out of nothingness and appeared a few inches to the left of Sand. Jaral's eyes widened and he ran off, the cat's tail puffed up and looking like something Torio wore as a fashion statement.

"I'm sorry," Mebriel, laughed, watching the cat run behind a pile of books. "You'd think he would like me after I let him inside."

"Hmm, well he is a fickle animal." He looked at the drow, "I assume you're here because the trial is painfully soon?"

She thought a moment. Yes, that sounded like a good reason.

"That and I had to leave that inn before I back stabbed someone and threw them in the river. Oh, and sorry about not knocking but you should possibly not leave your door open..." she grinned.

"Don't tell me, Bishop? No, wait. Casavir? Gods, not the Gnome as well?" Sand delicately shifted a few pieces of the evidence to one side and began writing more notes with a long black quill. "Oh and don't worry about the door, it was open, it is warded against unwanted visitors. You managed to be wanted, feel privileged." He looked up and smiled at the elf sardonically. "If you had had any others of our merry band with you at this time of night they possibly would have been polymorphed into a plague rat."

Maevril chuckled darkly and roller her eyes, moving over to a stool next to the workbench. Sand kept his gaze on the parchment, attempting not to look straight at the drow and her unnatural features. He had to admit it was difficult not to look at her with bewilderment and perhaps a little awe at the best of times. Her hair was blood red, extremely rare for a drow and her eyes were a pale-white violet. He figured it best not to get distracted that badly, he'd rather retain his concentration than see her dead by Luskan hands at the trial. He wondered if that was sentiment...briefly, but quickly dismissed the notion for a particularly brilliant thought on the poisoned sliver of corpse skin that sat uncomfortably close to him. Maevril spoke up again.

"It's just a never ending headache. They actually make my head hurt. You'd think they were the ones on trial the way they talk. They're so self absorbed they barely notice I'm standing right there, glaring at them when they talk about me."

"I know the feeling," he added tonelessly then looked up, grey eyes flashing over the drow. "Hmm, I might have something for your headache." Sand walked to one of the corner of his shop and rifled throw a pile of books discarded carelessly beneath one of the shelves. He selected a rather large one and held it up, nodding.

"Here," he handed her a thick black tome. On the outside of the crackling cover were red words stating "The Hordes of the Underdark."

"A book? You want me to cure my headache by reading?"

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Fine. It looks...interesting. Is it so I can brush up on my forefathers' evilness? Or is it just a good read?" She laughed. He went back to his alchemy bench and began working again. He didn't look up as he spoke.

"Neither. It was written by a grammatically challenged Kobold that now resides in the Merchant District. But by its size and weight I would imagine that throwing it at Duncan's head would result in him losing conciousness." Maevril let out coughing laugh, almost dropping the book.

Sand's shop wasn't large, but it wasn't a closet either. Tables lined one side while every inch of the walls were covered in book shelves and odd portraits. On the long tables were various instruments used in alchemy, she recognized many of them from Tarmas's place back home. Most of them she couldn't even begin to guess their purpose but the candle light reflecting off the glass surfaces did make for quite an atmosphere. She wondered a moment on what kind of atmosphere but quickly changed the subject to something more foul.

"I asked Bishop what he thought of the trial."

"There was your first mistake."

"Oh, I'm aware. Anyway, he asked me to run away with him to the forest." Sand looked as if he'd swallowed a particularly rancid potion, the thought breaking his concentration completely. He finally looked up at her.

"Oh what a lovely sentiment. A tent with Bishop until the unforeseeable future with only his insightful intellect and forest beasts to keep you company. You said yes, I'm sure?"

"I told him I wanted to stab him in the neck...I'm regretting that now figuring one day he might do the same to me and most likely in my sleep."

"My dear, if his stench doesn't wake you up his tactlessness will."

For some reason that statement made her feel worlds better. She didn't even feel her headache any more. She looked up from her stool at Sand, expecting him to be scribbling away at his notes again, but he wasn't. Maevril felt herself blushing, though she knew he couldn't see it on her dark grey skin. For once she thanked her questionable heritage. For one long, strangely awkward moment he looked at her sitting next to him and realized how close she was. She smelled like leather armor and Duncan's deplorable inn, and something more pleasant he couldn't identify. He hadn't enjoyed the prescience of an intelligent person in what seemed like decades, probably were decades, and hew knew he was beginning to get slightly too fond of the dark elf. A bit too fond for him to be before a trail regarding her life and death.

Wonderful. He thought. The first woman you've set your eyes on like that in years and she's Duncan's niece.

Maevril had to leave. She was beginning to wonder if she could even stealth her way back to the inn blushing as much as she was. She hated it, she hated having to retreat like a fool from the inn to Sand's shop just to enjoy a few awkward encounters that seemed more sane than anything she'd done since she got to Neverwinter.

She stood up quickly and looked away.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have come to bother you, the trial is soon, you need to go over evidence...and things...and yes. I need to get back to wallowing over my tragic existence as a murderer and squire of an overly pretentious knight. All of that. I'll see you soon Sand," she turned to leave.

He reached out and grabbed her had before she turned. Her eyes went wide in shock, so did his. Pleasant shock, at least. Maevril couldn't move. He took her other hand and stood up.

"Dear girl, you will be fine. We will win the trail, I can assure you of that. Torio is talented but she has a much more difficult job than us, we are actually innocent. And as for our companions, well, you know where to find me if you need more tomes to knock them unconscious."

She laughed, still keeping her hands in his. There was another moment of silence and then a loud popping sound of falling glass at the end of the store. She let go, startled, and looked to see Jaral innocently in the middle of the room, a large beaker of some potion spilled next to him. The cat's tail twitched slightly.

"Gods, familiars..." Sand muttered, walking over to the mess and muttering a cantrip to clean it up. The beaker slowly melded back together on the floor and the liquid evaporated. Maevril found her opening.

"Thank you Sand, I appreciate your sanity in all of this," she sighed, finally moving towards the door.

"Never a problem, good Maevril. But please go before they send the paladin gallivanting into my shop to search for you. His shoulders are wide enough to knock things off the shelves," he smiled. She laughed and was gone, suddenly invisible. Sand didn't even hear the door open. He sighed and looked down at his familiar. The cat's eyes were narrowed in an almost sarcastic, questioning way. Maybe...a little disappointed.

"What are you looking at Jaral? Are you saying I should have done more to comfort the girl?" he scoffed. The cat yawned, rubbing against Sand's robes again. He sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting back down to work.

When he went back to the table Jaral noted with satisfaction that Sand seemed a bit more determined than before.