A/N: This is my retelling of Neverwinter Nights, the original campaign. But instead of telling it from the point of view of only one character, I have included three. (At the beginning, I had no idea what I let myself in for by doing this. Now I am wishing I had at least left it at two.) Just so you know who's who - Kialeth spellsword, elf, heroine. Kyral ranger, elf, antihero-thing. Peregrine fighter, human, jealous. You'll learn more about them as you read, or so I hope.
The plot? Well, there's three, which is pretty logical when you think about it. They all intertwine, and as such I don't write about the main quest in great detail. NWN moved so slowly it sent me to sleep, so I've sped it up a little, which means that fantastic detail and description have been compromised a little. I hope nobody minds.
When it comes to reviews, senseless flaming will be ignored. I won't waste my time on that kind of thing, or the people who do it. Constructive criticism is loved and adored. Friendly comments are too. "OMGZ I luuuuuuv ur st0r13!111one!satanlives!" comments will be attacked viciously by yours truly. (Read my profile and get a dictionary.) But don't be scared! I don't bite... usually.
Updates will be slow, because I'm writing a lot at the minute, this being only one of the things. So don't worry if I disappear for a few weeks, I'll come back. Honest!
Hmm... yep, I think that's everything. Oh yes, one more thing:

Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights or any of the characters that feature in it. I own Kialeth, Kyral, Peregrine, a few plot twists and that's it. All right?

Edit: I just went back on a minor editing run through this chapter and chapter two, tweaking something I didn't like very much about the story. If you can tell me what it is, you can have a virtual tiefling cookie. If you can't, don't worry.

Enjoy the story.

Prologue - in which the authoress carries on for six more A4 pages than she ever should have been allowed to.

Some people are born to be heroes. Though half the time they don't know it, they're genuinely good, kind men and women, standing strong even through their darkest times. They're driven and determined, sometimes dauntingly so to those of lesser mettle. And even when they want to be hated, when they feel they deserve to be despised, people still stick by them, not because of any ties of friendship but because these people have earned their respect, despite anything else they may have done. Some people are born to this fate, regardless of whether they want it or not. They can't escape it, no matter how hard they try. It is who they are.

But while some people are born to be heroes, there are others who are born for the opposite. Some people are fated for darkness, to walk in the shadows and reap the spoils evil brings to them. They try and deny it, much of the time; they try and fight off the darkness within them and tread the path of the light instead. But even as they struggle, they know deep inside that it's a pointless endeavour. They insist on keeping fighting, because they cannot admit their failure, but in the end, they will surrender. They will fall. And they will not regret it. Some, with the help of another, are redeemed, but this is rare. Most people steer well clear of them.

And yet, there are some people who are born for neither of these things. They will insist that they were intended for a life of one or the other, as we all do, to feel the sense of belonging and purpose it gives them, but in the end, they can't seem to do things right either way. It is their lot in life to content themselves with what they have, and at least try to look pleased about it all. Their lives, like anyone else's, will have ups and downs, and they will be influenced greatly in their choices by this. But in the end, no matter how hard they try, they can't change themselves. They can't remake themselves. They're simply fated to have what they have.

This story is about three people. One of them was born for heroism, though she could never really bring herself to accept it. One of them was born for evil, though she tried fiercely to save herself from her fate. And the other was born for neither, though he fell each way once.

This is the story of an epic adventure, but there is so much more to it than that alone. This is a story about the darker side of heroism, the shadows cast by those who stand in the light, and the side of evil that is far more just and honest than good. This is a story about three people with intertwined destinies, and how those destinies played against each other to reach their destinations, resulting in their ultimate separation. This is a story about good and evil, a quest to save one of the greatest cities in the North, and which of the sides of the eternal conflict will truly help one reach one's goal.

If you're sure you wish to stay, then come - sit by my fire. Make yourself comfortable, prepare yourself for a long evening, and listen well. I have a tale to share with you.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kialeth staggered across the City Core, trying and failing to ignore the warm blood trickling lazily down her right arm. Her entire body hurt, her head was spinning, but she had to keep moving. After everything she had just lived through, after all she had just endured, she would not die. She had not survived all that for nothing. She refused to give in.

Stumbling through the cold, smoky streets of Neverwinter, she slowly began to recognise where she was going. The Trade of Blades; the nearest building she was likely to find a room. It would never have been her locale of choice, but under the circumstances, anywhere that would take her was satisfactory.

As she reached the door to the mercenary enclave, a light dusting of rain began to fall down, just enough to bring welcome relief to her searing skin. She stood for a long moment, letting the droplets of water wash away the heat, the sweat and the blood, before lifting a fist and knocking hard on the back door - a door which she knew led to the kitchens. Remembering the time when Rovas Marko, Wesell Marko's big brother from the Academy, had pioneered a raid on the kitchens of the Trade of Blades, Kialeth was forced to choke back a violent sob that threatened to spark a full-on flow of tears.

Rovas was dead. Wesell was dead. The Academy was burned to the ground.

She, Kialeth, the only spellsword student in the Academy, had been a survivor.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Greetings and well met," beamed the beautiful paladin. "You must be Kialeth, the Academy's resident spellsword-in-training. I am Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande."

Kialeth, in her mind's eye, could almost see Kyral rolling her eyes and muttering a curse at Aribeth. However, she pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded, bowing in an attempt to show respect. Aribeth smiled as Kialeth straightened up, continuing with her speech. "It is good to finally meet you in person. Your tutor spoke very highly of you when I arrived this morning." Mental note - thank Diadan for putting in a good word. The spellsword had to repress a grateful smile towards her absent tutor. "I must say, he seems to be expecting great things-" Suddenly, Kialeth's concentration slipped. There was a ripple in the air; a magical disturbance. Someone was casting a spell - and it certainly wasn't any of the students. Something was wrong, and Aribeth seemed to sense it too. "Wait. What was that? Did you feel it?"

The spellsword was about to nod when a glowing blue light erupted in each corner of the south assembly hall. Four black-clad mages appeared in the room, bursting into spell-casting action almost immediately. "Brace yourselves - we are under attack!" yelled Aribeth to everyone in the room, as all the students drew their weapons in a mass panic. The battle had begun.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kialeth's head was over-full of information as she made her way through the Academy to the stables. Protect the Waterdhavian creatures, Aribeth had told her. So did that mean the rumours were true? And why her? Why didn't Aribeth ask one of the warriors or paladins to go through to the stables? What had she done that made her such material for heroism? And where, damn everything else, were Kyral and Peregrine?

A low, masculine voice sneered at her from the corners as the familiar sounds of a summoning spell filled the room. "So you survived, did you? Well, that can soon be remedied, fool! Now, my minions - attack!"

As Kialeth was set upon by mage and goblins all at once, she realised just how much she had let herself in for. She drew her rapier and ignited it into mage-flame. The sound of the flames alone was enough to terrify one of the goblins into backing up against the wall; taking the initiative, the spellsword struck it down, spinning back around to face the other attackers and nearly overbalancing. She gave a yelp of pain as the mage dealt a fierce blow to her right side with his quarterstaff, and the flames on the rapier flickered and died as she lost concentration.

I'm not going to die, she thought furiously to herself as she brought the swords up and around, delivering a solid blow to the last of the goblins. I have a mission and I won't let Aribeth down. I'm not going to fail. And on that thought, she swung the blade and decapitated the mage, then brought it around in a follow-up blow to the goblin. It was killed instantly.

My first real battle, Kialeth thought to herself, gingerly touching her bruised right side and wincing instinctively as it stung violently in response. At least she had survived, she reminded herself weakly. At least she wasn't dead. But for some reason, that felt like a rather weak argument even to her own self. At least she wasn't dead… but she was in pain, and it had been very, very close for a while there. Let's not make a habit out of that…

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Where are we now?" asked Kialeth, her voice hoarse from screaming directions to her new companion. The question was genuine; she had never been here before. She was tired, scared and more battered than she had ever been after training with Diadan… That thought brought on a new tirade of worries in her worn-out mind. Had her tutor survived? Had he been killed, or taken captive? Which was worse? What had happened to Kyral and Peregrine? Hard as she tried to derail that train of thought, it had picked up too much steam far too quickly. Desperate for a distraction, she turned her gaze to the fighter standing beside her.

Pavel, one of the newer recruits in the Academy, shook his head, rubbing the side of his face where the skeleton had struck him. "I haven't a clue. I'm new here, remember? Never been this far in before." He sighed. "Well, there's only one way we can go, isn't there?"

Resigned to her fate, Kialeth nodded slowly. "I suppose there is." She paused, trying to find words to say what she wanted to say. "Thank you for coming with me," she mumbled eventually. "I hope… I hope we live through this."

"Me too," agreed Pavel, striding towards the door. "Good luck in there, Kialeth."

She nodded, her throat suddenly rather constricted, and gestured to pass through the door. And so Kialeth and Pavel opened the door and crossed over the threshold to the stables.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Realising nobody had come to the door, Kialeth lifted her fist again, knocking harder this time. There was still no answer. It was late, she realised as the rain spattered down over her hair and shoulders, probably too late to justify waking anybody up. Resigned to the cold and the wet for the night, she settled herself down against the wall of the mercenary enclave, tired and in pain, and let sleep claim her at last.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kyral Amaline scowled as the rain began to fall, hating it for making her even more uncomfortable than she already was. No, she reminded herself mentally, though. No hatred. Hatred is not a good emotion.

But this was one of those nights; Kyral really was not worried about good or evil right now. Pushing open the door to the Moonstone Mask, she strode right up to the matron and hissed, "I am looking for passage out of Neverwinter. Can you provide me with this, or not?"

Ophala Cheldarstorn, the matron of the brothel with a face like an overfed squirrel and a body to match, looked disapprovingly down at the hooded elf. "I run a house of repute, young lady," she rebuked Kyral, who matched the foolish human's angry scowl with a vicious glare of her own. "We are an honest establishment and can provide you with no such thing. Speak to someone in the Docks if you wish for that kind of service."

"You think I haven't tried to get through to the Docks?" demanded Kyral through the scarf that covered her mouth and much of her nose. "You think I haven't tried every trick I know to get through the barricade?" She repressed a snarl of frustration. "But I can see I won't find what I'm looking for here. Can I at least have a place to stay until things die down?"

Ophala eyed Kyral with disdain. "That depends… are you willing to work?"

"No," stated the ranger flatly. The idea did not even bear consideration.

The matron shrugged. "Then you can find somewhere else. There's the door; use it."

Taking the overweight human's advice, Kyral stormed off towards the door, slamming it loudly behind her. Did that imbecile really think she would come anywhere near the Moonstone Mask unless it was as a last resort, unless things were so desperate Kyral had nowhere else to go?

At least in the Mask I might have been safe, thought the ranger furiously, heading across the City Core towards the gates. Nobody looks for a conscripted runaway in a whorehouse.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kyral looked down at the dead body of Ferdinand and the caged corpses of his precious menagerie. The mages had been brutal in their killing; swift and brutal. They had appeared, shot their spells around the room and vanished. She had barely made it; the frost-burn from the Ray of Frost spell she had been hit by seared with pain on her shoulder. It should have killed her, and she knew it. If it had hit her chest, it might have done.

She dreaded to think what would have happened if she'd been in the assembly hall like she was supposed to. At last, the Academy rumour mill had some benefits; the story that she had put toads in Cara Meyne's (the most popular, angelic, religious little healer princess ever to grace the training rooms) bed had kept her from being able to go to Aribeth's ceremony due to fear of being lynched by Cara's worshippers. A few hours ago, she had been griping about how it was always she who was the target, but now she actually felt relieved that this was the case.

All of a sudden, her heart lurched. Kialeth and Peregrine had been going to the ceremony. They would have been in the hall.

They had been her only friends in the Academy; she had to go and see what had happened. She owed them that much, even if it cost her something as valuable as her own life. Yes, her own neck was important, but… well, it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

At that thought, a wave of pain attacked Kyral, making her gasp in pain. This hood is going to be the death of me, her mental voice snarled, before leaving the Menagerie. After all, she didn't want the hood to kill her just yet. She had some friends to reach.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The south assembly hall was an absolute mess. Kyral was rather satisfied to see the dead bodies of both Wesell Marko and his big brother Rovas amongst the general corpses, but she didn't see anyone else she recognised. Even Aribeth seemed to have hightailed it.

Typical, she thought to herself. I take the time to do something decent for once, put up with all the grief this bloody hood gives me, and they've all jumped ship before I can do anything to help.

So Kialeth and Peregrine were alive. But where?

Cursing her curiosity, she broke into a run, heading out of the assembly hall and through the door she had seen open on the way. Whatever was happening, she had to get Kialeth and Peregrine out of there before they got too embroiled in it. The hapless fools.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Kyral burst into the stables gasping for breath and covered in blood. Granted, most of it wasn't her blood, but it was still rather disgusting having to go round smeared with gore.

She was distracted, though, by the sudden appearance of a man - an elf - who had been just about to step out of the door. "You aren't an attacker," he realised, stepping towards her. "Oh, my - you're covered in blood! Are you hurt?"

Oh, great. Another bloody cleric. "It's not my blood," Kyral replied tartly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some friends to catch up with. If you'll excuse me…" And she made for the door at the other end of the stables.

The elf, though, caught her arm. "Who are you, if not an enemy?" he asked. "I am Fenthick Moss, priest of Tyr and companion to the Lady Aribeth. You can't be Kialeth, so what might I call you?"

"Kialeth?" demanded Kyral, all thoughts of leaving forgotten. "Have you seen her?"

"Your name, first."

Rolling her eyes and scowling, Kyral answered him. "Kyral Amaline, all right? Now, where is Kialeth?!"

"She agreed to help Neverwinter recover the Waterdhavian creatures," explained Fenthick, unfazed by her anger, "and left the Academy to find lodgings for the next week. I don't know exactly where she is now, of course, but she is alive and well."

Kyral's relief was short-lived, though, as she asked about Peregrine. "Nobody else has come through here. There was a boy, but his name was Pavel and he left to seek refuge elsewhere before I could speak to him," Fenthick sighed. "I don't know any Peregrine."

Well, at least he'd tried - more than most other people would have done, admittedly. "Well, thank you for your help," she said briskly, pulling her arm free from his hand. "I suppose I'd better go and catch up with Kialeth - maybe she knows where Peregrine's got to. Goodbye."

But Fenthick caught her wrist this time, just as she reached the door. "Neverwinter needs you, Kyral," he began seriously. "Any aid we can find in this dark time is welcome. I was hoping that you might be willing to join us in the mission we are preparing to recover the creatures and save the city."

Kyral very nearly agreed there and then… but then she remembered. "Look. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I can't do anything like that, and I really do have to go now, so-"

"I didn't want it to come to this, Kyral," Fenthick interrupted firmly, "but if it comes to it, I will have to conscript you into service, for the good of the city. Your name and face will be posted at every garrison. The city is quarantined; there is nowhere you can run." With every word he said, her eyes grew wider and wider, angrier and angrier, fuller and fuller of hatred. "So, I ask you again - will you help us, or not?"

The ranger closed her eyes for a minute. Maybe she could do it. Maybe the pain wouldn't be that great if she just did as she was told… "Well… I suppose I could-" No such luck. The effect was immediate and powerful; pain burst behind her eyeballs, like a fireball exploding in her skull. She gasped in pain, cursing furiously and copiously at the burning agony coursing through her. Fenthick's eyes widened at the incredible language spewing from Kyral's mouth, but he stepped forward to help nonetheless.

"What's wrong?" he enquired urgently. "Are you poisoned? Is something the matter?"

But Kyral stepped back, gazing at him with fever-bright, hateful dark eyes. "Yes! Yes, something is the matter, but you probably aren't going to help me until I agree to help you out of your little bind, are you?" Ignoring the horrified look on his face, she pressed on, letting rage get the better of her for the first time in a very long while. "I bloody well told you I couldn't help, but did you listen? So go ahead. Conscript me, if you're really that intent on watching me die before your eyes!" Enraged beyond reason now, she turned and stormed out of the Academy.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sighing as the rain brought her back to the present, Kyral shook her head and began to make her way in the general direction of the city gate. Hells, if she couldn't get out, she was going to get as close to 'out' as she could. If Fenthick found her, she'd kill him, good and evil be damned.

You know what? I hate life.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Peregrine slumped, worn out beyond endurance, against the wall. The dead hand of Cara Meyne was still clutched in his own; he refused to let it go, just in case by holding onto her, he could bring her back to life again, or at least keep her warm until somebody else could.

How could this have happened? It had been a merciless attack, and he highly doubted anyone had survived. Kialeth, who had been in the assembly hall, had no doubt been killed in the inevitable confusion the attack would have spawned. Kyral was probably dead, too; cornered on her way out of the Menagerie and killed personally. He was probably the only one who had survived.

And, though he had survived, it had been a pretty close call.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Come on, then," he grinned at Kialeth as they left the Menagerie and Kyral behind. "Let's get to the assembly hall before the crowds get too big." And, smiling back at him, Kialeth followed him down the corridor, past the training rooms, to the hall.

"Peregrine!" squealed a girlish, high-pitched voice from behind them. Both Kialeth and Peregrine turned around to see Cara Meyne, the cleric who Kyral had supposedly set toads on that morning. "Come with me a minute," she implored him. "There's something I want to show you upstairs."

Helpless, Peregrine glanced at Kialeth, who was obviously thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. "I'll catch you up," he mouthed at her, and as she nodded in agreement he went off after Cara.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

He hadn't realised how beautiful Cara was up until now.

She was really very attractive in all the ways Kialeth and Kyral both were not; full lips, blue eyes, long blonde hair, decent figure - well, to be fair, Kyral was actually quite well-endowed, but that was beside the point. "How much farther?" he asked, gasping for breath from the long trek up the stairs. "Kialeth will be getting worried about me."

"Just a little more," Cara informed him earnestly, carrying on up the stairs. "Not much longer now, I promise."

Peregrine had no doubt that the ceremony had started. He would be late - but, for some reason, he didn't care. He was as good as alone with Cara Meyne, the most beautiful girl in the Academy, and that made up for it all. For just a moment, everything was good in the world.

That, obviously, was when the mages showed up.

Cara squealed, ducking for cover behind a suit of armour, but the fireball sent in her direction knocked both she and the armour backwards. She struck her blonde head against the stone wall of the stairwell and lay still. Peregrine gave a cry of rage, drawing his handaxe and charging the mage.

He never stood a chance. One of them struck him in the stomach with his quarterstaff, the other knocked him backwards with a well-placed Ray of Frost to his right shoulder. If he didn't come up with something soon, he was a goner.

What was it Herban had told him once? "Look, you're a smart kid, it'd be a real shame if you died before your time was up. If all else fails, if all your tricks run out, then just drop down and pretend you're dead. It'll keep you living to see another day, at least." Taking his tutor at his word, Peregrine sank like a stone, giving a rattling fake death moan and closing his eyes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

He had waited until the mages had gone before sitting up. Cara's clothes were torn, her face was purple with bruising and her eyes were vacant and dead; he didn't want to know what had happened to her before death had come to claim her.

Instead of staying where he was, he had picked her up and made his way up to the corridor above them. There, his legs had given way beneath him. He hurt all over; the blow to his stomach and the frost-burn on his shoulder were both killing, and his body hurt from where he had hit the wall. Tired out and in pain, he closed his eyes and let himself pass out.