A/N: This is a story based on NWN2; at the moment this is all there is, I may continue it if there's any interest, otherwise it's a oneshot.

One

A campfire flickered in a small glade, tended by a lone figure who sat motionless on a log, pen and parchment in hand, grey eyes gazing into the dancing flames. Firelight licked over bronze skin and hair the colour of milk chocolate. A set of steel wakizashi lay off to one side, next to an open backpack.

Father

It's been three days since I fetched the shard from the ruins and set out on the road to Neverwinter. When I left I was so tempted to ask Bevil or one of the other villagers to come with me, but there are so few of them left. So few survived the attack, and they'll need everyone to rebuild the village, and to protect it from the bandits who would swoop like vultures to pick at the carcass of my former home.

Retta and the kids survived, at least, but almost half of our number were killed. And not just the men and soldiers who fought to defend the village, but women and children too. As I combed the houses after the attack to make sure we had killed all the invaders, I came across a whole family who were slaughtered as they cowered in their beds. War will never change, I guess. There will always be destruction of innocence… How does someone get like that? So cold and hard to the world that they can watch the innocent suffer without suffering themselves? Are people born like it, or is it something you become? I probably don't even want to know the answer.

War changes people. In the battle, I came across an injured duegar, hiding in a barn. I got what information I could out of him, and then cut his throat. Bevil was shocked, and I realised that he would not have done the same. He would have shown mercy to that creature even as it bragged about the innocents it had killed. I feel no guilt over my actions, but Bevil's reaction makes me wonder if I have always been like this, or if what little I've seen of war has begun to change me already.

So here I am, sitting on this log in the middle of the mere, off on a quest to do gods know what. The Weeping Willow Inn is about ten miles from here as the hawk flies; I'll be staying there tomorrow night…

Freya

The slender woman set down the quill and skimmed back over what she had written before folding it carefully. Then she leaned forward and extended her hand, allowing the flames of the campfire to lick at the edges of the parchment until it caught, and she tossed it into the centre of the fire.

*

A thoughtful silence stretched across the mere, like the hours before a winter's dawn, and yet the sun was rising on a late spring's day, when all the animals ought to be awake and going about their daily lives.

A crouched figure skirted the shadows, spotted coat camouflaged against the dappled light. Silently it followed the path of a lone wanderer as she traversed the underbrush through paths little known to those not familiar with the mere. Hours passed, and the sun was beginning its descent when the wanderer stopped at the edge of the tree line, and gazed out at a building punctuating a winding dirt track. The feline figure came to his master's side, and she stroked his ears fondly as she pondered the Inn.

It is not easily defendable, she thought. Surrounded by woodland, only one exit… I could easily be trapped in there. On the road there is less chance of them catching up to me.

She sighed. Her fingers were stiff with the cold of the mere's spring nights, and she was filthy from days of travelling across country through the mere. She longed for a warm bath and bed. Reluctantly, she made her way towards the Inn.

*

'And then… get this… and then – he says "I'll bite yer legs orf!"'

Freya laughed uproariously, spilling ale from her mug as she slapped the drunken dwarf on the back, causing him to spill his own ale. 'That's the stupidest thing I've heard since Georg told me about the swamp elf!'

'Eh? It's true, every word!' the dwarf protested. 'Called himself the Black Knight! Kept swingin' 'til I chopped both 'is arms orf! Now that's fightin' spirit! Too bad he picked the wrong dwarf to brawl with. But what's this about a swamp elf?'

'Apparently there's an elf hereabouts that's tall as a tree,' she laughed. 'And if you look it in the eyes it'll turn you to stone!'

'Hmph, if he's as tough as all that we should go looking for 'im!'

'You're on. But first I have to get to Neverwinter…'

'Yeah, you an' me both,' interrupted the dwarf, gesturing for another tankard of ale.

The atmosphere in the common room was friendly and light hearted; in stark contrast to the feeling of foreboding that was taking hold of the mere outside. Thick pipe smoke mingled with the smoke from the roaring log fire, and a surprising number of patrons were sitting at the tables, laughing over their ales. Freya had her feet up on a stool by the fire, her boots, reaching up past her knee, were drying in the warmth of the blaze, and she swigged heartily from her mug as her new dwarven friend regaled her with another tale of his exploits. It was well past midnight when the two new friends retired to their rooms for the evening.

That night Freya's dreams were filled with spiky little creatures with bad breath. When the morning dawned, it was grey and miserable; a fine drizzle pervaded all, reducing the already limited visibility of the mere to a few feet in front of ones face. Khelgar and Freya dressed and made their way into a small comfy parlour where a hearty breakfast had been laid out for them. There was an assortment of cold meats, along with fruit and scones, and freshly baked bread. After the pair had eaten their fill, they packed the rest of the provisions, and made ready to leave.

After paying the innkeeper generously, they turned to the door, to be confronted with a vision from Freya's dreams. An ugly spiked creature, leading a small raiding party of duegar blocked the exit, and from behind there came smashing sounds and screams as more invaders entered through the windows.

*

Freya stood in the common room once again, cleaning her blade on the tunic of one of the attackers. She nodded to a pale and trembling couple as they fled the inn, stuttering their thanks.

'Did this ugly sonofabitch call me Kalach-Cha?' she asked the dwarf as he cleaned his own weapon.

Khelgar grunted. 'I dunno, lass, but he was really going for yeh. You know why?'

Freya shrugged noncommittally, but in a low tone that only the dwarf could hear, she said 'I'll tell you about it later… I don't want anyone to overhear.'

The dwarf gave her an uncharacteristically shrewd look, and nodded his assent. Together they made their way out of the inn and joined the road. Freya knew her journey would be lengthened by following the dirt track instead of taking a shorter route through the mere, but she knew the short legged, heavy treading dwarf would find it difficult to traverse the pathless undergrowth. Besides, she thought, the company – and backup – will be worth the delay.

*

Twilight lent the mere an eerie glow as the moon and star light filtered through the swamp gas. Fireflies were waking up and dancing over the bogs, and the unnatural silence was even more pronounced than before; so much so that even the dwarf, unaccustomed to the wilds, could feel the oppressive stillness.

The two companions sat around a campfire, joined by a large feline who was curled up on his master's cloak. The dwarf eyed the leopard warily, as if concerned that its disinterest in devouring him was but a clever ruse, and that it might attack at any moment. So tense was he that when a harsh bird cry penetrated the silence, he leapt from the ground, axe in hand.

Freya laughed, a light silvery sound so different from the hearty belly laugh the dwarf had heard from her last night. She stretched out a gloved hand, and down swooped a large brown hawk, which then proceeded to survey the camp imperiously.

'By the gods, girl! Are we going to befriend the whole damn forest?' spluttered Khelgar.

'Just these two,' she smiled. 'This is Dermott,' the hawk blinked at him. 'He likes you,' she smiled.

'Hngh. How do you tell?' said the dwarf gruffly. 'Still getting used to the cat.'

'His name is Tanith,' said Freya reproachfully, as the leopard raised his head to eyeball Khelgar.

'Whatever you say, lass,' said the dwarf. 'Now, about the swag. We got a lot from them caves we cleaned out, but how're we gonna split it?'

'The morningstar is nice, but neither of us will use it, so I think we should sell everything and split the gold fifty-fifty. One of us can use the boots though, and I'd like the short bow.'

'Alright, how about you take the bow and I'll take the boots?' he suggested. 'Then in future, we both equip ourselves as best we can from what we find – no matter who gets more – then we split what's left evenly.'

'I agree,' she said. 'There's no point us selling something we can use, or not buying something we need just because one of us would have more – that's a good way to get killed.'

'Right. Now that's settled, what about the creatures what attacked us?' Khelgar spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid that the trees were listening. 'You know something about them, am I right?'

'Less than I'd like to,' the ranger admitted. 'They're called bladelings, and the duegar I'm sure you know.' The dwarf nodded. 'They attacked my village, West Harbor, less than a tenday ago. My foster father woke me before the attack, told me to go into the swamp and fetch something. When I got back, the village was overrun, buildings were on fire, the militia was all over the place, and my foster father was nowhere to be found.

'We drove them off, but not without sustaining heavy casualties. Then I left, as Daeghun, my foster father, had told me to. Taking the thing I retrieved from the ruins in the swamp to a mage in Neverwinter.'

'What was it you found?' whispered Khelgar.

Freya opened up a pocket in the side of her pack, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in dark green silk. The air around them seemed to grow heavier, tingling with watchfulness. Not a sound disturbed the silence, and the darkness intensified as the last glow of the sunken sun disappeared behind the horizon. Delicately, Freya unwrapped the package, and held its contents out for her companion to see. The firelight glinted off the shard of silver, making it appear to move slightly in her hand. Khelgar stared, transfixed. Slowly he moved a hand to hover over the shard, feeling the thrum of magical energy the little thing gave off.

'Hngh,' he said, withdrawing his hand; and the spell was broken. Carefully, the ranger wrapped up the shard and placed it back in its pocket. 'Seems a lot of bother for that little slip of nothin',' he said dismissively.

'Yeah, well, what do you call trawling through lizard infested caves for a laugh?' joked Freya.

'Yeh wouldn't be sayin' that if we'd found a dragon's hoard,' said the dwarf.

'You're right, I'd be toast – after the dragon woke up!' quipped the ranger.

The two of them continued to laugh and joke, taking swigs out of Khelgar's substantial hip flask, until the moon was high in the sky, and Dermott took off to do some hunting. Then they stretched out on their bedrolls, Tanith taking the watch.

*

'Me feet are killin' me, lass! We gotta stop!' cried the dwarf as he leaned on a tree to take the weight off his aching legs.

'You shouldn't have lifted that merc,' said the ranger. 'He was at least twice your size.'

'Did you hear what that filthy bog slime said about me mother?!' he bellowed. 'Damned if I weren't gonna squeeze the life outta him with me bare hands!'

'You sure did that,' laughed Freya. 'I'll never forget the look on Galen's face! How many times is that we've saved his ass?'

'Three's the charm,' Khelgar chortled.

'Fort Locke's just over that hill,' said the ranger. 'We'll be able to camp there without setting a watch, and I'll bet they have a drinking tent…'

The look in Khelgar's eye changed swiftly from obstinacy to wistfulness, as he took to his feet at a swift march. Chuckling, Freya followed, stretching an arm out to receive Dermott as he swooped down to meet her.

'Dermott says there are a group of people over the rise,' said the ranger. 'They look like guards, but they're terrorising someone else… someone with horns…'

'Dermott says that huh?' said the dwarf. 'How does that work, exactly?'

Seeing the sceptical look in her friend's eye, Freya laughed softly. 'He doesn't actually speak to me,' she said. 'We have a telepathic, or maybe empathic, link. He can convey images of what he's seen, or visual manifestations of his thoughts. It takes a while to come to understand them, because of how different we are, but now that I have, Dermott makes a very useful scout.'

'Yeah, looks like,' said Khelgar as he gazed over the ridge at the scene the hawk had described. 'Horns… tiefling – bah!' he spat. 'Damn demon spawn never did anyone any good.'

'What about that tiefling that helped save Waterdeep not so long ago?'

'Yeah, alright, yeh get some freaks in any breed, I'm not sayin' yeh don't, but on the whole, they're bad news!'

'Well those guys look like bullies to me, I'm going to break it up,' said the ranger, setting off towards the scene.

*

'Thanks, you guys, I really owe you!' chirped the teifling, trailing after the odd pair.

Khelgar snorted and strode ahead, his sore feet forgotten. Freya smiled at the newest addition to their travelling party, and beckoned for her to come and walk with her.

'The dwarf doesn't like me,' the tiefling squeaked.

'He doesn't like anything out of the ordinary. Doesn't like my cat, either,' said Freya. 'Maybe it's the tails,' she observed the fleshy appendage wriggling from the trousers of the tiefling.

'You have a cat? Are you a mage, then? You struck me as more of an outdoors type.'

'He's a big cat,' Freya smiled, then whistled a short tune. Before long a large snow leopard padded up the path towards them. The tiefling gasped in appreciation, causing the leopard to preen in pleasure. Freya laughed at her companion's antics, and tickled him behind the ears. 'So what do you do, Neeshka?'

'I'm in the redistribution of wealth business,' she piped. 'And the acquisition of items of a sensitive or valuable nature, for a substantial finders fee,' she winked.

'A fee like saving your life?' asked the ranger.

'Just like that,' the rogue smiled.

'Bah! Are you two goin' to git a move on or are we gonna have to camp a mile out of Fort Locke?' Khelgar stood at the top of the hill in front of them, hands on hips, bellowing down at them.

The rogue and the ranger looked at each other, eyes rolling.

*

'Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go.
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there still be many miles to go.

Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,
And the stream that falls from hill to plain.
Better than rain or rippling brook...
Is a mug of beer inside this Crook!'*

Neeshka pranced and capered across the table tops to the thumping and clapping of the soldiers in the drinking tent. As her song came to an end, she leapt dramatically off the table, sloshing brown ale over those nearest to her, and a cheer errupted from the inebriated crowd. She collapsed on a chair and threw an arm around the dwarf, who was too busy drinking to protest.

'Chug chug chug chug!' she cheered as the dwarf and the ranger downed their eighth tankard.

Freya hicced, and wobbled dangerously in her seat.

'The dwarf's got you beat, tracker!' someone called from the crowd.

'S'not over 'til the fat tiefling sings!' Freya gulped down the ninth tankard.

'Hey!'

'Sorry,' she hiccuped. 'Anyway, I am a ranger! We're well known for our consitu… contits… '

'Constitutions,' supplied Neeshka.

'Yes, that!' She started the tenth tankard.

... five tankards later…

'Shee? 'm shtill goan…'

'Er, the dwarf's unconcious,' said Neeshka, bending over the hunched form of Khelgar.

'I won?' the ranger lit up. 'I won!' She made to leap up from the table in celebration, but her intoxicated body simply lurched feebly, and the ranger crashed to the floor with a smile on her face as the world darkened.

*Song is from Lord of the Rings, sung by Merry and Pippin.