A/N: Hello, readers new and old: welcome if you don't know me yet, and it has been a long time for those who do. Still, I have returned with something slightly –quite- different from my usual trend: a story about redemption.

Some of you asked to read this kind of tale after my short story, To catch the moonlight. I am proud to report that I have been working on it… but the story has changed so much as I wrote it that I've started this little side project: I hope you'll enjoy it while I finish To kill the moonlight.

This is the life of Mjirn, a lost soul, seen through the scenes which touch him most deeply in his search for a new life. It takes place in the Forgotten Realms, in the imaginary Kingdom of Haven (a group of isles just west of the Nelanther Isles).

Warnings: Implied dark situations, which I hope to handle with some taste. We are talking drow, after all.

Disclaimers: NWN2 belongs to Atari. Forgotten Realms belong to Wizards of the Coast. Haven Persistent World belongs to Barfubaz. The name of Mjirn's home city, Maelrassin, is a small tribute to Valine's NWN module, "A dance with rogues", an amazing story that I do recommend.

o O o

Act I

o O o

It was the fourth city he would be calling "home", and time and time again he seemed to make the same mistake. He kept expecting things to change.

Back in his home city his life had already been as it would be later: born a houseless male, he had been only one step above slavery. And it had been one small step. Even though he was intelligent, deft, talented and handsome, nothing had served to change his destiny.

It was true that for a time he had believed that the handsome part would be useful, as it helped him to be noticed by the upper classes, but he had learnt soon the hard lesson that being noticed only worsened one's lot in life.

That was the reason why he had left Maelrassin in the first place: used and abused as an object, he had eventually managed to gather the courage to leave and head towards the one place where a male like him could make his own choices: Ssamath.

Mjirn smirked bitterly. He had learned too late that the fabled colleges of Magic required exorbitant entry fees. He had never owned much and he had escaped his homeland's hell with barely the clothes on his back, so there was little chance he could afford them, even if they'd not have been half as dear.

He had been too foolish back then, to think that his abilities, his services, his loyalty might persuade a mentor to foot his expenses, however minimal he kept them.

The worst part was to remember that it had taken him years to realize it.

He had reached this third destination broken and spent, without any dreams to chase. Skullport had been his last escape route, nothing else: a city for renegades and scum, where he could mix with other houseless Ilythiiri and toil away his days. But even such a simple illusion had been too much to ask for in the end: without money, without status, without strength, without understanding the fine balance between the city's factions, he had sank once more to the very bottom of society. He became an object, a commodity, something to use and discard, so worthless that no one even thought of bothering to collar and claim him.

Just as it had been in Ssamath. Just as it had been in Maelrassin.

He had almost given up at that point. He had almost ignored the rumours about a paradise island where even dhaerrow were accepted and where a powerful Mythal protected all those who sought refuge.

Looking around him, Mjirn tugged his cowl even lower over his face, partly to protect himself against the sun and partly to hide his heritage. He still didn't know where he had found the will and courage to ask the ship captain to hire him as part of the cleaning crew in the trip to Haven. He still wasn't sure whether it had been a good idea.

Probably not.

He would probably end where he began: a small step above the gol slave force, if he was lucky.

But perhaps there was some truth in the rumours. Perhaps he would get the chance to study, as he had not been able to in Ssamath. Perhaps this was a chance, the one he no longer dared to dream about.

There was a Mythal in place, that much had been true at least: he could feel it, even though he couldn't tell how he recognized it…

He took a deep breath and abandoned the ship, hoping again – this time, that he'd not be noticed.

And… there. He was in Sharessia.