Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Drizzt Do'Urden or any other characters or settings copyrighted to RA Salvatore or that is part of the Forgotten Realms. The only thing I claim ownership of is the story idea and any original characters in this story.

Credits: Nizzre belongs to me.

AN: This is my first Drizzt fanfiction, and will also, hopefully, be a long one. It will possibly turn out to be a Drizzt/Entreri fanfiction, but that isn't known for sure at this time.

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Prologue

The wind blew strongly against the group of adventurers, as they were camped out on the hillside overlooking the dwarven mines. They were an odd assortment, one that would normally bring raised eyebrows and whispers to any that saw them, except for their famous exploits.

One of them was a dwarf, with his broken horned helmet and the shield that was emblazoned with the Clan Battlehammer symbol of a foaming mug; he was, of course, the current king of Mithral Hall, King Bruenor. Beside him was the human woman Cattie-brie, with her stunning magical bow Taulmaril on her back. Beside her was a curly-haired halfling, known as Regis, whom was better known for his way with people and his wanting of comfort.

Across from Cattie-brie was Wulfgar, the barbarian of the group. He was the tallest by far, and radiated strength from every muscle in his body. There was also two others, both of which that were the most unusual of the lot; Drizzt Do'Urden crouched next to King Bruenor. He was a rogue drow elf, a ranger in the surface world and a hero to many. By his side, sat a smaller, shorter elf, whose skin was no less dark then that of the older of the two; the boy was his son, Nizzre.

There was silence between the companions, as they looked from one to the other, each one in their own contemplation's and thoughts. Nizzre squirmed restlessly, his short sword clanking against the rock he was leaning against, bringing the glances onto him. "Didn't ye mention that we were called on to be rid of some thieving highwaymen that were crossing into the Dale?" Cattie-brie asked, to the nod of her adoptive father.

"Aye, they be askin' for us to go after 'em, to save their merchants some trouble!" the dwarf replied gruffly, "I said we would." Bruenor eyed the drow next to him, who was smiling. "What are ye grinning at, elf?"

"You are getting restless, my friend," Drizzt said, getting a snort in response. "As are the rest of us. This will do us some good in going."

Nizzre scrambled forward, staring at them with wide, untainted eyes. "Highwaymen? Does that mean we are going out of Ten-Towns soon?" he asked eagerly.

"That means, we are going. It is still too dangerous for you yet, lad," Wulfgar said, saving Drizzt from having to disappoint his son once again. Nizzre looked purely stunned, then angry, as he turned on the group. For a minute Drizzt mentally thanked his large friend, before looking calmly at his raging son.

"Again! Again you are going to leave me behind to work with an axe, when I could be out there killing orcs and yetis with you! Why? Am I not competent enough?" he asked, standing stiffly, his fists clenched, "I want to go!" As he went silent, Drizzt pushed himself onto his feet to meet his gaze.

"You will be coming with us soon enough. You still have a long life, and waiting a while will not harm your skills. Have patience; your time will come…" the older of the two said quietly, before nodding to the others and heading back to the mines. Nizzre glared at them, clutching the short sword in his shaking hands, before running after Drizzt.

"He certainly has a temper," Regis piped in, breaking his silence to the surprise the circle of friends. They couldn't deny it, though the reason for the young drow's anger was understandable; that had been the third time he had been denied the chance to go out with his father and companions to travel the side of the Spine of the World and Icewind Dale.

"Nizzre'll learn soon enough, don't ye doubt!" Bruenor stumbled up, taking up his axe and shield as the others followed suit.

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The room was warm, as a fire blazed in the fire place, the wood crackling loudly in the silence. Three figures sat in its warmth, the pair of bounty hunters sizing up the wealthy, older man. His wrinkled lips formed a humorless smile. "Introduce yourselves, so we can begin our work."

Scowling, the dark-haired man sitting across the table from him pulled a sparkling, jeweled dagger out and held it in a relaxed hand. Taking the nonspoken threat in stride, the merchant waved his own skeletal hand, dismissing it, and turned to the male that sat next to the man.

That one held his interest. He was a drow elf, a great plumed hat sitting on a shaved head, and the multi-colored cloak hanging on the back of the chair, showing off the high cut vest. "Jarlaxle, kind sir," the drow said, bowing his head respectfully, "and my sullen companion here is Artemis."

"Aha, very good, very good," the elder said, leaning back to regard the two fellows in front of him, "the tales of Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri have reached my ears, and I don't doubt I have chose the best men to put on the job."

Entreri subtly moved the dagger, just enough to catch the older man's attention, but not enough to alert any shadowing guards that were lurking about. "Be on with it," he growled quietly, earning a disapproving frown from the merchant and a chuckle from Jarlaxle.

"Ah, yes…" Uneasily, he slowly stood from his seat behind the table, and walked around to the fireplace, aware of the eyes on his back as he turned to look back at them. "I need you to track down a band of thieves that have stolen a weapon from my private collection. I am willing to pay a high price for its retrieval and the heads of the men behind its theft."

Jarlaxle nodded slightly, thinking over the mission set before them, and the possible gains that could be made from it. "What price?" he asked, showing pure white teeth in a smile.

"And what weapon is this?" Entreri added, looking skeptically at the two. It seemed highly unusual that such an old man would have such a need for a weapon, to be willing to pay a 'high' price for it. Running a hand over his spotted, bald head, the merchant shrugged.

"Name your price, and I will give you half of it now and half of it when you return. And that weapon!…it is a priceless treasure, and heirloom to my family that has been around for generations. It isn't known what power it has, because the last one to wield it…let's just say, he isn't around to tell of it." Entreri looked at Jarlaxle, who in turn looked at him, his eyes thoughtful.

"5,000 gold pieces?" the drow suggested, and Entreri nodded curtly, his eyes narrow in suspicion. The old man hadn't given his question a straight answer, and it did not please him at all. With a clap of his hands, the elder went to the door and looked out.

"I will need 2, 500 gold pieces counted out of the treasury, and given to our guests before they leave," he said to one of his workers, a young girl that couldn't have been more then 17 years old. She nodded quickly, and bounded off. "Will you have anything to drink, gentlemen?"

"No." Entreri stood up, hooking the dagger on his belt as he did so. He smirked, seeing the surprised – slightly fearful – expression of their host as Charon's Claw was revealed to him, its evil blade glowing red. Jarlaxle peered at them, his eyes alight with amusement, as his partner strode out of the room, pulling on his black bolero hat.

"Quite a performance there, Art," the drow commented, matching the humans steps as they started down the hall. Entreri glowered, looking coldly at him.

"Do not," he growled, "call me 'Art' again."

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