Under a Violet Moon

Disclaimer: "Neverwinter Nights" and all the characters and places within belong to Obsidian and Bioware, not me, and I just borrowed them for a little joyride through Faerun. Keridwen is mine. Attentive readers might find some of her weaponmaster philosophies similar to some aspects of Frank Herbert's 'Dune' saga... and they're right. I always found his concept about fear and its control highly intriguing, and so I decided to use it as Keridwen's mantra in an altered form.

Author's Note: A heartfelt 'Thank you' to all my readers and reviewers - I'm very grateful for the feedback, and it truly encourages me to keep the updates coming. As a little gift you can find the first chapter here - I hope you'll enjoy it, and comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. I've seen some people thank their reviewers in the author's note, and since I think that to be a cool thing, I'll stick to that tradition from now on. :)

Kalyane: Thanks for giving me my first review here - I'm glad that you like the new turn of events. I always thought that Bishop was a man of action who only accepts a 'No' if he wants to, so I'm happy you agree. I see what you mean about the flashback beginning and ending, and I'll keep that in mind for future chapters.

Psychic Koala: Thank you for your review - the whole prologue is a bit like 'the OC in a nutshell', I know. But I wanted the reader to get a feel for both Keri and her relationship with Bishop before the story continues, so it's good to hear it didn't bore you. Since my first playthrough of the OC, I wondered what would have happened if the KC had actually taken Bishop up on his offer (needless to say I was a bit disappointed that the game did not offer the chance ;) - and this story is the result. Hope you'll enjoy the rest!

Nastrandir: Thanks a lot for your comment - I'm glad that you enjoyed the prologue, and that you like my version of Bishop. In my opinion, he's a very cool and versatile character with lots of potential, so I really want to do him justice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1

She ran through the ruins of an ancient castle. The moon shone with an eerie purple glow, casting its disturbing light upon the broken walls and shattered stones, and her naked feet made no noise as she hastened through the remains of a once beautiful courtyard.

Broken columns lined her path, grown with ivy and moss and brambles, and veils of mist rose between the shadowy walls and hung in the air, glowing bloodred in the moonlight. She felt the dead branches of the trees cutting her arms while she ran, and the hem of her long gown entangled itself more than once in the sharp thorns of the brambles, making her stumble, but she kept running, her heart beating like a drum.

Something was hunting her. She did not know how she knew that she was hunted, for all she could see was the deserted courtyard whenever she looked back over her shoulder, but she could feel its looming presence like a soft breath on her neck, and it seemed to close in around her, watching her from the shadows and taking an almost perverse pleasure in her futile attempt to escape... but she had to try to stay calm, focussed. Fear was the mindkiller, after all... and she would not succumb to it so easily.

She ran around a corner and into a narrow pathway between two large buildings, her feet making soft padding noises as she ran across the broken stone slabs. The walls were decorated with intricate symbols, reminding her of elvish writing... but not quite. There was something strange in the sharp rectangle edges of the buildings, the sturdy mounts of rock so different from the filigrane architecture that the elves preferred for their cities... and yet it felt strangely familiar, as if she had seen a similar ruin long ago... but she quickly returned her focus to the pathway, her eyes searching for an opening that would lead into one of the houses, and hopefully towards freedom. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her foot and she fell flat onto the cold stone floor, gasping in shock. She winced and sat up quickly, reaching for her foot. A long shard of glass stuck deep in her flesh, and dark blood ran slowly across its shining surface and dripped onto the ground.

The pain was almost unbearable. Her shaking fingers closed firmly around the shard, and she was startled somehow as she could feel it pulsate softly in her palms. But there was no time!

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled sharply. She had expected the pain, but it was almost more than she could bear, and a small cry escaped her tightly pressed lips.

She opened her eyes again, panting heavily, and felt somewhat relieved that the pain in her foot vanished almost instantly. She stood up carefully, casting a scanning look at her surroundings until her curiosity got the better part of her and her eyes returned to the shard she now held in her hands.

The shard glowed in an eery iceblue light and pulsated softly in her palms. She experienced a strange feeling of déjà-vu as she could feel the faint song of the shard vibrating through her entire being, but before she could remember what was so familiar about it, a distant howl echoed through the ruins, startling her, and the bloody shard slipped through her shaking fingers and fell onto the floor with a high, musical sound.

The ground shook ever so slightly. She could feel the vibrations as the ruins around her seemed to come to life, and the looming presence she had felt in the shadows before rejoiced in triumph as it drank deeply from the song the shard sung to her, gathering its strength for the grand finale of its hunt.

She ran again, down the hallway and through a shattered doorway into a building to her right, her invisible persecutor close on her heels now. She ran from room to room, making her way between broken walls and shattered furniture, heading for the front gates. Just like she had known that she was being followed, she simply knew that she would be save as soon as she found a way out. If she could only escape these ruins, she would be free!

She followed another corridor and finally burst into a great hall. She halted, blinded by the bright light of the moon that shone through the missing roof, and tensed. There, down a wide case of stairs, were the gates. Her heart ached as hope began to fill her, and she made a leap towards the stairs and towards freedom as a pair of arms reached out of an alcove behind her and dragged her back forcefully into the shadows. She fought frantically to break the grip that held her, wanting to scream, but a hand was pressed hard upon her mouth while another arm pinned her effectively against a leather-clad chest, and a rough voice hissed into her ear:

"Be silent, woman!"

She held her breath. The voice stirred a memory, just like the musical pulse of the shard had done, but she was so close! She needed to escape. Just as the thought entered her mind, a deathly silence fell upon the hall, and her eyes widened in fear. The shadow had finally arrived to claim its prey, and now, she was lost.

Although the moon shone brightly, her persecutor was nowhere to be seen. But she felt its otherwordly presence as it searched the hall, knowing that she was close and still within its grasps. As its probing mind wandered across the alcove, she tensed and tried to break free from her captor once more. But his arms held her pressed against his chest in a vice-like grip, and his voice was an angry whisper as he spoke:

"Stop squirming, Captain, or by the gods, I will kill you with my own bare hands!!"

Captain.

This simple word made all the walls around her memory come tumbling down in an instant, and in a heartbeat, she remembered everything. The shard. This place. His voice.

The shadow was still out there, searching, but she could feel its growing frustration resonate through the walls as his ongoing pursuit carried no results. She had unwittingly entered the hunting-ground of another, and by doing so, had successfully stepped out of its reach.

She did not know how long they stood in the alcove, holding their breath, until the shadow finally retreated from the hall, defeated. She could feel a small sigh of relief escape her captor's lips as he, too, sensed the retreating thoughts of their enemy. His breath was warm against her skin, and he lessened his vice-like grip a little, but still did not let go of her completely. His voice was a low rumble in her ear as he spoke.

"He's gone now. Let's go and find a way out of this cursed place, now shall we?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his embrace for the first time. It did not matter anymore if she would ever escape these ruins.

He had finally decided to come to her aid, and from now on, she would be safe.

*****

The passageway ended at a narrow staircase. The strange purple light of the moon fell through the small entrance of the cave and illuminated his way as Bishop stepped onto the stairs and walked swiftly through the exit and into the violet shadows under the trees.

Leaving the Keep without getting noticed had presented a real challenge, even for a man with his remarkable skills. Despite the late hour, there had been reinforced Greycloak patrols all over the area, and so he had finally been forced to leave the Keep through another secret passageway in its basement that he had discovered only a few weeks after Keridwen had been made Captain.

Bishop smirked. He knew there had been a reason why he hadn't told anyone about his discovery. But that he would ever use this tunnel that led to the outlines of the woods circling the mountains north and east of the Keep to flee the stronghold with an unconscious Knight-Captain cradled in his arms was one of the things that he had never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams.

Keridwen stirred noticeably, and he felt a small wave of relief wash through him as he lowered her gently to the ground to stretch his arms. She had been so still as they had made their way through the tunnel. The instructions from the old hag he had visited in Port Llast hadn't been too precise about how much of the potion he had to use, and as he had carried Keridwen's still form through the passageway, he had to stop from time to time to check on her breathing because he was afraid that he might have used the wrong dose and had killed her accidentally.

He put his backpack down and reached for his water skin, his throat suddenly dry. Keridwen kept squirming lightly, her arms stroking slowly across the ground, and he frowned. The hag had said that the potion would work for hours, but what could he expect from filthy little hedgealchemists like her? His frown deepened just like his concern while he watched the unconcious woman that lay on the ground before him. They were still too close to the Keep, but if Keridwen awoke now, they would have to make camp no matter what, because he couldn't risk to carry her while she was conscious, even if he bound her arms and legs and would put a gag into her mouth.

She was strong, and pliant, and he knew she would be pissed as soon as she found out what he had done. Although he had never seen her throw a fit before, he had the uneasy feeling that maybe this time, things would be a little different. But that thought reminded him of something.

The rope was made of a slippery material unlike any leather Bishop had ever seen before. The lizardman who had handed it to him had simply stared with its unblinking reptilian eyes as he had asked, denying an answer, but he had had more important things to worry about back then than to show this stinking salamander what he could do with his blades when he was in the right mood.

No matter what material they were made of, only elven ropes made for a better binding, and so he had simply taken his acquisition and had left the damp cellar of the Keep, passing a humming Grobnar who had been happily oblivious to his surroundings except for the motionless blade golem that stood in front of his alchemist work bench.

How she could allow this insane bard to continue with his desastrous experiments was still beyond him!

The rope had an oily black colour and stood out clearly against the fair skin of her wrists. He knelt down to bind her hands, just as he had bound her feet, and paused for a brief moment to check whether the knots were sufficiently strong to hold her, but loose enough so they would not cut into her flesh. He paused as he pondered about using a gag, but dismissed the thought momentarily.

He knew she would be angry, but he didn't want to make her mad. Despite her delicate appearance, she was strong, and he really didn't want to know what she would do to him once she awoke and got her hands free again if he had gagged her. Bishop sighed and watched her sleeping form as she lay on the ground before him, still heavily drugged. Her dark hair fell in shaggy strands into her eyes, and one of his hands reached down almost instinctively to brush the hair out of her pale face.

He snarled and caught himself just as his fingers stroked across the soft skin of her cheeks. Foolish, stubborn woman! He should have left her dying in that mouldering shell of a Keep, should have left her rotting along with her knight friend and her duties and her pathetic code of honour.

But you didn't!

He snarled again as he heard the familiar mocking voice in his head. Hissing angrily under his breath, he collected his gear and finally reached down to lift Keridwen's bound form roughly into his arms once more, intending to continue with their journey as long as she was still unconscious.

*****

Bishop searched his way through the undergrowth with care while he followed the wooden hills into the mountains, heading for rocky ground. As soon as their friends would discover the departure of their precious leader, they would start searching for her, and he did not want to leave an obvious trail.

Not that he feared that one of those witless Neverwinter scouts could ever follow his trail. Even on his worst day, he was still ways ahead of them. But the wood-elf, Keri's father, was a completely different sort. All it had taken him was one look at the man as they had encountered each other for the first time in the courtyard of the Keep to know that this Daeghun would make a formidable competitor, and Bishop liked to be on the winning side, after all.

Keridwen started to squirm more violently in his arms, and a loud moan escaped her lips. The smallest bit of worry crept into his heart as he stopped in his stride to watch her pale face once more. Her jaw clenched noticeably, and she moved her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but no sound escaped her lips. Bishop frowned. Was this a reaction to the drug?

First, as she had moaned quietly, her breath barely more than a soft whisper against the sensitive skin of his throat, he had simply ignored it. But now, she tensed noticeably in his arms, and her moan sounded as if she was in pain. He lowered her to the ground once more and knelt beside her, watching her wordless struggle, unsure what he should do to ease her pain.

It was then that he realised how quiet the woods had become. He knew these parts well, for not only had he been hunting here night after night they had spent at the Keep, but he had also scouted the route he intended to take tonight, although at that time, he had planned to use it alone if things should finally get a little too rough for his taste.

A distant howl echoed through the forest, and Bishop tensed as a rush of adrenaline flowed through his veins. The wolf howled again, and Bishop knew exactly what it meant.

Danger is coming!

He quickly cradled Keridwen in his arms, and without thinking and simply trusting his instincts, he hastened back on the path to the protruding roots of a great oak that he had noticed as he had made his way up the hill earlier, crouching into the small cavity beneath them and pressing Keridwen tightly against his chest.

He heard it then. The shuffle of leather-clad feet through the undergrowth, the distinct clinking of chain armour, both accompanied by an all too familiar moan and the soft rattling of bones. Bishop tensed as his heartbeat quickened, and he didn't need the sweet stench of rotting flesh crawling into his nose to know who had finally arrived.

There were only eight of them. A scouting party then, cursed be his luck, lead by a man with long black hair and a feral look in his eyes that glowed in a truly hellish red light. His undead followers shuffled a few steps behind their leader, the zombies nothing more than mindless brutes, their sole purpose in undeath the devouring of the flesh that still lived.

The skeletons made a much brighter impression, to Bishop's great chagrin, as they seemed to scan the area intensively with their undead senses, and Bishop was thankful that they were walking a good way down the hill and that the wind blew from the West this night so that the vampire wouldn't be able to catch his and Keri's scent.

The undead were almost out of his sight and onto their way down the hill as Keri suddenly stirred in his arms, moaning loudly once more. Bishop cursed himself for deciding against a gag while he quickly pressed a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound and tightening his grip around her chest, and could do nothing but watch in alarm as the vampire tensed noticeably and signaled his little band of cronies to stop.

Cursed be their supernatural hearing!

"Be silent, woman!", was all he hissed quietly into Keri's ear, hoping that even in her comatous state, she would hear him. But obviously, she didn't. As soon as he had tightened his grip around her, she had started to squirm once more, and now all he could do was hoping that she wouldn't moan again or things would turn truly nasty.

The vampire stood very still, staring intently at his surroundings, and Bishop could see the man sniffing the air delicately. Keri wouldn't stop her squirming, and in his frustration, he hissed angrily again:

"Stop squirming, Captain, or by the gods, I will kill you with my own bare hands!"

Strangely enough, she stopped her struggle. Bishop wondered briefly if he had finally been able to penetrate her drug-fogged mind as the vampire made another signal with his hand, and the whole scouting party fell in behind him, continuing down the hill and vanishing out of sight.

Bishop let out a small sigh of relief. He was glad now that he had decided to leave the Keep, and obviously not a moment too soon! Their little encounter could only mean that the Shadow army was marching up against the Keep, and if that happened, he wanted himself and Keri to be miles and miles away.

Bishop stayed in his crouched position under the roots for another while, waiting. Keri remained silent now, her breathing calm and regular, and he allowed himself to relax a little as the woods remained silent as well. Now that he held her so close, he could smell the sweet scent of her hair and feel the warmth of her body even through his armour, and he caught himself stroking her hair slowly while he inhaled deeply of her scent. He stopped as soon as he realised what he was doing.

What in the nine hells was wrong with him?

But Keri started murmuring as soon as he took his hand away, and so he continued reluctantly with his stroking, simply to calm her down. She was so small. Her sheer presence was normally enough to make him forget that he was almost a head taller than she was, and seeing her on a battlefield, with her katana in hand, was more like watching her perform an intricate dance rather than taking place in a slaughter that would bring swift death to her enemies.

How could she be such a fierce combatant in battle and yet remain the compassionate woman he had travelled with during these past few months?

Bishop's sharp ears suddenly caught the sound of padding paws on dried leafs. He tensed, one hand reaching slowly for his knife, but then Karnwyr trotted down the path, his amber eyes showing an unnatural purple glow in the strange moonlight. His hand let go of the knife and went around Keri once more, his dark eyes piercing his wolf companion with their questioning stare.

"I assume your appearance means the coast is clear again, right?", he asked mostly to himself. The wolf didn't move, but they understood each other without words. Bishop forced his way through the roots and stood, Keri still cradled in his arms, and his legs ached quietly as the blood started to rush back in an instant. Karnwyr watched them intently with these strangely purple eyes before the wolf simply turned around and started to trot along the path once more, scouting their way.

Keri murmured in her sleep, and Bishop lowered his head a little to whisper roughly into her ear. "They're gone now. Let's go and find a way out of this cursed place, now shall we?" She sighed and rubbed her head slowly against his chest, leaning into his embrace, and he could feel the beat of his heart quicken ever so slightly as she did so.

Cursed be her stubborn mind, and cursed be his own foolishness!

The path was steep and got even steeper as he finally reached the slope of the mountains. He had to slow down his pace, as he was carrying an unconscious woman in his arms along with his own weight, and after a while, he had to admit grudgingly to himself that they needed to rest.

His arms burned like fire. Although Keridwen was slender, he had carried her weight for several hours now, and their little encounter had reminded Bishop strongly of the fact that he needed to be prepared for a fight, for he would be unable to defend himself (or her, for that matter) if his arms were too weak to wield his blades properly should they finally encounter more of their undead friends.

The moon was standing high over the trees now, still casting its eerie light. The mountain path widened onto a small plateau lined by crippled pines, and after a quick glance, Bishop decided to choose it as their resting place.

He lowered Keridwens sleeping form carefully to the ground and leaned her against a small boulder before he put down his gear and tried to set up a camp for the two of them. They couldn't risk a fire, but he had heard the murmuring sounds of a small brook nearby and could at least get some water for the two of them while Karnwyr would stay behind, guarding the plateau.

The wind seemed to blow with more force up here in the mountains, and he shivered despite his armour. His fingers reached automatically for his thick woolen cloak, bound tightly to the top of his backpack, as his eyes fell upon Keridwen once more. For a moment, he struggled with himself. Then he stood up and crossed the short distance between them, draping the cloak roughly around her shoulders.

What use would it be to carry the cursed female all this way just to let her die from cold?

As his hands touched her shoulder, she sighed and moved her head a little, her cheek softly caressing his hand. He tensed as his heartbeat quickened noticeably once more. All the way over the hills and into the mountains, she had remained calm, snuggled up in his arms, her breathing even and her face an innocent mask of peace. He remembered how his touch had seemed to ease her pain, and his breath quickened as he watched her sleeping form once more.

Could his touch actually mean something to her?

There was only one way to find out. Bishop sat down and leaned with his back against a tree, his dark eyes never leaving her face while he made himself as comfortable as he could, awaiting the Knight-Captain's return to consciousness.

*****