(A/N: Here it is...I've been sick, cut me some slack. I've started adding A/N to the start of author's notes, in case the parentheses didn't clue you in. I'd like to thank Coranth, Lissette and Guan for reviewing last chapter, and dedicate this one to them. Please review more.
To Coranth: Yes, Umbra is a Sorcerer/Fighter, good thinking :) Her alignment is currently True Neutral, and as for her species, you'll find that out as the story progresses.

Disclaimer: Amazingly, I don't own Neverwinter Nights.)

Chapter Six

Deekin wrote throughout the night. When just under a dozen pages had been filled with his scratchy handwriting and haphazard doodles, he set aside his quill, lay down on the grimy floor and closed his eyes--just for a second, he assured himself.

When he opened them again, he was no longer in the shop. Instead, he was once again in Tymofarrar's den, though it seemed smaller than he remembered it. As Deekin looked around, confused and severely disappointed, a gnoll leapt at him out of thin air, soaked in blood and foaming at the mouth, eyes lolling back in its head as it emitted an ear-splitting screech. It growled Deekin's name and reached for him with a mangled paw--when an immense white tail knocked it away. Deekin followed the tail to its owner, and there sat Tymofarrar, gazing down at him with a look of superiority. Green chains writhed across the floor like vipers, intertwining and spelling out "fear" before crawling over Deekin, locking together and binding him. Hanging his head in resignment, Deekin knew this was the price he must pay for the dragon's protection, and balled his fists at the unfairness.

Something appeared in his hand suddenly; when he opened it, lying there was a tiny black tower statue. It rose up and hovered above Tymofarrar, growing larger and larger until whatever magic held it there gave out under the weight and the tower statue--now the size of a real tower--fell on Tymofarrar, shattering and trapping the dragon in the rubble. Resting smugly atop the broken pile was a milky white orb, staring unblinkingly like a blind eye, straight into Deekin's heart. Little lines flowered over its surface, cracking it open like an eggshell, and out burst the mutilated gnoll, saliva pouring in blood-pinkened streams over its fangs. The flesh stripped away from the gnoll of its own accord, leaving in its place an old skeleton like those that had chased Deekin throughout the crypt. Its dry bones clinked together as it lurched unhurriedly toward Deekin, who could only struggle in vain against the sickly green chains and watch helplessly as the undead crept ever closer...

Then it stopped, and crumbled into a lump of gray dust that made Deekin cough. Stepping out of the shadows and into the dust was a hooded figure--Umbra. She stretched a hand out to him, and the chains constricting him blackened, withered and fell away...

"Deekin?" It was Umbra's voice. Deekin stirred and blinked open his eyes to find himself in the shop again. It had only been a nightmare.

"Do you live yet?" Umbra asked, hanging her expressionless, cowled face over him. Deekin nodded and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms, legs and tail. Umbra stepped back to permit him room, carefully avoiding the papers that littered the floor.

"Deekin falls asleep, he guesses," the kobold grinned sheepishly, abashed at being caught by the great hero in such a state. The disturbing dream lingered yet; he pushed it out of his head as best he could.

"Asleep?" The very notion seemed to confound Umbra. "Yes, sleep...you were sleeping...did you sleep well, then?" Deekin nodded again, despite the truth, then picked himself, brushed some dirt off his tunic and grinned brightly up at Umbra.

"You gots good news for Deekin, maybe?" he ventured.

"I spoke with Tymofarrar," she informed, slipping the woolen pack off her back and rummaging through it. "After some persuasion, he agreed to your emancipation. He gave me this... doll... to give to you." So saying, she at last found what she had been looking for and withdrew a doll. Small and vaguely humanoid, it was made mostly of burlap stuffed with hay and dried grass. It was extremely worn and the burlap was torn in many places. Written in a crude, almost child-like fashion on the back of the doll's head was the name "Deekin". Deekin instantly recognized the shoddy thing.

"Old Master... give you Deekin's doll?" he sniffed, wiping his eye and gently taking the doll. "Deekin all choked up now. Deekin really be free! YAYY!" He threw his arms up in excitement, one hand still clutching the burlap bundle. Umbra waited expectantly, reminding him of his part of the deal.

"Deekin so happy!" he smiled enthusiastically, setting the doll down on a sheet of paper. "You waits here... Deekin get statue and be right back!" He scrambled over to the loose floorboard, lifted it and took out the napkin-covered statue. As he handled it, feeling the separated chunks within, his face slowly fell. Reluctantly, he turned to face Umbra, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Ummm...Deekin sort of forgets to tells the great hero something," he started in anxiously.

"And what would that be?" Umbra prodded.

"Deekin... he carries little tower statue when we leaves human village," he explained, glancing down to avoid Umbra's unseen eyes. "When gnolls attack, he... breaks the little statue." To prove his point, he unfolded the napkin and showed Umbra the crumbled bits, the crystal globe shining amongst them like a diamond in the rough. Umbra stood in stunned silence for a moment; then she folded the napkin over, plucked it out of his hands and pushed it deep down in her pack, which she slung back over her shoulders.

"I must leave now," was all she said, and without another word, she leapt up the steps and left. Deekin stared after, confused but glad she hadn't been angry--or shown her anger, at least--then picked the doll up again. There was a small cloth tag attached to the doll that had a message written on it in tiny, delicate letters:

"Search for your dreams, lad, and good luck. -- T."

He smiled at the encouraging words, quickly forgetting Umbra's odd reaction to the broken statue. Right then, all that mattered was that Tymofarrar was happy for him. He regarded the tag and the toy fondly for a few minutes, recalling old memories, then trod back over to the loose floorboard and pried it up, tucking the doll under before letting it snap shut. The doll was a symbol of the his past, and Tymofarrar had given it back to him. Now, upon his freedom, Deekin was letting his past go; his future lie promisingly ahead.

Throwing his arms up in a cheerful "Huzzah!", Deekin stuffed his belongings back in his pack, caught the pack in the crook of his elbow and rushed out the door after Umbra.

He tried to track her via her footprints, but a small wind flurry had arisen just long enough to stir up the snow and erase Umbra's tracks. Deekin ran out of Blumberg and stopped at the town's entrance to ask himself where she might have gone. Back to Hilltop, most likely--but where was Hilltop? He'd lost the map somewhere in the crypt, and had no reasonable hope of finding the town again. But, with a frantic look around, he decided he would have to try. He had nowhere else to go...following the great hero Umbra was the only thing he could think of. Besides, the tale he had started of her noble deeds begged to be finished. Deekin set off.

He walked and walked and walked, his legs becoming first sore, then completely numb. Fortunately, it amounted to something, and he came upon a familiar place he could've sworn he'd been to before. Indeed he had--right there was the very stream leading out of the icy lake he'd plunged off the cliff into! How long ago that seemed now, thought it had been naught but a couple days. Motivated, he sped his pace and hiked for a while longer, until he came to a place he knew he'd been to before. The kobold corpses scattered about were a helpful hint. Pleased, he plopped down in the frigid whiteness to catch his breath-- and a conversation caught his ear. Twisting his head, he saw the halfling caravan just a couple dozen feet behind him. Wondering how he'd missed it, he pushed the snow up into a small bank and crouched behind it to watch and listen.

The first speaker was brusque and egotistical, and Deekin recognized him as the mustached half-orc that had appeared from nowhere during the raid on Drogan. Situated before a small fire, the half-orc was garbed in an extravagant blue suit of armor and addressed in a demeaning demeanor the halfling woman standing across from him.

"Personally, Xanos is not looking forward to traveling with little people," the half-orc grunted disdainfully as Deekin wondered who Xanos was.

"We aren't exactly anticipating a long trip with you big 'uns, either," the halfling woman retorted, jerking her head to toss a long strand of black hair out of her eyes. "But your master has instructed us to transport you and your fellows across the Anauroch desert--or so you say."

"You imply that Xanos is a liar!" the half-orc--whom Deekin was beginning to suspect was none other than Xanos himself--cried incredulously, eying the halfling with contempt. "I gave you the letter from Master Drogan himself! Hmph, Xanos did not bare his bones to this unforgiving weather to be insulted by a little--"

"Fine, fine, I believe Xanos!" the halfling snapped, then sighed. "If it weren't for my respect for Drogan and my gratitude towards Umbra..." Deekin jumped at Umbra's mention, hastily hiding himself again.

"Umbra this, Umbra that!" Xanos complained, rolling his eyes. "May her holy name be blessed and Xanos be humbled to kiss the ground she walks on! Bah, the rest of Hilltop hardly knew her name until this business with the kobolds came up." Deekin was taken aback at his sarcastic tone.

"She fought to protect us, which is a lot more than I can say for you," the halfling responded. Xanos snorted derisively, causing the tusks in his lower jaw to jut out a little more.

"You know nothing! Xanos might not have been out fending off gnolls, dragons, skeletons and Mystra knows what else, but I was at least helping Drogan when the kobolds attacked, whilst the little mystery had herself shut up in her room, as always."

"Enough." The halfling held up a hand. "There's too much to be done for me to waste time squabbling with a petty orcblood. Just hurry home, get started packing and save us all some grief."

"That Xanos will do gladly," he grumbled, adding, "right after I ask Saint Umbra why she came out of hiding to play the hero now." With that, he stuck his concave nose in the air and indignantly stormed off. As soon as the half-orc was out of sight, Deekin jumped up and without hesitation sprinted over to the caravan. The halfling woman was muttering to herself about Xanos and his ego, but the kobold's presence instantly garnered her attention. Bristling, her hand went to the dagger on her belt.

"Noo! Wait wait wait! You no hurts Deekin, Deekin just wants to talks to you!" he insisted, wringing his hands pleadingly and dropping to his knees. "Pleeease, you listens to Deekin!" The halfling kept her hand close to her weapon, but seemed softened, and more than a little confused, by Deekin's show of submission.

"Alright," she instructed in a no-nonsense voice, "say what you have to say, but make it quick." Deekin nodded gratefully.

"Umbra the great hero be travelings with you, right?" he queried.

"Not this moment, but that's right, soon we'll be taking her and a couple others across the desert," she affirmed.

"You must takes Deekin with you!" Deekin begged. "Deekin be great admirer of Umbra Lumina, he wants to be just like her somedays! She be great hero--she smites her enemies as easily as somebody would breathe, she be noble and brave, she fears nothing or nobody, she be just like great heroes of legends, maybe greater, and that be why Deekin must goes with you, so he can writes her legend and her greatness never be forgotten!" He gasped for air after the long-winded plea and looked to the halfling hopefully.

She studied him carefully, and after a thoughtful silence the halfling decided, "Alright, I'll see what I can do. But, you can't just freeload off us--you'll have to pull your weight around here like everyone else."

"What Deekin has to do?"

"Hm...can you cook?"

"Oooh, Deekin can cook!" Deekin grinned eagerly. "Deekin cooks for old master, once! Except old master takes bite and says--"

"So that's settled," the halfling interrupted. "You'll be our cook. My name is Katriana, and they" --she swept a hand toward three halfling men that stood a short distance away, who Deekin hadn't noticed before-- "are Birgen, Furten and Torias. Most of my mates were wounded in the attack and are resting in the caravan now, so until they're better you'll mostly be seeing the four of us. Don't try striking up a conversation with Birgen; he's not much of a talker." Katriana led him past the small fire, showing him to the three separate parts of the caravan; a hastily set up pen behind them held some oxen. Katriana pointed out the caravan to the right.

"That caravan belongs to Daschnaya," she told him. "The other caravans will be full once Drogan's apprentices have moved in, so you'll be staying with her." Deekin nodded. There was a brief silence.

"So, umm...what Deekin does now?" he asked finally.

"You're the cook," Katriana replied dryly. "Take one guess."

A little while later, Deekin had started cooking. Katriana didn't trust him alone with her injured comrades just yet, so she brought him the pot, utensils, bowls and a sack of vegetables and spices out of the caravan's storage. They were saving their water for the desert, so she instructed him to melt snow for the soup before disappearing back into the caravan to tend to her fellows. Chipper as ever and eager to please, Deekin picked a long stick out of the woodpile and stoked the fire until it blazed with new life, then took some more sticks and built a spit over the flames. Hefting the large black pot, he staggered over to the fire again and hung the pot on the spit, then reached into the sack of ingredients, pulled out several dried vegetable rinds and dropped them in the pot with a series of satisfying clunks. The sack also contained many small bags, each filled with a different spice. Deekin took generous pinches out of them and sprinkled many different spices over the vegetable rinds, but was especially partial to the red varieties.

Gazing at the bottom of the pot, Deekin thought the contents sadly lacking, and decided to add his own ingredients. Setting his pack down, he shuffled around inside it and withdrew a fistful of meat jerky strips, which he threw in. A fat black beetle scurried around in there as well, so he squashed it and tossed it in the pot for extra flavor. Still, the soup begged for more. Espying a pine tree a short walk away, Deekin ambled over to it and scraped up a fair portion of browning pine needles, crumbly pinecones, sap and bark. Into the pot they went.

Deekin stepped back and admired his creation. There, he smiled in satisfaction, that was good. Now he just had to add the snow. He scooped the white stuff up by the armful and deposited it, oblivious to the muddy footprints sunk in it. Grabbing a long-handled wooden spoon, he mixed it all together with vigorous thrusts, watching the snow melt to slush, then cold water. As he waited for the brew to simmer, he kept stirring and surveyed his surroundings.

Just over there, the three halflings Katriana had pointed out earlier were still keeping watch. Two of the halflings had red hair and beards and wore red armor to match, while the third wore plain gray clothes and had no apparent facial hair, but had head hair as black as Katriana's, which he kept tied back in a short ponytail. Speaking of which, Katriana came out just then and scolded him for slacking off. Deekin was enjoying himself, inclining his head to eavesdrop and learn that the dark-haired halfling man was Torias, which meant the redheads were Furten and Birgen. It was interesting, to be working for human-looking people his own size, and he hoped they would forgive him for the kobold ambush.

The soup had barely begun to bubble, when Torias sidled over.

"Hey, there," he greeted. "So you're the kobold Katriana hired on as a cook, eh?"

"Deekin not thinks there be any other kobolds around here," Deekin responded. "No live ones, anyways."

"Yeah, I guess the dead don't do much in the way of cooking, unless they're being cooked," Torias mused with a grin, and reached for the cooking spoon.

"What you be doing?" Deekin cried, snatching the spoon away.

"I just want a taste!" Torias returned, offended. "Just one little sip for a halfling who's been standing in the cold all day!"

"Waits 'til soup be done, then halfling gets some," Deekin said simply, still stirring. Torias grumbled and begrudgingly began to trudge away, when he saw something.

"Hey, Drogan's apprentices are here!" he announced. "Good ol' Umbra, too!" Sure enough, there they were, Xanos arrogantly striding at the front with a heavy trunk easily tucked under his arm, behind him a brown-haired dwarven woman looking about suspiciously as she bent under the wait of her baggage, and finally Umbra, hanging at the far back and hiding in herself as much as possible. Startled, Deekin dropped the spoon in the pot. Oh no...if the great hero knew Deekin was there...that he was still following her...in a heartbeat, Deekin dashed into Daschnaya's caravan. Torias noticed this, and promptly took advantage of the opportunity to rush back over to the pot, fish the spoon out and sample the soup. His mouth puckered around the spoon, which he hastily yanked out and flung aside; his eyes watered, and his face went pallid green. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the pot. Xanos grinned down at Torias.

"What did the little halfling get into, Xanos wonders?" he chuckled. Torias just shook his head and pushed past the half-orc to find a private place to puke.

Inside the caravan, Deekin pressed his back against the door and slumped to the ground. Hopefully, Umbra hadn't seen him...

"Yes? What is it?" a voice asked, drawing Deekin's attention to the speaker, an aging, gray-haired halfling woman who sat on a pillow before a broad, low-legged table. She continued, "A kobold, but not here to attack us, eh? The cook Katriana hired?"

"Yep, that be Deekin," he replied, relaxing a little as he stood up. "You be Daschnaya, right?"

"Daschnaya I am," she avered. "What brings you to Daschnaya's little wagon, hmm?"

"Umm, Deekin be staying here," he answered awkwardly. "Katriana not tells you?" Daschnaya studied him carefully.

"I know of the arrangements," she told him. "But Daschnaya knows other things...you run from the one you follow, yes?"

"Yeah, that be right...but how you knows?" Deekin asked, astounded.

"Daschnaya sees things," she explained. "I have the gift of foresight."

"Ooh, so you tells fortunes?" Deekin exclaimed. "You tells Deekin's fortune, maybe?"

"I've no time or energy for readings today," Daschnaya yawned. "Daschnaya tires now. Your bed is there on the floor...good-night, now." With that, she disappeared behind a beaded curtain at the back of the caravan. Deekin stood rather confused for a moment, then looked down at the floor, where a modest bedroll was waiting for him. There was a window at the side of the caravan, low enough for him to see through. Peeking out, he saw Katriana speaking to Drogan's pupils around the fire--the pot holding his stew had since been removed, he noted. The sun had since set, to his surprise. Time had passed him by quickly...that, and he most likely woke up late in the day. Having spent his days in a cave, he had yet to adjust to daytime hours.

Deekin set his pack down, crawled into the bedroll and settled in, but he wasn't tired. Opening his pack, he dug out his writing supplies and poised himself to write. He closed his eyes and thought this through, then continued the tale.