A.N:I do not own Drizzt and family, only the original characters and many of the R.A. Salvatore books. So, plz, no suing, any semblance for another's work is accidental to the utmost degree. Oh, and this is my first fic, so be gentle in your reviews. ;)

The icy cool wind whipped around the heavily cloaked figure. Observing the snowy barren landscape before him, he turned around. Facing the barely visible trail that led back to his home, the great Mithral Hall.

'Maybe I'll find some of the more stupid orcs on my way back' hey thought to himself as the wind blew some of his snow white hair in front of his deep lavender face. ' yes, I really should go back, the cold will only get worse. And if I'm not back before long, Bruenor might arrange a search party.' smiling at the thought of his friend, the king of Mithral Hall, gathering what was left of Pwent's gut busters to find him before the end of one day.

He started his wayward trudge back to the Hall, and the warmth and food inside and reminisced of what led him to where he was, physically and emotionally. After Oboulds apparent defeat and the disappearance of Cattie-Brie's intelligent and evil blade 'cutter'. Drizzt and Cattie-Brie confessed their feelings to each other, and Drizzt traveled once again to the place Ellifain died and gave her a final burial. Thus ending some closure to his internal conflict. After he came back to Mithral hall, he spent the time waiting until spring be making frequent excursions into Oboulds 'kingdom' and thinning out the ranks of orcish warriors. Thus he was now returning from his latest excursion, which to his chagrin, was pretty fruitless.

Up until now that is, as Drizzt happened upon a group of 10 of the foul beings as he went over a hill. He went into a duck and glanced over the hills small ridge, hoping he wasn't spotted. Fortunately this was not so. As he observed the group, he spotted something off about them. They seemed to have one of their own kind as a prisoner. A tall one draped in a heavy wooly robe in tatters that was a faded crimson color. His arms were shackled behind his in such a way that he could not even move his fingers in any form. A frayed but sturdy hempen rope formed a sort collar and lease that one of the other orcs pulled him by.

The other orcs were all dressed and outfitted in a similar fashion. Large fur cloaks bundled around worn scale armor and each was wearing a weapon on their shoddy leather belts and a full pack on their backs. Except for the lead orc and the one pulling the leash attached to the prisoner. Which both had a spear with cruel barbed tips

'Hmmm… I wonder what this is about…' the dark elf thought to himself, 'perhaps I should follow them and glean what I can before disposing them.' With that he started following them making as little noise as possible.

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Timothy was in a foul mood. Most would agree with him at this moment though, as all but the sick minded would be in a nasty demeanor is they had their arms bound behind their back and were being pulled rather roughly by a surly orc that made sure to tug the makeshift collar/lease combo of a rope around his neck as often as possible.

Even so, Timothy never felt at ease around his own kind. He found that their lust to destroy and plunder was uncouth, and wished none of it. The only reason he came up to the Northlands was that he felt the need to fight this 'king' Obould that had laid claim to so much of surface land. Timothy wanted to stop this, for if Obould wasn't stopped, there would be so safe land from him. Then what would happen? The drow for one might seize the opportunity to spread themselves out onto the surface as well, and then all of the good in the world would probably be enslaved. Timothy had been seen the sad life that a slave lived, and wished it upon no creature, no matter who or what they were or had done.

The orc in front of him gave another sharp tug and sneered at him, to which Timothy just glared at with all the hatred he could ever muster.

"you're a spell thrower, king Obould will love to eat you and gain your power, and Thorg will be rewarded greatly for such a feat! He then reward us who do his work with good food and slaves!" he slurred out in the happy tone of an ignorant dog content with his place in the world.

Timothy looked at his current driver coldly, then smiled "to bad that won't happen. I doubt Thorg will even acknowledge you even helped. He'll probably take all the glory and reward for himself. And just slaughter you like the sheep you are" he replied loud enough so that only his driver heard him.

"you lie badly! Thorg never would do that! I'm too loyal and helpful to kill!" he sputtered out in an equally quiet voice, a small hint of equal parts doubt and panic in his voice, "Thorg like me too much."

"You think he would, but I heard him, he's going to poison you like a coward" Timothy whispered back to him. The driver then pulled Timothy up close and punched him in the sternum and then threw him into the freezing cold snow.

"YOU LIE! Thorg good to me! He never be coward! He brave and smart!" The driver shouted as he then kicked Timothy in the side until the others pulled him away. Timothy noticed they took quite a while.

He had barely regained his wind when they then pulled Timothy to his feat very violently and rabidly, causing the him to become lightheaded and nearly fall back down, and he would've had they not pushed him forward to get him moving again. They switched drivers as a female orc taller than him grabbed the lease and pulled him strongly to follow. He still felt where Thorg's most loyal lackey had kicked him and probably cracked a rib or two. He decided to not listen to anything this driver might say and tuned everything out, effectively making himself deaf. He winced as he stumbled while deep in thought and hit the ground. Landing in wet section of snow.

'Where'd this slush come from?' he thought as his eyes focused on thee color in the fading light of the afternoon. The color, Timothy slowly realized, was just that of his faded robes, but darker though. 'Blood!' he tried his best to feel his body, which was difficult with his hands behind his back. And concluded that it was not his own, he looked got himself into a seated position and observed around him, returning his hearing back to better understand what happened. Or as he now heard behind him, what was going on. Quickly he turned around to see the other orcs chaotically doing battle with a heavily cowled and cloaked fighter wielding two scimitars. Two were already dead including Timothy's former driver. The warrior was busy dispatching the other 7 of the band.

He struck one down with a downward strike of his left scimitar and then moved with unearthly speed as he danced (during which Timothy swore he saw some white hair fall out from the cowl around three others to cut the forth across the gut through his armor. Then, nimbly dodging a barbed spear thrown by Thorg's loyal follower he maneuvered to him and released him of his mortal coil with an upward slash with the blade in his right hand. Two started to run as the what seemed to be the last one, armed with a cruel looking hatchet, started to charge the ambusher. Only to be impaled by the attackers sword.

Timothy looked at the attacker in a mixture of fear, gratitude, and curiosity when out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the orcs silently get up, without thinking, he stated muttering to himself unintelligibly. Suddenly he released 2 bolts of energy that screamed towards the orc about to stab the fighter in the back with a rather nasty looking knife. They hit, hard, into the orc's abdomen and chest, causing him to crumple into the snow. The attacker turned around and looked at the body of the would be backstabber and then at Timothy. Then, looking bewildered, said in a heavily accented form of the common tongue,

"You can cast spells?"

A.N: 2nd chapter coming soon! Please Review! PLEEAAASE CRITISIZE ME!