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On and on it went, the thunder and fire, the falling fireballs, the ultimate devastation of an entire city

Then, as instantly as the first wave of sound had roared in his ears, there was silence

A dead, roan, not a wail A bit of wind, but nothingwhile, an hour or o Alegni Bridge He had to put his cloak over his face as a filter against the burning ash that perray and deep, and dead

Neverwinter was dead

Part II - The King’s Minions

The fights are increasing and it pleases rown darker, erous … and it pleases me

I have just passed a period of ely, h a hundred hundred tunnels and traveled as deep into the Underdark as I have been since my last return to Menzoberranzan We found our battles of course, mostly with the oversized veroblins and orcs, a trio of trolls here, a clan of ogres there Never was there any sustained battle, though, never anything to truly test my blades, and indeed, the most perilous day I have known since our departure froo hen an earthquake threatened to bury us in some tunnels

But no more is that the case, I find, and it pleases o, when the volcano roared forth and painted a line of devastation fro Neverwinter in its devastating run, the tone of the region has changed It is almost as if that one event had sent forth a call for conflict, a clarion call for sinister beings

In a sense, it did just that The loss of Neverwinter in essence severed the North fro the Sword Coast, where Waterdeep has now becoer travel through the region, except by sea, and the lure of Neverwinter’s former treasures has pulled adventurers--often unsavory, often unprincipled--in great nu to rebuild, desperate to restore the busy port and the order it once imposed upon these inhospitable lands But they battle as much as they build They carry a carpenter’s hammer in one hand, a warhammer in the other

Enee cultists sworn to a devil god, opportunistic highwayiants, and s from deeper holes

In the years since the cataclysrown darker by far

And it pleases me

When I am in battle, I am free When my blades cut low a scion of evil, only then do I feel as if there is purpose to e within is just a reflection of a heritage I have never truly shaken The focus of battle, the intensity of the fight, the satisfaction of victory … are they all merely an admission that I am, after all, drow?

And if that is the truth, then what did I actually know about my homeland and my people, and what did I merely paste onto a caricature I had created of a society whose roots lay in passion and lust I had not yet begun to understand or experience?

Was there, I wonder--and I fear--some deeper wisdo of drow joy and need that perpetuated the state of conflict in the drow city?

It seeh battle have I endured the pain Only through battle have I found again a sense of acco coers me, and paradoxically, even as it offers me hope to continue, it hints at some notion that perhaps I should not, that this existence is only a futile thing, after all, a e, a self-delusion

Like Bruenor’s quest

I doubt he’ll find Gauntlgrym, I doubt it exists and I doubt that he believes he’ll find it, either, or that he ever believed he would find it And yet every day he pores over his collection of maps and clues, and leaves no hole unexplored It is his purpose The search givesto the life of Bruenor Battlehammer Indeed, it seeeneral, who are always talking of things gone by and reclailory that once was

What is the nature of the drow, then?

Even before I lost her,friend, I knew that I was no creature of calm and respite I knew my nature was that of the warrior I kneas happiest when adventure and battle su of those skills I had spent

I relish it more now--is that because of my pain and loss, or is it e?

And if that is the case, will the cause of battle widen, will the code that guides my scimitars weaken to accommodate more moments of joy? At what point, I wonder--and I fear--does my desire for battle, that which is in my heart, interfere with that which is ine within me will come forth in all its madness--explosively, randomly, murderously

My fear?

Or my hope?

--Drizzt Do’Urden

Chapter 10 - Battling the Darkness

The Year of the Elves’ Weeping (1462 DR)

HERE THEY COME! OH, BE BRAVE BOYS AND HOLD THE TEAMS!" THE CARAVAN boss cried out to the ons, weapons in hand Off to the side of the road, the thicket shook with the approaching storm of enemies