Synergy

A/N: Note, I haven’t played the first NWN. I found everything I could on Helm’s Hold, but most of it, admittedly, is invented. I’m a little nervous about posting this, because RPGers tend to be more intelligent than your average fanfic readers/writers. XD

Chapter One

Bishop opened his eyes.

The light that flooded the room made him feel nauseous as he gingerly raised himself up on his elbows, a growl caught in his throat.

“What in the Hells do you think you’re doing?”

One of the serving girls from the inn was standing by the window, pushing back the shutters. She gave him a frightened glance as he sat up, glaring at her, before moving closer to the bed to deliver her message.

“Sir…you have to wake up now, sir…”

“What’s happened?” Bishop asked sharply, catching her arm.

She gave a small, high pitched sound, trying and failing to pull away. “There – there are men, downstairs. They want to see you.”

The ranger let go, more out of shock than kindness, and the serving girl moved hastily away from him. He glanced past her, at the sunlight streaming in through the open window. It was past noon. Bishop was not in the habit of sleeping in, and it unsettled him that he had, even with the excuse of the drink he had consumed the previous night.

He looked again at the messenger. Why anyone would have thought it was a good idea to send her to give him this news was beyond him. She was young, and pretty, and both attracted to him and frightened of him. They had flirted at the bar last night, he seemed to remember, and each time he had asked her for a refill, he had used her name, coiling the syllables around his tongue. For some reason he could not think of it now.

“Men,” he repeated aloud, disoriented. “Luskans.”

He glanced at the girl for confirmation. What was her name? “Yes.”

Bishop muted an oath, running fingers through short and unkempt hair. Everywhere he went, everything he did, entailed obligations, and this was just another piece of his past catching up. He didn’t waste any time wondering how on earth they had found him when he’d been so careful. He’d just have to be even more careful in future.

“I am not here. I have gone out for the day.”

The girl looked flustered by his words, but nervous about disagreeing with him. “They’ll…they’ll come back…”

Bishop shook his head, but not in denial of her statement. Why should he care if they came back? Why should he care which inn he stayed in? Helm’s Hold had been a disappointment starting from the moment he had set eyes on it. The ranger had known the place was a monastery, and his hopes hadn’t been high to begin with, but this was worse than even his pessimism had been able to predict. The tavern he was staying in at the moment – hiding in, some part of his mind suggested in disgust – was the only one in the town. Otherwise, The Lone Ranger – as it was aptly named – would have been his last choice. The place fair stank of propriety, and the buxom owner, a middle aged and disappointingly unattractive woman in her thirties had trained her glare on him the very first night at the place. She clearly did not approve of him drinking himself into a stupor in her common room, but that was none of her business, and Bishop had not let it deter him. Since then, however, he had tried to stay away, not out of courtesy, but rather because the steady drinking he had been indulging in so frequently was beginning to hang around in the morning, making his reflexes sodden and his head ache. Last night had been his one exception.

On the plus side, there seemed to be no question of when he would be leaving. Nobody seemed to mind the length of his stay, despite his rowdy behaviour, so long as he paid what he considered a truly extortionate fee every day and confined his brawls to the dark street outside.

“Sir?”

Bishop raised his head, unaware just how absorbed he had been in his own thoughts. The girl raised her eyebrows quizzically, and for half a second, the ranger found himself admiring her pointed features. She had caught his eye from the moment he had stepped into the inn downstairs, and at first had accommodated his attentions with easy small talk.

“Are you bound for Neverwinter, sir?”

Probably that was the only question she could have asked that could have made him feel, momentarily, a stir of self-disgust.

“No.”

It took Bishop a moment to realize the serving girl was still standing rigidly in the room, staring at him. “Get out,” he ordered roughly, and turned back to his pack lying on the floor to rummage for boots.

As he did the laces, foot propped up on the covers, he was abruptly certain her name began with an E.

“Not a big fan of those low-justice-loving murderers. The whole city’s like a big thieves’ guild crushed under the Hosttower mages. If you know what’s good for you, you tend to avoid their patrols at an early age. And then, if you’re good, you keep doing it until your luck runs out.”

Blearily, Bishop rubbed his eyes. He felt sleepier than he had ever felt before. The day had been a long one, but he was comforted by a quick glance around the room, it was obvious that Annie would soon come in to disperse the few remaining customers and to tell him he could go to bed finally. He was looking forward to it, but for now, he needed to stay awake, to continue moving the rag over the wooden surface in a circular movement.

“I got it in my home village – from one of the trappers who helped be my…’mentor’. Thought that’s a loose definition. He gave it to me one night while he was drunk and told me to defend myself with it – so I stabbed him in the leg and made a run for it. Took him three days to track me down, and after that…well, we reached an agreement.”

Cold assailed him, suddenly, and he glanced up and cried out. The door had been flung open, shadows flooding the doorway. The Luskans. They had returned, just as he had known they would.

“Sounds like it was time to move on…”

The hand with the rag stilled, and Bishop was aware he was frozen, staring as the men sauntered their way in, sneering coldly around the room. One of the two drunkards sitting at the table by the hearth staggered to his feet, sensing the danger.

“What in the hells –”

“…the same feeling hit me one day, and then there was no going back…”

The man was dead before he could complete the sentence, neck suddenly gaping open in a red smile of a wound. The knife was quickly snatched back and the man wielding it glanced upwards and met her eyes.

“…ever.”

Bishop woke up to the sound of Esmerelda screaming.