I know my place now. It is the least likely place I would have expected. My purpose in life. It is strange, my whole past. I know not why I lived as I did, to me looking back now, it seemed unfathomable entirely.

I am happy now. My life has meaning, something which it lacked before.

I spend most of my time in Icewind Dale now, wandering the roads and keeping them clear of bandits and monsters, much like my equal, Drizzt Do'Urden, once did. Perhaps one day I shall return to Calimport, but now that is not my purpose nor intention.

I don't know if I will ever be accepted here. I don't know if I will ever forgive myself for not assisting the greatest fighter to ever have breathed in his darkest hour, for watching as he plunged over the edge of the mountain. Will his friends? I doubt that I will ever become fully forgiven by them for practically taking their closest friend and companion, and in the case of the fully recovered Catti-Brie, lover, from them. I don't know that I need to be.

All I know is that I will continue what Drizzt started, fighting for what I know to be right.

Already the tale of Drizzt Do'Urden has spread far beyond Luskan, or even Calimport and Neverwinter Forest. Most in the Realms have heard of his name by now, thanks to me and several contacts aquired in my previous life.

I will have the name Drizzt Do'Urden spoke with reverence throughout Faerun. I will have his tale told by father to children throughout the generations.

I will have him remembered as he was, not as an evil drow, for he surely was not that, but as the greatest warrior in the Realms, the kind being, the philosopher, the lover.

And possibly even, in his final hours of life, my friend.

--Artemis Entreri


The wind howled, cold and stinging amid the empty, barren mountain caps thousands of feet above sea level.

A great, powerful fist snatched a good handhold on the lip of an enclave close to the peak, and the barbarian warrior hoisted himself up to a safe perch, crouched in a defensive stance, wary eyes flitting about, surveying the top of the snow-covered peak that marked the highest point of the Spine of the World mountain range.

His was a magnificent body, corded muscles rippling across his taut and ready form, blood and adrenanline flowing powerfully though his veins.

Quickly, so quickly that it seemed the weapon simply appeared in his meaty fists, a great, crafted braodsword was suddenly at the ready. There was an undeniable grace about the barbarian, about his movements; all purposed, all holding a smooth, masculine feline strength as he waited for signs of foes.

The enclove was, as the sun was hovered high in the north-west at the barbarian's back, not shadowed at all and was also empty—aside the moans of the wind.

The barbarian Raregar, Champion of the Tribe of the Wolf stared around him. No, he corrected himself as he moved closer. The enclave was not empty. There was a body.

It lay crumpled and battered against the wall of the cliff. Raregar peered upward critically. It had to be a five-hundred foot drop from the top of mountain.

He silently prodded the body, testing to see if it was alive. It did not move.

Cautiously, Raregar rolled it over, and looked upon the face of Drizzt Do'Urden. He knew that face, had seen it before, when he was but a child. An arrow protruded from his chest.

Raregar thought he should feel sad, but then he had not known the drow warrior. He did know, however, that the late drow's companions would wish to have the body, for burial.

He gathered up the broken body and began the slow trek back down the mountain.

It was the least he could do.


Far off, in his campaign tent, the general paced.

Moving from the tent, the General paused outside the flap and regarded the force stretching out across the plains, a moving sea of black against the green of the hills.

The General smiled. To the General's mind, it was a sea of dark beauty.

It was nearly time. Nearly time to begin the war.


Somewhere amid the Spine of the World, an entity came awake, awoken for the first time since the dawning of the world. It was eager to start again. The Jewel of Shancar came awake.

It was the start of the war.

The War of Shancar.


The Companions of the Hall will return...as soon as the story is written.