Nearly three decades have passed since I left my homeland, a small measure of time by the reckoning of a drow elf, but a period that seems a lifetime to me. All that I desired, or believed that I desired, when I walked out of Menzoberranzan's dark cavern, was a true home, a place of friendship and peace where I might hang my scimitars above the mantle of a warm hearth and share stories with trusted companions.

I have found all that now, beside Bruenor in the hallowed halls of his youth. We prosper. We have peace. I cannot deny that my life is better, a thousand times better, than anything I ever knew in the Underdark. And yet, I cannot remember the last time I felt the anxiety, the inspiring fear, of impending battle, the tingling that can come only when an enemy is near or a challenge must be met...

Life is good for Drizzt Do'Urden, better than it ever has been for the beleaguered dark elf. His dearest friend, the dwarf Bruenor, has reclaimed his throne, and his adventuring companions, Wulfgar and Catti-brie, are to be wed in the spring. Even the halfling Regis has returned. All the friends are united in the safety and prosperity of Mithril Hall, where streams of silver mithril run deep and dwarven hammers bang out the solemn rhythms of ancient and unending songs.

But Drizzt did not achieve this state of peace without leaving powerful enemies in his wake. Lloth, the dreaded Spider Queen deity of the evil dark elves, counts herself among them and has vowed to end the drow's days of pleasant security.

There are no shadows in the Underdark. Only after years on the surface have I come to understand the significance of that seemingly minute fact, of the contrast between lightness and darkness. There are no shadows in the Underdark, no areas of mystery where only the imagination can go, for neither is there light...

The Underdark. A place of brooding darkness, where no shadows exist, and where Drizzt Do'Urden does not wish to go. The noble dark elf must return there, though, must go back to find his friends in the gnome city of Blingdenstone, and on to Menzoberranzan, the city of the drow. Only then can Drizzt discern what perils might reach out from that dark place to threaten his friends in Mithril Hall.

He finds allies where he least expects them and enemies he though long gone. His scimitars slash at monsters too evil to reside under the sunlight of the surface world, while his inner strength wrestles with the tumult of emotions assaulting the noble drow when he looks once more on his dreaded homeland. All the while Drizzt must fend off the weight of guilt he carries for a dear friend lost to him forever.

I can find no answers in Mithril Hall, will never know for certain if the dark elves hunger still for vengeance - unless another force from Menzoberranzan comes to the surface to claim the bounty on my head. With this truth bending low my shoulders, how could I ever travel to Silverymoon, or to any other nearby town, resuming my normal lifestyle? How could I ever sleep in peace while holding within my heart the very real fears that the dark elves might soon return and once more imperil my friends?

The apparent serenity of Drizzt Do'Urden, the brooding quiet, will show me nothing of the future designs of the drow. Yet, for the sake of my friends, I must know those dark intentions. And so I fear that there remains only one place for me to look...

Matron Baenre wants revenge. As she prepares an assault on Drizzt Do'Urden and Mithril Hall, the Time of Troubles hits and Lloth, the Spider Queen herself, walks the streets of Menzoberranzan! When the laws of magic turn horribly erratic, the mystical city is thrown into chaos more cruel than even the dark elves can bear. As the ruling houses tremble, one family unleashes potent nonmagical forces and rises to power.

In Mithril Hall, as Bruenor Battlehammer prepares to meet the dark elves' siege, Drizzt finds Guenhwyvar locked in the Astral Plane, and Catti-brie is caught in wild, horrific dreams. Only an ancient dwarven king, allies from the depths, and Drizzt's own quick thinking can save them from the Spider Queen's minions.

"Let the damned drow come!"

All about me I saw excitement, in the dwarves, in Catti-brie, even in Regis, the halfling known more for preparing for lunch and nap than for war. I felt it, too. That tingling anticipation, that camaraderie that had me and all the others patting each other on the back, offering praises for the simplest of additions to the common defense, and raising our voices together in cheer whenever good news was announced. What was it? It was more than shared fear, more than giving thanks for what we had while realizing that it might soon be stolen away. I didn't understand it then, in that time of frenzy, in that euphoria of frantic preparations. Now, looking back, it is an easy thing to recognize.

It was hope.

Six years. Not so long in the lifespan of a drow. And yet - in counting the months, the weeks, the days, the hours - it seemed to me as if I had been away from Mithril Hall a hundred times that number. The place was another lifetime, another way of life, a mere stepping stone to...

To what? To where?

I ride the waves along the sword coast now, the wind and spray in my face. My ceiling is the rush of clouds and the canopy of stars; the floor, the creaking boards of a swift, well-weathered ship. Beyond that lies the azure blanket, flat and still, heaving and rolling, hissing in the rain and exploding under the fall of a breaching whale.

Is this then, my home?