Forgotten Realms - Avatar 1 Shadowdale - Awlinson & Troy Denning - Notisblokk

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Forgotten Realms - Avatar 1 Shadowdale - Awlinson & Troy Denning
SHADOWDALE
"Copyright 1989 TSR, Inc. AH Rights Reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.
Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained
herein to prohibited without the expreM written permission of TSR, Inc.
Random Hou*e and ill affiliate companies have worldwide distribution rights in
the book trade for English language product* of TSR, Inc.
Distributed to the book and hobby .trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd.
Distributed to the toy and hobby trade by regional distributor*.
FORGOTTEN REALMS is a registered trademark owned by TSR, Inc. The TSR logo is a
trademark owned by TSR, Inc
First Printing: April, 1989
Printed in the United States of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 88-51723
987
ISBN: 048038-730-0
All characters in thu book are fictitious. Any reaerablanca to actual persons,
living or dead,
to purely ranttidenlal.
TSR, Inc. P.O. Box 758 Lake Geneva, Wl 53147 U.S.A.
TSR Ltd.
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Cambridge CB1 3LB
United Kingdom
For their kindness and support,
this book is dedicated to:
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PRoIogae
Helm, He of the Unsleeping Eyes, God of Guardians, stood vigilant, watching his
fellow gods. The assemblage was complete. Every god, demigod, and elemental was
in attendance. The walls of the great pantheon that hosted the gods had long ago
vanished, but the windows remained, hanging on the empty air, and through them
Helm looked out onto a universe crumbling into decay. The pantheon, with its
many unfinished altars, was located in the heart of the cancerous decay; it had
been constructed on an isle that was only large enough to house the meeting
place of the gods.
A path made of crumbling gray stepping stones floated outward across the sea of
decay to a destination that lay beyond the vision of the gods. It was the only
avenue of escape from the pantheon, but none of the gods had been foolish enough
to take the first step upon those craggy stones, fearing the path might lead
them to a place even more terrifying than this one.
The air around the isle was a white canvas dotted with ebon stars. Streaks of
light, so bright that even the eyes of a god could not look into them for long,
burned into the ivory tapestry. The streaks formed runes, and Helm shuddered as
he read them.
All that has been, is gone. All we have known, all we have believed, is a lie.
The time of the gods is at an end.
Then the runes vanished. Helm wondered if one of the summoned gods had sent the
cryptic message in an effort to frighten the others, but dismissed the idea. He
knew that the runes had been sent by a power greater than any of the gods around
him.
Helm listened to the dull roar of thunder as mammoth gray clouds with veins of
black lightning rolled in and shadows fell across the pantheon. The pure white
sky was obscured by the clouds, and the stepping stones that drifted outward
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from the pantheon crumbled and fell away into the vast sea of decay.
RICHARD AWLINSON
Helm had been the first to be summoned. One moment he was in his temple,
ruminating over his recent failings as guardian to Lord Ao. The next moment he
was standing alone in the pantheon. Soon his fellow gods began to appear. The
gods had seemed disoriented, weakened by the journey to this place that was
apart from all that was known.
The summons had come wearing the face and form of that which each of the gods
feared most. 1b Mystra, Goddess of Magic, it appeared as a harbinger of magical
chaos. 'Ib the beautiful Sune Firehair, Goddess of Love and Beauty, it appeared
as a haggard, cancer-ridden creature, crying out against its fate while
delivering Sune to hers. Tb the Black Lord, Bane, the summons came in the guise
of absolute love and understanding, its light searing his essence as it carried
him from his kingdom.
Helm had only to shift his gaze slightly to see Lord Bane, Lady' Mystra, and
Lord Myrkul in a heated discussion that climaxed with Mystra storming off to
seek more appropriate company. Glancing in another direction, Helm saw Llira,
Goddess of Joy, wearing a slightly worried expression, wringing her hands
without thought, then catching herself and staring down at her hands in horror.
Standing beside her, Ilmater, God of Suffering, could not contain a steady
stream of laughter as he danced in place, whispering knowing comments to no one
in particular.
As Helm studied the faces of the gods, a small group of deities who had not been
affected so traumatically by the summons surrounded him. The God of Guardians
tried to ignore the pleas of these gods, whose dignity apparently no longer
mattered to them, as they whined and clawed at him for more information.
"My home was destroyed! My temple in the Planes was shattered!" God after god
repeated the complaint, but Helm was deaf to their words.
"Ao has issued a summons. AH will be made clear in time," Helm told each of
them, but he soon grew tired of repeating himself and eventually warned the
small group of gods away. Change was coming. Of that there could be no doubt.
Helm concluded as he pondered the will of his immortal liege, Ao.
Ao's will had been so great that he rose from the swirling
SHADOWDALE
mist of Chaos at the beginning of time and set about to create a balance between
the forces of Law and Chaos. From this balance came life: first with the
creation of the gods in the heavens, then with the mortals in the Realms. Ao,
Maker of All Things, had chosen Helm to be his right hand. And Helm knew that it
was the power of Ao that brought the gods to this place of madness and
confusion.
As Helm stood quietly in thought, Tales, God of Storms, surged forward. "An end
to the trickery, I say! If our lord wishes to make a point, let him speak, let
his wisdom fill our bankrupt hearts and empty minds!" Talos said "wisdom" with
as much contempt as he could muster, but the others were not convinced. His fear
was as evident as theirs.
The challenge of Talos was not met, and all who stood within arm's reach of the
God of Storms moved away from him. In the silence that followed Talos's outburst
there was an answer more unnerving than any proclamation; in the silence was
heard the finality of Ao's judgement. It was then that the gods understood that
their fate, whatever it would be, had been sealed long before this summoning.
That terrible silence filled the great hall, but it was soon shattered.
"Keepers of the Balance, I address you one and all!"
It was Ao's voice, and in that voice was heard the power of a being so great
that the gods fell to their knees in response. Lord Bane alone managed to place
only one knee on the pantheon's cold floor.
"Most noble was your heritage! Yours was the power to stave off the ever-present
threat of imbalance between Law and Chaos, and yet you chose to act like
children, resorting to petty thievery in your quest for power. . . ."
Bane suddenly wondered if the being who had given the gods life long ago had
called his creations to this place to undo his mistake and begin anew.
"Extinction may be your future yet, Bane," Ao proclaimed, as if the Black Lord's
thoughts had been spoken aloud. "Bur do not let it concern you, for that fate
would be most merciful compared to what shall soon befall you—and the other gods
that betrayed my trust."
It was Helm who then stepped forward. "Lord Ao, the tablets were in my keeping,
let it be—"
RICHARD AWLINSON
SHADOWDALE
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"Silence, Helm, lesl you suffer a fate such as theirs."
Helm turned and faced the assemblage of gods. "You should know your crime, at
least. The Tablets of Fate have been stolen."
A beam of light erupted from the darkness and enveloped the God of Guardians.
Wisps of white flame encircled Helm's wrists and ankles, and he was lifted up an
unknowable distance, almost beyond the senses of the other gods, who gasped as
they watched. Helm, who had never been borne off his feet before, grit his teeth
helplessly as he stared into a patch of darkness greater than any darkness ever
seen, a darkness that lived and sought to consume, a darkness that was the anger
of Lord Ao.
"Stand you with your fellows and not your liege, good Helm?"
Through gritted teeth, the god responded. "Aye."
Suddenly Helm was cast down, his descent too quick and too brutal to be tracked
by the senses of the other gods. Bloodied and bruised by the impact, Helm
struggled to rise and again face his lord, but the task was beyond him. His
fellow gods made no move to help him, nor did they meet his imploring eyes as he
fell, face down, to the stone floor of the pantheon.
Occasional flashes of light revealed black bands of energy that moved ever
closer to the gods.
"No longer will you sit in your crystal towers, looking down upon the Realms as
if they had been created simply to amuse you."
"Exile," Bane murmured breathlessly.
"Aye," said Lord Myrkul, God of the Dead, a chill finding the core of even his
lifeless soul.
"No longer will you ignore the very purpose for which you were given life! Vou
shall know your transgressions and remember them for all time. You have sinned
against your liege and you will he punished."
Bane felt the coils of darkness approach.
"The thief!" Mystra shouted. "Let us discover the identity of the thief for you
and return the tablets!"
Tyr, God of Justice, raised his arms imploringly. "Let us not pay in kind for
the foolishness of but one of our brethren, Lord Ao!" Darkness, like the tash of
a whip, slashed across Ty r's face, and he fell back, screaming and clutching at
his now useless
eyes.
"You see nothing but the salvation of your own skins!"
The gods were silent, and the dark bands darted between them, drawing the gods
closer to each other, as if herding them together to create a single target for
Ao's wrath. The gods cried out—some in fear, some in pain. They were not
accustomed to such treatment.
"Cowards. The theft of the tablets was the final affront. You will return them
to me. But first, you will pay the price for a millennium of disappointment."
Bane stood his ground against the bands of energy, and suddenly the biting
strands of darkness erupted into blinding flames of cold blue light that seared
him. He turned from the light and caught a glimpse of Mystra as she, too, held
her ground, a slight smile etched across her features. Then the bands caught
Bane, and his world became pain such as only a god could imagine or endure.
After an eternity of torment, all the gods were caught in the dark bands of
power and drawn tightly together. Only then did the deities find movement and
thought once again possible.
And fear. This they knew intimately.
Finally, Lord Talos managed to speak. His voice was weak and hoarse, his words
escaping in frightened gasps. "Is it over? Could that have been all?"
Suddenly the pantheon seemed to vanish and the gods, still bound together, found
themselves staring full into the face of what frightened each the most—chaos,
pain, love, life, ignorance. And each god saw his or her own destruction there,
as well.
"That was but a taste of my anger. Now drink deep from the goblet of a true
god's rage!"
A sound was heard then unlike any other.
The gods screamed.
Mystra struggled to retain some vestige of control as she found herself
plummeting through a fantastic vortex that defied reality. She suffered
unbearable pain as godhood was ripped from her. But the Goddess of Magic was not
alone in her torments. AH the gods, save Helm, were cast from the heavens.
After a time, Mystra awoke in the Realms. She was startled to find that her form
had been reduced to its primal essence. Her
RICHARD AWLINSON
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body was little more than a glowing mass of blue-white light.
"You will take an avatar." Ao's voice resounded in her mind. "You will possess
the body of a mortal and live as a human. Then perhaps you will appreciate what
you once took for granted."
Then she was alone.
The fallen goddess hovered for a moment as Lord Ao's words turned over and over
in her mind. If she had to take an avatar, possess a body of flesh and blood,
then Ao really did intend on keeping the gods out of the Planes. Though Mystra
had suspected Ao would punish his servants for their failings—and she had even
planned for the event by secreting a shard of her power in the Realms—the
goddess simply couldn't comprehend the loss of her status, the loss of her
beautiful palace in the heavens.
Mystra looked around and came as close to shuddering as she could in her
formless state. The land around her would be quite attractive to mortals:
rolling hills stretched out around the Goddess of Magic, and an ancient,
crumbling castle dominated the horizon to the west. Yes, most humans would find
this scene peaceful, Mystra thought, but it is a repulsive eyesore when compared
to my home.
Nirvana, the plane of ultimate Law, held Mystra's domain. It was a perfectly
regimented, infinite area where light and darkness, hot and cold, were ideally
balanced. Unlike the chaotic landscape of the Realms, Nirvana was structured
like the insides of a huge clock, with equal, ordered gears meeting in ideal
junctions. On each of these gears rested the realm of one of the lawful gods
that inhabited the plane. Of course Mystra saw her realm as the most beautiful
in Nirvana, in all the Planes, in fact.
The Goddess of Magic studied the ruined castle for a moment, then silently
cursed Ao. Even when that ruin was newly built, it was but a closet in my home,
Mystra thought bitterly, and the image of her magnificent shimmering palace came
unbidden to her mind. The castle that filled her realm was built of pure magical
energy, drawn directly from the weave of magic that surrounded Faerun. Like
everything else in Nirvana, the palace was perfectly structured and eternal. Its
towers were all the exact same height, its windows the same
SHAOOWDALE
dimensions. Even the magic-woven bricks that made up the castle were identical
to one another. And in the center of Mystra's home stood her library, which
contained every book and scroll, listing every spell ever known in the world,
and some that had not yet been discovered.
Mystra turned her gaze to the dark storm clouds that filled the sky. "I will
have my home again, Ao," she said softly. "And I will have it soon."
As the Goddess of Magic stared at the roiling clouds, she caught a glimpse of
something glowing in the air. When she tried to focus on the beam that seemed to
hang from the clouds, she felt dizzy. I'm still addled from Ao's attack, she
thought, and tried again to see what was flickering from the sky to the ground
near the ruined castle. In a moment, her vision cleared and she recognized the
wavering image before her.
A Celestial Stairway.
The stairway, which changed its shape continually as Mystra watched it, was a
common path for the gods to travel between their homes in the Planes and the
Realms. Though Mystra had rarely used the bridges to Faerun, she knew that there
were many of them throughout the Realms and that they led to a nexus in the
heavens. The nexus, in turn, led to all of the gods' homes.
The stairway changed from a long wooden spiral to a beautiful marble ladder as
Mystra, still bleary-eyed, watched it. Then the goddess suddenly realized why it
was so hard for her to focus on the Celestial Stairway: It was only visible to
gods or mortals of very great power. She was now neither.
That realization spurred the fallen goddess to action, and she set about to
recover the shard of power she had hidden with one of her faithful in the Realms
in the hours before Ao's summons. Mystra started to cast a spell to locate her
cache of power. Even in her nebulous form, the Goddess of Magic easily completed
the complicated gestures and spoke the incantation necessary for the spell. But
when she was done casting, nothing happened.
"No!" Mystra cried, and her voice echoed over the hills. "You cannot rob me of
my art, Ao. I will not stand for this!"
RICHARD AWLINSON
The goddess tried to cast the spell again. A pillar of green energy erupted from
the ground and moved quickly to engulf Mystra. She screamed as the energy struck
her insubstantial form. Bolts of green light shot through the misty blue-white
cloud that was the Goddess of Magic, causing Mystra to scream in pain. Her
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vision rested on the black clouds swirling around the glowing Celestial Stairway
in the seconds before she lost all consciousness.
At the top of the stairway, at the nexus of the Planes, Lord Helm, God of
Guardians, watched as Mystra was knocked unconscious by the misfired spell. Helm
was still bruised and bloodied from Ao's wrath, but unlike the other gods, he
still retained the form he usually took in the Planes: A huge, armored warrior,
with unblinking eyes painted on his steel gauntlets.
Helm's eyes were clear, but they reflected his sadness as he turned and looked
up at the pulsating black cloud that hung over him. "What of my punishment. Lord
Ao?"
There was silence for a time. When Ao spoke, Helm nodded slowly. The answer to
his question was not unexpected.
Acocrkenings
In Zhentil Keep, the heaviest rainfall the city had suffered in almost a year
engulfed the narrow streets, but Trannus Kialton did not notice. Nothing could
disturb his slumber. The shutters of the small rented room he shared with the
beautiful but lonely Angelique Cantaran, wife of the most wealthy importer of
spices for the city, quaked unnoticed against the forces that raged outside.
Only a cool breeze that seemed to suddenly acquire form and coalesce in the
darkness threatened to wake him, and then only when it had already floated
across the room to the sleeping man and vanished between his partly opened lips.
Thunder roared, and Trannus dreamed of a darksome place where only the cries of
the dying brought warmth to the resident lord, who was himself a shadowy figure
on a throne made of jewel-encrusted skulls. Fiery red vapors flitted in and out
of the skulls' eye sockets, then vanished within the opening and closing jaws of
other skulls that seemed to scream even now, long after their agonies should
have ended.
The figure on the throne of skulls was too large to be a man, yet it had a
vaguely human appearance. What garments it wore were black on black, with only
the occasional streak of red to break the monotony. On its right hand, the
creature wore a jewel-encrusted gauntlet, streaked with blood that would never
wash off.
The room surrounding the throne was enshrouded by bluish mists. Although there
seemed to be no walls, no ceilings or floors, there was a sense of oppression
that smothered those unfortunate enough to be delivered to the hellish
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room before their final moments of life elapsed and they looked upon the true
face of the hideous creature on the throne.
Vet now the fearsome being seemed content to sit alone, staring down into a
golden chalice filled with the tears of his enemies. The lord of this terrible
place, the god Bane, suddenly looked up at the dreamer and raised his cup in a
toast.
Trannus woke with a start, gasping for air. It was as if he had been so
engrossed in the dream that he had forgotten to breathe. Madness, he thought,
and yet his hands and feet were numb, and he had to climb out of bed to stamp
full sensation back into his tingling limbs. He felt a sudden urge to dress, and
the cold touch of leather soon fell upon his skin. Angelique stirred, reaching
out to him with a grin.
"Trannus," she called, unsatisfied with only the warmth his body had left upon
the silken sheets as a companion. She reached up and brushed the hair from her
eyes. "You're dressed," she said, as if trying to convince herself of that fact
and fathom a reason at the same time.
"I must go," he said simply, although he had no idea of his destination. All he
felt was an urgent need to be free of the confines of the building.
"Hurry back," she said, settling into the comforting embrace of the feather-soft
mattress, her dreamy expression echoing her confidence that he would return.
Trannus looked at her and was suddenly taken with the knowledge that he would
never see her again. He closed the door behind him as he left.
Outside, the heavy rain soaked him to the skin, and in flashes of lightning the
streets of the city were revealed to him. He appeared to be alone, but he knew
better than to trust appearances. The streets of Zhentil Keep were never truly
deserted; they simply bore the illusion with the practiced grace only cutthroats
and thieves could have taught them. In Zhentil Keep, the shadows lived and
breathed, and monsters chattered in sharp, high-pitched tones from their dark
hiding places. Strangely, he was left alone and allowed passage through the
dangerous labyrinth as if the way had been cleared before him by a herald none
would dare stand against.
*1O*
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SHADOWDALE
Throughout his journey, Trannus thought of the dream. He imagined the streets
were slick with the blood of his enemies, and the rain that fell caressed him
like the tears of their widows. Lightning struck and loosed a section of a wall
nearby, and debris crashed to the ground around him. And still the cleric
traveled on, oblivious to everything except the siren call that gave strength to
his weary legs, purpose to his sodden brain, and desire to his deadened heart.
Trannus only wondered why he, a lowly priest in the servitude of Bane, had been
given this vision, blessed with this desire.
Ahead lay the Temple of Bane, and Trannus stopped for a moment, mesmerized by
the sight. The Dark Temple was a silhouette against the night sky, its imposing
towers jutting upward like black serrated blades waiting to impale an
unsuspecting enemy. Even when lightning flashed and the world was cast in sharp
light, the temple was black, revealing not a single crevice in its granite
facade. Rumors abounded that the temple had been constructed in Acheron, Bane's
dark dimension, then brought to Zhentil Keep, stone by stone, a river of blood
and suffering the glue that cemented the temple together.
Trannus was surprised to find no guard stalking the temple's perimeters. Then he
heard the drunken laughter of the guard and his companion as it drifted toward
him from the shadows. The sound filled him with a rage that was echoed by the
storm's fury.
Trannus looked up, and through the rain he could see heavy clouds race across
the sky, moving impossibly in directions counter to one another. Suddenly the
sky exploded and the great white clouds parted as streaks of black lightning
issued forth. The heavens were on fire, the stars struck from view. Huge spheres
of flame were hurtled from the sky, and one fireball came sailing down, ever
closer, and grew to horrible proportions as Trannus realized it was headed for
the temple.
There was no time to shout out a warning before the sphere struck the Dark
Temple. Trannus was rooted to the spot, and he watched as the granite spires
glowed reddish yellow, then sank into a molten heap. Bits of debris sailed to
RICHARD AWLJNSON
each side of him, but he was left unharmed. Then the cleric watched as the walls
collapsed inward and the Dark Temple glowed red, the blood and torment of its
past victims seemingly taking form and bubbling over as brick, metal, and glass
were reduced to glowing ash and slag in a matter of seconds.
In the end, there was nothing but a flaming ruin where once there had stood a
temple. Trannus moved forward, toward the wreckage of the temple, and wondered
if he were still dreaming. The steaming, molten slag beneath his feet did not
burn him, and the raging fires that filled his sight merely crackled and died
away as he approached, allowing him a pathway to the center of the disaster. The
flames reformed and resumed their dance once he had passed.
From the partially standing walls, Trannus knew that he was close to the throne
room of his lord, and he stopped as the object of his quest rose up before him.
The black throne of Bane had been left untouched. Soft, white mists drifted
toward Trannus, and phantom shapes gently encircled the priest's wrists as he
was led forward without force until he stood directly before the throne. It was
a throne only a giant could have rested in comfortably, and beside it sat a
replica, this one constructed for the use of a man.
The jewel-encrusted gauntlet from Trannus's dream rested upon the smaller
throne.
Trannus smiled, and for the first time, his heart knew joy, his spirit release.
This was his destiny. He would rule an empire of darkness. His dreams of power
had been rewarded.
Dutifully he picked up the gauntlet and felt tremors of power surge through him.
One of the jewels suddenly became a single red eye that flashed open, then
followed the movements of the priest, although Trannus was blissfully unaware of
the trespass upon his private ceremony.
Arcane rivulets of gold and silver flowed down from the gauntlet when Trannus
gingerly slipped it on, and a biting pain pierced his arm as an evil fire
corrupted his bloodstream. A darkness closed over the cleric's wildly beating
heart, and his blood became ice that flowed to his brain and
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washed away any traces of the man's former consciousness. The words" my lord"
escaped from Trannus's lips as his soul was exiled from his body in a puff of
white mist.
The Black Lord looked out through frail human eyes and felt a sudden weakness.
He clutched the black throne for support and his mind, now pitifully limited to
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human understanding, reeled as he attempted to comprehend the changes taking a
human avatar had wrought. No longer could he see beyond the mortal veil, and
read or influence the moment and manner of his foilowers' deaths. No longer
could he see beyond lies and hapless circumstance, or bore heavily into a man's
soul and know the truth only found in the lower consciousness. And no longer
could he witness a near infinite number of occurrences simultaneously,
commenting and acting upon them in perfect concert as he occupied his mind with
other pursuits.
"Ao, what have you done?" Bane cried, and felt the soft stone of the throne
crumble beneath his powerful fingers. He struggled to maintain control of his
rage. The others would come soon, the hundreds of other worshipers upon whom he
had visited the dream, and Bane would have to be prepared.
The God of Strife sat upon the small black throne, attempting to ignore its
counterpart that had once been his. My followers will look upon me and see only
a human form, he thought, one of their kind gone mad with claims of visitations
and possession by their god. They will put this body to death, once they finish
torturing it for information on who truly leveled this temple.
The Black Lord knew then that he had to appear more than human in order to
inspire his worshipers. He recalled the visage he had given himself in the dream
and set about making it flesh. From contact with his followers, Bane knew that a
treasure room was located somewhere beneath the temple, and he formed the image
of a jade circlet and delivered a spell that would transport the object to his
waiting hand. A moment later, armed with the circlet, he began to recite a shape
change spell, his movements perfect and graceful, just as the spell required.
He began with the eyes, setting the orbs aflame within the
RICHARD AWLINSON
human's skull. The skin surrounding the avatar's eyes could not accept the
strain, so Bane altered the pale flesh until it became black and charred, then
leathery with flaps that partially revealed secret hidden ruinations. The skull
itself then grew sharp spikes that jutted from the blackened flesh, and the
visage realigned itself to the most bestial configurations imaginable while
still remaining human.
Bane's hands became talons capable of rending flesh and bone or shattering
steel. It became painful to wear the gauntlet, but Bane knew he had no choice if
he wished to impress his worshipers. And he could already hear the plodding
footfalls of his priests, soldiers, and mages as they made their way through the
ruins toward the shattered throne room.
Bane sensed that something was wrong with the spell. He was certain he had
performed the casting perfectly, yet the force that moved through him, effecting
the changes he desired, had built up momentum and would not subside, despite his
mental commands. The air surrounding him felt as if it had solidified, and would
soon crush the life from him. He knew a moment of pure human panic and sought to
end the spell. Instead, Bane found his new form dressed in black leathers and
caked with unholy reddish blood.
The Black Lord shattered the circlet in an attempt to negate the spell, which
had moved completely beyond his control. Instead of regaining his human form,
Bane found that the effects of the spell had not vanished and he retained the
monstrous form he had created.
Bane did not have time to ponder the spell's curious behavior. The first of his
flock appeared, armed and ready to destroy the desecrater of the Dark Temple.
The Black Lord didn't even give his follower a chance to speak before he stood
upon the throne and spoke.
"Kneel before your god," Bane said simply, and held the sacred gauntlet up over
the hideously grim head of his avatar. The cleric instantly recognized the
artifact and did as he was told, a shocked expression on his face. As more
worshipers rushed into the ruined temple, they did the same.
Bane looked into the fearful faces of his followers and held back the laughter
that raged within him.
SHADOWDALE
Midnight closed her eyes and felt the morning sun wash over her, gentle fingers
of warmth caressing her face. It was in these simple moments when a remembrance
of life's tender side overtook the magic-user and she was able to luxuriate in
blissful forgettulness of the trials she had recently faced. For close to
twenty-five summers, Midnight had walked the Realms, and there was, she
believed, little left that held the power to surprise her. Experience should
have taught her better, she knew, especially since her current circumstances
were, at the very least, quite unusual.
She had woken in a strange bed, in a place she could not remember coming to.
Side 7
Forgotten Realms - Avatar 1 Shadowdale - Awlinson & Troy Denning
Outside the window she saw a small clearing with a thick forest beyond. Wherever
she was, she had not reached her destination: the walied city of Arabel, in
northern Cormyr
Her clothes, armaments, and books had been neatly piled upon a beautifully
crafted dresser at the far side of the handsomely adorned room, as if whoever
had handled them wanted Midnight's possessions in plain sight. Even her daggers
were left within reach. Stranger still, Midnight found herself dressed in a
beautiful nightgown made of fine silks, the color of a winter's first frost,
white with traces of pale blue.
The young woman immediately examined her books, and was relieved to find them
intact. She then went lo the window and opened it. letting in the fresh air.
Opening the window took some effort, as if it had been sealed off and left
untouched for years. Yet the room itself was immaculate and had obviously been
cleaned recently.
TUrning from the window, Midnight caught sight of a gold-framed mirror, and the
image that confronted her from the glass was startling.
Midnight's waist-length hair had been washed and brushed with meticulous care.
Upon her cheeks she saw the artificial, yet subtle blush of a young maiden. Her
lips were unusually crimson, and someone had placed an ever so delicate hint of
chartreuse above her eyes. Even the carefully maintained tone of her shapely
body had softened.
RICHARD AWLJNSON
In contrast to the sweaty, disheveled adventurer who had fought an unearthly
storm on her way to Arabel the previous night, the woman whose reflection the
mirror presented was almost a goddess who could beguile followers with her
unnatural allure.
Midnight reached to her throat, and beneath the gown she felt the cold steel of
the pendant.
She removed the gown and moved closer to the mirror to examine the pendant more
closely. It was a blue and white star, with strands of energy that darted across
the surface like tiny streaks of lightning. And as she turned the pendant over
to examine its back, she felt a slight tug at the skin on her neck.
The pendant's chain was grafted to her skin.
Casting a simple spell upon the star to detect magic took all of her
concentration, but the results of the spell were staggering. A violent blast of
light erupted from the pendant and lit up the entire room. The simple piece of
jewelry contained a power so great that it left Midnight weak in the knees, with
the room slowly spinning about her.
Tlirning to the bed. Midnight made her way back to the feather-soft mattress and
lay upon it before she collapsed. Fingers clutching at the sheets, she squeezed
her eyes shut until the dizziness she felt had passed, then she turned over onto
her back, and looked at the room once more. Her thoughts drifted back to the
incidents of the previous month.
Midnight had joined the Company of the Lynx under the command of Knorrel Talbot
less than three weeks ago, in Immersea. Talbot had learned of the death of a
great wyrm on the shores of Wyvernwater. Unknown to the valiant heroes who
brought the aged dragon low, this particular wyrm had attacked a diplomatic
envoy crossing the desert, Anauroch.
From the tale of the sole survivor, the dragon had swallowed the visiting
diplomats whole, consuming the vast riches the men had carried with them as
gifts for the rulers of Cormyr. Talbot wanted to find the dragon's remains, and
retrieve a number of magically sealed pouches the wyrm had swallowed. It was a
filthy job, certainly, but also a very
• 16*
SHADOWDALE
lucrative one.
The quest had been successful, and the task of unsealing the pouches had fallen
to Midnight. It took her the better part of a day to gently undo the
many-layered wards the wizards had placed upon the items. When she finally
removed the magical traps, the company was saddened to learn that the contents
of the pouches were nothing more than what Talbot interpreted as treaties and
promises of trade.
Midnight stayed with the company as Talbot paid their salaries from the gold he
had amassed on a previous quest. But it wasn't until that evening that Midnight
learned of Talbot's secret agenda.
She had just been relieved of watch duty by Goulart, a burly man who rarely
spoke, and was settling into a deep slumber, when the sound of raised voices
alerted her. The voices died away instantly, and Midnight feigned sleep as she
Side 8
摘要：

Forgotten Realms - Avatar 1 Shadowdale - Awlinson & Troy DenningSHADOWDALE"Copyright 1989 TSR, Inc. AH Rights Reserved.This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein to prohibited ...

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