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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 493826" data-attributes="member: 143">Heh... about a month ago, I spent an entire staff meeting coming up with ideas on how to screw with the Western Heartlands.  A lot of those notes ended up in my book VII outline.  As for the heroes, we'll get to them very shortly, but first, the last of the "setting the stage" posts, as we visit another famous Faerunian site, and are reintroduced to some guest stars from an earlier chapter:* * * * * Book VII, Part 3Long rays of afternoon sunlight sparkled as they passed through the multi-paned windows situated along the cantilevered bases of the sloping roof of Twilight Hall, laying down lines of brightness along the smooth, polished wooden floor.  Twilight Hall, the headquarters of the Harpers, was formed of wood and stone that seemed to blend together in smooth harmony.  The Hall was a compound of structures, really, situated on the edges of the prosperous city of Berdusk, but its distinguishing feature was the large central hall, a building constructed by talented artisans who’d invested a part of themselves its making, and there were many who said that magic had aided them in that work.  The place had the look of a hunting lodge, albeit one crafted for giants, but it was also solid, built as if to withstand a siege.  In fact, the structure had in fact served in such a defensive role several times in Faerûn’s tumultuous history, and blood had been shed on those smooth wooden floors in the past.  At most times, the main hall was a busy place, filled with comings and goings, as well as people just taking their rest.  Comfortable couches and leather-upholstered armchairs lined the walls, along with bookcases that contained volumes collected from all over the Realms.  Music and stories produced by famous bards were often heard here, accompanied many times by the boisterous noise of men and women engaging in games of chance or tests of mental or physical skill. But this afternoon, Twilight Hall was quiet, a somber air hanging over the place, and only a single occupant filled the large open space of the main structure.  At one end of the hall stood a long table of polished blueleaf, surrounded by two dozen chairs of expert and elaborate craftsmanship.  Seated at the table was a single individual, a woman well into her middle years, a look of concentration on a face that was still attractive, if currently lined with the weight of heavy concern.  She was apparently engaged in writing letters, her pen dancing across a sheet of parchment as she swiftly added lines in a smooth, flowing hand.  To the side, propped against an adjacent chair, stood a mandolin, a bow and quiver of long arrows, and a longsword, forgotten for the moment but within easy reach.  The woman herself wore a simple green tunic that could not entirely hide the glimmer of silvery mail links underneath.She did not look up as two newcomers entered the hall, even though the sounds of their boots upon the floor were clearly audible.  They were an odd pair, who wore the dust of the road and other signs of a long journey just completed.  The first was a silver-haired moon elf, clad in a simple but functional outfit of layered greens and browns.  He carried a composite longbow nearly as tall as he was, itself fashioned from a wood that looked at first glance as if it was silver itself, especially when he walked through the shafts of sunlight.  His companion was a tall, bulky warrior of mixed blood, a half-orc with a pair of battleaxes strapped to his back and wearing a chain shirt under a thick fur vest.  The pair crossed the hall and came to a stop just a few paces from the table and the woman bard.  As the sound of their footsteps faded she finally looked up, and a worn smile creased her features.  “Lariel, Gorath, it’s good to see you.  I only wish it was under better circumstances.”  She rose, and embraced each of them in turn.“We heard the stories, along the road,” the elf said.  “And saw the faces of the people here in the city.”The woman turned her gaze out toward the hall.  The place was quiet, empty, but it was clear that she was seeing something else, a memory of a tenday past, when the hall had been full not of people celebrating and relaxing, but injured people in rows, tended to by clerics as they lay in cots, some barely able to lift their arms high enough to call for help.  Her brow tightened. “Cylyria, are you all right?” the elf asked, concern written clearly in his voice.The woman nodded.  “It was bad, but it could have been much worse.”  She gestured toward the table, and the three of them sat down.  “It started in Elden’s Pond, a little village less than a day’s walk from here, to the south along the Aldoon Trail.”“I know the place,” Lariel said, and his companion nodded with a grunt.“It was late in the day when a merchant caravan coming up from Greenest stopped in the village.  They’d intended to just stop briefly, to water their horses and put some food in their men before pushing on to Berdusk, but the village was quiet, and no one came out to greet them.  What they found...”With an angry shake of her head, Cylyria gained control of herself and continued.  Underneath the obvious strain on her there was an iron resolve, an edge that was appropriate for one of the highest leaders of the Harpers.  “They were attacked when they entered the village inn.  It was a cloudy day, so a few of them even came outside, to assault the wagoneers.  We were lucky that even one was able to escape, and the undead did not pursue, uncomfortable even in the pale light that filtered down through the clouds.”“The surviving merchant rode hard to Berdusk, and raised the alarm.  The sun was already setting by the time he arrived, but we rallied everyone we could, and rode south.  I was all too aware the with darkness the creatures could spread out, cover a lot of ground, and there are other villages, scattered communities radiating out for leagues around the city.”“We encountered them halfway to Elden’s Pond, moving in a single mass straight toward Berdusk.  Hundreds of them.  They must have killed every single villager in the place, to number so many.”“Shadows,” Lariel said to himself, his own face a grim mask.  “How could they take an entire village, without anyone sounding an alarm, or trying to escape?  It would only take one, to find a horse, spread word...”“Not smart,” Gorath said, his first contribution to the conversation.  “Not completely mindless, but they’re not that smart.”“Indeed,” Cylyria said.  “That’s one of the things that keeps spawning undead from ravaging across Faerûn.  The higher forms are more intelligent, but shadows are not known for coordinating their efforts so.  In a way, they are almost feral, competing with each other to steal the life-energies that they crave so.”Lariel shuddered.  “How many did we lose?” Gorath asked. “Too many.  Cel Marad.  Galandros.  Fezran Tor.  A score of guardsmen from the city, brave men.  The shadows forced us back, at first, and when we regrouped they had almost reached the walls of the city.  We met them with everything we had—magic, clerical power.  It was Coran Velos, the high priest of Lathander, who ultimately turned the tide.  He charged into their midst, blasting them with divine energies, and when that was spent, cast spells of healing that tore apart the fabric of their warped existence.  They swarmed on him like flies on a spilled pot of honey, but he continued to destroy them even as they drained his life away.  He gave us the time to deplete their numbers, even at the cost of his own life.”   “But...” Lariel interjected.  “Surely he could have warded himself against their negative energies...”Cylyria shook her head.  “By pure chance, he had not prayed for the spell that day.  Several members of his congregation had taken ill, and he used his prayers to treat their sickness.  We had no time to prepare, and if we had not had even the little warning that we did, those things would have fallen upon Berdusk in full force.”  She did not have to elaborate; each of them knew the possibilities of what might have happened. “I knew Coran,” Lariel said.  “He was a good man.”“We made sure that his soul was freed, to go on to its proper place in the Heavens,” Cylyria said.  “We would not leave him to a cursed existence as an undead thing.”“Troubled times all over,” Gorath noted.“Yes,” Cylyria said.  “The plague in Elturel, although it’s more or less contained since Dhelt quarantined the city.  They say that he himself spent days in the stricken neighborhoods, curing the sick.  Five city wells in Scornubel poisoned, with scores dying and many more seriously ill.  Bandits have been raiding the eastern marches, taking on even well-armed caravans, and the Purple Dragons, who used to patrol the mountain passes and the eastern trade routes, have not ventured out of Cormyr for several years now, ever since the current troubles there began.”“We heard that there have been slaving raids as well, up north,” Lariel said.Cylyria made a disgusted face.  “Yes, mostly isolated settlements, but they’ve been hit hard, and they didn’t leave much behind but bodies and scattered traces that all lead north.  Some signs were found, though, that link the raids to the followers of Bane.”“I thought that the Zhents were laying low in this region,” the elf commented.  “From what I had heard, they’ve got their own internal problems, and their activities have always been focused on the Moonsea region in any case.”“Banites,” Gorath spat, the word coming out as a curse.  “Darkhold has denied responsibility—why would they take slaves here, when there are no markets for them within thousands of leagues?”“The Zhents have access to portals,” Lariel reminded her.“Yes, I haven’t forgotten that, as if that little fiasco in the Dalelands last year wasn’t enough of a reminder.  But somehow, I’m a little suspect.  Everything that’s happened—it’s all too neat to be a coincidence, but it just isn’t the Zhents’ style.”“If not the Zhents, then who?”“At this point, we have all the usual suspects.  The dark churches: Shar, Mask, Cyric, and a few others who haven’t been as active out here.  The Iron Throne and the Shadow Thieves have been active on the Sword Coast for some time, but these sorts of things seem a bit ambitious even for them.  Or it could be a fiendish plot; reports indicate that the practice of demon-worship is taking hold again among some of the humanoid tribes dwelling in the western mountains.  It’s possible even that your friends from up north are involved in some way; I read your report on what they’re doing up in Ascore.” “As far as we can tell, they’ve got a semi-permanent camp there, but they haven’t ventured far beyond the edge of the desert,” Lariel said.  “What you may not know is that one of them was killed in a warehouse in Elturel last year, in connection with that whole Cyricist arms-running operation.”  Lariel and Gorath shared a look at that news, but said nothing.    “Divination wasn’t able to reveal any clues?”“Only a few scattered bits of information.  Whoever’s behind this has covered their tracks well, and they have some potent allies in high places to help shield them.”“What does the Lords’ Alliance have to say about all this?”“At the moment, the official line is that it’s just another bid for power by the Zhents.  They may be right, especially if Fzoul’s been able to smooth over the internal dissention at Darkhold, but as I said, I have my doubts.”“So you want us to gather information then, find out who or what is behind this,” Lariel concluded. “I hate to admit it, but we are scattered.  There are just too many things going on in the Realms right now, and many of our best agents are too deeply involved to pull out and bring back here to deal with this.  And we’ve lost some good people in the last year, even before what the bards are already calling the Night of the Shadows.  There are some others who perhaps, might be able to help... but we will have to see.”Lariel stood, and Gorath was quick to follow.  “We’ll do our best,” he promised.  “I know,” Cylyria said, hugging them both again before they stepped back away from the table.  “Good luck to you, and may the luck of the Lady follow your steps.”Lariel nodded, and the two Harpers left.  Cylyria watched them go, and with a sigh returned to her place at the table, and the stack of letters that she still had to write before morning.</blockquote>

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