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masterghandalf) wrote2022-06-03 10:21 am
masterghandalf) wrote2022-06-03 10:21 am
Spellfire Chapter Ten: Full Flagons
MG: Well, everyone, it is once again time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Spellfire! Last time Manshoon attacked and got his ass kicked, Narm proposed to Shandril and she accepted (even though they’ve only known each other for about a day…) and the High Imperceptor of Bane set plans of his own into motion! Today, we return to Shadowdale and our heroes try to get some rest and relaxation despite an incursion of Banites. Joining us, as usual, will be Errezha and Caelum.
Chapter Ten: Full Flagons
Errezha: And so we start off with our now customary quote, this time from Mirt “the Moneylender” of Waterdeep in a letter to Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun proclaiming his lover Asper his lawful heir and reading I have known high honor, proud fame, and great riches, and have drunk deep of good wine at feasts where my mouth watered and my belly was filled with delightful viands amid good fellowship and conversation … and I tell you that all these pale and drift away as idle dreams before the gentle touch of my Lady. Hmmm. Seems harmless enough, if overly sentimental…
MG: Ah, Errezha, hate to break it to you, but I have things to say about all three of the people involved in this. First off, Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun is one of the Chosen of Mystra and in terms of iconic archmages of Faerun, he probably takes second place behind only Elminster (I’d say that if Elminster is basically a take on the traditional Odin/Merlin/Gandalf wizard archetype, Khelben reminds me a bit more in appearance and demeanor of an epic fantasy version of Doctor Strange). And personally, I’ve always found him far less annoying. For one, he’s less powerful (still very powerful, but not quite so OP) and thus less of a walking deus ex machina; for another, he doesn’t have the same level of author favoritism going, which means he doesn’t hog the spotlight nearly so much (in most stories he appears in, Khelben’s a supporting character at best; even the novel Blackstaff, which focused on him and his history, was mostly told through the eyes of one of his apprentices Watson-style rather than from the man himself); finally, since he's generally not lionized the same way, he’s free to be more deliberately morally ambiguous. All of this, IMO, makes him much more interesting and less obnoxious. He also sits on the ruling council of Waterdeep, which is presumably in which capacity Mirt is writing to him here. Now, Khelben is at best a tangential player in Shandril’s Saga, so you may be wondering why I’m bothering to talk about him here. Mostly, it’s to put off having to talk about Mirt.
Who is Mirt, you ask? Mirt the Moneylender is a retired adventurer turned successful merchant; Greenwood himself has claimed that it’s Mirt and not Elminster who is his true self-insert in the Realms (which is kind of hard to swallow, considering how Elminster has godlike magical powers, an entire ongoing novel series where he’s the star, and a tendency to steal the spotlight even in stories where he’s not the star so long as Greenwood’s writing, but it is pretty clear that in any case Greenwood does like Mirt and tends to have him show up as a supporting character quite a bit, including in the latter two volumes of this trilogy). All this probably sounds pretty straightforward; what’s so bad about Mirt, you ask? Well, it has to do with Asper. Asper is Mirt’s lover and, eventually, his wife. Asper is also Mirt’s adopted daughter. Yes, you read that right. Back in Mirt’s adventuring days, he rescued Asper as an infant from her destroyed village and raised her as his own child. And when she reached adulthood he married her, per most sources at her initiation (which doesn’t make it better, and indeed makes it sound to me like Asper is probably in need of some serious therapy more than anything else, and also raises serious red flags about Mirt’s parenting) in what is perhaps the most extreme example of Greenwood’s fondness for “young person/older authority figure or mentor” type ships. It’s gross, and even among die-hard Greenwood fans the only actual defense I’ve seen for it is the old “it’s another culture with different customs” line. Which, okay, fine, but in this context I don’t buy it. Waterdeep isn’t some real-life lost civilization that Greenwood is bound to represent accurately, warts and all and including values a modern reader would find strange or abhorrent; it’s not like he’s writing a historical novel set in Classical Greece or something. It’s his own damned creation on a different world entirely that’s also his creation and everything in it is there because he wanted it that way, and apparently, he really wanted a place where a young woman can marry her adopted father who raised her from infancy and everybody’s okay with that. And the man in question is someone we’re meant to like, one of Greenwood’s favorite characters, and possibly one of his personal avatars. Ick, ick, ick. For such a small detail regarding a couple of secondary characters, it may well be the most disturbing thing in the whole setting, in my personal opinion; at least when the Cult of the Dragon are plotting for a world ruled by dracoliches, or the Red Wizards are conducting horrific experiments on people and/or animals, or drow priestesses are ripping people’s hearts out as offerings to Lolth, it’s presented as a bad thing! But I don’t recall anyone ever calling Mirt or Asper out on how skeevy and weird and gross their entire relationship is. (Also, I just realized my spellchecker knows who Lolth is. Should I be worried about that?)
Errezha: *coldly* I want to hurt someone now. I don’t really care who.
Caelum: Okay, well, moving on, we start our actual chapter as The Knights had left Rauglothgor’s shattered lair behind and traveled north into the woods. Phew; I guess we’re finally getting away from that place, then? We get a bit more about how they travel, buying mules in Mistledale where Elminster let lapse the last of a succession of floating discs he’d conjured to carry Shandril, despite her protests. Wait, why’re you treating Shandril with kid gloves when she clearly doesn’t want you to? Let me guess, it’s all about preserving your experimental specimen, isn’t it? So, the keep going – apparently Rathan starts singing a hymn to Tymora but stops when Torm starts mocking him for it – and then finally Shandril asks how far it is to Myth Drannor, for some reason I’m not entirely clear on? That’s not where they’re going, anyway. Jhessail has an answer: “Due east, several days distant. The river Ashaba lies between us and Myth Drannor at all times. The gate the Shadowsil forced you through took you across half the dales to the dracolich’s lair.” Torm then laughs and says they can go there if Shandril wants, and that I hear you can have a devil of a time there! Torm, considering Narm just got traumatized and had his mentor torn to pieces by those same devils a few days ago at most… shut up. Everyone else shoots him dirty looks, but he just thinks – and I guess we’re in his head now – that someone had to provide entertainment, after all. Yeah, I’m sticking with what I just said, thank you.
Errezha: Well, then, we have a scene change: The golden light of approaching sunset glinted on leaves ahead, yet the Knights pressed on. Biding beside each other except where trees forced them into single file, Narm and Shandril clasped hands. Whatever happened, they were together. Gah; I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I doubt it’s enough for me to think the two of you are ready to get married just yet. Merith and Jhessail conjure some lights as it gets dark and Meirth points out some glowing fungi in the woods that are apparently called witchfire or nightshine which for some reason makes Shandril feel less awed and much safer – girl, you just slaughtered a dracolich and drove off an archmage, I think you, personally are as great a guarantee of your own and everyone else’s safety as possible. Then, without warning, Jhessail casts a sleep spell on Shandril and Narm, apparently to help them get rest, but honestly, get their permission first! The knights load the two of them onto one of Elminster’s floating disks and rib Torm a bit when he tries to join them there. Torm made a rude noise. It was returned with spirit from Elminster, who rode in stately dignity ahead, startling everyone into silence. It all made no difference to the mules. Hmph. Personally, my sympathies lie with the mules.
Caelum: Well, then we get another scene change as Shandril and Narm wake up; Their arms had crept about each other in slumber, and they were drowsy and deeply rested.
Errezha: *disgusted noise*
Caelum: Narm’s a bit surprised to find that they’re on the disk – I guess Jhessail really didn’t ask permission for that little stunt, did she? – but Jhessail herself breaks in to tell him that they’re almost to Shadowdale. And, sure enough, they’re suddenly accosted by some local guards. Silver and blue banners, emblazoned with the spiral tower and crescent moon of Shadowdale, stirred in the faint morning breeze. Men wearing the same emblem on their surcoats stood watching warily, pikes and crossbows ready in their hands. And this ends up amounting to nothing, since the guards recognize Elminster and immediately let him and all his companions through. Well, Narm asks Jhessail if he and Shandril can ride now, since they look pretty foolish floating along on the disk, and she says they can but warns them that the disk will follow a way behind them, so they’d better be careful of going somewhere it can’t fit, since it might get stuck and pitch their stuff off. Huh; that seems like a bit of a fault in that spell, doesn’t it? But everyone makes it to the Twisted Tower without incident, where they’re greeted by Lord Mourngrym. “So here you are back, and not only do you stick your neck into clear danger, but you drag all my protectors and companions with you, even Elminster, and leave the dale undefended.” His eyes twinkled. “And do I look upon the reason for your return to peril? Lady, I am Mourngrym, the lord left behind to sit the dale seat whilst his elders take the air, see sights, and enjoy journeys. Welcome! How may I call you?” So Shandril introduces herself, and Mourngrym reveals that he used to be one of the Knights himself before he was a lord but that I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until too much drink has flowed before I start telling such tales and invites everyone in for dinner.
MG: By the way, I hope you all like Shadowdale, because we’re going to be here for a while.
Errezha: Wonderful. And so, we get another scene change as a serving girl calls Shandril down to feast and it turns out she’s already been given fancy quarters in the Twisted Tower itself. Strange, in Cheliax lords are rarely so generous; I suspect he wants something from you (probably the services of your spellfire). She gazed around at the beautiful bedchamber, with its hangings of elven warriors riding stags through the forest—the High Hunt of the Elven Court, a unicorn glowing in the far-off trees ahead. Shandril’s gown, too, was a beautiful thing, Calishite silk overlaid with a fine tabard for warmth in the stone halls of the North. The tabard’s beading interwove crescent moons, silver horns, and unicorns. On her arm, she proudly wore her joined ring and bracelet of electrum and sapphires. It awed Shandril to see herself in the great burnished metal mirror. And then Narm comes in in a great-sleeved tunic of wine-purple velvet, matching silk hose, and boots trimmed with fur. The lion-headed dagger hung from his belt. His hair had been washed and trimmed and doused with perfume-water, and his eyes outshone the rings on his fingers. He greets Shandril as “my lady” and tells her she’s “beautiful” and “As graceful as any high lady I’ve ever seen.” *scoffs* I much doubt that; pulling off high noble fashions with dignity and grace takes rather more practice than you’d think. And, as Shandril points out herself, it’s not like Narm has seen many high ladies to compare her too, and that It’s still the same me, if I’m in plain gray robes or a man’s tunic and breeches! And then Narm says he fears to touch her and spoil “such perfect beauty” and ugh, I know you’re a couple of naïve adolescents dealing with your first serious crush (…which has somehow become a betrothal…) but you’re still both embarrassing me. Stop it. And, indeed, Shandril tells Narm that his hunger is clearly dulling his wits and they kiss and head off downstairs. The guard kept his face carefully expressionless. Which is more than I could manage.
Caelum: Well, that’s when we get yet another scene change – we seem to be having a lot of those this chapter – to the middle of the feast, where Mourngrym is trying to get Shandril to eat some more even though she says she’s full. Mourngrym smiled again. “I’m similarly affected. If you two can spare us a few words before retiring, my Lady Shaerl and I would be happy to have your company in the bower upstairs. I believe you’ve met Storm Silverhand and Sharantyr. We’ll have other guests, Jhessail and Elminster among them. Go up when you can’t hear each other anymore—it grows much noisier. If you’ll forgive me, I must walk among my people. When their tongues are wet and loose, I learn their true grievances and concerns.”
Errezha: …along with probably a fair bit of useless nonsense, if you’ve gotten your people that drunk. And did you invite the whole town to your feast, Mourngrym? Do you have room for them all, even?
Caelum: So, we get a bit more description of the feast, which sounds fairly raucous. The Knights are there too, including Torm in a fancy outfit that we get a full paragraph describing for some reason, and Rathan in what I guess are his formal vestments. Florin, meanwhile, apparently looks like a king and is talking with a lady Narm had last seen on a forest trail near Myth Drannor, and before that in the taproom of the Rising Moon in Deepingdale—Storm Silverhand. She wore a simple gown of gray silk, with only a broad black cummerbund and a silver-hilted dagger for ornament. Narm asks Lanseril if Florin and Storm are an item, and Florin clarifies that no, Florin is married to Storm’s sister, Dove, who is apparently heavily pregnant and not at the feast; Storm did have a lover, but he died recently and she doesn’t like to talk about it, which seems fair enough.
MG: Just breaking in for a moment to give a bit of background on the Silverhand sisters, aka the Seven Sisters, who are yet more of Greenwood’s pet characters (though in my experience other authors are more likely to use them than they are to use, say, Elminster or the Knights, and IMO tend to make them much more interesting than he does). To make a very long and complicated story short, the sisters’ mom was a mortal woman who became an avatar of Mystra, and thus they’re all Chosen of Mystra as well as kinda-sorta her daughters; they all have silver hair and look young though they’re several centuries old, and are all, of course, extremely powerful mages. I’ll have more to say on some of the individual sisters as they become important, but for now I’ll just give their names – Sylune, Alustriel, Laeral, Alassra (the Simbul), Storm, Dove, and Qilue. Elminster raised several of them, though not all, and I’ll be coming back to that detail later. I’ll also say that, along with Elminster, the Sisters are significant contributors to the Realms’ extremely high power level and especially to the perception that the setting’s villains don’t really stand a chance with so many high-level, semi-divine heroic NPCs running around; when the Shadovar were eventually introduced, the Princes of Shade (the sons of the Shadovar’s leader, High Prince Telamont Tanthul) were broadly considered to have been intended as evil counterparts to the Sisters to try and balance things out a bit.
Errezha: Ugh, more pretty people. Well, Lanseril changes the subject and introduces his companion, Thurbal, Shadowdale’s master-of-arms; Thurbal asks Shandril and Narm if they’re enjoying the feast and tells them that he’ll be in charge of protecting them during their stay. He does admit that in a world of magic his sword is sometimes of limited use, and the wonders what a world without magic might be like – I think this is the third time someone has done that in this book; this seems like something of a theme. Then again, such a world might be a worse mess than this one! But he does warn them that “Shandril, or the two of you together, can create and hurl spellfire, something infamous in the histories of Art—a weapon very powerful indeed. Many would like to have sole control over it. Watch the shadows, expecting trouble, even here.” Clearly, whoever briefed Thurbal did a bad job of it – Narm has nothing whatsoever to do with Shandril’s ability to create spellfire. He does tell them to get used to being called Lord and Lady, so long as they’re will the Knights, who apparently all merit that title for some reason, and then adds to Shandril specifically “Lady Shandril, I’ve been told of how you put Manshoon of Zhentil Keep to flight. I bow to you. Even using Art the rest of us lack, that’s no light thing to have done.” I don’t know; he didn’t impress me overly much. Then Lanseril breaks in and warns Shandril that Manshoon is one enemy she can be sure she’s made, and that there’s no real doubt he survived their encounter. Had he put in a better showing, I’d be more worried about that.
Caelum: Well, then Lanseril starts rambling a bit, telling Narm that self-control is the most important training a mage needs – wait, shouldn’t Jhessail be the one telling him this? Lanseril’s a druid, and that’s a completely different kind of magic-user, I’m pretty sure. He waved northeast, in the direction of distant Zhentil Keep. “If ever you speak with Manshoon, you’ll find him cold and controlled…
Errezha: Which is clearly why he charged into battle directed solely by his emotions, with no plan and no knowledge of his enemies, and got soundly defeated, but do go on.
Caelum: …and Elminster might seem whimsical, but he is not underneath. Those who lack control never live to reach such power, unless their Art’s never challenged. He then tells them to head on upstairs to the meeting and promises them he’ll keep an eye on the party, which is apparently his job, I guess? As they leave, Narm tells Shandril that the people of Shadowdale seem like good folk but she’s worried that we’ll bring death down upon them by coming here. I don’t know; however big a target you’ve got on your back, I bet Elminster, Storm and the Knights between them have a much bigger one, but Shadowdale still seems fine to me. But Narm just says that the two of them need their protection (who’s they? The knights? Shadowdale in general?). Well, they make their way up the stairs and find Jhessail, who asks them what’s wrong and they explain about their fear of bringing danger to Shadowdale, but she’s not that worried. “We stand in danger at all times. Zhentil Keep attacks every summer, at the least. The Cult of the Dragon and the dark elves constantly menace. Myth Drannor’s devils, the lawlessness in Daggerdale … adventurers may move on, but we cannot move the dale. Once we accepted Shadowdale, we became targets, and remain so. Why else live so high as we do tonight? I could be slain tomorrow. Should I therefore be miserable today? Why not make the best of every moment?” You know that last part doesn’t really seem like much comfort to the people of Shadowdale, does it? Then again, this place does have a world-class wizard living there, which is more than most small towns can say. They head into the meeting room, where Florin, Storm and Sharantyr - described as another lovely lady, I guess just to make sure we don’t forget that everyone’s hot? – are already there, along with Illistyl, who introduces Narm (but not Shandril?) to Mourngrym’s wife, Shaerl. And then, literally out of thin air, Elminster shows up, and he wants to get right down to business. So I’ll just ask ye straight, Narm and Shandril—will ye agree to a test of thy powers this next night? And, uh, as Errezha already pointed out, they’re just Shandril’s powers; Narm’s got nothing to do with it, so I’m not sure why he gets a say here. Shandril just nods, and Narm asks if it will be dangerous, to which Elminster says “Breathing is dangerous, lad. Walking is dangerous. Sleeping can even be dangerous. Will it be more dangerous than these? A little. More dangerous than entering Myth Drannor alone? Nay, not by a long road!” Which doesn’t really seem like much help. But Narm agrees – I still don’t get why he has to – and then Elminster turns to Shandril and asks what she knows about her parents. Which, as it happens, is nothing (hey, you know they knew Gorstag and that their last name was Shessair – that’s two things!) But Elminster just says he didn’t mean to upset her, and tells Narm to comfort her, and then he disappears.
Errezha: We then have yet another scene change, this time back to Torm as somebody tells him ‘tis the hour and he looked up from the wench he’d been kissing. Charming. He then gets to his feet off the bed he’s apparently on and tells Rold, the man who came to get him, to take his place, which rightly earns him a slap from his thus-far nameless paramour – I’d have done worse, probably – and then after he leaves it turns out the girl’s name is Naera and Rold, who is now apologizing on Torm’s behalf, is her uncle, which makes his earlier suggestion even more disgusting. Naera asks her uncle if he’s angry with Torm – girl, he’s not the one who just got stood up – and Rold says he’s not and that Torm has been called away to guard duty. Rold also helps his niece get dressed and then patted her behind fondly when he was done and, by the Prince, first that description of the moneylender and now this. What is wrong with everyone in this chapter? Moving on to less disturbing topics, it seems Elminster fears for Shandril and has asked the Knights to patrol the town; Naera wonders what Shandril could’ve done that she needs such protection, so Rold explains. “The young lass, as you rightly call her, defeated the High Lord of Zhentil Keep himself, the fell mage Manshoon. Scared him into flight, and him riding a dragon, too! She holds some great power.” Well, Naera is apparently impressed that Torm is involved in guarding someone like that, which reminds her of why she’s attracted to him and Rold of why he’s never discouraged that attraction, and then the two of them head back downstairs to the feast and the scene, thankfully, ends. We then cut back to Torm, who has changed out of his party clothes and back into his adventuring attire and runs into Rathan, who berates him for being late. And also tells him that Rold is Naera’s uncle, which Torm didn’t know (thankfully, considering his crass suggestion) though I have no idea how Rathan knew that this was relevant. And then they head off, and the scene changes again and this time we’re back in the meeting room, where Sharantyr and Illistyl are the only ones left. Illistyl asks Sharantyr about Shandril and Narm and what their abilities are like, since she and Jhessail will be teaching them; Sharantyr admits she’s not seen them fight and basically tells her to just be alert and keep an open mind. Illistyl heads off to bed and Sharantyr heads back downstairs and outside. The tall ranger smiled at the dark trees ahead. This was her true home, for all that she’d come to it late. The dizziness was leaving her as she came out into the road, the dew of the meadow on her boots. And apparently her bladder wanted to be free of much wine, which I did not need to know.
Caelum: Well, we then have another scene change – for Iomedae’ sake, this chapter really is all over the place, isn’t it? – and find ourselves with Laelar, the Hammer of Bane who is apparently the same Laelar the High Imperceptor sent for last chapter. “Dalefolk are all alike. Too much to eat and too much to drink, and they’ll be as sluggish as worms in winter until tomorrow eve, when they do it all over again. The ones we want will be inside and well guarded, but if we’re swift enough that they can’t wake any mages, there’ll be few others to aid them!” The High Imperceptor’s henchman spat thoughtfully onto the unseen ground. “You two cast a spell of silence on that stone and bear it as we swim across. Remain by the bank until we have the rope up the tower, and then guard its end and deal with anyone who happens by. We’ll up and do the grab. If we pull on the rope thrice, come up to us. Otherwise, stay where you are.” Why do I have a feeling this guy is way too overconfident for his own good? Well, Laelar’s minions all nod that they’ve understood their orders, and then they’re off towards the tower. We’re then back with Sharantyr as she wanders off into the woods until she found a stump where she could sit and relax – and maybe somewhere to do a bit more than relaxing, based on her earlier comments – when she hears the sound of people approaching and spots eight men creeping towards Shadowdale. I guess that’s Laelar’s people? And then that scene ends and we’re back with Torm as he patrols with Rathan, and they argue about the tactics someone might use to rob the tower and then spot someone moving in the shadows. They somehow spot that the intruders have one of those magical ropes that climbs by itself and run off to intercept them.
Errezha: And then we’re back with Laelar who was third of four men on the rope. The adept at its top looked cautiously in a window. If the alarm were raised now, before they could get proper footing, things could go ill indeed. He belched to ease his taut stomach, knowing the magical silence would cover the sound. Lovely. And then suddenly someone above tugs on the rope and the warrior immediately above Laelar lost hold and crashed down on the Hammer of Bane. Sigh. These people are even less competent than our previous villains, aren’t they? At ground level, we catch back up with Torm and Rathan as they attack the Banites. The first few go down easy, but then someone who is apparently Laelar crashes to the ground and pulls out a black rod, with which he manages to hold them both at bay. Then he tosses a projectile at them and The world burst into flames. Torm and Rathan were thrown forward in that terrible silence. Blistering flames raged over and past them. Their foes reeled against the tower wall in the searing heat. The rope, still standing, was blackened in an instant but not burned. Torm sank to his knees, face twisting in a soundless scream. We’re then back in Laelar’s point of view as he advances through the flames, only to be hit by a flying kick from Sharantyr and knocked to the ground. We then have a further bit of chaotic fight scene, in which Sharantyr and Torm get knocked down, the unarmed Sharantyr passively fears for her life, and then Rathan brings down Laelar for good with a blow from his mace, and it’s all nearly that anticlimactic in the actual book. Then Mourngrym sticks his head out from a tower window and asks what’s going on, Rathan tells his fellow Knights to spare Laelar so they can question him, and then our chapter ends as laying aside his mace and his cares, he quietly fainted. Well, that was all very underwhelming, but I prefer Greenwood trying to write action to when he tries to write romance (and especially to when he ends up implying – inadvertently or not – incest, so I will take what I can get).
MG: I’m afraid I have to agree with Errezha. Well, that’s our chapter! Next time, we check back in with both the Cult of the Dragon and the Banites, and Shandril and Narm finally get around to telling each other about their backstories. We’ll see you then! No pics today.
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I'm fairly sure that Elmister has made at least one god his enemy, so yeah no enemy anyone else brings to the table really matters at that point.
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