![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
masterghandalfMG: Well, everyone, it’s time for another installment of our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Crown of Fire! Last time, we had a lot of fighting, Shandril killed a lot of people and animals, and Delg promised to kill her if she ever started enjoying it. And then we ended on a cliffhanger! Today, we pick right up where we left off, with the Zhentilar attack underway. Joining us will be Caelum and Calassara!
Chapter Four: Great Murdering Battles – And Worse
Calassara: Well, that is… quite the title. Somehow managing to be at once overwrought and silly, in my professional opinion. Well, our opening quote from the title is from Azlundar, Lion of Neverwinter who writes that It is one thing to face a rival with your blade in hand and make a bloody end to all rivalry between you. It is quite another to wage war with coins in the shadows and softly striking words in hidden chambers. The second way can kill just as surely—but no one who follows it is lauded as a hero, or grudgingly granted as brave even by one’s enemies. There is something in us all that admires those who stand tall and bold in the bright light of day—even when they pay for this boldness with their lives. Hmmm; he has part of a point, I think – doomed last stands do exert a powerful fascination. But there is certainly a market for stories of intrigue and spycraft as well. Perhaps our good Azlundar could be served by broadening his horizons? I have some sources I could recommend, if so…
Caelum: Anyway, we open where you all left off last time, with the Zhentilar shooting crossbows at Shandril. But she’s still got spellfire in her, and the sight of the carnage all around her fuels her rage, and so this happens. Spellfire flared and raced down her limbs. Her tattered leathers caught fire, flaring up in bright flames that rose around her until they licked at her sweat-soaked hair. Armored in spellfire, Shandril Shessair stood up and roared her anger into the night, flinging her arms wide. Spellfire blasted out of her in all directions, low over the heads of her loved ones, lancing into the Zhentilar warriors. The white flash of its striking was blinding. Trees cracked and fell, blazing. Men screamed briefly amid the roaring. Crossbow bolts flared into flying cinders. Heat-shattered armor fell from blackened skeletons, which toppled slowly after them to the smoking ground. *beat* Wow. I should’ve realized this after she, you know, blew up those dracoliches, but I think I’ll say it now – remind me never to get on the wrong side of this woman. Not that I’m planning to enlist in the Zhentilar or anything, so hopefully it won’t come up, ever… but still. Well, after this display Shandril faints – it must’ve taken a lot out of her – and Delg comes running to defend her. Meanwhile, it turns out a handful of Zhents are still alive; a huge man in cracked and blackened plate armor rose among them, sobbing and clawing at his helm with spiked hand-gauntlets that were each as large as Delg’s own head. Guess that must be the commander I think Gathlarue mentioned last time, huh? Delg calls out to Narm, who’s also dazed, to get up and cast some fireballs at the Zhentilar; he knows Narm doesn’t have any magic like that left, but he also hopes the Zhents are already spooked enough that the threat of more magic will make them bolt. As it turns out, not all of them are, but some do run, to the anger of their officers. The curse of Bane and the Brotherhood on you! Meanwhile, the commander yells at his swordmaster – wait, a commander and a swordmaster are different things? Is a swordmaster like a sergeant? – to rally their troops, and orders the priest of Bane, who’s also still alive, to heal his eyes. I guess the flash of all that spellfire blinded him?
Calassara: So it would seem. And so, while the Zhentilar commander struggles to get his troops back under control, Delg shoves a dagger into Narm’s hands, tells him to guard Shandril, and then he raises his axe and advances towards the Zhents. Also, as it happens, the trees are still smoldering a bit but the fires are dying and it seemed Shandril was not fated to burn down Hullack Forest this night, which is a relief. He also wonders what the Zhentilar who fled made of the spellfire and thinks that there’d be tales of tanar’ri or gods making the rounds of the Moonsea North before long.
MG: Just breaking in with a minor but interesting observation – tanar’ri is what demons call themselves (devils call themselves baatezu, for the record, a term which itself will show up in a recap later this chapter). During 2e, when this book was written, D&D used these terms almost exclusively instead of “demon” or “devil” to try and head off some of the attempts to label the game as satanic. Those restrictions got relaxed again from 3e and beyond, but the terms “tanar’ri” and “baatezu” still exist in the lore and get trotted out every so often.
Calssara: …irrelevant, but interesting. I’ll have to remember it. Well, Delg picks up a rock and tosses it into the forest behind the Zhents, sending them looking around wildly for who or what made the noise. Meanwhile, the captain is still trying to get the priest to heal him, but there’s a… complication; the priest was insisting that the helm come off first. “It won’t,” said the big man, voice approaching a sob. “I’ve tried … it feels stuck to my skin. Gods!” *queasy* Well, that’s… rather horrible. Did Shandril do that? But Delg just thinks of the captain as sniveling – Delg, when one’s helm has been literally fused to one’s flesh by heat, I think complaining about that fact is rather more serious than sniveling – and then charges. Not fast enough, alas, as the priest shoves the captain out of the way of the axe, and then the captain gets back to his feet and starts striking out with his gauntlets, forcing Delg back. Finally, the captain grabs Delg’s axe and tries to wrench it away… and then Delg in turn seizes the dagger from his belt and climbed the arm that swept around to strike him, clambering up it to drive the short blade hilt-deep through the helm’s eyeslit and the unseen and unseeing orb beneath. Dark, hot blood splashed him as he leapt free, to the sound of startled shouts from the swordmaster and warriors, who saw the warcaptain topple dead with no apparent foe. Delg lay prone in the darkness and waited. *still queasy* And so ends another potentially interesting Greenwood villain in a decidedly anticlimactic fashion. In any case, the rest of the Zhentilar flee, save for the priest, who stays lurking beside a nearby tree. And so Delg throws his axe at him. The spinning axe took the priest in the head, ending all his thoughts in one brief, bright moment of pain. The black-robed body crashed down into rotting leaves. *sigh* Well. That’s over with, I suppose. I don’t think those Zhentilar lived up to expectations any more than the previous ones… though they did make rather more of a mess…
Caelum: But, as it turns out, there’s someone else involved in all this who we’ve not seen yet; a stout figure hid in the deep night-shadows. It held a drawn blade up and ready; if the priest had gone a pace or two more, he’d have impaled himself on the steel. The figure shrugged, grinned, slid his sword back into its sheath, and melted into the night, unseen. Well, at least it’s not Elminster stealing everyone’s thunder again, right?
MG: Oh, I know who this is. It’s not Elminster, but it is Greenwood’s other Stu. He’s been alluded to already, but we’ll meet him properly soon. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…
Caelum: Great. So, we then have a moment of Delg recovering his axe, and then the scene ends as he hears Shandril calling for him and runs over to see if she’s all right. We then have a scene change to Fimril, mageling of the Zhentarim, who I think was one of the guys at the big meeting with Manshoon a few chapters ago, as he scries on the battle through fire – something he’s apparently better at than most mages – and confirms that the Zhentilar squad were defeated, and their captain is dead. However, he also thinks that Shandril has spent almost all her spellfire – he knows this how, exactly? – and that she’s now vulnerable, and so he orders his troops to prepare to attack. None of them, however, saw the skull floating in the night gloom beyond the circle of firelight. Its smile matched Fimril’s own. So, I guess this is where that lich lord starts taking a, her, hand in things, right? I guess Fimril was the mage he ended up being assigned to?
Calassara: So, it would seem. Regardless, that short scene ends there, and we find ourselves elsewhere, as a pair of large doors open and A handsome, cold-faced man in swirling black robes strode through the doors, onto a midnight sea of slick black marble. He walked to the center of this room, which was always dark, turned to face the doors, and halted. Tiny motes of light flickered and pulsed on his robes, rising slowly into the air. They winked and drifted in small circles, gathered over the man’s head, and coalesced into a sphere of flickering light. Under the gathering radiance of his conjured driftlight, Fzoul Chembryl waited patiently, like an impassive statue, in the center of the innermost sanctum. He listened to the familiar chants in the temple passages outside with the air of an old and jaded critic. In the growing light, his long red hair gleamed like new-polished copper. Ah, yes, and so now that we’ve already seen Manshoon, it seems it’s now time for the Zhentarim’s other major leader to put in his appearance, yes?
MG: Indeed. And I didn’t point this out in Spellfire, though it was present there as well, but Greenwood seems to consistently describe Fzoul as a redhead… even though literally every piece of official art of him I’ve seen (and there’s a surprising amount; guess Fzoul’s a more popular fellow than you’d think) makes him a blue-eyed blond. All I can figure is that it’s another example of the “canon” Realms diverging from Greenwood’s original ideas, albeit in a rather minor way in this case.
Calassara: Or perhaps he dyes? *she idly twirls one of her own green locks around one finger* Well, as it happens, regardless of his actual hair color, our Fzoul has a guest, one Xarlraun. Who is, it must be noted, yet another beholder. I have… questions about this species, though maybe for later? Xarlraun was dark, the chitinous plates of its outer skin covered with many old and ill-healed scars. The monster was as large as a woodsman’s hut, its spherical body as high as three tall men standing on each other’s shoulders. For many years it had dwelt in its own high mountain valley, feeding on herds of rothe that roamed the grassy slopes. As the decades passed, it grew large, and its hunger had grown with it. Finally the day had come when all the rothe were gone from the valley, so the beholder had descended into the world of men—and found far more plentiful food. Men were bonier than their livestock—especially those who wore bits of metal—but far tastier. Xarlraun stayed, and grew wise in the ways of men. Wise enough to ally itself with strength and come drifting down the dark night streets of Zhentil Keep to this meeting—at a time when its lesser brethren were keeping Manshoon and Sarhthor busy in another meeting, elsewhere. Wise enough not to trust the man standing alone before him in the dark room. Yes, I have so many questions – though perhaps I’d best answer them from a distance, as one I’m not especially eager to learn the answer to is whether Xarlraun is partial to the taste of elf. It turns out that Xarlraun and Fzoul have met to discuss – what else – spellfire, and their plans to seize it. Fzoul gives the beholder a brief recap of events so far, beginning with the defeat of Shargrailar and Shandril’s passage through Thunder Gap. He also briefly covers the involvement of Elminster and the Knights and mentions that the Red Wizards of Thay have had news of Shandril but so far haven’t acted on it, at least not overtly. There’s also a remaining Cult agent named Ghaubhan Szaurr based somewhere called the Stonelands, though Fzoul doesn’t expect him to become involved unless Shandril ends up in his territory, as Shargrailar’s downfall has led the Cult as a whole to give up on the chase as a lost cause.
MG: Spoiler, Szaurr will become involved. So will the Red Wizards, but not until the next and final book of the trilogy, Hand of Fire.
Caelum: So, Fzoul pauses a moment to conjure a large map of the region, and describes how either creative uses of Art, or new spells, or both are necessary to deal effectively with spellfire. Huh; I’m no expert on magic, but I’m pretty sure Shandril literally eats magic for breakfast, the stronger the better, so… maybe try something else for a change? He also says that the Zhentilar have been dispatched to hunt her down and test her strength, though apparently, they’ve been ordered to stay away from the main roads and settlements – guess Thundarlun doesn’t count for that? – so Cormyr and Sembia don’t notice and get involved. Fzoul keeps on going, describing a lot that we already know about the attacks Shandril’s already faced at Thundarlun and elsewhere, though he does confirm that those foulwings from a while back were his, so yay for that? He wraps up by noting that King Azoun doesn’t seem to be taking a direct stand in the matter one way or another, and then he’s interrupted by the sound of screaming from outside the chamber. Xarlraun asks if it’s a sacrifice, but “No,” the priest replied. “We understand it is customary for you to feed about now, each day.” Well, I guess providing a meal for your guests is good manners, but still – ew. A moment later, a naked man is tossed into the room. The man saw the beholder looming over him, shrieked in terror, and lunged away, soaring through the air toward the doorway he had come in by. He tries to run, Fzoul’s magic blocks the exit, and then Xarlraun chows down. The beholder belched, shaking the chamber and making Fzoul’s stomach churn and his eyes sting. Once again, ew. Xarlraun then asks rather pointedly if Fzoul ever means to try and poison him one day. “Of course not,” said Fzoul. “That sort of behavior is beneath me.” His tones were calm, even scornful, but a sudden dampness glistened on his forehead. Okay, so, can we all stop talking about eating people? Is that too much to ask?
Calassara: Apparently not, since Xarlraun declares he’s done for now and will eat again once the meeting’s done. Fzoul then explains – again – that Manshoon and he agree that defeating Shandril will require new magic, and that Manshoon had already ordered the Zhentarim’s apprentices to go after Shandril by any means of their choosing. “Our magelings need a weeding. We’d like some of them tested and all of them given experience, and there are one or two who have developed or found spells we’d like to see in action—before their owners have time to plan and properly prepare for an assault on us. The stability of the Brotherhood is better served if we remain in control of it for some time to come.” Xarlraun’s not terribly impressed by this plan (much as I hate to agree with the man-eating monstrosity, nor am I), so Fzoul catches him up with a summary of the most recent attack on Shandril and the destruction of that Zhentilar squad, and that now at least three of the apprentices are ready to make their move. The next stage will involve trying to drive Shandril towards either the Stonelands or somewhere called Tilverton, where more powerful members of the Zhentarim are waiting. Hmm; unless they’re more powerful than the dracolich, that seems unlikely to be successful. Meanwhile, Xarlraun decides he’d like to eat again now after all, and so the terrified guard, cursing and shouting, was catapulted naked into the chamber. When he saw Fzoul, he began to plead, offering money, mistresses, information about hidden treasure caches and the doings of Fzoul’s rivals—Fzoul turned his back and walked away. While Xarlraun corrals his meal, Fzoul explains that the Zhentarim’s chief interest isn’t so much getting spellfire themselves as making sure that Shandril doesn’t align with anyone else who might make use of her powers; while they’d prefer to take her alive, killing her serves their interests just as well. However, he suspects that Manshoon has private ambitions for what he’d do if he got the power for himself. First, he’d subjugate Fzoul and his priests, forcing them to be loyal to him first rather than Bane. When Manshoon felt secure enough in his control of the Brotherhood, spellfire would be used to destroy key foes—Elminster of Shadowdale and the Simbul of Aglarond, for example—who often anticipate and ruin our plans… Thereafter, spellfire would be used carefully and covertly to remove strong leaders who oppose us—Azoun of Cormyr, Maalthiir of Hillsfar, and the rulers of Mulmaster, Calaunt, and then Thay.
MG: Just breaking in to note that this really shows how OP spellfire as a power is, or Manshoon believes it to be (and considering some of what we’ve seen Shandril do, with reason) if he thinks getting it will make him powerful enough not only to knock over a number of powerful nations and city-states, but to kill at least three very powerful archmages (Elminster, the Simbul, and Szass Tam, de facto emperor of Thay and leader of the Red Wizards, who’s roughly a peer of the former two strictly as an arcane spellcaster and significantly more powerful than Manshoon normally is). So, basically, Greenwood gave his heroine a power that one of the setting’s big bads thinks would be more-or-less an “I win” button in his hands (if, again, her destruction of Shargrailar hadn’t given that away already). Just something to think about.
Caelum: Well, as all this exposition is going on Xarlraun is still toying with his new snack – why do I keep having to comment on the parts that involve that thing eating people, anyway? – and takes a moment to ask if Fzoul plans to get personally involved in the battle, which he doesn’t, but he suspects Manshoon does. “I fear Manshoon has come to view this battle as a personal one after Shandril slew a lover of his—Symgharyl Maruel, the sorceress known as the Shadowsil—and sent him fleeing from battle. In that flight, he lost his favorite dragon steed, one long bonded to him and of unquestioned loyalty, and had to fight his way through baatezu to get out of the ruins of Myth Drannor. He will attack in person if he gets an excuse.” But Fzoul himself has noticed that people who fight Shandril directly tend to die – huh, is this finally a villain with half a tactical brain? – and so he plans to watch and pull strings from a safe distance. Xarlraun agrees with him on this. “And because of this, we have chosen to support you, Fzoul, over Manshoon. You seem wise enough not to act against him, or reveal our part, openly—for in a struggle between you two, both you and the wizard would be destroyed; the only question would be whether you would succeed in taking Manshoon down with you.” Aaand, immediately after saying this, Xarlraun finally stops playing and swallowed the temple guard whole. Again with the eating people! Why me? But it turns out that Xarlraun has a plan; he spits out a large black jewel, and tells Fzoul that with this, he can command the lich lord Thraun, instead of Manshoon. “Put it on only when you wish to see out of the lich’s eyes and work your will on it. Your identity and mind is shielded from Manshoon, the lich itself, and all others; use your will to break Manshoon’s only when you deem the time is right—that will probably come when he tries to use the lich lord against you.” Xarlraun then explains that Thraun is A failed lich, of an ancient sort. It needs to feed on spell energy to continue its unlife, and takes the form of a disembodied, flying human skull, able to see, speak, think, and cast spells. The gem you hold contains the soul of Iliph Thraun; through it you can control the lich lord absolutely, even to drive it to its own clear destruction.
Calassara: Well, that’s… fascinating, in a horrible way. Xarlraun then tells Fzoul that I strongly recommend you keep that gem hidden; at all times beware the treachery of Manshoon and the ambitious wizards he commands. Which merely seems like common sense, to me. He also thanks Fzoul for his meals, and comments that he knows Fzoul poisoned the first one but that he’s immune to such toxins, and then departs. Once he’s gone, Fzoul tosses the gem – Thraun’s phylactery, I should say – away from himself and casts some divinations on it, but they reveal nothing amiss. Satisfied that the beholder was honest with him, he then casts another spell to hide the phylactery in a safe place, and then the chapter comes to an end as He nodded, satisfied, and then set off down the passage, snapping orders to the priests at hand; there was much to do.
MG: Before we go, I’d like to make a few observations about Fzoul. First off, under the pens of other writers, he generally is depicted as being more competent – or at least, more successful at actually accomplishing things – than Manshoon, and is arguably much more iconic as the face and eventual leader of the Zhentarim than Manshoon is. He gets used a lot more, too – Fzoul is probably one of the setting’s most recurring baddies, while Manshoon is mostly Greenwood’s to play with
