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masterghandalfMG: Well, everyone, it’s time for another fun-filled trip into the world of Ed Greenwood’s Crown of Fire! Last time, our heroes’ peril was resolved anticlimactically, Elminster set off on a journey, and we had severe doubts about Mirt’s competence and character. Oh, and Thraun the lich lord set his plans into motion, too. Today, we check back in with the Zhentarim and Shandril and co. try to have some downtime. Joining us will be Caelum and Errezha!
Chapter Seven: At the Sign of the Wanton Wyvern
Errezha: Well, our opening quote today is from someone named Amhritar the Tall – seriously, was that the most interesting thing about this person? – in their book Tall Tales: A Ranger’s Life – for the Prince’s sake, that pun was dreadful – and it reads Do ye remember an inn, Tessyrana? Old and dark and rambling, lost in the arms of the wild woods a long day’s ride from anywhere—but warm and firelit within, against the chill winds of the storm. The smoke stung our eyes, and its old and spicy smell enshrouded us as it did everything else in the house. We climbed worn, curving stairs away from the ready laughter and ale, into a candlelit room, a cozy den nestled amid others in the night, carved out of low beams, gentle mutterings and creakings, and uneven floors. And for one night, at least, that plain, tiny, and friendly little room was our home. Which tells me very little other than that somebody is clearly in a rather nostalgic mood. We then open our chapter proper in a rather different mood. Manshoon looked up, unsmiling. Fzoul and two silent upperpriests stood across from him, and two beholders floated overhead. In the air between them all, in an inner chamber in the High Hall of Zhentil Keep, hung a naked man. It turns out that this is Simron, one of the Zhentilar soldiers who’d previously tried to capture Shandril, and apparently he was very naked – most of his skin was missing. What a charming way of putting it! Manshoon, it happens, is busy torturing Simron with invisible spell-claws, leading to his current predicament, and his blood is being caught below in a huge bowl, for later use in dark, cruel magic. The Zhentarim did not like to waste the talents of their members. Hmm; this is beginning to remind me of home; should I be disgusted or nostalgic? *beat* Disgusted it is, and not only because I hate being reminded of home. Also, “talents” certainly is an interesting euphemism for “blood,” isn’t it?
Caelum: Oookay, that wasn’t a little creepy or anything. Anyway, Manshoon is pleased that Simron still has enough strength to scream, since it means he still has enough strength to talk – but it seems a pretty long bet that you’ll be able to get anything useful from him in this state – and he demands to know more about Simron’s experience with Shandril’s spellfire. When he doesn’t answer immediately, Manshoon rakes him again with invisible claws, leading Simron to beg for mercy; Manshoon tells him that Mercy must be bought, soldier. He then starts to repeat his question but gets interrupted as one of the apprentices barges in, declaring that he and his companions were looking for spellfire in Sembia – why? The Zhentarim seem to all know Shandril’s in Cormyr, and my geography may not be all that great even in my own world, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t the same place – where they were attacked by agents of the Cult of the Dragon and the others were killed. Manshoon quickly shoos him out – so, what was the point of that, exactly? – and returns his attention to Simron, musing that there are too many players involved in this game already and he can’t risk leaving it to apprentices any more. “I’ll have to become directly involved in the hunt for this Shandril.” Pretty sure the last time you tried that, she killed your dragon and sent you running, but, hey, you’re the evil wizard-lord and I’m just a guy with a sword, so maybe you know what you’re doing better than I do after all.
Errezha: *snorts* Based on what we’ve seen so far of Greenwood’s villains, I doubt it.
Caelum: You’re probably right, as usual. Well, Manshoon turns to his companions for advice; the beholders are silent, but Fzoul counsels caution. Manshoon rolled his eyes. “I grow no younger,” he said carefully. “What use is spellfire—or the triumph of our Brotherhood over all—to me, if I’m toothless, blind, and failing in my dotage before we gain either?” Wow; Shandril’s only had this power for what, a month and a half at most so far? How long are you expecting this hunt to take, anyway?
MG: It’s especially weird because Manshoon, while nowhere near Elminster’s age, is already older than a natural human lifespan at this point and still has the vitality of a man in his prime (we’ll find out more about the mechanics of his immortality, which I’ve alluded to previously, later in this very book, but he certainly has no reason to think age will be catching up with him any time soon). And Fzoul knows this full well, because he’s not only of the same generation as Manshoon but, per some sources, they’ve known each other from childhood. And Manshoon will still be around and kicking come 5e, which advances the timeline to more than a hundred years after this (so’s Fzoul, but he’ll have ascended to demigod-hood by that point and thus probably doesn’t count). So, yeah, seeing an immortal fret about his mortality to another immortal is kind of a weird take, Greenwood.
Errezha: …indeed it is. But Fzoul warns Manshoon that he has enemies, and your open participation in this hunt is sure to bring out Elminster of Shadowdale—to say nothing of the Simbul, Khelben Arunsun, and others—against you. Azoun has already doubled his patrols in eastern Cormyr and is killing our warriors as fast as he finds them. Manshoon just responds that if he let fear rule him, he’d never have attained the power he has – for my part, while courage is admirable, it must be tempered by prudence or else it just becomes recklessness – and then one of the beholders asks a very pertinent question. How does Manshoon plan to succeed in defeating Shandril when so many others have failed? As it happens, he has an answer. The Brotherhood is often guilty of a fault dear to our natures: in trying to outdo each other, we try to be too clever. Excuse me? With the possible exception of Fimril and his shield spell, nothing we’ve seen so far from the Zhentarim or Zhentilar has required particular cleverness. Instead, Manshoon proposes to try something rather more direct – brute force. *she smiles thinly* My dear Manshoon, have you considered that perhaps the girl who explodes dracoliches with a single blast may in fact have the market on brute force rather cornered? Especially where magic is concerned?
MG: Also, Manshoon’s whole schtick is, in theory, being this masterful Xanatosian schemer who’s always five steps ahead of everybody else and has so many contingencies planned for everything that even when he loses, he wins. Deciding to throw subtlety to the wind and go in from the front with all spells blazing is a pretty weird move for him (and, spoiler, it works out about as well as you’d expect).
Errezha: *sigh* Of course it does. And so Manshoon outlines his plan. “Club the wench into submission with an army of zombies controlled by underlings using items of power. Bury her under undead, no matter how many she destroys—and bring her down. My magic is strong enough to take care of any Harper or Cult meddling in such a battle.” That done, he can take her back to some hidden bolthole where he can have Thraun drain her power, safe from prying eyes – such as those of Elminster. He then sends a guard to fetch an apprentice – apparently a different one from the one who was here earlier – and tells him to take twenty of his comrades (how many apprentices do the Zhentarim have, exactly?) and keep a watch on Shadowdale, letting Manshoon know at once if Elminster leaves or does anything unusual. Alas, Manshoon is a chapter too late on this, since we know Elminster already left, but I suppose it’s the thought that counts. After the apprentice runs off, one of the beholders tells Manshoon his plan has merit (really? It just seems to me like the old maxim that “if brute force hasn’t succeeded, consider you may not be using enough”) and the other says they’ll be watching, and then they both depart. Fzoul also leaves, first reminding Manshoon that the risk is yours and then leaving the First Lord alone with what’s left of Simron. Manshoon then turns to him and declares that Mercy is for the dead and snaps his neck with a spell before turning to leave himself and did not look back as the floating corpse slowly drifted down toward the bowl of blackening blood. Yes, he’s definitely reminding me far too much of some of Mother’s associates. Should I ever find myself in Faerun, I think I’ll cross Zhentil Keep off my list of locations to visit, if you don’t mind.
Caelum: And so, we then have a scene change back to Shandril and Company, where Mirt is telling the others to stay alert as “There’s sure to be at least one snake hereabouts who seeks Shandril and spellfire.” Delg makes a sarcastic comment about Mirt’s powers of observation, and Mirt fires back with a bit about What an exciting life ye must lead which doesn’t seem to have anything to do with anything, and then Shandril, getting annoyed, goes Really, milord. Must you? Which is apparently in imitation of the haughty Sembian ladies who used to stop at the Moon for a night and, okay, from what we saw of the Rising Moon it didn’t really seem like the kind of place that catered to snooty aristocrats, but I guess I’ll take her word for it. Mirt then points out a fence up ahead, which apparently marks the border of the Wanton Wyvern’s yard, and then we get a bit where he tries to shove through some bushes, slips, and falls into a muddy ditch, to Delg’s amusement. “Unusual maneuver,” the dwarf remarked cheerfully, “but I can see its virtues now, O Great Warrior. It’ll certainly lull any waiting foes into false overconfidence and allow us to make a grand entrance while they’re still rolling about on the ground, laughing helplessly.” You know what – it’s not the most original humor, but it's Mirt and he probably deserves to get dunked in mud (and maybe worse…) every so often, so I’ll take it. Anyway, Shandril and Narm help Mirt up and they make their way towards the inn. Before them, at the bottom of the slope, two bright pole-lamps flickered on the right-hand side of the road. The lamps flanked a stout gate that led off the road into a high-fenced yard. Up out of the dark shadows of this enclosure rose several large, dark buildings. The nearest one was a rambling place; they could see part of it by the light of another, dimmer lamp on a post near the door. By the door there’s a gong and a sleeping figure dressed all in rags; Mirt strikes the gong and a voice on the other side asks if they’re travelers. Aye… Two men, one woman, and a he-dwarf, on foot. He-dwarf? Excuse me? Delg’s a man too! You’re making him sound like, I dunno, a bear or something. Which is both rude and kind of creepy. But Mirt goes on to say he’s willing to pay well for food and bed, and the speaker on the other end opens the door, revealing himself to be a tall man with a staff, who immediately shoos off the ragged figure – whose name is Baergasra and is a leper, apparently – and invites the travelers inside. The inn turns out to be old but cozy, the rooms simple but comfortable and there are perhaps a dozen other guests already in the common room. Everyone takes a seat at a table to wait for their dinner, but Shandril, exhausted, falls asleep before the food gets there… and falls into a pretty horrible dream, too, where she’s being chased by pretty much every enemy she’s made in the last book-and-a-third. They rode skeletal dragons that laughed hollowly, even after she blasted them. There were more of them, more and more, and the spellfire in her hands was fading away and failing.… They came nearer, the men laughing now along with the bony dragons … near, nearer … Dark hands shifted suddenly, fingers lengthening horribly into reaching, writhing black tentacles.… And then she wakes up with a start, and Narm immediately reaches over and comforts her, assuring her that they’re safe.
Errezha: Well, safe for now, anyway; a number of hard-looking men who seem like mercenaries have started to approach the table in a menacing fashion. Delg tells Shandril they’ll handle this, and that she shouldn’t use spellfire unless she has to – in the middle of a crowded inn, I’d hope that goes without saying – and then suddenly the lead mercenary starts yelling accusations. “You’re the ones who stole my little girl! Thieves! Slavers! You won’t get away this time! Innkeeper! Bring your crossbows!” Whether misdirection or a case of mistaken identity, the leader attacks and is met by Mirt; a couple more draw crossbows but Delg throws his axe at them and, miraculously (was Delg’s axe even weighted for throwing?) it hits; one of the archers was slumped on the stairs, whimpering and clutching at the red ruin of his shoulder, where the bright dwarven axe was buried deeply amid the spreading blood. Narm, meanwhile, is about to cast a spell but Delg shoves a small crossbow (which he got from where, exactly?) into his hands. Despite having no training on this weapon that we’re aware of, Narm manages to shoot one of the mercenaries through the throat. The fight continues for a bit while Narm struggles to re-load his crossbow – apparently, he’s not familiar with it after all; I suppose the earlier shot was just luck after all? – and then one of the mercenaries approaches Shandril with a drawn knife. Shandril manages to dodge just in time, and then Narm casts himself between them, taking the blow, before Delg brings him down, while Mirt smashes a chair over his opponent’s head, leaving him stunned. There was no foe left to smite. Shandril stood there, hands smoldering, facing a frightened innkeeper and two red-faced but rapidly paling cooks with cleavers and crossbows in their hands. Delg and Mirt grab the wounded Narm and hoist him up, while Mirt loudly declares that anyone who gets in their way as they try to leave will answer for it to King Azoun! Hmmm; implying you’re some sort of agent for the king when you’re not is bold, and potentially foolish, especially since I’m pretty sure none of you is actually Cormyrean at all. But the innkeeper and patrons buy it and let them pass, and they carry Narm out into the inn’s yard where Mirt calls out for the beggar, Baergasra, who apparently has some skill in healing. And it seems Mirt knows? *beat* Oh, dear, I have a sneaking suspicion of exactly how they know each other…
Caelum: That comment could be interpreted a couple of ways and I don’t think I like any of them, so… moving on? Well, Baergasra hurries over, and Shandril is surprised to realize that she was a healthy and fast-moving woman, not a drunken cripple. She kneels beside Narm, examines his wound and pulls out the knife, and then Mirt starts undressing Narm (for medical purposes, I guess?) while Baergasra offers her diagnosis. “It went deep, indeed, but it carries only sleep venom, not the usual Zhentarim killing blackslime. He’d have lived, but it’s good I was close by … so how are you, Old Wolf? It’s been awhile, it has.…” Suddenly the inn’s doorguard hurries out into the yard, demanding to know who let Baergasra back in, since she’s a leper and the innkeeper doesn’t want her around. And then, out of nowhere Baegrasra abandons her patient, tackles the guard – whose name is apparently Thomd – and kisses the panting, frantic man without permission before declaring that it’s a good thing she’s not actually a leper or she’d have infected him now too. And then Pulling open the filthy lacings of her bodice for an instant, she revealed a tiny silver harp pendant nestling in the filthy folds of a gargantuan bosom. Okay, for one, that’s a little too much information, Greenwood, and for another… she’s a Harper. Great.
Errezha: *smugly* As I suspected.
Caelum: Well, Baergrasra gets up and asks Mirt if she can use his bath – what bath? Did he pay for one at the inn, or does he just lug a tub around with him everywhere – and then out of nowhere she asks for Thomd’s cloak and then starts stripping, taking off rag after rag, and stood at last clad only in grime. Lots of grime and mud, caked thickly in places. She scratched some of those places, grinned at them both and held out an imperious hand for the cloak. Uh, lady, don’t you have somebody your supposed to be healing? And, okay, you said the poison’s not actually deadly, but Narm still got stabbed. Isn’t that a little more important than… whatever it is you’re doing right now? Baergasra demands to know if Thomd can see any leprosy on her – he can’t, but apparently, she does stink, which isn’t all that surprising, considering. Delg passes her Thomd’s cloak, and then she demands the guard escort her into the inn, so she can get her bath. Narm, meanwhile, is miraculously healed. Shandril could see an ugly purple scar just forward of his armpit, but the skin was whole again, and the blood had stopped. He still slept, presumably from the venom. So, is Baergasra a cleric, or did she use some sort of potion or magical device to heal him, or what? We should have seen her actually doing that, and not… whatever this scene actually turned into. Shandril, meanwhile, claims the dagger, in case they need it later. Mirt then tells Delg to go back in and calm everyone down and tell the innkeeper they’ll clean up their mess, and If anyone gives ye trouble, mention my, er, close friendship with King Azoun. He also asks Shandril if she’ll stand guard for now, until they get settled in. “Of course, Mirt. It’s a pleasure,” Shandril said happily, and meant it. And on that oddly happy note, the chapter ends.
MG: And so, it does! And this one really felt fairly inconsequential; yes, the first half had Manshoon deciding to go after Shandril in person, but then we had a random fight with some nameless goons and Greenwood’s descriptions of a filthy not-really-a-leper in various stages of undress that took up far too much of the chapter (and I do honestly have to wonder how many actual lepers there are in Faerun, considering the overall high power level of the setting, the existence of cleric spells like remove disease and the fact that many of those clerics who can cast said spells are going to serve gods whose dogma includes commands to heal the sick, help the downtrodden or the like). Next time, everyone gets their baths, we find out a bit more of what in the Nine Hells this was actually about, the Zhentarim keep scheming and Elminster shows up again to drop some more exposition on us. We’ll see you all then! No pics this time.
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Date: 2022-10-22 02:30 pm (UTC)Well that was unbearably saccharine. Moving on!
Good to know that pretty much everyone in this book is balanced on the edge of becoming a war criminal. CHRIST.
Yeah, didn't you do that in the last book? And wind up getting your dragon servant absolutely fucking obliterated, and nearly take one of Elminster's fireballs to the face in the process? Yeah, I seem to recall something like that. Fuck me sideways you're an idiot, Manshoon.
Aren't you the one with the potentially endless series of clones that wake up and inherit your memories every time you die? To the point that you're practically immortal? Because I'm pretty sure that was you!
Oh good, even if I'm remembering wrong I'm generally right.
(When Arnold Judas Rimmer can claim to be smarter than you, you done fucked up being an immortal mastermind.)
It's certainly not unique but any time where Mirt gets humiliated is a good time for me!
(HOLY SHIT MIRT.)
Okay um wow NO. Leprosy is stupidly contagious! There's a reason Leper Colonies were a thing for literal centuries! And while it does stop being contagious eventually, the incubation period for it is FIVE FUCKING YEARS and the fact that I haven't been able to find reliable data on exactly how long it takes for someone infected to stop being able to pass it on and the medicine that treats it wasn't discovered until the 1940s and was already mutating to be resistant to said medicine by the 1980s gives me ZERO confidence that this person is safe, Cure Disease spells or no! WHAT THE FUCK GREENWOOD.
Okay I'm like 99.99999% sure that this is them trying to kidnap Shandrah in what I consider to be one of the smarter moves in the series thus far, but the fact that everyone but the Harper (DISGUISED AS A FUCKING LEPER WHO KISSES PEOPLE WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT, FUCKING DISGUSTING ON HER PART AND GREENWOOD'S) thought this was plausible enough to not get involved with them trying to kill Mirt says a lot about his business practices. She's sure as hell not a Cleric of Ilmater, if she was one of those she'd actually be, you know, HELPING.
HOW. WHEN. Nobody did jack shit! Show don't tell isn't absolutely but SHOW INSTEAD OF FUCKING TELLING GREENWOOD! I think I'm starting to be more angry about how just plain bad he is as a writer than about how disgusting his heroes are.
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Date: 2022-10-22 06:07 pm (UTC)Remember "Mercy, Dragon Rider", Tris?
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Date: 2022-10-23 03:16 am (UTC)Sadly. What is it with bad fantasy writers and terrifying war criminal heroes?
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Date: 2022-10-23 07:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-10-23 03:29 am (UTC)I've noticed that Greenwood sometimes has actually relevant things to say in the chapter headers... and a lot of the time, they're just there out of obligation, like he feels he has to fill the space with something. This would definitely be one of the latter.
Good to know that pretty much everyone in this book is balanced on the edge of becoming a war criminal. CHRIST.
At least Manshoon's supposed to be evil?
Oh good, even if I'm remembering wrong I'm generally right.
Yeah, I've been avoiding talking about the clones explicitly because we're still a few chapters off from their being formally introduced, but he definitely has them. And, once introduced, they'll be treated like something he's had all along despite not having been even slightly alluded to so far.
HOW. WHEN. Nobody did jack shit! Show don't tell isn't absolutely but SHOW INSTEAD OF FUCKING TELLING GREENWOOD!
Well, next chapter does confirm Baergasra is a cleric (of Eldath, if you were wondering) so presumably she cast a healing spell on Narm after pulling the knife out, but still, we should have had that described instead of getting way too much description of her filthy, naked self (and her forcibly kissing a dude who clearly didn't consent to it). The whole sequence is just one of those Godsdammit Greenwood moments.
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Date: 2022-10-23 03:37 am (UTC)Oh good, I was right about Manshoon being the clone guy. I still expect the reveal to be as stupid as all hell.
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Date: 2022-10-26 04:59 pm (UTC)Odio: Uh, what was that?
HamsterZerg: I tried to beat Greenwood at his own game! It helps that the quote in question is a surprisingly deep philosophical conundrum in the silly, whimsical game that is Beautiful Katamari.
“I’ll have to become directly involved in the hunt for this Shandril.” Pretty sure the last time you tried that, she killed your dragon and sent you running, but, hey, you’re the evil wizard-lord and I’m just a guy with a sword, so maybe you know what you’re doing better than I do after all.
Pit: Enjoy your Darwin Award, Manshoon!
Alas, Manshoon is a chapter too late on this, since we know Elminster already left, but I suppose it’s the thought that counts.
Meanwhile...
(Elminster is walking through the woods, unaware that the RED Sniper is taking aim at him)
RED Sniper: That's it, mate... Get in range so I can blow your brains out... That's it... Closer, closer...
(In a swift motion, the "RED Sniper" gets up, turns around, drops his disguise to reveal that he's actually the RED Spy, and aims his revolver at what appears to be thin air)
RED Spy: Say goodnight, your highness.
(RED Spy fires, dispelling the Simbul's concealment spell with a headshot, and almost immediately after, a sniper rifle goes off in the distance, followed by the sound of a dead man hitting the ground)
RED Sniper: *in the distance* We got 'em, mate!
RED Spy: Ha ha, yes! Now to turn them in for our reward!
Mirt strikes the gong and a voice on the other side asks if they’re travelers. Aye… Two men, one woman, and a he-dwarf, on foot. He-dwarf? Excuse me? Delg’s a man too! You’re making him sound like, I dunno, a bear or something. Which is both rude and kind of creepy.
Tahu: And then a bear and a wolf came and tore Mirt to shreds.
Pit: Uh, Tahu, bears and wolves aren't actually a case of sexual dimorphism. There's different species of bear and different species of wolf, but, uh, bears and wolves simply share a kinda recent common ancestor with each other.
Tahu: Oh. ... And then a regional Cosmog bear and a regional Cosmog wolf came and tore Mirt to shreds.
Odio: Boy, would I hate to see what kind of environmental pressures would cause a Cosmog's final forms to go from Solgaleo and Lunala to whatever Tahu just described.
Delg tells Shandril they’ll handle this, and that she shouldn’t use spellfire unless she has to – in the middle of a crowded inn, I’d hope that goes without saying – and then suddenly
Heavy Duty Refrigerator: I am full of sandviches and I am coming for you! *jumps off the cliff and lands on Odio*
Odio: Ow.
the lead mercenary starts yelling accusations. “You’re the ones who stole my little girl! Thieves! Slavers! You won’t get away this time! Innkeeper! Bring your crossbows!”
Pit: Who even are these people?!
Narm, meanwhile, is about to cast a spell but Delg shoves a small crossbow
HamsterZerg: ALWAYS DELG! It's always Delg who takes crap from people and shoves it into other people's hands!
Baergasra hurries over, and Shandril is surprised to realize that she was a healthy and fast-moving woman
HamsterZerg: You're welcome.
and kisses the panting, frantic man without permission
she revealed a tiny silver harp pendant
gargantuan bosom.
Odio: Hey, littlecaity, you missed this!
(awkward silence)
Queen: Littlecaity Get The Banana
and Elminster shows up again