Elminster in Myth Drannor: Prologue
Dec. 1st, 2023 07:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
masterghandalfThis is a repost from Das_sporking2. Previous installments of this sporking may be found here.
Warning: This chapter contains a suicide, some body horror, and some violence.
MG: Well, everyone, the time has come to officially begin our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Elminster in Myth Drannor! In which we’ll see if Greenwood has improved his writing (he hasn’t), if he’s any less weirdly horny than usual (he isn’t) and if his skills as a worldbuilder will ever actually make their appearance (eh, somewhat, but unfortunately not enough to save the book). Before we introduce our sporkers and get started, I’d like to take a look at the front matter! First off, as seen in the intro and TOC, we have the cover. On the one hand, the depiction of the young Elminster… confuses me. The cover artist seems to think he’s a blond (the same mistake was made on the cover of Making of a Mage, assuming the kid there was meant to be Elminster) when he canonically has black hair at this point; he’s also depicted as looking more-or-less like a younger version of his later “classic wizard” self, when there’s not really any indication El has started assembling that look yet by this point in his life. On the other hand… when it comes to conveying the basic gist of “a human wizard comes to a magical elven city in the forest,” it gets the job done.
Next, we have the map, which is… the exact same map of Cormanthor we previously had in Making of a Mage, so I won’t post it again. The good news is that this book actually takes us to Cormanthor, so the map is actually relevant this time (seriously, I don’t understand why Making of a Mage didn’t have a map of Athalantar instead…). And, unlike Making of a Mage, we don’t have any quotes to get out of the way before the book begins (though we will, alas, still have the epigraphs for the individual chapters).
And so, with that out of the way, it’s time to meet the sporkers who’ll be joining us on this journey! As it happens, I’ve used both of them before (though not together) but I’ve picked them both because of their connection to elves and elvish culture, considering where this book is going. Returning from my Making of a Mage sporking will be Mira, my OC necromancer from the Scarred Lands third party setting; and from some of my Shandril’s Saga sporkings will be the elven bard and Pathfinder Calassara, from my unfortunately stalled adaptation of Paizo’s Rise of the Runelords!
Mira: Oh, ah, hello again, friends! I wasn’t expecting to be back here so soon… maybe this book will be better than the previous one? *she sighs* Somehow I doubt it… But I think I’m getting ahead of myself. I am Mira, journeyman necromancer of the Chorus of the Banshee guild, from the city of Hollowfaust. My guild specializes in the study of spirits – what makes them linger in the world, how to communicate with them and call them up and, if necessary, how to put them down. And it does sound like this book will involve some ghosts… *she blanches and clutches her scarf* Oh, dear… I’m not looking forward to Greenwood handling that… But I’m also a half-elf, from a largely human city, with my own origins largely a mystery. So, I am curious to see how Greenwood handles elves… not that I’m expecting much…
Calassara: And I am Calassara of Kyonin, bard, traveler, historian and, as certain parties have let slip to you already *glares at mg* a Pathfinder agent. Considering I was last here for the utter disasters that were Crown of Fire and Hand of Fire, I’m not expecting much when it comes to seeing Greenwood try to depict my own people (or at least their counterparts on another world…) but I do expect to be able to point and laugh, so at least I’ll have that to look forward to. And I do always look forward to meeting new friends *she throws her arm around Mira’s shoulders; Mira looks startled and bewildered* We’ll have so much to talk about – your city sounds fascinating! Though I suspect we’ll have to restrict ourselves to talking about the book, sadly. And it does appear that we have the introductions out of the way, so, onward!
Prologue
Calassara: Oh, and we start out immediately with an epigraph! I remember that so many of these offended me, professionally, from the Shandril books; let’s see if Greenwood has at all improved, shall we? Oh, and this quote is from SHALHEIRA TALANDREN, HIGH ELVEN BARD OF SUMMER-STAR specifically FROM SILVER BLADES AND SUMMER NIGHTS: An Informal But True History Of Cormanthor. Hmm, this seems like a very trustworthy source and not at all a pile of salacious gossip (not that I have anything against salacious gossip, but one should not treat it as a substitute for actual history!). Let’s see what the actual quote has to say? It was a time of mounting strife in the fair realm of Cormanthor, when the lords and ladies of the oldest, proudest houses felt a threat to their glittering pride. A threat thrust forward by the very throne above them; a threat from their most darkling youthful nightmares. The Stinking Beast That Comes In The Night, the Hairy Lurker who waits his best chance to slay, despoil, violate, and pillage. The monster whose grasp clutches at more realms with each passing day: the terror known as Man. Oh, well, I can’t say I haven’t known my share of elves who hold… less than flattering opinions of humans (personally, I think humans are quite charming, once you get to know them… with some notable exceptions) but this seems rather over the top! Although, I think that the Stinking Beast and the Hairy Lurker might make good stage names for cheap prize fighters… or perhaps employees at a certain other sort of establishment… I don’t judge.
And so, we open the prologue proper with a description of a nameless king, as he admits that he did offer the prince something in return for the crown (as he adjusts his own crown and lets the audience draw a mockingly loud chorus of breaths) – he promised to grant his heart’s desire. The fat monarch paid them no heed, but turned away in a gaudy swirl of cloth of gold and struck a grandly conquering pose, one foot planted on an obviously false dragonskull. The light of the purple-white driftglobes that accompanied him gleamed back from plainly visible wire, where it coiled up through the patchwork skull to hold the royal sword that had supposedly transfixed bone in a mighty, fatal blow. I… think it’s a testament to the overall quality of Greenwood’s villains that I honestly can’t tell if we’re meant to take this seriously or not? Every inch the wise old ruler, the king looked out over vast distances for a moment, eyes flashing gravely at things only he could see. Then, almost coyly, he looked back over his shoulder at the kneeling servant. Hmmm, no, I’m still not sure. And that bothers me. Anyway, it seems that the prince’s fondest wish was to die rich (that seems like a wish that could be abused very badly; these people really need to read more). And so, the king shoves a pouch of gold into the servant’s hands, and tells him to give it to the prince and then stab him to death, several times as is the current fashion, I believe. At that the audience bursts into laughter, as we realize that this is part of a play. Ah, good, so Greenwood doesn’t mean us to take this seriously – that is quite the relief, as if he did, I’d think one of the two of us had decided to take leave of our senses. On the other hand, I have to wonder if this is what he thinks makes the stuff of biting satire. As the scene ends, much of the audience heads off; Only a few remained behind to watch the next coarse scene of The Fitting End of the Human King Halthor; such parodies of the low and grasping ways of the Hairy Ones were amusing at first, but very ‘one note,’ and above all elves of Cormanthor hated to be bored—or at least, to admit their boredom. Hmmm… fair enough. In any case, the hosts of the party have arranged a number of other entertainments, including spells allowing partygoers to take to the air whenever they feel like it, which does sound fun… on the other hand…
This night the usually bare garden walls bristled with carved unicorns, pegasi, dancing elven maidens, and rearing stags this night. Every statuette touched by a reveler split apart and drifted open, to reveal teardrop decanters of sparkling moonwine or any one of a dozen ruby-hued Erladden vintages. Amid the spires of the decanters were the shorter spikes of crystal galauntra whose domes covered figurines sculpted of choice cheese, roasted nuts, or sugarstars. Amid the rainbow-hued lights drifting among the merry elves were vapors that would make any true-blood light-hearted, restless, and full of life. Some abandoned, giggling Cormyth were dodging through the air from cloud to cloud, their eyes gleaming too brightly to see the world around them. Half a hundred giggles rolled amid the branches of the towering trees that rose over all, twinkling magestars winking and slithering here and there among their leaves. As the moon rose to overwhelm such tiny radiances, it shone down on a scene of wild and joyful celebration. Half of Cormanthor was dancing tonight. That, on the other hand, just sounds excessive. I’ve been called hedonistic, and maybe I am, but please – I have taste.
MG: And I have to say, that “play” we saw a bit of essentially serves two purposes – in-universe, it’s a satire of humans and their behavior from the perspective of elves. In the context of the book, it highlights the ignorance and disdain the elves of Cormanthor have for humans. But the problem with both of those is that… Greenwood’s villains actually act like that. If anything, the king in the play may be an over-the-top caricature, but he’s probably more restrained than Belaur, who we saw literally last book! And a lot of Greenwood’s elves are no better. Word of advice – if the parody literally can’t be told apart from the genuine article, then one way or another, something has gone terribly wrong.
Mira: I don’t think I can disagree? We then cut to somewhere else, as someone says “Surprisingly, I still remembered the words that would bring me here.” The person being addressed turns in the direction of the voice, which is speaking from the deepest part of the bower, where the bed stood. We learn that the addressee is the Coronal of all Cormanthor…
MG: “Coronal” being an elven title that’s not quite a monarch in the traditional sense; a coronal serves for life, but the position isn’t hereditary and is usually (as in Cormanthor) at least somewhat answerable to a council of elders or high mages (who are typically the ones who elect the coronal in the first place). The actual elven hereditary monarchy, based on Evermeet, hasn’t been established yet.
Mira: …and the Coronal greets his guest as Great Lady of the Starym. She replies that she was once more than that, and the Coronal, Eltargrim corrects himself and calls her my friend… my Lyntra. *flushing* That makes it sound like she might have been more than a “friend” as well… but regardless Ildilyntra Starym steps out of the darkness, and Eltargrim is swept away by memories of the past. He asks Lady Starym to take a seat, and we learn that the Starym are the eldest, proudest, and allegedly most “pure” of Cormanthor’s noble families. *she hunches down in her coat* I don’t think they’d like people like me vey much, then… And then, we get… oh, oh dear. The Coronal did not have to look to know that the years had not yet touched her flawless white skin, the figure so perfect that it still took his breath away. Her blue tresses were almost black, as always, and Ildilyntra still wore them unbound, falling at her heels to the ground. She was barefoot, the spells of her girdle keeping both hair and feet inches above the dirt of the ground. She wore the full, formal gown of her house, the twin falling dragons of the Starym arms bold in glittering gems upon her stomach, their sculpted wings cupping her breasts in a toothed surround of gold. Her thighs, revealed through the waist-high slits in the gown as she came, were girt in the black-and-gold spirals of a mantle of honor. The ends of the mantle drew together to support the intricately carved dragontooth scabbard of her honor blade, bobbing like a small lamp, wrapped in the deep, solemn red glow of its awakened power. The Ring of the Watchful Wyvern gleamed upon her hand. This was not an informal visit. While I’m told that pure-blooded elves rarely show their age – unless they are very, very old indeed – so her youthfulness isn’t surprising, I still can’t help but notice that we get a very… loving description of this woman, and I still don’t have the slightest idea what Eltargrim looks like. And considering Greenwood’s previous proclivities… I’m not looking forward to this… But Eltargrim does notice that Lady Starym has come clad in all the trappings of her power, and he doubts she’s here for a friendly chat.
She stops in front of him, drawing aside her gown and posing with her hands on her hips so he can clearly see her sword – that doesn’t seem to be the only thing Greenwood wants us to know he’s seeing – and then, surprisingly, she kneels to him. He looks down to her, trying to understand why she’s doing this, and Lady Starym admits she’s come to beg. Reconsider this Opening you speak of. Let no being who is not a trueblood of the People walk in Cormanthor save by our leave. Let that leave be near-never given, that our People endure! I… don’t think I like this woman very much. I try not to hold grudges, but I admit I’ve never been fond of people who object to things like my right to exist… Eltargrim tells her to rise and says she must know he’s heard such pleas before. But she stays on her knees and stares up at him, though he is unmoved, and says she must have arguments of substance to sway him, or to speak of something else. She demands to know if by “something else” he means the party going on outside, which she doesn’t have a very high opinion of (I’ve never been much of one for parties, myself – they’re just so much… muchness) or if he thinks she’s here for a dalliance. Eltargrim admits that I admire your taste in undergarments (is that really the matter at hand!?), but I had hoped that you’d set aside some of what your junior kin call your ‘cutting bluster’ here; there are only the two of us on this isle. Let us speak candidly, as befits two elder Cormyth. It saves so much … empty courtesy. Lady Starym, clearly annoyed, places her hands on her hips again and declares simply that she believes that opening Cormanthor to outsiders will bring about its downfall, and if Eltargrim does so, their friendship will be over. Eltargrim asks if that means his life would be over as well, and Ildilyntra admits that all her house would take up arms against a ruler so twisted in his head and heart—so tainted in his elven bloodlines—as to preside over, nay, eagerly embrace the destruction of the fair realm of Cormanthor – and that she believes that this “opening” would indeed bring about that destruction. No, I don’t think I like this woman very much at all…
Calassara: Me, neither. My own people have tried to hide from our world for too long, but, well… recent events made us reconsider some things. And I, for one, have always believed that new experiences are best found in the world, not hiding from it! But Ildilyntra is now in full rant, raving about how soon all they have built will be destroyed by humans… and halflings… and gnomes… even… dwarves! *she snorts* Oh, please. Just wait until your homeland becomes the haunt of a nascent demon lord – then you’ll have far worse things to worry about than dwarves! “All we have striven for, all we have fought the beast-men and the orcs and the great wyrms to keep, will be diluted—nay, polluted—and in the end swept away, our glory drowned out in the clamoring ambitions, greater numbers, and cunning schemes of the hairy humans!” Do… do you think that humans being, on average, rather hirsute is somehow connected to their lack of virtue. Because, dear Lyntra, if so, I recommend you broaden your horizons. Of course, I think my dear friend Errezha has plenty of horror stories about humans who hold those not of their race in similar contempt – let’s just say that no one people has a monopoly on virtue, or on elitism and xenophobia? But apparently Ildililyntra’s voice has risen to such a scream it’s literally echoing off glass chimes – nice trick – and then the moonlight hits her, seeming to set her aglow. Eltargrim admits that he once spoke – and thought – similar things, and worse, but he’s changed his mind, coming to believe that the younger races have a vitality the elves have lost. Even the proud House of Starym, if all of its tongues spoke bare truth, would be forced to admit that we have lost something—something within ourselves, not merely lives, riches, and forest domains lost to the spreading ambition of others.” But, he believes, opening Cormanthor to outsiders may help reverse the decline. More than that: the dream of peace between men and elves and dwarves can at last be upon us! Maeral’s dream, fulfilled at last!” Not that I am opposed to peace, but still – that would be much more meaningful if I had the slightest idea who “Maeral” was.
Ildilyntra stares at him, then speaks again, her voice razor sharp, telling him that he’s sunk into dreams of the world as he wishes it to be, not as it is. Maeral’s dream is just that—a dream! Only fools could think it might become real, in this savage Faerûn we see around us. The humans rise in magecraft—brutal, grasping, realm-burning magecraft—with each passing year! And you would invite these—these snakes into our very bosoms, within our armor … into our homes! Actually, if I’m right about my history, humanity’s magecraft has fallen of late – did not the greatest human wizardry die with Netheril? Whose fall, if I’m not mistaken, both of these people are likely old enough to remember? Whatever threat humans pose now is nothing compared to what it would have been mere centuries earlier! *beat* Though that may not be very reassuring… bother. Sadness made the Coronal’s eyes a little bleak as he looked at what she’d become, revealed now in her fury—far and very far from the gentle elven maid he’d once stroked and comforted, in the shy tears of her youth. Eltargrim says that if humans are such a threat, it is better to try and make them friends, rather than risk a war that will destroy both their peoples. Ildilyntra believes that Eltargrim will, rather, be remembered as the Coronal who led the elven people to ruin, but he insists that he’s foreseen that all other paths lead to war. War that can only lead to death and defeat for fair Cormanthor, as all the races but the dwarves and gnomes outnumber us twenty to one and more. Humans and orcs overmuster us by thousands to one. If pride leads us to war, it leads us also to the grave—and that is a choice I’ve no right to make, on behalf of our children, whose lives I’ll be crushing before they can fend, and choose, for themselves. Ildilyntra says that his arguments are born of fear, and that she’s realized there’s nothing she can say that will convince him… oh, this bodes ill…
Potentially triggering content begins here
Mira: Eltargrim says that a Coronal must do what is right for the people, whatever the cost to himself, and that, not the pomp and regalia, is what defines the office. Hmmm; we don’t have much pomp and regalia in Hollowfaust – we are a private people with few outsiders we are interested in impressing - but I think some of our guildmasters could stand to be reminded of that… Lady Starym turns and looks out over the pond below them, and Eltargrim watches her carefully, with patience he has learned over a long, long lifetime. Then Ildilyntra admits that she will do what she must do; Eltargrim recognizes the danger and tries to bind her with magic – even though that is apparently the gravest insult one could offer to the head of an elven House – but he is too late, as Lady Starym has already drawn her sword. “Oh, that I once loved you,” she hissed. “For the Starym! For Cormanthor!” And then she falls on her own blade… *she blanches* Oh, I can think of many magics such a death could be used to fuel, and none of them are good… *she whimpers* Blood spills onto the floor; More blood was pouring from her than that curvaceous body should have been able to hold. Ah, that is absolutely horrifying, but… why are we eroticizing the sight of a woman’s suicide!? Greenwood, why!? Dying, Lady Starym tries to gasp out Eltargrim’s name – he approaches her to cast healing magic, but with her last strength she slashes her own throat, and then puts out an eye as well. She fell into his arms, then, lips frozen trying to whisper his name again, and the Coronal let her down gently onto the moss, despite the growing roar of magic tearing past him, streaming up into the night sky like bloody smoke from where the dragon tooth had been. Magic that he knew sought to claim his life. *weakly* Yes, this is when you run.
Eltargrim asks if Lady Starym’s hatred was really worth her life, and then he stands and prepares to cast a spell of his own, even as he’s coated in her blood which is a vector for her dying curse. Yes, in my world the darkest magics, especially those of the Titans and their followers, often makes use of blood… As he stared at his spread hands, the dark wetness faded from them, until they blazed blue-white with risen magic, racing along his skin like fire. The Coronal looked up, then, at the sudden darkness above him—and found himself gazing straight into the open, dripping jaws of a blood dragon. It was the most deadly spell of the elder Houses, a revenge magic that took the life of its awakener. The Doom of the Purebloods, some called it. *weakly* Oh, it’s even worse than I’d imagined! How… wonderful. The dragon towers over Eltargrim and is apparently powerful enough to wither living flesh on contact. It crashed down around him, in a rain that shook the entire island, setting leaves to rustling all around and shattering the stillness of the lake into a hundred racing wavelets. Rocks rolled and moss scorched away into smoking ash where it touched. But Eltargrim is, of course, unharmed, protected by his own magic. The dragon, badly weakened, tries to strike again, but He stood his ground grimly, and it fell away to drifting smoke against the blue-white fire of the Coronal. *she sighs* And yet another Greenwood villain – or at least, her conjuration – fails anticlimactically. But Eltargrim – who has white hair, so we finally learn something about his appearance after all the description Lady Starym got – knees beside the body, taking it in his arms and weeping, repeating her name even as his protective spells cause her blood to evaporate into steam. Finally, he promises Lady Starym that she’ll be remembered with honor (as much as honoring and remembering the dead is one of the chief purposes of my guild – she did try to assassinate you) and the prologue ends as if his grief overmastered him thereafter, as he cradled the body of the one who was still his beloved, there was no one else on the island to hear.
Potentially triggering material ends here
MG: And so, our prologue… is actually one of Greenwood’s better bits of writing, all told. It clearly lays out what will be the core conflict of the novel going forward – Eltargrim wants to open Cormanthor to non-elves, while reactionary elements of society oppose this – teases Cormanthor as a setting and gives us a nice bit of personal tragedy between Eltargrim and Ildilyntra. Unfortunately, the opening is still hard to take seriously in context, the leering descriptions of Ildilyntra (even as she’s literally dying) give us a hint for exactly how a lot of this book will be going, and yet another Greenwood villain (spoilers, the Starym – Ildilyntra’s family – are the main antagonists of this book, if you couldn’t tell) ends up dying anticlimactically while failing to accomplish their goals. So, in the end, it’s still a mixed bag. Anyway, next time we’ll catch up with Elminster and see what he’s been doing since the end of Making of a Mage, when Mystra told him to head to Cormanthor. So, our storylines will end up intersecting sooner rather than later. We’ll see you then!
Warning: This chapter contains a suicide, some body horror, and some violence.
MG: Well, everyone, the time has come to officially begin our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Elminster in Myth Drannor! In which we’ll see if Greenwood has improved his writing (he hasn’t), if he’s any less weirdly horny than usual (he isn’t) and if his skills as a worldbuilder will ever actually make their appearance (eh, somewhat, but unfortunately not enough to save the book). Before we introduce our sporkers and get started, I’d like to take a look at the front matter! First off, as seen in the intro and TOC, we have the cover. On the one hand, the depiction of the young Elminster… confuses me. The cover artist seems to think he’s a blond (the same mistake was made on the cover of Making of a Mage, assuming the kid there was meant to be Elminster) when he canonically has black hair at this point; he’s also depicted as looking more-or-less like a younger version of his later “classic wizard” self, when there’s not really any indication El has started assembling that look yet by this point in his life. On the other hand… when it comes to conveying the basic gist of “a human wizard comes to a magical elven city in the forest,” it gets the job done.
Next, we have the map, which is… the exact same map of Cormanthor we previously had in Making of a Mage, so I won’t post it again. The good news is that this book actually takes us to Cormanthor, so the map is actually relevant this time (seriously, I don’t understand why Making of a Mage didn’t have a map of Athalantar instead…). And, unlike Making of a Mage, we don’t have any quotes to get out of the way before the book begins (though we will, alas, still have the epigraphs for the individual chapters).
And so, with that out of the way, it’s time to meet the sporkers who’ll be joining us on this journey! As it happens, I’ve used both of them before (though not together) but I’ve picked them both because of their connection to elves and elvish culture, considering where this book is going. Returning from my Making of a Mage sporking will be Mira, my OC necromancer from the Scarred Lands third party setting; and from some of my Shandril’s Saga sporkings will be the elven bard and Pathfinder Calassara, from my unfortunately stalled adaptation of Paizo’s Rise of the Runelords!
Mira: Oh, ah, hello again, friends! I wasn’t expecting to be back here so soon… maybe this book will be better than the previous one? *she sighs* Somehow I doubt it… But I think I’m getting ahead of myself. I am Mira, journeyman necromancer of the Chorus of the Banshee guild, from the city of Hollowfaust. My guild specializes in the study of spirits – what makes them linger in the world, how to communicate with them and call them up and, if necessary, how to put them down. And it does sound like this book will involve some ghosts… *she blanches and clutches her scarf* Oh, dear… I’m not looking forward to Greenwood handling that… But I’m also a half-elf, from a largely human city, with my own origins largely a mystery. So, I am curious to see how Greenwood handles elves… not that I’m expecting much…
Calassara: And I am Calassara of Kyonin, bard, traveler, historian and, as certain parties have let slip to you already *glares at mg* a Pathfinder agent. Considering I was last here for the utter disasters that were Crown of Fire and Hand of Fire, I’m not expecting much when it comes to seeing Greenwood try to depict my own people (or at least their counterparts on another world…) but I do expect to be able to point and laugh, so at least I’ll have that to look forward to. And I do always look forward to meeting new friends *she throws her arm around Mira’s shoulders; Mira looks startled and bewildered* We’ll have so much to talk about – your city sounds fascinating! Though I suspect we’ll have to restrict ourselves to talking about the book, sadly. And it does appear that we have the introductions out of the way, so, onward!
Prologue
Calassara: Oh, and we start out immediately with an epigraph! I remember that so many of these offended me, professionally, from the Shandril books; let’s see if Greenwood has at all improved, shall we? Oh, and this quote is from SHALHEIRA TALANDREN, HIGH ELVEN BARD OF SUMMER-STAR specifically FROM SILVER BLADES AND SUMMER NIGHTS: An Informal But True History Of Cormanthor. Hmm, this seems like a very trustworthy source and not at all a pile of salacious gossip (not that I have anything against salacious gossip, but one should not treat it as a substitute for actual history!). Let’s see what the actual quote has to say? It was a time of mounting strife in the fair realm of Cormanthor, when the lords and ladies of the oldest, proudest houses felt a threat to their glittering pride. A threat thrust forward by the very throne above them; a threat from their most darkling youthful nightmares. The Stinking Beast That Comes In The Night, the Hairy Lurker who waits his best chance to slay, despoil, violate, and pillage. The monster whose grasp clutches at more realms with each passing day: the terror known as Man. Oh, well, I can’t say I haven’t known my share of elves who hold… less than flattering opinions of humans (personally, I think humans are quite charming, once you get to know them… with some notable exceptions) but this seems rather over the top! Although, I think that the Stinking Beast and the Hairy Lurker might make good stage names for cheap prize fighters… or perhaps employees at a certain other sort of establishment… I don’t judge.
And so, we open the prologue proper with a description of a nameless king, as he admits that he did offer the prince something in return for the crown (as he adjusts his own crown and lets the audience draw a mockingly loud chorus of breaths) – he promised to grant his heart’s desire. The fat monarch paid them no heed, but turned away in a gaudy swirl of cloth of gold and struck a grandly conquering pose, one foot planted on an obviously false dragonskull. The light of the purple-white driftglobes that accompanied him gleamed back from plainly visible wire, where it coiled up through the patchwork skull to hold the royal sword that had supposedly transfixed bone in a mighty, fatal blow. I… think it’s a testament to the overall quality of Greenwood’s villains that I honestly can’t tell if we’re meant to take this seriously or not? Every inch the wise old ruler, the king looked out over vast distances for a moment, eyes flashing gravely at things only he could see. Then, almost coyly, he looked back over his shoulder at the kneeling servant. Hmmm, no, I’m still not sure. And that bothers me. Anyway, it seems that the prince’s fondest wish was to die rich (that seems like a wish that could be abused very badly; these people really need to read more). And so, the king shoves a pouch of gold into the servant’s hands, and tells him to give it to the prince and then stab him to death, several times as is the current fashion, I believe. At that the audience bursts into laughter, as we realize that this is part of a play. Ah, good, so Greenwood doesn’t mean us to take this seriously – that is quite the relief, as if he did, I’d think one of the two of us had decided to take leave of our senses. On the other hand, I have to wonder if this is what he thinks makes the stuff of biting satire. As the scene ends, much of the audience heads off; Only a few remained behind to watch the next coarse scene of The Fitting End of the Human King Halthor; such parodies of the low and grasping ways of the Hairy Ones were amusing at first, but very ‘one note,’ and above all elves of Cormanthor hated to be bored—or at least, to admit their boredom. Hmmm… fair enough. In any case, the hosts of the party have arranged a number of other entertainments, including spells allowing partygoers to take to the air whenever they feel like it, which does sound fun… on the other hand…
This night the usually bare garden walls bristled with carved unicorns, pegasi, dancing elven maidens, and rearing stags this night. Every statuette touched by a reveler split apart and drifted open, to reveal teardrop decanters of sparkling moonwine or any one of a dozen ruby-hued Erladden vintages. Amid the spires of the decanters were the shorter spikes of crystal galauntra whose domes covered figurines sculpted of choice cheese, roasted nuts, or sugarstars. Amid the rainbow-hued lights drifting among the merry elves were vapors that would make any true-blood light-hearted, restless, and full of life. Some abandoned, giggling Cormyth were dodging through the air from cloud to cloud, their eyes gleaming too brightly to see the world around them. Half a hundred giggles rolled amid the branches of the towering trees that rose over all, twinkling magestars winking and slithering here and there among their leaves. As the moon rose to overwhelm such tiny radiances, it shone down on a scene of wild and joyful celebration. Half of Cormanthor was dancing tonight. That, on the other hand, just sounds excessive. I’ve been called hedonistic, and maybe I am, but please – I have taste.
MG: And I have to say, that “play” we saw a bit of essentially serves two purposes – in-universe, it’s a satire of humans and their behavior from the perspective of elves. In the context of the book, it highlights the ignorance and disdain the elves of Cormanthor have for humans. But the problem with both of those is that… Greenwood’s villains actually act like that. If anything, the king in the play may be an over-the-top caricature, but he’s probably more restrained than Belaur, who we saw literally last book! And a lot of Greenwood’s elves are no better. Word of advice – if the parody literally can’t be told apart from the genuine article, then one way or another, something has gone terribly wrong.
Mira: I don’t think I can disagree? We then cut to somewhere else, as someone says “Surprisingly, I still remembered the words that would bring me here.” The person being addressed turns in the direction of the voice, which is speaking from the deepest part of the bower, where the bed stood. We learn that the addressee is the Coronal of all Cormanthor…
MG: “Coronal” being an elven title that’s not quite a monarch in the traditional sense; a coronal serves for life, but the position isn’t hereditary and is usually (as in Cormanthor) at least somewhat answerable to a council of elders or high mages (who are typically the ones who elect the coronal in the first place). The actual elven hereditary monarchy, based on Evermeet, hasn’t been established yet.
Mira: …and the Coronal greets his guest as Great Lady of the Starym. She replies that she was once more than that, and the Coronal, Eltargrim corrects himself and calls her my friend… my Lyntra. *flushing* That makes it sound like she might have been more than a “friend” as well… but regardless Ildilyntra Starym steps out of the darkness, and Eltargrim is swept away by memories of the past. He asks Lady Starym to take a seat, and we learn that the Starym are the eldest, proudest, and allegedly most “pure” of Cormanthor’s noble families. *she hunches down in her coat* I don’t think they’d like people like me vey much, then… And then, we get… oh, oh dear. The Coronal did not have to look to know that the years had not yet touched her flawless white skin, the figure so perfect that it still took his breath away. Her blue tresses were almost black, as always, and Ildilyntra still wore them unbound, falling at her heels to the ground. She was barefoot, the spells of her girdle keeping both hair and feet inches above the dirt of the ground. She wore the full, formal gown of her house, the twin falling dragons of the Starym arms bold in glittering gems upon her stomach, their sculpted wings cupping her breasts in a toothed surround of gold. Her thighs, revealed through the waist-high slits in the gown as she came, were girt in the black-and-gold spirals of a mantle of honor. The ends of the mantle drew together to support the intricately carved dragontooth scabbard of her honor blade, bobbing like a small lamp, wrapped in the deep, solemn red glow of its awakened power. The Ring of the Watchful Wyvern gleamed upon her hand. This was not an informal visit. While I’m told that pure-blooded elves rarely show their age – unless they are very, very old indeed – so her youthfulness isn’t surprising, I still can’t help but notice that we get a very… loving description of this woman, and I still don’t have the slightest idea what Eltargrim looks like. And considering Greenwood’s previous proclivities… I’m not looking forward to this… But Eltargrim does notice that Lady Starym has come clad in all the trappings of her power, and he doubts she’s here for a friendly chat.
She stops in front of him, drawing aside her gown and posing with her hands on her hips so he can clearly see her sword – that doesn’t seem to be the only thing Greenwood wants us to know he’s seeing – and then, surprisingly, she kneels to him. He looks down to her, trying to understand why she’s doing this, and Lady Starym admits she’s come to beg. Reconsider this Opening you speak of. Let no being who is not a trueblood of the People walk in Cormanthor save by our leave. Let that leave be near-never given, that our People endure! I… don’t think I like this woman very much. I try not to hold grudges, but I admit I’ve never been fond of people who object to things like my right to exist… Eltargrim tells her to rise and says she must know he’s heard such pleas before. But she stays on her knees and stares up at him, though he is unmoved, and says she must have arguments of substance to sway him, or to speak of something else. She demands to know if by “something else” he means the party going on outside, which she doesn’t have a very high opinion of (I’ve never been much of one for parties, myself – they’re just so much… muchness) or if he thinks she’s here for a dalliance. Eltargrim admits that I admire your taste in undergarments (is that really the matter at hand!?), but I had hoped that you’d set aside some of what your junior kin call your ‘cutting bluster’ here; there are only the two of us on this isle. Let us speak candidly, as befits two elder Cormyth. It saves so much … empty courtesy. Lady Starym, clearly annoyed, places her hands on her hips again and declares simply that she believes that opening Cormanthor to outsiders will bring about its downfall, and if Eltargrim does so, their friendship will be over. Eltargrim asks if that means his life would be over as well, and Ildilyntra admits that all her house would take up arms against a ruler so twisted in his head and heart—so tainted in his elven bloodlines—as to preside over, nay, eagerly embrace the destruction of the fair realm of Cormanthor – and that she believes that this “opening” would indeed bring about that destruction. No, I don’t think I like this woman very much at all…
Calassara: Me, neither. My own people have tried to hide from our world for too long, but, well… recent events made us reconsider some things. And I, for one, have always believed that new experiences are best found in the world, not hiding from it! But Ildilyntra is now in full rant, raving about how soon all they have built will be destroyed by humans… and halflings… and gnomes… even… dwarves! *she snorts* Oh, please. Just wait until your homeland becomes the haunt of a nascent demon lord – then you’ll have far worse things to worry about than dwarves! “All we have striven for, all we have fought the beast-men and the orcs and the great wyrms to keep, will be diluted—nay, polluted—and in the end swept away, our glory drowned out in the clamoring ambitions, greater numbers, and cunning schemes of the hairy humans!” Do… do you think that humans being, on average, rather hirsute is somehow connected to their lack of virtue. Because, dear Lyntra, if so, I recommend you broaden your horizons. Of course, I think my dear friend Errezha has plenty of horror stories about humans who hold those not of their race in similar contempt – let’s just say that no one people has a monopoly on virtue, or on elitism and xenophobia? But apparently Ildililyntra’s voice has risen to such a scream it’s literally echoing off glass chimes – nice trick – and then the moonlight hits her, seeming to set her aglow. Eltargrim admits that he once spoke – and thought – similar things, and worse, but he’s changed his mind, coming to believe that the younger races have a vitality the elves have lost. Even the proud House of Starym, if all of its tongues spoke bare truth, would be forced to admit that we have lost something—something within ourselves, not merely lives, riches, and forest domains lost to the spreading ambition of others.” But, he believes, opening Cormanthor to outsiders may help reverse the decline. More than that: the dream of peace between men and elves and dwarves can at last be upon us! Maeral’s dream, fulfilled at last!” Not that I am opposed to peace, but still – that would be much more meaningful if I had the slightest idea who “Maeral” was.
Ildilyntra stares at him, then speaks again, her voice razor sharp, telling him that he’s sunk into dreams of the world as he wishes it to be, not as it is. Maeral’s dream is just that—a dream! Only fools could think it might become real, in this savage Faerûn we see around us. The humans rise in magecraft—brutal, grasping, realm-burning magecraft—with each passing year! And you would invite these—these snakes into our very bosoms, within our armor … into our homes! Actually, if I’m right about my history, humanity’s magecraft has fallen of late – did not the greatest human wizardry die with Netheril? Whose fall, if I’m not mistaken, both of these people are likely old enough to remember? Whatever threat humans pose now is nothing compared to what it would have been mere centuries earlier! *beat* Though that may not be very reassuring… bother. Sadness made the Coronal’s eyes a little bleak as he looked at what she’d become, revealed now in her fury—far and very far from the gentle elven maid he’d once stroked and comforted, in the shy tears of her youth. Eltargrim says that if humans are such a threat, it is better to try and make them friends, rather than risk a war that will destroy both their peoples. Ildilyntra believes that Eltargrim will, rather, be remembered as the Coronal who led the elven people to ruin, but he insists that he’s foreseen that all other paths lead to war. War that can only lead to death and defeat for fair Cormanthor, as all the races but the dwarves and gnomes outnumber us twenty to one and more. Humans and orcs overmuster us by thousands to one. If pride leads us to war, it leads us also to the grave—and that is a choice I’ve no right to make, on behalf of our children, whose lives I’ll be crushing before they can fend, and choose, for themselves. Ildilyntra says that his arguments are born of fear, and that she’s realized there’s nothing she can say that will convince him… oh, this bodes ill…
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Mira: Eltargrim says that a Coronal must do what is right for the people, whatever the cost to himself, and that, not the pomp and regalia, is what defines the office. Hmmm; we don’t have much pomp and regalia in Hollowfaust – we are a private people with few outsiders we are interested in impressing - but I think some of our guildmasters could stand to be reminded of that… Lady Starym turns and looks out over the pond below them, and Eltargrim watches her carefully, with patience he has learned over a long, long lifetime. Then Ildilyntra admits that she will do what she must do; Eltargrim recognizes the danger and tries to bind her with magic – even though that is apparently the gravest insult one could offer to the head of an elven House – but he is too late, as Lady Starym has already drawn her sword. “Oh, that I once loved you,” she hissed. “For the Starym! For Cormanthor!” And then she falls on her own blade… *she blanches* Oh, I can think of many magics such a death could be used to fuel, and none of them are good… *she whimpers* Blood spills onto the floor; More blood was pouring from her than that curvaceous body should have been able to hold. Ah, that is absolutely horrifying, but… why are we eroticizing the sight of a woman’s suicide!? Greenwood, why!? Dying, Lady Starym tries to gasp out Eltargrim’s name – he approaches her to cast healing magic, but with her last strength she slashes her own throat, and then puts out an eye as well. She fell into his arms, then, lips frozen trying to whisper his name again, and the Coronal let her down gently onto the moss, despite the growing roar of magic tearing past him, streaming up into the night sky like bloody smoke from where the dragon tooth had been. Magic that he knew sought to claim his life. *weakly* Yes, this is when you run.
Eltargrim asks if Lady Starym’s hatred was really worth her life, and then he stands and prepares to cast a spell of his own, even as he’s coated in her blood which is a vector for her dying curse. Yes, in my world the darkest magics, especially those of the Titans and their followers, often makes use of blood… As he stared at his spread hands, the dark wetness faded from them, until they blazed blue-white with risen magic, racing along his skin like fire. The Coronal looked up, then, at the sudden darkness above him—and found himself gazing straight into the open, dripping jaws of a blood dragon. It was the most deadly spell of the elder Houses, a revenge magic that took the life of its awakener. The Doom of the Purebloods, some called it. *weakly* Oh, it’s even worse than I’d imagined! How… wonderful. The dragon towers over Eltargrim and is apparently powerful enough to wither living flesh on contact. It crashed down around him, in a rain that shook the entire island, setting leaves to rustling all around and shattering the stillness of the lake into a hundred racing wavelets. Rocks rolled and moss scorched away into smoking ash where it touched. But Eltargrim is, of course, unharmed, protected by his own magic. The dragon, badly weakened, tries to strike again, but He stood his ground grimly, and it fell away to drifting smoke against the blue-white fire of the Coronal. *she sighs* And yet another Greenwood villain – or at least, her conjuration – fails anticlimactically. But Eltargrim – who has white hair, so we finally learn something about his appearance after all the description Lady Starym got – knees beside the body, taking it in his arms and weeping, repeating her name even as his protective spells cause her blood to evaporate into steam. Finally, he promises Lady Starym that she’ll be remembered with honor (as much as honoring and remembering the dead is one of the chief purposes of my guild – she did try to assassinate you) and the prologue ends as if his grief overmastered him thereafter, as he cradled the body of the one who was still his beloved, there was no one else on the island to hear.
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MG: And so, our prologue… is actually one of Greenwood’s better bits of writing, all told. It clearly lays out what will be the core conflict of the novel going forward – Eltargrim wants to open Cormanthor to non-elves, while reactionary elements of society oppose this – teases Cormanthor as a setting and gives us a nice bit of personal tragedy between Eltargrim and Ildilyntra. Unfortunately, the opening is still hard to take seriously in context, the leering descriptions of Ildilyntra (even as she’s literally dying) give us a hint for exactly how a lot of this book will be going, and yet another Greenwood villain (spoilers, the Starym – Ildilyntra’s family – are the main antagonists of this book, if you couldn’t tell) ends up dying anticlimactically while failing to accomplish their goals. So, in the end, it’s still a mixed bag. Anyway, next time we’ll catch up with Elminster and see what he’s been doing since the end of Making of a Mage, when Mystra told him to head to Cormanthor. So, our storylines will end up intersecting sooner rather than later. We’ll see you then!
