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masterghandalfThis is a repost from Das_sporking2. Previous installments of this sporking may be found here.
Warning: This chapter contains violence and some deaths.
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s All Shadows Fled! Last time, we had quite a lot of characters preparing for the battle in Mistledale, Torm continued to be an absolute ass, and we had a rather nasty Malaugrym murder on the side. Today, battle is officially joined, in a manner of speaking. Joining us as usual will be Errezha and Calassara!
Chapter Five: Glorious Victories are Elusive Things
Calassara: …hmm, I suppose it depends on you mean it? Because in the moment, with the horror of battle and loss of comrades still upon you… then yes, it can be hard to see the glory. But in the long term, after the bards and historians have cleaned it up and future generations look back… though even that glory may be small comfort. Of course, I consider few if any of the victories in Greenwood’s books to be “glorious,” considering the quality – or lack thereof – of his antagonists. To earn glory, one must generally triumph over enemies who were actually worth defeating. But, enough of my musings. Onward! We open at the Tower of Ashaba, Shadowdale, Flamerule 16 as Lady Shaerl is helping her husband Lord Mourngrym into his armor. Apparently, they’re doing this alone, in their private quarters, as they don’t want it to become public knowledge at this point that Mourngrym has been wounded by some unspecified means…
MG: In the original Avatar Trilogy, Mourngrym was indeed wounded while trying to fight Bane himself… but I’m not sure the timeline quite synchs up for that to have happened yet (is anyone surprised?) and you’d think having just fought a god – even a diminished god – would have more of a lasting effect on him.
Calassara: *sighs, rubs her forehead* Why am I not surprised? We get a brief overview of how the temples are already full of the wounded, while Elminster, Storm and Sylune – the three most powerful people in Shadowdale – are occupied elsewhere and Lhaeo has been running through Elminster’s supply of potions helping everyone else, so they don’t have a lot of options for attending to Mourngrym, whose wound was apparently poisoned. Shaerl seemingly spent all of last night weeping over him. *beat* Well, if he’s that badly hurt and has been poisoned, is letting him armor up and go out to fight again really that wise? Are you trying to get him killed, Shaerl? And so, Shaerl apologizes when she accidentally hurts him by pressing his armor too tightly against the wound – seriously, why is this necessary? Can’t he give orders from his sickbed instead? – and Mourngrym assures her that he’d be dead without her care, and Shadowdale fallen. She promises she would defend the dale and avenge him even if he did die, and the two of them end up kissing passionately. *beat* My doubts about the wisdom of all this aside, I have to say that this is one of the better cases of Greenwood trying and mostly succeeding to write a sweet scene with a loving couple!
Errezha: *flatly* I find it marginally tolerable. Shaerl warns him not to get hurt again, Mourngrym makes what I suppose is a quip because the narration describes it as lame Waterdhavian humor – are the people of Waterdeep known to not be very funny, then? – and then turns to head out, though Shaerl won’t let him leave until he’s taken up his sword and gauntlets and put on his helmet. I don’t want to be married to a headless man. *rolls her eyes* One would think the veteran soldier and adventurer wouldn’t need to be told… but Mourngrym, though he sighs, knows she’s right, since for all he knows a Zhent assassin could be lying in wait for him just outside the tower, and it never hurts to be prepared. *beat* My philosophy exactly. If only other people followed it. We get a brief summary of how Zhent raiders have repeatedly struck the dale over the last couple of days, sabotaging, burning, and preparing the way for the main army. The problem was that Mourngrym had too few competent guards to… hold Shadowdale against thousands of well-equipped Zhentilar troops led by gods-knew-how-many Zhent priests and mages. If only you had a powerful wizard or two on your side to help with that sort of thing… He then wonders aloud if it wouldn’t be nice if one of the gods would just crush Zhentil Keep for them. *coldly* Because, of course, all the Zhentish people deserve to die because their rulers are tyrants who threw in with the god of tyranny and hate. Why does that sound familiar… also, I do believe Shandril tried to make a good go at that, even if she never made it to Zhentil Keep proper. And I did not need the reminder, thank you!
Calassara: Shaerl says she’d be content if the gods would just wipe out the army heading their way (probably easier said than done, considering said army actually has a god at its head…) and wonders where Elminster is. To which a voice literally says boo! Right behind her, and Shaerl screams and jumps into Mourngrym’s arms before realizing that the speaker is none other than Elminster himself. *mildly* You know, I’ve never been accused of possessing a great amount of maturity myself, but Savored Sting, that was just juvenile, and neither the time nor the place! Are you eleven hundred, Elminster, or just eleven? Shaerl, to her credit, isn’t amused either, and tells at Elminster for how he always sneaks up on people invisibly so he can make a grand entrance (gods help us, he does this regularly?). Elminster just says he needs a hobby, and Shaerl angrily tells him to find another, since he nearly gave her a heart attack. She offers to let him feel her pulse to see for himself, but Mourngrym quickly warns her not to make that kind of offer to Elminster (while Elminster’s own eyes start twinkling) – he literally can’t control himself, can he? *disgusted noise* Shaerl snaps at Mourngrym too, and Mourngrym wishes he was somewhere more peaceful, like the heart of a battle with the entire Zhent army, ha, ha.
Husband and wife exchange rude gestures before Mourngrym leaves; Shaerl stays, since she wants to talk to Elminster. Elminster says that’s what he’s here for, since he’s done laying traps somewhere called the Standing Stones and flops down in a chair as Shaerl takes out some wine. *beat* Unless it’s been poisoned, I don’t think he’s earned it. He toasts to a lady who does not take serious contributions from idiots – alas, she’s asking you for advice right now – and she in turn toasts to a wizard who takes more delight in misbehaving than a small child – and is all the more welcome here for it. They both drink, and Shaerl is left thinking she’ll probably want a lot more wine before this is all done, and the scene, to my relief (though I can’t help but notice we never did learn what she wants to talk to Elminster about…) ends there.
Errezha: We then cut to The Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 16, so I suppose whatever traps Elminster laid, we’ll be seeing them in action sooner rather than later, lovely. Swordlord Amglar notices that dusk is coming; the mage Nentor Thuldoum tells him to press on, since the local roads mean they can be attacked from multiple directions here, but Amglar wants to make camp for the night rather than try to march in the dark and potentially be ambushed. *she sniffs dismissively* A genuine risk, for night-blind humans – I’ve always counted myself lucky that my own heritage means I can see quite well with very little light. Thuldoum, though, is angry that Amglar is trying to tell him what to do, though Amglar points out that he is in charge here. Manshoon does expect you to take orders from me; his description of you, as I recall, was ‘a fool, but a biddable fool.’ Shall I report to him he was wrong? Hmmm; wrong about which part, I wonder? Thuldoum, for his part, is clearly angry at this description of himself and warns Amglar he’ll be watching him, while meanwhile the other wizard, Myarvuk, is very deliberately trying to not get involved. Smart man. And also, this reminds me rather remarkably of my home – and also reminds me why I left. Amglar tells Thuldoum he’s always careful, as more of the column comes up to the vicinity of the standing stone, waiting for orders to stop or not. And that’s when all of Thuldoum’s rings suddenly flash in warning, just before the entire column is pelted with arrows from the trees. *rolls her eyes* Oh, dear. What a twist. Who could ever have seen this coming?
Calassara: Amglar orders his men to dismount and go into the trees after the archers, while Thuldoum’s rings flash again, followed by another volley. It’s too late for Amglar to call his men back and he can barely stay on his panicking horse, but he does manage to order the two mages to stay with him and calls for his captains to join them. He then demands to know if Thuldoum has anything to do with this, to which he of course insists he knows nothing (which doesn’t strike me as a terribly useful answer, since it’s probably what he’d say even if he was involved?). Thuldoum’s rings flash again as another volley hits, one of the arrows striking Amglar in the shoulder this time. More arrows hit his horse, which rears and throws him; as he lads he sees Myarvuk falling dead beside him and curses the loss of the more tractable mage (as do I, if only because Greenwood has yet again introduced a Zhentarim character only to immediately kill him off in an anticlimactic way…). Thuldoum, meanwhile, has put an arrow ward up around himself and is safe, though the rest of the column is dissolving into chaos. Amglar gets to his feet and starts screaming for his men to halt, then grabs one of his captains and tells him to blow the signal for retreat on his horn. The man does so, leaving Amglar pleased he has at least one competent subordinate, and then orders his other captains to get the road clear but leave Myarvuk’s body for Thuldoum. In case he has some sort of contingencies still on his body, I guess? *she shrugs* Thuldoum himself hurries over and assures Amglar he had nothing to do with this; Amglar believes him and guesses the enemy arrows were fired by some pre-prepared spell, triggered to go off when a magic item passed by. In this case, Thuldoum’s rings set it off. *beat* Elminster should probably count himself very lucky that there wasn’t, say, a refugee fleeing the Zhent army running ahead of them and carrying some manner of magic item, I think… that could have ended very badly! Amglar heads off to try and salvage his army and sets some men to search the woods in case there really are enemy archers out there. The scene ends with him looking out over the carnage and thinking that a swordlord’s lot is not a happy one. Not when that swordlord is a Greenwood villain, at least.
Errezha: Though the same could also be said for magelords… or elf lords… or Red Wizards… or dragon cultists… We then cut to Sword Creek, Mistledale, Flamerule 16 where someone calls out a challenge. Jhessail, sighing, quickly responds before Merith or Illistyl can say something glib (why do you trust these people again? This is not the time for that!) with the correct password, owls are blue tonight, and her name. The guard tells her she can pass with a rather wistful tone, and Jhessail and Merith banter a bit about how many male admirers she has across the Realms. *sniffs disdainfully* There’s no need to be so smug about it. Illistyl, for her part, wants to vomit. I understand the feeling completely. Rathan’s voice calls out, inviting them to Sharantyr’s fire if they can put up with Belkram and Itharr – oh, please, Rathan, you’re no better – but Jhessail says that once they get their horses taken care of they’re heading right back out to prepare a surprise for the Zhents tomorrow. *raises an eyebrow* And are you planning to sleep any time soon, Lady Knight? Humans do require that regularly. Torm, meanwhile, apparently wanted to wander off on his own, so Rathan – for once displaying good judgment – got him to drink so much wine he passed out. Torm does seem like he would be far more tolerable while unconscious… He’ll wake before daw, in just the right mood for a good battle. One, how are you going to guarantee that, two, I don’t think hung-over is the right “mood” for battle – then again, I’m not a soldier, thank the Prince, so what do I know? Illistyl is glad Rathan is the one who’ll be sharing Torm’s tent during this, but Rathan happily offers to switch if she wants to. Personally, I don’t care who shares Torm’s tent, at least while he’s passed out drunk and not an active nuisance, as long as they wake bright and early and dump him in the river when it’s still cold. Serves him right.
Calassara: *impishly* Oh, I can think of better things to do than that… perhaps for later? Illistyl wants to save her strength for tomorrow, one of the militiamen calls out in agreement since if they don’t, they’ll all be dead by tomorrow night, and the scene ends. We cut back to the Standing Stone, where Amglar considers camping at somewhere called Galath’s Roost but is wary of it. Thuldoum wonders why – and apparently, he’s trying to overcome his lingering fright from the ambush earlier by being especially acidic to everyone else, charming man – and Amglar thinks that it’s such a good camping spot it’s what their opponents will expect, and they’ll be ready for them there. We then learn that over three hundred Zhentilar and six-score horses died in the ambush – Savored Sting – but that Amglar’s trying not to think about that. The dead were beyond his orders; it was the living he had to worry about. That… seems like a remarkably level-headed approach, in the circumstances! Thuldoum doesn’t think the enemy has the numbers to threaten them, especially with his magic on their side (spellmaster, were you not paying attention to what just happened earlier?) but Amglar’s more worried about traps than soldiers, and thinks his captains know how to deal with that better than Thuldoum does. Thuldoum agrees that he has nothing prepared that would let him scry Galath’s Roost well enough to identify those sorts of traps; one of the captains asks if he has any magic that can help them. Thuldoum makes a show of looking the captain up and down and committing his face to memory, then says that Zhentarim mages always have something they can used (based on their previous performance… citation desperately needed!) and says he can conjure a creature that can explore the ruins, but only he can control it and see through its eyes. While that is rather impressive (is this going to be something like a summoner’s eidolon, I wonder, or just a mundane animal he can call and control?) but I do wonder when and how it will go wrong…
Errezha: Amglar seems to be thinking much the same way, as he wonders how Thuldoum plans to deal with another wizard if one happens to be present at the Roost. Thuldoum assures him no one else can control his creature, and they’ll be lucky to escape alive if they meet it (and the spellmaster just tempted fate quite dramatically…). Amglar tells him to cast the spell, and Thuldoum tells everyone else to get back and not interfere, which is apparently per a standing order of Manshoon’s (to say nothing of common sense… not that the Zhents have shown much sign of possessing that). Everyone backs away, and Thuldoum pulls out a vial of moss and begins performing a series of gestures and incantations, some of which we’re explicitly told are dramatic but serve no function in the spell (where I have seen that before…) and then shatters the vial. What resembles a drunken man’s nightmare boils into existence and stalks off, terrifying men and horses as it goes.
It was a shapeless bulk of translucent gray-white jelly that swam and flowed constantly. Countless staring eyes and silently snapping mouths slid across its changing outer surface, appearing and disappearing with bewildering speed.
“A mouther!” one of the veteran armsmen gasped. The drifting thing did look like the deadly gibbering mouther of yore … though no gibberer had ever risen man-high off the ground and flown about at a wizard’s bidding, so far as Thuldoum knew.
Errezha: Hmmm; so possibly a sort of eidolon after all, then, and not an actual gibbering mouther? My youngest half-sister specializes in this kind of magic – though the creature she typically evokes more resembles a hellhound – so perhaps she could tell us more, if she were here. Which she is not. The creature heads off, and Thuldoum calls for someone to bring him a chair and drink for him to have while it conducts its search, along with someone familiar with traps in case he has any questions about what it’s seeing when it reaches the ruins, and the scene ends. I’m once again torn between being rather impressed by this magic… and dreading whatever will happen to make it fail utterly. Greenwood is nothing if not predictable.
Calassara: We cut to Galath’s Roost, Mistledale, Flamerule 16 which we learn is a ruined castle that was destroyed centuries ago by mages who knew their business. Which, I suppose, is better than mages who didn’t know their business; gods only know what they might leave behind! The ruins have since been swallowed by the forest, but are intact enough, and the trees thick enough, to conceal a campsite within. It’s currently inhabited by two pilgrims of the god Tyr; one of them comments on how “they” did a good job with something, while the other wonders if “they” left this room safe. All but one door, apparently, which is trapped; the other pilgrim has to go water the gods’ garden *she wrinkles her nose in disgust* and thinks it’s a good thing they found a cellar to hide in earlier, to which his companion replies that it was actually a cesspit. *wrinkles her nose again, harder* Greenwood… why? He assures his companion that after four hundred years there was nothing in there but dust, leading the other pilgrim to conclude that all of Faerun is probably covered in dung by now. *beat* Well, the way Greenwood writes it, it hardly seems a glamorous place… He then gets up, but neither of the pilgrims notices Thuldoum’s creature as it comes slinking through the castle. They decide to pray before heading out to relieve themselves and argue about whether they remember the words, just as the mouther creeps up on them… and on that cliffhanger, the chapter comes to an end.
MG: This is another one that honestly feels like it was mostly setup, and consequently isn’t terrible, by Greenwood standards. Though it certainly does contain its share of things like Elminster being obnoxious and Zhents walking into an ambush to be slaughtered en masse, just in case we forgot who was writing this. Beyond that, there’s just… not a whole lot of substance to this one, unfortunately. Next time, the fate of the pilgrims of Tyr and of Thuldoum’s creature, more of the Shadowdale campaign slowly advancing, and more of Elminster and Shaerl, because we all wanted more of them. We’ll see you then
Warning: This chapter contains violence and some deaths.
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s All Shadows Fled! Last time, we had quite a lot of characters preparing for the battle in Mistledale, Torm continued to be an absolute ass, and we had a rather nasty Malaugrym murder on the side. Today, battle is officially joined, in a manner of speaking. Joining us as usual will be Errezha and Calassara!
Chapter Five: Glorious Victories are Elusive Things
Calassara: …hmm, I suppose it depends on you mean it? Because in the moment, with the horror of battle and loss of comrades still upon you… then yes, it can be hard to see the glory. But in the long term, after the bards and historians have cleaned it up and future generations look back… though even that glory may be small comfort. Of course, I consider few if any of the victories in Greenwood’s books to be “glorious,” considering the quality – or lack thereof – of his antagonists. To earn glory, one must generally triumph over enemies who were actually worth defeating. But, enough of my musings. Onward! We open at the Tower of Ashaba, Shadowdale, Flamerule 16 as Lady Shaerl is helping her husband Lord Mourngrym into his armor. Apparently, they’re doing this alone, in their private quarters, as they don’t want it to become public knowledge at this point that Mourngrym has been wounded by some unspecified means…
MG: In the original Avatar Trilogy, Mourngrym was indeed wounded while trying to fight Bane himself… but I’m not sure the timeline quite synchs up for that to have happened yet (is anyone surprised?) and you’d think having just fought a god – even a diminished god – would have more of a lasting effect on him.
Calassara: *sighs, rubs her forehead* Why am I not surprised? We get a brief overview of how the temples are already full of the wounded, while Elminster, Storm and Sylune – the three most powerful people in Shadowdale – are occupied elsewhere and Lhaeo has been running through Elminster’s supply of potions helping everyone else, so they don’t have a lot of options for attending to Mourngrym, whose wound was apparently poisoned. Shaerl seemingly spent all of last night weeping over him. *beat* Well, if he’s that badly hurt and has been poisoned, is letting him armor up and go out to fight again really that wise? Are you trying to get him killed, Shaerl? And so, Shaerl apologizes when she accidentally hurts him by pressing his armor too tightly against the wound – seriously, why is this necessary? Can’t he give orders from his sickbed instead? – and Mourngrym assures her that he’d be dead without her care, and Shadowdale fallen. She promises she would defend the dale and avenge him even if he did die, and the two of them end up kissing passionately. *beat* My doubts about the wisdom of all this aside, I have to say that this is one of the better cases of Greenwood trying and mostly succeeding to write a sweet scene with a loving couple!
Errezha: *flatly* I find it marginally tolerable. Shaerl warns him not to get hurt again, Mourngrym makes what I suppose is a quip because the narration describes it as lame Waterdhavian humor – are the people of Waterdeep known to not be very funny, then? – and then turns to head out, though Shaerl won’t let him leave until he’s taken up his sword and gauntlets and put on his helmet. I don’t want to be married to a headless man. *rolls her eyes* One would think the veteran soldier and adventurer wouldn’t need to be told… but Mourngrym, though he sighs, knows she’s right, since for all he knows a Zhent assassin could be lying in wait for him just outside the tower, and it never hurts to be prepared. *beat* My philosophy exactly. If only other people followed it. We get a brief summary of how Zhent raiders have repeatedly struck the dale over the last couple of days, sabotaging, burning, and preparing the way for the main army. The problem was that Mourngrym had too few competent guards to… hold Shadowdale against thousands of well-equipped Zhentilar troops led by gods-knew-how-many Zhent priests and mages. If only you had a powerful wizard or two on your side to help with that sort of thing… He then wonders aloud if it wouldn’t be nice if one of the gods would just crush Zhentil Keep for them. *coldly* Because, of course, all the Zhentish people deserve to die because their rulers are tyrants who threw in with the god of tyranny and hate. Why does that sound familiar… also, I do believe Shandril tried to make a good go at that, even if she never made it to Zhentil Keep proper. And I did not need the reminder, thank you!
Calassara: Shaerl says she’d be content if the gods would just wipe out the army heading their way (probably easier said than done, considering said army actually has a god at its head…) and wonders where Elminster is. To which a voice literally says boo! Right behind her, and Shaerl screams and jumps into Mourngrym’s arms before realizing that the speaker is none other than Elminster himself. *mildly* You know, I’ve never been accused of possessing a great amount of maturity myself, but Savored Sting, that was just juvenile, and neither the time nor the place! Are you eleven hundred, Elminster, or just eleven? Shaerl, to her credit, isn’t amused either, and tells at Elminster for how he always sneaks up on people invisibly so he can make a grand entrance (gods help us, he does this regularly?). Elminster just says he needs a hobby, and Shaerl angrily tells him to find another, since he nearly gave her a heart attack. She offers to let him feel her pulse to see for himself, but Mourngrym quickly warns her not to make that kind of offer to Elminster (while Elminster’s own eyes start twinkling) – he literally can’t control himself, can he? *disgusted noise* Shaerl snaps at Mourngrym too, and Mourngrym wishes he was somewhere more peaceful, like the heart of a battle with the entire Zhent army, ha, ha.
Husband and wife exchange rude gestures before Mourngrym leaves; Shaerl stays, since she wants to talk to Elminster. Elminster says that’s what he’s here for, since he’s done laying traps somewhere called the Standing Stones and flops down in a chair as Shaerl takes out some wine. *beat* Unless it’s been poisoned, I don’t think he’s earned it. He toasts to a lady who does not take serious contributions from idiots – alas, she’s asking you for advice right now – and she in turn toasts to a wizard who takes more delight in misbehaving than a small child – and is all the more welcome here for it. They both drink, and Shaerl is left thinking she’ll probably want a lot more wine before this is all done, and the scene, to my relief (though I can’t help but notice we never did learn what she wants to talk to Elminster about…) ends there.
Errezha: We then cut to The Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 16, so I suppose whatever traps Elminster laid, we’ll be seeing them in action sooner rather than later, lovely. Swordlord Amglar notices that dusk is coming; the mage Nentor Thuldoum tells him to press on, since the local roads mean they can be attacked from multiple directions here, but Amglar wants to make camp for the night rather than try to march in the dark and potentially be ambushed. *she sniffs dismissively* A genuine risk, for night-blind humans – I’ve always counted myself lucky that my own heritage means I can see quite well with very little light. Thuldoum, though, is angry that Amglar is trying to tell him what to do, though Amglar points out that he is in charge here. Manshoon does expect you to take orders from me; his description of you, as I recall, was ‘a fool, but a biddable fool.’ Shall I report to him he was wrong? Hmmm; wrong about which part, I wonder? Thuldoum, for his part, is clearly angry at this description of himself and warns Amglar he’ll be watching him, while meanwhile the other wizard, Myarvuk, is very deliberately trying to not get involved. Smart man. And also, this reminds me rather remarkably of my home – and also reminds me why I left. Amglar tells Thuldoum he’s always careful, as more of the column comes up to the vicinity of the standing stone, waiting for orders to stop or not. And that’s when all of Thuldoum’s rings suddenly flash in warning, just before the entire column is pelted with arrows from the trees. *rolls her eyes* Oh, dear. What a twist. Who could ever have seen this coming?
Calassara: Amglar orders his men to dismount and go into the trees after the archers, while Thuldoum’s rings flash again, followed by another volley. It’s too late for Amglar to call his men back and he can barely stay on his panicking horse, but he does manage to order the two mages to stay with him and calls for his captains to join them. He then demands to know if Thuldoum has anything to do with this, to which he of course insists he knows nothing (which doesn’t strike me as a terribly useful answer, since it’s probably what he’d say even if he was involved?). Thuldoum’s rings flash again as another volley hits, one of the arrows striking Amglar in the shoulder this time. More arrows hit his horse, which rears and throws him; as he lads he sees Myarvuk falling dead beside him and curses the loss of the more tractable mage (as do I, if only because Greenwood has yet again introduced a Zhentarim character only to immediately kill him off in an anticlimactic way…). Thuldoum, meanwhile, has put an arrow ward up around himself and is safe, though the rest of the column is dissolving into chaos. Amglar gets to his feet and starts screaming for his men to halt, then grabs one of his captains and tells him to blow the signal for retreat on his horn. The man does so, leaving Amglar pleased he has at least one competent subordinate, and then orders his other captains to get the road clear but leave Myarvuk’s body for Thuldoum. In case he has some sort of contingencies still on his body, I guess? *she shrugs* Thuldoum himself hurries over and assures Amglar he had nothing to do with this; Amglar believes him and guesses the enemy arrows were fired by some pre-prepared spell, triggered to go off when a magic item passed by. In this case, Thuldoum’s rings set it off. *beat* Elminster should probably count himself very lucky that there wasn’t, say, a refugee fleeing the Zhent army running ahead of them and carrying some manner of magic item, I think… that could have ended very badly! Amglar heads off to try and salvage his army and sets some men to search the woods in case there really are enemy archers out there. The scene ends with him looking out over the carnage and thinking that a swordlord’s lot is not a happy one. Not when that swordlord is a Greenwood villain, at least.
Errezha: Though the same could also be said for magelords… or elf lords… or Red Wizards… or dragon cultists… We then cut to Sword Creek, Mistledale, Flamerule 16 where someone calls out a challenge. Jhessail, sighing, quickly responds before Merith or Illistyl can say something glib (why do you trust these people again? This is not the time for that!) with the correct password, owls are blue tonight, and her name. The guard tells her she can pass with a rather wistful tone, and Jhessail and Merith banter a bit about how many male admirers she has across the Realms. *sniffs disdainfully* There’s no need to be so smug about it. Illistyl, for her part, wants to vomit. I understand the feeling completely. Rathan’s voice calls out, inviting them to Sharantyr’s fire if they can put up with Belkram and Itharr – oh, please, Rathan, you’re no better – but Jhessail says that once they get their horses taken care of they’re heading right back out to prepare a surprise for the Zhents tomorrow. *raises an eyebrow* And are you planning to sleep any time soon, Lady Knight? Humans do require that regularly. Torm, meanwhile, apparently wanted to wander off on his own, so Rathan – for once displaying good judgment – got him to drink so much wine he passed out. Torm does seem like he would be far more tolerable while unconscious… He’ll wake before daw, in just the right mood for a good battle. One, how are you going to guarantee that, two, I don’t think hung-over is the right “mood” for battle – then again, I’m not a soldier, thank the Prince, so what do I know? Illistyl is glad Rathan is the one who’ll be sharing Torm’s tent during this, but Rathan happily offers to switch if she wants to. Personally, I don’t care who shares Torm’s tent, at least while he’s passed out drunk and not an active nuisance, as long as they wake bright and early and dump him in the river when it’s still cold. Serves him right.
Calassara: *impishly* Oh, I can think of better things to do than that… perhaps for later? Illistyl wants to save her strength for tomorrow, one of the militiamen calls out in agreement since if they don’t, they’ll all be dead by tomorrow night, and the scene ends. We cut back to the Standing Stone, where Amglar considers camping at somewhere called Galath’s Roost but is wary of it. Thuldoum wonders why – and apparently, he’s trying to overcome his lingering fright from the ambush earlier by being especially acidic to everyone else, charming man – and Amglar thinks that it’s such a good camping spot it’s what their opponents will expect, and they’ll be ready for them there. We then learn that over three hundred Zhentilar and six-score horses died in the ambush – Savored Sting – but that Amglar’s trying not to think about that. The dead were beyond his orders; it was the living he had to worry about. That… seems like a remarkably level-headed approach, in the circumstances! Thuldoum doesn’t think the enemy has the numbers to threaten them, especially with his magic on their side (spellmaster, were you not paying attention to what just happened earlier?) but Amglar’s more worried about traps than soldiers, and thinks his captains know how to deal with that better than Thuldoum does. Thuldoum agrees that he has nothing prepared that would let him scry Galath’s Roost well enough to identify those sorts of traps; one of the captains asks if he has any magic that can help them. Thuldoum makes a show of looking the captain up and down and committing his face to memory, then says that Zhentarim mages always have something they can used (based on their previous performance… citation desperately needed!) and says he can conjure a creature that can explore the ruins, but only he can control it and see through its eyes. While that is rather impressive (is this going to be something like a summoner’s eidolon, I wonder, or just a mundane animal he can call and control?) but I do wonder when and how it will go wrong…
Errezha: Amglar seems to be thinking much the same way, as he wonders how Thuldoum plans to deal with another wizard if one happens to be present at the Roost. Thuldoum assures him no one else can control his creature, and they’ll be lucky to escape alive if they meet it (and the spellmaster just tempted fate quite dramatically…). Amglar tells him to cast the spell, and Thuldoum tells everyone else to get back and not interfere, which is apparently per a standing order of Manshoon’s (to say nothing of common sense… not that the Zhents have shown much sign of possessing that). Everyone backs away, and Thuldoum pulls out a vial of moss and begins performing a series of gestures and incantations, some of which we’re explicitly told are dramatic but serve no function in the spell (where I have seen that before…) and then shatters the vial. What resembles a drunken man’s nightmare boils into existence and stalks off, terrifying men and horses as it goes.
It was a shapeless bulk of translucent gray-white jelly that swam and flowed constantly. Countless staring eyes and silently snapping mouths slid across its changing outer surface, appearing and disappearing with bewildering speed.
“A mouther!” one of the veteran armsmen gasped. The drifting thing did look like the deadly gibbering mouther of yore … though no gibberer had ever risen man-high off the ground and flown about at a wizard’s bidding, so far as Thuldoum knew.
Errezha: Hmmm; so possibly a sort of eidolon after all, then, and not an actual gibbering mouther? My youngest half-sister specializes in this kind of magic – though the creature she typically evokes more resembles a hellhound – so perhaps she could tell us more, if she were here. Which she is not. The creature heads off, and Thuldoum calls for someone to bring him a chair and drink for him to have while it conducts its search, along with someone familiar with traps in case he has any questions about what it’s seeing when it reaches the ruins, and the scene ends. I’m once again torn between being rather impressed by this magic… and dreading whatever will happen to make it fail utterly. Greenwood is nothing if not predictable.
Calassara: We cut to Galath’s Roost, Mistledale, Flamerule 16 which we learn is a ruined castle that was destroyed centuries ago by mages who knew their business. Which, I suppose, is better than mages who didn’t know their business; gods only know what they might leave behind! The ruins have since been swallowed by the forest, but are intact enough, and the trees thick enough, to conceal a campsite within. It’s currently inhabited by two pilgrims of the god Tyr; one of them comments on how “they” did a good job with something, while the other wonders if “they” left this room safe. All but one door, apparently, which is trapped; the other pilgrim has to go water the gods’ garden *she wrinkles her nose in disgust* and thinks it’s a good thing they found a cellar to hide in earlier, to which his companion replies that it was actually a cesspit. *wrinkles her nose again, harder* Greenwood… why? He assures his companion that after four hundred years there was nothing in there but dust, leading the other pilgrim to conclude that all of Faerun is probably covered in dung by now. *beat* Well, the way Greenwood writes it, it hardly seems a glamorous place… He then gets up, but neither of the pilgrims notices Thuldoum’s creature as it comes slinking through the castle. They decide to pray before heading out to relieve themselves and argue about whether they remember the words, just as the mouther creeps up on them… and on that cliffhanger, the chapter comes to an end.
MG: This is another one that honestly feels like it was mostly setup, and consequently isn’t terrible, by Greenwood standards. Though it certainly does contain its share of things like Elminster being obnoxious and Zhents walking into an ambush to be slaughtered en masse, just in case we forgot who was writing this. Beyond that, there’s just… not a whole lot of substance to this one, unfortunately. Next time, the fate of the pilgrims of Tyr and of Thuldoum’s creature, more of the Shadowdale campaign slowly advancing, and more of Elminster and Shaerl, because we all wanted more of them. We’ll see you then
