expression of surprise on Tensyl’s face as he saw the shattered window and the clear signs of a recent battle in the small room.
Convergence
Midnight’s head cleared quickly after she left the farm, and she got a ride into Arabel with a small caravan, which was a common sight on the road to the city, even in times of trouble. Still, none of the travelers she met could tell her anything new about the events of the past two weeks, though all had stories of magic gone mad or the unrest in nature. Once the caravan reached the city, Midnight went off in search of her own answers.
She spent the day wandering the streets of Arabel, attempting to verify Brehnan’s tales of the gods and the odd state of magic in the Realms. Midnight knew that she could spend as much time as she wanted in the search for answers, as she still had the handsomely filled purse she had earned with the Company of the Lynx. If she was prudent, the gold would last her at least three months.
Early in her search, Midnight found The Lady’s House, the Temple of Tymora, and paid her admission to look upon the face of the goddess. When her gaze met with Tymora’s, some strange emotion stirred within Midnight, and she suddenly knew, beyond any doubt, that this woman was the goddess-made-flesh. There was a feeling of affinity between them, as if on some primal level they shared a great secret or truth, although Midnight had no idea what this might he. Yet the most disturbing part of the exchange was the look the goddess gave Midnight just before the magic-user took her leave.
A look of fear.
Midnight hurried from the temple and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. She did not find a temple to the goddess Mystra, and when she finally braved a local tavern, her inquiries as to the whereabouts of the Goddess of Magic were met with blank stares or shrugs. It seemed not all of the gods had made spectacular entrances on the night of Arrival, as Tymora certainly had. In fact, some gods had not yet appeared at all.
Eventually, Midnight’s wanderings brought her to the Pride of Arabel Inn, just in time for eveningfeast. She stood on the doorstep and watched a gigantic black raven that circled like a vulture in the semi-darkness. Then she looked away from the creature and went inside. Taking a table near the back, Midnight ordered a tankard of her favorite beer and a hearty meal.
After a time, a small party of adventurers caught her attention, and although they were seated at the other end of the immense taproom, their conversation one of many in the rapidly filling inn, Midnight found her eyes drawn to the burly fighter and his companions again and again. Finally, she left her table and moved to the far end of the bar, where she could hear their words quite clearly.
“The walls live and breathe,” Caitlan Moonsong said. “They say no walls truly have ears? These do!”
“And this is to encourage us?” Adon said.
Kelemvor leaned back, downed his ale, and let out a belch. Adon glared at him. The Pride of Arabel was an expensive inn, and one in which a certain decorum had to be maintained. Visiting noblemen sometimes stayed at the inn if rooms became scarce at the palace, and visiting traders and merchants of only the highest rank could afford the prices at the Pride.
For bringing down the Knightsbridge conspiracy, Kelemvor, Cyric, and Adon had a standing offer to visit the inn whenever they so desired, free of charge. Although they had indulged separately, this was the first time they had visited the inn together.
As the adventurers sat, listening to Caitlan’s story, Adon noticed a pretty serving girl looking over and smiling at him.
The girl seemed familiar, but the cleric couldn’t place her.
“It’s not possible for a fortress to be alive,” Cyric noted.
“This one is! The walls can close in on you. The corridors can shape themselves just out of your sight to put you in a maze in which you’ll starve and die. The dust
Convergence
Midnight’s head cleared quickly after she left the farm, and she got a ride into Arabel with a small caravan, which was a common sight on the road to the city, even in times of trouble. Still, none of the travelers she met could tell her anything new about the events of the past two weeks, though all had stories of magic gone mad or the unrest in nature. Once the caravan reached the city, Midnight went off in search of her own answers.
She spent the day wandering the streets of Arabel, attempting to verify Brehnan’s tales of the gods and the odd state of magic in the Realms. Midnight knew that she could spend as much time as she wanted in the search for answers, as she still had the handsomely filled purse she had earned with the Company of the Lynx. If she was prudent, the gold would last her at least three months.
Early in her search, Midnight found The Lady’s House, the Temple of Tymora, and paid her admission to look upon the face of the goddess. When her gaze met with Tymora’s, some strange emotion stirred within Midnight, and she suddenly knew, beyond any doubt, that this woman was the goddess-made-flesh. There was a feeling of affinity between them, as if on some primal level they shared a great secret or truth, although Midnight had no idea what this might he. Yet the most disturbing part of the exchange was the look the goddess gave Midnight just before the magic-user took her leave.
A look of fear.
Midnight hurried from the temple and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. She did not find a temple to the goddess Mystra, and when she finally braved a local tavern, her inquiries as to the whereabouts of the Goddess of Magic were met with blank stares or shrugs. It seemed not all of the gods had made spectacular entrances on the night of Arrival, as Tymora certainly had. In fact, some gods had not yet appeared at all.
Eventually, Midnight’s wanderings brought her to the Pride of Arabel Inn, just in time for eveningfeast. She stood on the doorstep and watched a gigantic black raven that circled like a vulture in the semi-darkness. Then she looked away from the creature and went inside. Taking a table near the back, Midnight ordered a tankard of her favorite beer and a hearty meal.
After a time, a small party of adventurers caught her attention, and although they were seated at the other end of the immense taproom, their conversation one of many in the rapidly filling inn, Midnight found her eyes drawn to the burly fighter and his companions again and again. Finally, she left her table and moved to the far end of the bar, where she could hear their words quite clearly.
“The walls live and breathe,” Caitlan Moonsong said. “They say no walls truly have ears? These do!”
“And this is to encourage us?” Adon said.
Kelemvor leaned back, downed his ale, and let out a belch. Adon glared at him. The Pride of Arabel was an expensive inn, and one in which a certain decorum had to be maintained. Visiting noblemen sometimes stayed at the inn if rooms became scarce at the palace, and visiting traders and merchants of only the highest rank could afford the prices at the Pride.
For bringing down the Knightsbridge conspiracy, Kelemvor, Cyric, and Adon had a standing offer to visit the inn whenever they so desired, free of charge. Although they had indulged separately, this was the first time they had visited the inn together.
As the adventurers sat, listening to Caitlan’s story, Adon noticed a pretty serving girl looking over and smiling at him.
The girl seemed familiar, but the cleric couldn’t place her.
“It’s not possible for a fortress to be alive,” Cyric noted.
“This one is! The walls can close in on you. The corridors can shape themselves just out of your sight to put you in a maze in which you’ll starve and die. The dust
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