It was not a month but three tendays when others began to come to us. In Baldur's Gate, we shifted tactics. Word of who we were began to get about, whispers, and for the first time, we did not take the vision to others. There were many who came to us, including paladins of other faiths, prepared to strike us down. We would not risk war with the other gods yet, so we simply vanished. We became as shadows and try though they might to infiltrate our ranks, they never found anything.

One of our teams had infiltrated as far south as Athkatla. We were, of course, on the watch for our other siblings, and rumours of the destruction they began to wreak slowly filtered up north. This particular team infiltrated the Copper Coronet and the ranks of slavers, pirates who operated both on land and at sea. Quietly, they spread word to the slaves and as a sign of our goodwill, we promised them the chance to win their liberty. By now, the cache of arms we gathered had grown and our little plane had materialised. While only I and Imoen could reach it, we were establishing its hold with each passing hour, and soon, we were able to open a door between us, the plane, and the slaves. Through it, we sent the shipment and the ensuing bloodbath transformed the slums of Athkatla. It spread like wildfire. It did not stop with the slaves but reached the downtrodden and a great uprising took place, the first of the crusade.

Our people were surrounded, hemmed in by the city guard, by the cowled wizards, and it seemed that all was lost. We pulled most of them through, leaving only the dead behind. In a day, it was over. Much of the poorer district and the bridge across Athkatla's river, were torched. The Paladins of the Order of the Radiant Hart stormed the slums and the criminal syndicate that resided there, the so-called 'Shadow Thieves of Amn' fearing a three frontal assault struck out in desperation instead of melting away. The bloodshed was terrible by all accounts. From what we later learnt, it was a single cell of Shadow Thieves that chose to strike and plunged the rest of the guild into an enduring war. We also heard that the Shadow Thieves were already engaged in an underworld war with a shadowy foe we had no knowledge of. It mattered little beyond the devastation and those who fought for our cause because heroes overnight. Their legend spread and some within Athkatla despised them but many others joined. We could feel their faith bolstering us.

Within the Gate, our numbers slowed to a trickle for the prosperity brought about by the Iron Throne had reversed the fortunes of many and they were afraid to lose what they had. It was of no matter. Imoen and I both knew such things could not last. It was time we infiltrated the higher society and that was where we went. Yet, before that account is revealed, I should note some of those who joined us: a girl, the daughter of a duke, who at first did not believe, but after slipping and snapping her ankle, we took her in. She was curious and had come to determine whether or not we were sincere. From my hand, I restored her ankle, as I focused on the life energies all around me, energies that I could snuff out. Instead, I tapped into our sire's latent power and used it to heal. Even Imoen looked impressed, and then we showed her the vision.

Another found her way to us, brought in by the missionaries to Athkatla. An elf without wings who had given herself to one of the gnomist gods; we claimed her as our own, and while we could not fully return her wings, I removed the scars and crusted stumps, and Imoen took her on as her acolyte. The elf already had some small knowledge of the Weave, but after conferring with Imoen, we proposed another sort of magic. We believed it might be possible to return her wings, but the amount of faith it would take was beyond her. Her faith would need to grow, and we would, I promised, try to restore what had been lost. Even if she could not have it in this life, she would have them in the next.

But for Imoen, that was not enough. Aware that it might fail, she contacted all of the communes and instructed all of them to believe. If it worked, she would become the herald for our crusade, a symbol of our faith. When it failed, the elf was crushed, despondent, but gathering her into my arms, I carried her into our plane and showed her what our vision, our faith, had wrought. There, we tried again. It wasn't enough. Gathering everyone, we entered the plane, and there, as one, their faith bolstered us, Imoen's hand upon my shoulder, the stricken elf in my arms, and before us, our faith was rewarded.

Shining like the brightest stars of the night, she uncurled, stretching out her arms and legs. Shimmering in the hue of the fires that swept the northern skies, wings burst forth. From her foetal position, she rose, unclad as a newborn, and there, she stretched out her restored wings, tears streaming down her face.

Everyone rejoiced. I glanced at Imoen, who smiled back at me. It was working.