"We have arrived," Zhjaeve announced. "I can still feel the touch of Illefarn around us... and beneath us."

"So this is the city of Arvahn. Doesn't look much more than a pile of stones at first glance," Marcus said, looking around.

Zhjaeve smiled behind her veil. "It may seem that way to the eyes... but know there is power here, enough to turn the tide of the battle to come. Know that we must find the five statues of Angharradh if we are to complete the Ritual of Purification." The githzerai tilted her head to one side as if trying to sense them. "These statues are within these ruins, if our sources are true. Without undergoing the ritual, we cannot defeat the King of Shadows. We must make haste... the sooner we complete the Ritual, the sooner we can take the battle to our enemy."

"Agreed, there's something about this places that feels... off," the harbourman said as he rolled out the map that Sand had given him. "According to this map Tarmas made, he found one statue out in the open not far from here."

"Yeah, there's something making my horns twitch," Neeshka agreed. "And I think I can see that statue just across the bridge," she said, pointing ahead of them into the gloom.

"So where are the others?" Khelgar asked.

"According to what Tarmas was able to uncover, the others are hidden within the ruins of the city. There are three other buildings that are more or less intact. There's Riverdell Keep, the Temple of Seasons, and the gem mine." Sand explained what he'd learned from his grumpy counterpart. "Tarmas suspects each will house a statue. As for the fifth statue, that wasn't something Tarmas was able to answer, however."

"What is it with you and ruined keeps, lad?" the dwarf wanted to know as they walked across the bridge.

"Guess I must like keeps," Marcus replied with a shrug. "Well, there's the first statue," he said, looking at the imposing carved stone figure. "Tarmas forgot to mention the fact that the place is overrun with goblinoids, now didn't he?" Marcus added dryly, pointing up one of the pathways. In the distance they could see a group of goblins, orcs, and ogres fighting.

"Nothing surprising about that, lad," Khelgar said with enthusiasm. "Just means we get better at fighting, and they get better at being dead."

Marcus sighed. "Yes, you're right. We'll have to clear the ruins before we can really do anything else." My favourite pastime, pest control, the harbourman thought dully.


West Harbour seemed eerily silent without its inhabitants, and there wasn't even a breath of wind blowing through the village. It was unnaturally still and quiet.

"So the town remains..." the gravelly voice of Ammon Jerro rang out as he mused aloud, as he walked to the spot where he'd fought the King of Shadows over two decades ago, where the silver sword had shattered. "...let us see if what I seek is here as well." As he spoke, his army of devils and demons began to search the abandoned homes.

The warlock remained where he was, standing by the scorch mark, looking down at it and studying it. "It is not here... Cole has it." As he spoke, he looked up. "Ah... he's found the first of the statues. I wonder, does he know where the fifth one lies?" He turned to a succubus. "We are leaving, what I seek is not here. I know where we must go."

Ammon Jerro walked swiftly and with purpose out of West Harbour and into the Mere, leaving behind a destroyed village, something even the githyanki hadn't been able to manage, but then fiends and their ilk aren't known for their subtlety in searching.


Finding the statues in Riverdell Keep and the Temple of Seasons had been relatively straightforward. It had been clearing all the monsters and passing the Temple's safeguards that had been the time consuming part. Now Marcus and company walked into the gem mine.

"Strangest mine I've ever seen," Khelgar grunted. "Looks more like a library to me."

"It does, don't it?" Marcus agreed, looking around. "All it needs is a librarian's spirit," he said, half joking.

"Um, you spoke too soon, harbour boy," Neeshka said in a hushed voice, pointing to the figure of a ghostly elf that had turned to face them.

"The dust upon the floor stirs beneath your feet... what brings those of flesh and blood to this empire of spirits?" the spirit asked, arching a ghostly eyebrow.

To the harbourman's ears, the ghost eerily sounded a lot like Sand. Casting a glance at the moon elf, Marcus could see that even the wizard was a little unnerved. "We're looking for Statues of Purification," Marcus said, turning his attention back to the ghost.

The spirit nodded, almost as if that was what he'd expected to hear. "Ah, has the Guardian returned, then? I heard the whispers, but I did not believe. His echoes are strong in this place, and the tides of spirits ebb and flow, signifying little. But ages pass, and names change. I have existed longer as a spirit than as a breathing, blooded elf, and I know little of the world beyond my books. You most likely know the Guardian by another name."

"Who are, or should I say were you?" Marcus asked.

The ghost almost smiled. "In life my name was Balaur. Now there are none with tongues or minds to speak it. I was the lorekeeper here before darkness came to Illefarn."

"Can you tell us anything about Illefarn and the Guardian?" the harbourman asked.

Balaur sighed. "The memories of our empire are... painful ones. Even to speak of it now is difficult." The elf's eyes became distant. "At times, I wonder if perhaps my memories of Illefarn are a dream... but always, the books here centre my thoughts and remind me of the truth of what once was." His eyes focused back on Marcus. "I know not the name of the lands that surround us now, but once, long ago, it was a unified empire, lands that welcomed humans and dwarves within its borders. Together, these people achieved a strength seldom seen in those times... but as all empires have a beginning, the end must come as well. Perhaps we erred in seeking to prevent that end. But it is difficult to simply let something one loves die without fighting to protect it."

"Protect it from what?" Neeshka asked.

"We had enemies, as all empires do. The orc tribes of the North plagued our borders... but our greatest enemies were the humans of Netheril, who took the magics that we had shared with them and built an empire of their own. But their empire grew so swiftly and wild..." Balaur explained. "The people of Illefarn had grown slowly and carefully, like a garden, but the humans of Netheril had little patience for such things... as they tasted power, they hungered for more." The ghost sounded saddened by this. "We meant no harm in sharing our knowledge. We had assumed that it would be used as we used it... carefully, responsibly." The lorekeeper snorted. "The Netherese were like children, playing with the land and the skies as if they were toys for their amusement. The Art is not meant for such things, and terrible are the consequences of abusing such power." The elf's ghostly shoulders slumped. "But the fall of our Empire came not from them. No, the darkness that came upon us had another source. One of our own making, but at the time we had no way to know this. By the time we realised our greatest mistake it was far too late."

"What was the Guardian like, before his corruption?" Marcus asked.

"You must understand this. The Guardian was an embodiment of the Weave, with a singular purpose. That purpose was to preserve Illefarn, and to destroy its enemies, should they attack," Balaur explained. And with this singular purpose we doomed ourselves, the lorekeeper thought.

"But he used to be a man. Surely something of his personality survived," Neeshka said, not completely understanding.

"Ah, child, there was a ritual devised to create the Guardian. It was meant to obliterate the man he was, leaving only his resolve to defend our nation. This was his sacrifice." Balaur paused for a moment, seeming to think. Once I did think that something remained of the man I knew, and that belief led to disaster, he thought bitterly. "Whether anything remained of the man I knew... I cannot say."

Sand gave a snort of pure contempt at the thought of what had been done so long ago. "He sounds like little more than a mindless construct," the moon elf spat.

Balaur shook his head vigorously. "No. A construct is inflexible. We required a Guardian that was pure of purpose, but able to reason and adapt and change. Unfortunately, the Guardian's flexibility became our doom. A simple construct, powered by the Weave, would have died when the Weave was disrupted. The Guardian was clever enough to find a new source of life. He turned to the Shadow Weave, and thus, he was corrupted."

"You said that the Weave failed. How could that be?" Marcus asked in disbelief.

"At the time, we did not know. Even now, I have only scraps of truth, gleaned from hapless visitors to this place in the early years of my undeath," Balaur replied. "As far as I know, the fault lies with a Netherese mage, Karsus. He tried to take control of the Weave, to become the new god of magic. This was madness, and he failed, of course. But in failing, he slew the goddess of magic. She was reborn moments later, but in that instant, all magic failed. That was the end for Netheril's floating cities, and it should have been the end for our Guardian, as well."

"Ah, Mystra has always been... accident prone, but you'd think after all these millennia and several 'deaths' she'd learn to be more careful," Sand observed dryly.

Marcus rolled his eyes at the wizard's remark. "But the Guardian survived by turning to the Shadow Weave," he said

Balaur nodded. "Yes. And in so doing, he doomed that which he sought to protect. When the Guardian turned to the Shadow Weave, our empire crumbled. Our trees withered, their lives drained to feed his. Our people simply... waned. Dwarves set down their tools and stared numbly as their forges went cold. Elves lay down in their forests, motionless for days and weeks, as the wild things grew, and smothered them," the lorekeeper explained. "A few of us fled to the outer reaches of Illefarn, where the Guardian's Shadow was still weak. There, we plotted to end him. Three times we tried, and only on the third attempt did we partially succeed."

"Three times? What in the nine hells happened?" Marcus asked, stunned.

"We turned first to the Silken Sisters, six spellswords of tremendous power. Even the Netheril feared them, and we thought that they must prevail against the Guardian." Balaur paused. "Their fate was too terrible for words. Suffice to say that they failed." You will know the horror of their fate soon enough, he thought. "Then did the priest Annaeus devise the Ritual of Purification, by which we might weaken the Guardian. A great gathering of wizards and priests assembled to confront the Guardian. I was but a minor power in that host, but I remember those last hours well. We spoke the Ritual, and it functioned as Annaeus had hoped."

"But you didn't succeed, did you?" Neeshka asked.

The ghost seemed to shift uncomfortably. "No. We were... not entirely united in purpose," Balaur admitted sadly.

"What about the third attempt? Only partially?" the tiefling wanted to know.

"Regrettably, that... victory... is not recorded in these scrolls," Balaur replied, gesturing to the tomes that littered the floor. "Nor was I a witness, as I was dead by then. However I do know that at least one such witness still walks these halls. You might ask him, if you can ease his torment for a time. From what I understand though, he was walled up within the Plane of Shadow."

The harbourman blew out his cheeks. "Still, he must be stopped."

"Ah yes, the reason you are here. The statue you seek lies within the stone Communion Tree, a blending of arboreal and terrestrial. It symbolized the union of Illefarn's dwarven and elven peoples," Balaur said, pointing through an archway, where in the distant gloom could be seen the shape of a tree. "Opening the Tree requires similar unity... three elves and three dwarves of Illefarn, spaced equally around its trunk. Without these six, the Tree will remain closed to you," the lorekeeper explained. "Spirits of Illefarn dwell here, elves and dwarves who were bound closely to the Guardian, and the man he was, in life. His memory hangs heavy on their souls. If you gather these spirits to you, then the Tree shall open to reveal what it cradles within."

"So I need only gather these spirits, then?" Marcus asked, knowing it wasn't going to be that easy.

Balaur shook his head. "It is not so simple. Just as the Guardian has fallen into shadow, so have those who were tied to him. Their torment has spawned a legion of foul undead, manifestations of their pain and sorrow. Destroy these undead, and I believe their spirits would reappear. For a time, at least."

"So if we were to kill or destroy the undead, that might be enough?" Neeshka asked.

"Yes... but there is more. More that is my doing, I'm afraid," Balaur admitted. "If you intend to bring spirits to the Communion Tree, you must undo the wards on the walls of these ruins... the Ghost Lights, which keep the spirits at bay."

"Ghost Lights?" Sand asked.

"They are wards designed to shelter... and trap... the spirits within these ruins so they cannot spread their taint beyond this place," the lorekeeper said. "To your eyes, the Ghost Lights glow with a blue light, but to the spirits of my people, the glow is like that of the sun, a searing light that they cannot approach. As long as the Ghost Lights burn, the spirits cannot reach the tree."

"So how do we extinguish them?" Marcus asked.

"The touch of the living is enough… when they are touched by one that lives, they will go out. And once they are extinguished, the spirits may pass," Balaur said.

"Just want I wanted to be doing, slaying undead and talking to spirits," Marcus said dryly. "Should have asked Casavir to come along as well."

"So how do we go about this, then?" Khelgar asked. "I'm thinking we're in the area where the miners and that lived. The mine tunnels are probably deeper in."

"Sounds possible, Khelgar," Marcus replied. "Whatever we do, we better clear this entire complex of undead first, make our lives much easier."

The dwarf grinned. "After you, lad, lead on!"


Alana looked up at the walls of Crossroad Keep and sighed. You never told me that my daughter was living in a pile of rubble that they're trying to make a keep, Dumal, she thought as she passed through the keep's main gates.

The sorceress was looking about the courtyard, getting her bearings, when she was approached by a Greycloak sergeant.

"Can I be of some assistance, ma'am?" Sergeant Dobbson asked the woman he'd seen enter the keep. She seemed to be in her middle years. Her dark chestnut hair had streaks of grey sprinkled through it but the woman's deep blue eyes were full of life. What had prompted him to walk over to her was uncertain, but something told him she was no ordinary visitor to the keep.

Alana smiled warmly at the younger man. "I hope so, Sergeant," she replied. "You wouldn't happen to know a young woman by the name of Neeshka, by any chance?"

Of all the things Dobbson thought he may have been asked, he hadn't even considered that. The sergeant opened his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "Yes, I do know Lady Neeshka," he said, watching as the woman's eyes grew in size and her eyebrows shot upwards. To Dobbson, it seemed as if she were excited by the news. "Unfortunately she isn't here at the moment, and I don't know when she'll be back."

Alana's shoulders slumped. "Drat, of all the rotten luck," she said, disappointed.

For some odd reason, the woman's expression made Dobbson smile. "You're welcome to stay until Neeshka returns," he told her.

"Oh, I intend to, Sergeant," Alana replied. "I haven't come all this way not to see my grown up baby girl," she said.


After destroying all the undead in the main complex, Marcus had elected to leave the mine tunnels until last. They returned to the Communion Tree to find a spirit of an elven wizard standing nearby.

"Is it done, then? Has the fool ended himself? Or did the ritual fail entirely?" the ghost asked. Marcus suppressed a shudder, for the voice sounded much like that of Tarmas, as if the place wasn't bad enough.

"This shade is cycling through events of the past... and perhaps has been ever since its death," Zhjaeve said, slightly confused. "I cannot say this for certain, but it is likely the one he is speaking of is the one who became the Guardian."

"Yes, the ritual was a success. The Guardian lives," Marcus said.

The ghost let out a snort. "What a waste. A waste, do you hear? And you can tell Annaeus that I said as much. I did not tutor that boy for twenty years, only to have him turned into some mindless monstrosity. A waste, I say!"

"But he chose his own fate, didn't he?" Marcus asked.

The ghost snorted. "Oh, yes. Chose it himself. Ever the patriot, he was." The wizard's voice took on a mocking tone. "Sacrifices must be made, for the good of all. Illefarn is a great nation, and preserving it is our responsibility." A pause. "Well, I say this. Let the weak and the worthless make the sacrifices. That boy had a mind in his bone-cage. He might have advanced the study of magic, but instead, he threw it all away. For love of country." The last three words were spat out.

"So, he was a gifted wizard?" Sand asked, curious.

"Gifted?" The ghost seemed to ponder the question. "I suppose. For a human. Bah... yes, he was gifted, by the hells. A quick mind, a sharp wit, a noble spirit. Have you ever noticed, I wonder, how those who have everything are always the quickest to throw it all away?" he asked, folding his arms. "I heard how it ended for him. Lying there screaming for near a hundred days, with that fool girl at his bedside, as the Weave slowly burned away what was left of him, bit by bit." The ghost's shoulders slumped in defeat. "But he got his wish, didn't he? Lost himself and became the Guardian. All that he was, all gone..."

"Didn't you try to stop him?" the harbourman asked.

"Oh yes, I tried. But I hadn't been his master in ten years. Not long, for an elf, but half an eternity for a human. I simply didn't understand," the ghost said, rolling his eyes. "No one listens to old Master Isym anymore, do they?"

"So Annaeus had something to do with the ritual?" Sand asked, liking the long dead priest less and less.

"Yes. He devised it himself," the spirit replied with a sigh. "No, I'm giving the dwarf too much credit. Annaeus had his help. My old apprentice helped devise the very ritual that would rip away his mind. I'm sure there's some form of irony there, yes?"

"We need your help. Will you come with us?" Marcus asked.

The ghost nodded. "Yes... I suppose I will follow."


Dobbson blinked several times. "You're Neeshka's mother!?" he blurted suddenly. "Oh sorry, ma'am, pardon my manners," he added hastily.

Alana couldn't help but laugh at the shocked expression on the sergeant's face. "Yes, I'm Neeshka's mother. Not that she'd know who I am. I left her when she was very young."

Dobbson nodded. "Yes, I recall Lady Neeshka telling me something like that."

Alana looked thoughtful. "Why do you call my baby girl 'Lady Neeshka'?" she asked, curious.

The sergeant shifted his weight. "Ah, well, I'm not sure how much you know, but the Captain and your daughter are close, you see," Dobbson explained awkwardly. "So unofficially most of us 'Cloaks consider her the lady of the Keep. We wouldn't be terribly surprised if it becomes official sooner or later."

Alana couldn't help but laugh. "Dumal never told me that my baby girl's boyfriend was in fact Captain of Crossroads Keep!"

Dobbson raised an eyebrow. "Dumal? As in the founder of Helm's Hold?" he asked.

Alana nodded. "Yes, I take it you've met him?"

"Yes," Dobbson replied dryly. "Once, and that was enough."


"He burns. He screams... someone must stop this. Why will no one listen?" The spirit of a young and very beautiful elven woman paced back and forth in the room they had just entered.

"You're speaking of the Guardian," Marcus said.

"Guardian!" the sprit snorted. "Is it a crime now to call him by his name? His real name? That man is gone, they tell me. Gone! If he is gone, then who lays in the temple, writhing in agony and calling upon the gods for release?" the ghost asked, frustrated and angry. "Four tendays have I sat vigil with the... the Guardian, as they call him now. His pain has only worsened. Worsened, when Annaeus promised it would ease!" The passion and anger in the woman's voice unsettled the harbourman a great deal.

"Know that this one may not even be aware that she is a shade... and that what she sees with her eyes is only the past, not us here, now." Zhjaeve spoke softly. "And the one she speaks of ... it must be the agony of the Guardian she is recounting for us now."

"Please. If you could only see him, you would understand. He is only a man, and they seek to make him some... immortal Guardian, to join him with the Weave," the elven woman pleaded. "The Weave fills him. It boils in his every vein, day and night, tenday after tenday. Is it not enough that he must sacrifice his very self?" Her voice had lowered but the desperation remained.

"But didn't he chose to make this sacrifice?" the harbourman asked, a little confused by the spirit's reaction, though there was something about her behavior that seemed familiar, if he could only place it.

The spirit's eyes flashed with anger. "That's what they'd say but no one warned him of the pain. Annaeus speaks of patriotism. He didn't even know this would happen, and he doesn't care." The woman's hatred of the priest was clear to all. "I hate Annaeus. You've seen him speak of the ritual. Of the pain. It gives him pleasure. The dwarf tries to hide it, but watch his eyes, and you'll see..." The young elf took a breath. "I hate Annaeus, because he took him away from me."

"So, you're a friend to the Guardian?" Marcus asked gently, suspecting that she had been far more.

The ghost of the elven woman blushed a deep red, something that the harbourman found strange as he didn't even know that spirits could do such a thing. "A friend to... to the man he was. To the man he is. He isn't gone yet, and this whole mistake... we can fix it. We can end the ritual before it destroys him," she begged.

You were more than just a friend, Marcus thought, you were his lover. The harbourman felt his heart break. What had it been like for the beautiful elf, he could only imagine. Marcus knew, without doubt, if he'd have to watch his Neesh suffer so long, he wasn't sure if he'd still be able to function. The harbourman turned to the tiefling who at the same moment looked at him. Neither spoke, for the look they exchanged said it all. They'd rather die than see the other suffer such anguish.

"What would you suggest, then?" Marcus asked, turning his attention back to the ghost.

"End this. Now. If enough of us come together, demand that Annaeus release him from the ritual, end his pain... It isn't too late, it can't be!" the ghost replied, resolute.

"But... the events you speak of... they occurred long ago," the harbourman said softly, not knowing what else to say.

The ghost looked and sounded confused. "I don't understand. I've just come from the temple. I can hear his screams, feel the warmth of his hands. We can still save him, I'm... I'm certain..."

Zhjaeve shook her head sadly. "Such reminders will be forgotten, there is nothing that can be done. The past surrounds them like a cage, and there is no key that will free them. Come, let us take this shade to the Communion Tree. There, perhaps, she will do more to help the one she loved than she does here."

Marcus sighed heavily. "I know, Zhjaeve, but perhaps if we can defeat the king of shadows, then maybe these spirits will find peace. It's the only thing that will release them, the only thing we can do for them." He turned back to the ghost. "I'm a friend. Do you think you can come with me?"

"Come... with you?" the ghost asked, sounding suddenly disoriented. "Very well. I will... I will follow."


Alana chuckled at the sergeant's remark about Dumal. "So tell me, Sergeant, what is the captain like?"

Dobbson smiled knowingly. "What you mean to say is how does he treat your daughter?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

The sorceress grinned. "Am I really so transparent?" she replied. "I shouldn't be so surprised, as it is my baby girl we're talking about. Even though I know she's grown up, Neeshka will always be my baby girl," Alana said. "So yes, tell me, how does he treat her?"

"I'll endeavour to tell you what I can, but first shall we go to the Phoenix Tail? I'm certain you could do with a good meal and a room," Dobbson said as he directed her toward the inn. "I'm Martin Dobbson by the way."

"And I'm Alana Firestar. You know, Sergeant, I think we'll get on just fine," she said as she led the way to the Phoenix Tail, a mischievous glint in her eyes.


"I've having a hard time focusing on the face of that shade," Sand observed as they entered part of the complex that had been a barracks. "There's something wrong about her."

The ghost, that of an elven woman wearing finely crafted chainmail armour, turned to face them. "Who approaches us, sisters? Does it look on us? Does it pity us?" the spirit said in a mournful voice. The face of the shade changed slightly, as did the voice. "Make it leave us, sisters! Of voices we hear plenty." This time it spoke more quickly, and in a much harsher tone.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Neeshka whispered.

The face and voice changed for a third time. "We were the Silken Sisters. The pride of Aelinthaldaar. Sword and spell we wielded, six we were, but now are one," the spirit said in a crafty tone.

Silence greeted the shade's pronouncement. It took several seconds for Marcus to even begin to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. The King of Shadows did that to six people? Made them into one? he thought. But I can only hear three. What happened to the others? I don't think I really want to know. And I have to fight this thing? The thought of actually having to face the King of Shadows was now filling the harbourman with pure and utter dread.

"I've been told that you fought the King of Shadows," Marcus said at last, regaining his voice.

"It wants our tale..." the shade moaned mournfully. "Will it free us? Will it kill us?" it asked angrily. "Yes! A bargain! A story told, exchanged for peace!" the crafty voice said. "An end we crave, an end for true..." the mournful voice added.

"Know that I do not believe it possible to destroy these spirits. They are bound to the King of Shadows, and as long as he exists, they shall as well," Zhjaeve said.

"Destroying the King of Shadows may free you, but I'll need your help," Marcus told the shade.

"Does it know the Guardian? Does it know how the Guardian fell into Shadow?" the shade asked angrily. "We were the first, the first sent against him." The voice changed. "Sharpened swords. Sharpened spells. Went into the forest where he was strong. Went in six, came out one." The shade spoke in a crafty tone.

Neeshka turned pale. "Just what kind of thing is this…King of Shadows?" Her tail twitched in agitation and she shivered.

"The King of Shadows... combined you into one?" Sand asked, as even he was having a hard time accepting what he was seeing.

The shade nodded, speaking in the crafty voice. "He spied us in the wood. He fell upon us, drained our lives, and left our spirits naked, helpless." The voice changed. "Left our souls screaming in the dark!" the shade cried angrily before the voice changed again. "But that wasn't all, was it sisters? No... he was angry. He wasn't finished with us. Not yet. He scoured us bare, made us shadow. He can work shadow, shape it as he wills. He worked us like clay. Like white, hot steel," the crafty voice said. "Six blades, hammered into one!" the shade cried mournfully. "When six were joined, some voices were lost. Mouths sealed. Minds pulped. Three remain," the crafty voice said sadly. "Kill him for us. Show him justice," the shade begged. "Show him pain!" it cried angrily.

"I must open the Communion Tree. Will you help me?" the harbourman asked.

"The Communion Tree? Then it seeks to combat him?" the shade asked angrily. "Come, sisters. Its hopes align with ours. Let us follow," it said in the crafty voice.


Commander Tann groaned as he looked out across Fort Locke. His fort was full of refugees, again. Well, that wasn't completely true, they were evacuees from West Harbour. Now if their escort from Crossroad Keep would hurry up and get here, he thought, I can have my fort back, again.


"You must... pardon me, friend. It was not my custom in life to greet visitors with swarms of undead. I am called Annaeus," the dwarf said as they entered what had once been a temple.

"You 're Annaeus?" Marcus asked, shocked.

The priest smiled a little. "Ah. The other spirits must have spoken of me. Even after so long, they bear me ill will, and I can't say that I'm surprised. How often, in life, did I come face to face with evil, only to find someone who was simply doing what he thought to be right and just," Annaeus said. "Yes, it all began with a silly, fat dwarf. I created the Guardian. That disappoints a lot of people, you know. Even offends some. So they make of me what they will. They call me madman, or worse. Let them say what they will. I know why I did what I did... why I created the Guardian, and later tried to destroy him."

"The Guardian... the King of Shadows... all this is your fault?" Neeshka demanded, waving a hand about to indicate the ruin.

"Indeed, the fault is mine. If it makes you feel any better, young lady," Annaeus replied, unfazed. "I have been trapped in this foul undeath for more centuries than I dare to count, and I will likely remain here for many more. It's not a pleasant fate, but I would gladly endure my torments a hundred-fold before I took back the decisions I made."

"Surely you must regret the consequences of your actions?" Khelgar asked.

"The consequences?" Annaeus replied, raising an eyebrow "Thousands of innocent people protected from the wrath of Netheril. An enclave of culture and tolerance preserved, against a canvas of hate and war. No. I do not regret the consequences. The Guardian saved my people."

"Perhaps," Marcus allowed. "But the Guardian is the very thing that doomed your people."

Annaeus nodded at the truth of the harbourman's statement. "A man can act for good purpose, or for ill. But he cannot predict every consequence. Walk down one street instead of another, and you might doom someone to die. But you are a fool if you blame yourself for this. The Guardian was conceived with noble purpose. I foresaw no evil in his birth. My conscience is clear," the priest said.

Sand snorted with pure contempt. "Excuse me if I don't believe you. You are the fool if your conscience is truly clear," the wizard said. "You may have foreseen no evil in what you did millennia ago, but when one is dealing with the Weave, one must always consider one's actions. But then you were a cleric, so it's hardly surprising that you did not truly understand the force you were dealing with." The moon elf's anger was palpable. The more he was discovering about the King of Shadows, the more he was appalled that they could have been so monumentally stupid as to create the Guardian in the first place.

Annaeus at least had the decency to look humbled by Sand's outburst. Whether he really was or not, no one could tell.

"So, how does the Ritual of Purification actually work?" the harbourman asked, wanting to be done with the priest as soon as he could.

"In many ways, it attempts to reverse the processes that created the Guardian... to the extent that such a thing can be done," Annaeus explained. "In truth, it merely allows one to weaken him. A fire burns wood to ash. The process can never truly be reversed, and so it is with the Guardian. He is utterly and irreversibly changed."

"I see. Well, I need your help to open the Communion Tree," Marcus replied.

"Ah... then you seek to combat the Guardian. Of course, I will help you. Lead on, and I will follow," Annaeus said.


"I don't know about you, lad, but that Annaeus should stay as a shade for all eternity for what he's done," Khelger said as they walked away from the Communion Tree. "He might be a dwarf, but he's no kin of mine, that's for certain."

"All eternity is a little harsh, but perhaps he should stay a shade until he realises what the consequences of his choices really are," Marcus replied. "Come on, we have two more sprits to find, and then we can leave this gods forsaken place."

"That's the best thing you've said so far, harbour boy," Neeshka said "My horns are twitching like crazy." The tiefling shuddered, thinking back to the Silken Sisters. That had been too creepy for words.