Author's note: The characters of Drizzt Do'Urden, Wulfgar, Catti-brie and Bruenor Battlehammer are all property of Bob Salvatore. In short, I do not lay claim to these names, nor the characters behind them. Various other characters are the property of their creators and/or Wizards of the Coast. Toril and the Forgotten Realms are property of Wizards of the Coast. The names and characters of Kalyanna Silvernight, Zelgadiss Xilathane, Janus Magnus and The Stave are the property of myself. If anyone would like to use the three above stated characters or the above stated artifact, please contact me and ask my permission. Thank you.
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Prelude
The Farsea Marshes of Cormyr, not so much a happening place that lends itself well as a vacationing spot or a place to visit. Though one thing somehow managed to always draw adventurers to this death trap. The promise of riches beyond their wildest dreams. Those riches -- things such as gold and magical items long lost in the sands of time -- were tucked away within the marshes, within the ruins of an ancient civilization, in buildings made entirely of glass.
Though normally quiet, the glass halls of the Farsea Marshes let sound the echos of footfalls within them. They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And the creatures living in the halls moved away from the sounds whenever they could discern the actual location of the source. Larger creatures sat in what could only be described as awe while a tall shadow passed by them.
Though the halls led nowhere and everywhere, a feat that would surely confuse even the most hardened adventurer, the shadow form glided easily through them as though it knew where it was going. Looking around, the glowing orbs where eyes would be, silver in color, took note of all the well placed traps that would have killed any common person before this point in the search. The shadow walked through illusionary walls -- sure enough, as real looking as any other glass wall in sight -- and continued its trek through the ruins. Finally, upon reaching an apparent dead end, the shadow removed from the cloak it wore a rod, and hastily began tracing a circle upon the ground and inscribing it with magical runes. When the preparations were complete, it replaced the rod in its cloak and took a seat within the center of the magical circle; which was followed by a low, and rhythmic chanting in the draconic tongue. The runes burst to life in a green flame.
Once the lights had faded, the shadowed figure and the circle of power sat in a completely different room with no visible sign of exit other than the magical transportation used to enter it. The room itself was dipped in shadows save for a twenty foot diameter column of light that seemed to usher from the ground. In the center of this pillar rested a throne, and upon that glass throne sat a skeletal figure, a collection of bones covered in fine silk garments of purple and other noble colors. The skeleton's bones were a bright white in color, and trails of ebony energies traveled across its form. More than two dozen ioun stones circled the skull. In the right hand was held a slender stave topped with a star sapphire. And finally, the skull rose and burning red light, from the skull's eye sockets, looked towards the shadowed figure that had appeared in the room. "You have come for what, Janus Magnus of ancient Netheril?" The voice came from the slowly opening jaw of the skull in a chilled air that would freeze any man to his bones.
As if at a command, the shadowed figure stepped forward from the circle and into the pillar of light. It was a man dressed in the dark colored robes of the archwizards of Netheril. And through the long strands of black hair atop his head shown through eyes of silver, made all the more disturbing by the shine the unnatural light gave to them. "Surely you should know ancient lich."
For a moment the red light of the lich's sight dimmed as if in thought, and flared back up to full intensity in only a moment's time. "I know many things. Yet why you have come to me Arcanist, I do not know."
For a moment Magnus stood in thought. The Arcanist felt that he needed to word his reason for being here carefully if he wished to avoid a fight with this powerful adversary. "I have come seeking your infinite knowledge, and The Stave." Already, the Arcanist was plotting an attack plan in his head as to what spell might be of use to break through the defenses of the lich's ioun stones.
"The knowledge of mine you have earned by making it this far." It seemed like Magnus was being offered kindness not often seen in liches. He would soon be proven wrong when the skeletal form stood from its throne with unrivaled speed and thrust the stave in its hand out; the star sapphire glowing. Magnus was thrown and pinned against one of the glass walls. "However, The Stave you will have to pry from my cold and finally dead hands!"
As Magnus hit hard against the glass wall, which lived up to the rumors of being as strong as steel, the air was evacuated from his lungs, and thus the spell he had been casting was interrupted. He was being crushed to death by the power of the very artifact he came to claim. Mustering enough power to speak, and the will to move the fingers of his right hand to trace out the runes of the spell, he began his casting again.
The Ancient undead began a walk towards the helpless Arcanist, unaware of what he was doing. It was indeed a rare thing to kill such an ignorant mortal such as this one, and even rarer that he happened upon the lich of his own free will.
When the undead was within range of the spell, a thin gray bolt flew forth from the outreached fingers of Magnus's hand, striking the undead, and blowing from its body the hand that clutched the artifact. This caused him to fall to the ground hard, coughing up a stream of blood in the process. As for the lich, it recoiled in pain at the massive energies that had disrupted its life force without touching its phylactery. Standing, Magnus calmly walked over to the dismembered hand and removed the artifact it still held. "Your cold dead hand it is."
Before the lich could enact a spell of its own to protect itself or counter the coming onslaught, a massive torrent of blue energy leapt from the sapphire of the stave, passing through the body of the lich and destroying it, and finally shattering the throne behind it -- its phylactery.
Holding the artifact, and basking in the power that was every bit as much as told in legend, Magnus turned and opened a gate to the outside world. "I must thank you for this gift, ancient lich, Zarkon." The words were drawn into nothingness as the gate closed behind the man.
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Prelude
The Farsea Marshes of Cormyr, not so much a happening place that lends itself well as a vacationing spot or a place to visit. Though one thing somehow managed to always draw adventurers to this death trap. The promise of riches beyond their wildest dreams. Those riches -- things such as gold and magical items long lost in the sands of time -- were tucked away within the marshes, within the ruins of an ancient civilization, in buildings made entirely of glass.
Though normally quiet, the glass halls of the Farsea Marshes let sound the echos of footfalls within them. They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And the creatures living in the halls moved away from the sounds whenever they could discern the actual location of the source. Larger creatures sat in what could only be described as awe while a tall shadow passed by them.
Though the halls led nowhere and everywhere, a feat that would surely confuse even the most hardened adventurer, the shadow form glided easily through them as though it knew where it was going. Looking around, the glowing orbs where eyes would be, silver in color, took note of all the well placed traps that would have killed any common person before this point in the search. The shadow walked through illusionary walls -- sure enough, as real looking as any other glass wall in sight -- and continued its trek through the ruins. Finally, upon reaching an apparent dead end, the shadow removed from the cloak it wore a rod, and hastily began tracing a circle upon the ground and inscribing it with magical runes. When the preparations were complete, it replaced the rod in its cloak and took a seat within the center of the magical circle; which was followed by a low, and rhythmic chanting in the draconic tongue. The runes burst to life in a green flame.
Once the lights had faded, the shadowed figure and the circle of power sat in a completely different room with no visible sign of exit other than the magical transportation used to enter it. The room itself was dipped in shadows save for a twenty foot diameter column of light that seemed to usher from the ground. In the center of this pillar rested a throne, and upon that glass throne sat a skeletal figure, a collection of bones covered in fine silk garments of purple and other noble colors. The skeleton's bones were a bright white in color, and trails of ebony energies traveled across its form. More than two dozen ioun stones circled the skull. In the right hand was held a slender stave topped with a star sapphire. And finally, the skull rose and burning red light, from the skull's eye sockets, looked towards the shadowed figure that had appeared in the room. "You have come for what, Janus Magnus of ancient Netheril?" The voice came from the slowly opening jaw of the skull in a chilled air that would freeze any man to his bones.
As if at a command, the shadowed figure stepped forward from the circle and into the pillar of light. It was a man dressed in the dark colored robes of the archwizards of Netheril. And through the long strands of black hair atop his head shown through eyes of silver, made all the more disturbing by the shine the unnatural light gave to them. "Surely you should know ancient lich."
For a moment the red light of the lich's sight dimmed as if in thought, and flared back up to full intensity in only a moment's time. "I know many things. Yet why you have come to me Arcanist, I do not know."
For a moment Magnus stood in thought. The Arcanist felt that he needed to word his reason for being here carefully if he wished to avoid a fight with this powerful adversary. "I have come seeking your infinite knowledge, and The Stave." Already, the Arcanist was plotting an attack plan in his head as to what spell might be of use to break through the defenses of the lich's ioun stones.
"The knowledge of mine you have earned by making it this far." It seemed like Magnus was being offered kindness not often seen in liches. He would soon be proven wrong when the skeletal form stood from its throne with unrivaled speed and thrust the stave in its hand out; the star sapphire glowing. Magnus was thrown and pinned against one of the glass walls. "However, The Stave you will have to pry from my cold and finally dead hands!"
As Magnus hit hard against the glass wall, which lived up to the rumors of being as strong as steel, the air was evacuated from his lungs, and thus the spell he had been casting was interrupted. He was being crushed to death by the power of the very artifact he came to claim. Mustering enough power to speak, and the will to move the fingers of his right hand to trace out the runes of the spell, he began his casting again.
The Ancient undead began a walk towards the helpless Arcanist, unaware of what he was doing. It was indeed a rare thing to kill such an ignorant mortal such as this one, and even rarer that he happened upon the lich of his own free will.
When the undead was within range of the spell, a thin gray bolt flew forth from the outreached fingers of Magnus's hand, striking the undead, and blowing from its body the hand that clutched the artifact. This caused him to fall to the ground hard, coughing up a stream of blood in the process. As for the lich, it recoiled in pain at the massive energies that had disrupted its life force without touching its phylactery. Standing, Magnus calmly walked over to the dismembered hand and removed the artifact it still held. "Your cold dead hand it is."
Before the lich could enact a spell of its own to protect itself or counter the coming onslaught, a massive torrent of blue energy leapt from the sapphire of the stave, passing through the body of the lich and destroying it, and finally shattering the throne behind it -- its phylactery.
Holding the artifact, and basking in the power that was every bit as much as told in legend, Magnus turned and opened a gate to the outside world. "I must thank you for this gift, ancient lich, Zarkon." The words were drawn into nothingness as the gate closed behind the man.