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From the Diary and Notes of Raona Corbin of Tyr

It was a still, chill, snowy night that brought us together upon the plains overlooking Daggerford, a mix of anticipation and foreboding in our guts. This was an important venture - but we harbored no illusions that 'twould be easy. Spaki arrived first, his owlish glance meeting my own - appropriately enough, at the stroke of midnight. Longstrider was camped in the hills to the north, not one for mingling patiently with what we hoped would be a crowd. As the moon began to peek through the fading flurries, the flurry of arrivals quickened - Siria, Sindri, and Larethiel; Noreak and Aveline together. It would be a spell afore Tanduil could join us, but when he did, that would be the lot of us. Whilst we awaited his coming, Felgolos came into our midst, and formally asked Siria to travel with us. As a child of the human Moon, he explained, she might well converse with Aloevan with an empathy that the rest of us could not.

Felgolos then inquired as to our preparations. We related the tale of Torghatar and the portal to the House of Stone hidden in his throne room in Torstultok, and Spaki shared with us his research on the matter of the transport of souls. The Mithrandir Gwain, Deathlord of Kelemvor, had told Spaki that the requirements were three: first, a summoner, to perform the transferal; second, a vessel, typically a flawless gem; and finally, a living host, this final requirement being what separates such form of transport from the evil phylactery of a lich. Seemingly satisfied, Felgolos nodded his approval. With a slight scowl at the rising sun, he wished us good luck...and before our eyes, transformed into a copper-hued dragon and took wing. We assembled around Tanduil, trusting him to wisely lead us to and in the former home of his kin.

We broke our fast under the rising sun, debating the nature of honour in battle against dishonourable foes. Our repast, as well as Noreak's answering soliloquy, were interrupted by an odd intrusion - the attack of a baby wyvern. This was an unusual encounter to have in the plains southeast of Ardeep, and we decided to break camp and continue our journey, concerned that we were somehow being watched. A fast march (particularly for Sindri...less so for Longstrider) brought us to the Forlorn Hills, and the well-hidden path into Torstultok that Torghatar himself had shown us. On our last approach, orcish scouts had spotted us lingering, and sounded alarm; so we were keen to ensure that the same did not occur on this occasion. Longstrider took measure of the tracks, spotting signs of orcs and trolls, travelling together, their numbers uncertain. We decided to make a quick approach to the gates, passing a bleached human skull along the way, perhaps demarking the limit of some barbarian tribe's claim.

Afore us rose a massive stone building, the craftsmanship clearly dwarven, and of the finest quality. Eons of time had taken their toll upon it, however, and a few of its massive battlements had tumbled to the ground. There they joined the leavings of a great battle, or perhaps many - signs suggesting at least one siege, long and bloody. Our survey of the fortress' perimeter suggested the best means of gaining entry without detection would entail scaling the wall - tough doing under ordinary circumstances, but all the more so in light of a family of wyverns having made their home somewhere atop the battlements. Now we knew where the baby wyvern had come from... We debated strategy options for a time, until Longstrider took the initiative and climbed the wall afore us, Spaki floating up after him with the aid of Midnight's gift. The rest of us readied bows and bolts, in hopes of dissuading any of the wyverns that might spot the two in their ascent. Our concerns were not manifested, however, in that the two reached the wall's crest and clambered o'er before they were engaged by two baby wyverns.

They must have fought as wild cats, for it was but moments afore a rope lolled down over the side of the wall, and we took it in turns to clamber up. We found ourselves amongst the battlements of the old fortress, broken ballistas lying about in disrepair, a massive hole in the roof of the fortress, and more wyverns circling above. Another massive tower grew from the level of the battlements, clearly home to more wyverns, but we opted to descend into the fortress itself, down a ramp that had been used for the transport of the ballistas we saw atop, and similar heavy weapons. Orcs defended this area, dressed in patchwork hide and unorganized - it seemed Tymora was on our side, and no alarm hadst been raised.

The ramp ended in a smashed set of double doors and a wide corridor, so I set to mapping (see below). Here the stonework was of incredible quality, the fitted grey stones cut to square angles and fit tightly together. We advanced along the corridor, finding several old bedrooms and encountering some trolls along the way. To our right, we found rooms used in the training of warriors, inhabited by far more powerful orcs, backed by one of their foul shamans. Perhaps they had put the training space to use, for these were hardened warriors, and this battle quickly grew ugly. One of the large orcs lopped off Tanduil's head, leaving him rent in two, dead. Aveline fell soon after, before this very same orc, who then bashed me to the ground and took off an arm and a leg afore I came to. I awoke dazed, and crawled off, to my shame, only to return to find Siria had lost her arm to the beast as well, before it was finally felled. We hunkered down to salve our wounds, a trembling Siria returning Tanduil to us, her prayer offered with the one arm remaining her. Despite her wounds, Siria's first prayer of raising in her years on Faerun reached Selune's ears, and was not spurned. Once Tanduil had recovered his strength, he channeled Moradin's blessing to aid the rest of us, returning the limbs that Siria and I had lost, and returning Aveline from Helm's protective embrace. After a rest we continued on, a bit shaken but not deterred.

The end of this first corridor brought us to a dark shaft milled into the stone, its purpose unknown. To its left was a small triangular hole, about the size of one's thumb. We could find naught to fit into the hole, and so explored the two rooms at the corridor's terminus, a small square room and a room that looked to have been used for drawing up and debating plans of battle. We backtracked to where the corridor had split, and began an investigation of the other branch, coming first underneath the massive hole in the roof that we had spotted from above, where the battlements were. We passed next to a statue of the dwarven Lady of the Fray, Haela Brightaxe, and the front entrance hall of the fortress, and continued to another wide corridor parallel to the first.

Through a door flanking this one's left side, we found first a small gathering room, with a rusty metal table arrayed with a nauseating assortment of gory orc and troll trophies - elevn ears, human heads, and dwarven hands. 'Twas on our way there that an orc shaman set a curse upon me, and after that battle my mind was naught but dark thoughts. On seeing the table, I urged despair on my fellows, and sought every opportunity to leave the place until Tanduil gathered in what had occurred and set me to rights again. My face reddened on realizing the less than valorous words I had uttered, but my fellows seemed to understand 'twas nay meself speaking.

Further along the hall there was a destroyed smithy and an old storage room, and on our right the entrance to a large hall of worship, populated with the head and battle gods of the dwarven, gnomish, elven, and halfling pantheons. Here we also re-encountered Torghatar, who explained that this was his resting place in death, and if we wished, it could be ours in life, as he would see to our safety whilst here we slept.

On the far side of the hall of worship, we encountered another wide corridor, and upon the far side of that, a smaller, oblique hall with a mound of metal shards, seemingly destroyed weapons and armour, heaped into a pit at its center. This was clearly a gathering place of some sort, with a dais at its center, next to the pit, and the floor curving upward away from the pit as if to provide an audience with a fair view. The southern terminus of this room led east, to a wide circular staircase that we did not explore. Instead, we returned to the entrance chamber and departed, to repair and regroup afore returning.

Re-provisioned, re-assembled, and perhaps a bit wiser to the perils of Torstultok, we returned a fortnight later, surprising the guards at the front gate and quickly returning to the wide stairs we had not explored on our earlier visit. These did, indeed, lead up to the tower we had seen from the roof, where more of the wyvern's children set upon us, hoping to make a morning snack of at least one of our number. Thankfully, 'twas not their day, and we managed to dispatch not only the children but one of their parents without incident. What we found on the roof made it clear that this entire fortress was once a mighty temple to Haela Brightaxe, the dwarven goddess of battle: specifically, of expertise, luck, and joy in such.

We had to fight our way back to the bottom of the tower, an orc patrol having discovered evidence of our efforts on the way up and already called in reinforcements. We managed to dispatch them before the highly overstated rumours of our presence were spread to still more loose lips, and we avoided developing a most unwanted crowd of hangers-on. We returned to where we had found stairs leading to the dungeon level, and spotted the tortured undead of the fortress' original residents. Steeling ourselves, we entered there, and as we feared, were beset upon by fierce undead Dwarven warriors. They were well-trained, but in their undead state also unorganized, so we were able to lay them to rest one by one. They wandered a long hall fronted by alcoves - within each, in ancient dwarven runes, was told the tale of a chosen of Haela who had fallen in the cause of battle.

The tales spanned almost three centuries, chronicling the rise and fall of the second Illefarn - an alliance of dwarves and elves, and of Phalorm, the Realm of Three Crowns - an alliance of five races: dwarves, elves, humans, gnomes, and halflings. Judging by the statues we had found in the Hall of Worship, Torstultok had thrived at Phalorm's peak, but survived through its fall, in 614 by Dale's Reckoning.

The tales of heroism and valor haunted us as we explored further, into a hall similar to that we had seen above, with a massive stone altar at its center, and the floor curving upward away from the altar as if to provide an audience with a fair view. A narrow corridor led us away to a large square hall, and a most disturbing sight: this was once a quiet place of burial, home to thousands of dwarven sarcophagi. Now these lay shattered, in ruins upon the floor, the bones they once entombed scattered upon the floor, and whatever of value they may have contained stripped away by the greedy hands that had knocked them over and smashed them open. We felt a mixture of rage and sorrow - this was why the dwarven warriors in these halls still wandered, undead, unable to find true rest.

On the far side of the crypt another wide corridor stretched for a ways afore terminating in a small square room cut from a single, massive block of stone. Fitted with an odd slot in its wall, and no other adornment, this seemed a dead end. We paused to collect our thoughts, and go over what we knew.

[OOC: From this point, additional details would ruin this area for everyone, as it will be available to all eventually! So I fear Raona's story must end here...until you pick it up with your own character at this very point! Enjoy...it's a wonderful area!]

From the Diary and Notes of Raona Corbin of Tyr

Our explorations of the upper dungeon level of Torstultok offered us an extensive lesson in history, and in particular of inter-racial cooperation in the region. We learned of the first Illefarn, an extensive alliance between the elves of Ardeep and the dwarves of the nearby dwarven community of Dardath, and how it collapsed in mutual distrust in 342 DR, only to be reborn in a new alliance, more limited in scope, called New Illefarn. In 523 DR, this second Illefarn expanded into Phalorm, the Realm of Three Crowns. Torghatar, king of Dardath, joined Ardeep's elven king Laranlor Ruardh Lightshiver and the ruler of the human community of Delimbiyran, Javilarhh "the Dark" Snowsword, in founding Phalorm; hence it became known as the Realm of Three Crowns. They were joined in the alliance by two dukes, the gnome leader of Dolblunde and the halfling leader of Secomber, making it truly an alliance of five races, and allowing Phalorm to turn back many dark tides: armies of orcs, hobgoblins, and trolls amongst them.

With much thought, some prayer, and some luck, our small band eventually managed to find its way to the bottom level of Torstultok, which we found to be overrun with Duergar. They had emplaced a bevy of sinister traps, so we enlisted the aid of a young, trustworthy rogue named Kailyn Greenwood. With her aid, we managed to avoid the worst of these perils, and re-interred the defiled remains of Torghatar, the first dwarven king of Phalorm. In doing so, we learned of the hidden portal to Stoneturn, the small dwarven fort in Ardeep dating from the era of the Realm of Three Crowns. More surprisingly, we found two of what appeared to be three shards of a massive heart-shaped gem, the size of a human child's head. These were inscribed with minute runes indicating that the gem was a gift from the gnomes of Dolblunde, to commemorate the founding of Phalorm, and confirmed that there were, indeed, three shards. We thought that were we able to find the third shard, and reunite them into a whole, we might well have a means by which to transport the soul of Embrae Aloevan, should she prove willing.

We traversed the portal to Stoneturn, which lies within Ardeep, to find it inhabited by ghostly apparitions of members of each of the five races. They tore at us as we observed portals that presumably, at least at one point in time, connected to the homes of each of the three kings and two dukes of Phalorm. Working our way up through the fortress, we found chambers obviously meant for long-term habitation by the five races, and on the smaller level above that, an armoury, and finally a guardroom with a door to the forest. The latter we dared not open, for the demons could smell our scent, and we could hear their howls without - we did not tarry there long, but descended back into Stoneturn, to search out other options.

Bright eyes soon revealed such, and we found ourselves in the Room of the Seal, wherein a magical force blocked access to a tunnel - the one to the Laranlar Crypt in Felgolos' map, or so we hoped. Investigation revealed a room containing five pedestals, adjacent to the seal, and connected in turn to five chambers, each clearly tied to one of the five races of Phalorm. These chambers each proved to be a key, one more difficult to turn than the next, but with perseverance, we came to understand their operation. As each was riddled out, an emblem appeared upon one of the pedestals - and whence all five pedestals were occupied, the magical force blocking our way did indeed fade. We carefully made our way along the opened passage, and it led us to what was unmistakably an Elven crypt, the Crypts of the Deepening Moon shown in Felgolos' map.

Our reserves, for the time, were spent, and we retreated to the surface to re-provision ourselves and take measure of our situation. 'Twas in that time upon the surface that some foul manner of thief extracted the two gem shards from the possession of one of our number - and then demanded a ransom for their return. I trust that others will have more details to offer concerning that tale, and thus I will leave such to them, retaining here my focus on our journey through the ancient ruins of Phalorm.

Felgolos's map

By the time we again returned to the Crypts of the Deepening Moon, all three shards of the Triple Gem had been recovered, and the three assembled into one, with the aid of the redoubtable Garl Glittergold. Our explorations of the Crypts themselves had been largely uneventful, though enlightening: I was told that they were typical of Elven crypts, the first I had seen of such. (Prior to this, I myself knew nothing of Elven burial rituals, save what I had read in the wonderful tome "Burial Rituals of Faerun" by Goz Bonebottom, Shaman of Lord Kelemvor.) [OOC: FK Product Placement Watch! Disclaimer: No coin was paid to Raona for the mention of this fine publication.] The Crypts consisted of three manners of chamber: a common fore tomb, containing a pool of crystalline water and representing the realm from which the Elves departed; individual central tombs, where the bodies themselves were interred; and a common aft tomb, empty save for carvings on the wall and an incredible sense of peace it didst instill in us all - this was representative of Arvanaith, the destination of unforsaken Elven spirits. In the central tombs, paintings and carvings upon the ceilings depicted the final moments of those there laid to rest, whilst the walls depicted them at key moments in their lives. Sarcophagi in the middle of these chambers presumably contained the remains of each of the fallen Laranlars and Laranla of Ardeep, though of course, we did not disturb them to confirm that.

Embrae Aloevan's tomb was remarkable, in that its ceiling bore no image or carving whatsoever, though the walls depicted many key points in her life, and featured most prominently an image of her kneeling before Sehanine and Mystra, as if accepting a precious gift from each of them. Rather than a sarcophagus, it contained a basin burning with a flame of the purest white. Felgolos' tale was bolstered by this discovery - it suggested that Embrae Aloevan was indeed alive, and had been blessed by both the human goddess of magic and the Elven goddess of the full moon: it was not but a fable, at least as of the time of the crafting of the crypts.

Our explorations eventually led us to the surface entrance to the Crypts, watched over by three baelnorn. They interrogated us on our intentions, as well as our understanding of Phalorm, to confirm our tale. Satisfied, they allowed us passage into Ardeep itself, sending with us the few uncorrupted warders and treants still loyal to them, and giving us instructions as to how to reach Aloevan's Tears, the small lake that serves as the gateway to the pocket plane in which Aloevan resided. Ranger Rennick of Mielikki led us through the deep forest, our entourage of warders occupying their corrupted kin, and Longstrider's quick work of the one demon we encountered making it possible to reach Aloevan's Tears without a horde of fiends washing over us.

At the entrance to the place, however, we stopped short - nose to snout with a massive silver dragon, guarding over the passage to Aloevan's Tears. This was a thoughtful beast, thankfully, and its first observation was that we didnae smell like corrupted warders...and it wondered aloud whether we were, instead, the corruptors themselves. Several others, familiar with the draconic tongue, carried on some discussion with the dragon, but I could not follow it...suffice it to say, however, that even I could tell that it did not go well. The dragon bore a Helmite devotion to his charge of duty, the protection of Embrae Aloevan, and he did not take kindly to our communicators having made mention of her likely destruction. However, our own Helmite, Aveline, and also Siria, seemed to have an empathy for the situation of the dragon, and their words seemed to move it to a change of heart. It was palpably sad at the end its watch...but with a tear rolling from its eye, it took wing, setting off to find a new charge.

The lake itself was beautiful, and amazingly serene. Clearly, its aura kept even the demon hordes at a goodly distance. (Well, that and the recently departed dragon, without question.) It took some puzzling to ascertain in just what way it served as a portal to the pocket plane in which Embrae Aloevan resided, but we eventually found our way to that pocket plane, where we were met by one of the clerics charged with watching over her. It was as if he was expecting us...his first words to us were "... then the time must have come." He explained (as Longstrider translated from Elven for us) that Aloevan hadst already foreseen what was to come: that strangers would enter her Court, and cause the destruction of One-who-is-Three. The clerics had made ready to defend the Court against our coming, but she opened their eyes to the larger situation, and they bid us pass through to her peacefully. We donned the vestments of Sehanine's priests, silvery diaphanous gowns and togas, as we were about to enter a most holy place.

Rennick led us to the Court of Silver Fire itself, where the faintest outline of an Elven female, barely a faceless ghost, shrouded in bright silver and deep blue flames, awaited us. When she spoke, it was not with her lips, yet three voices resounded clearly in our heads. Siria of Selune capably served as our spokesperson, quickly convincing Embrae Aloevan to undertake the sacrifice that Felgolos had described. However, the figure afore us was of three minds - not only Aloevan herself, but also the essences of Sehanine, and the original Mystra. The essences of the gods were not so readily convinced, and it took our collective efforts to persuade them. Sehanine eventually found our cause worthy in that it would offer a meaningful end and a lasting legacy for her chosen, Embrae Aloevan, after all these many years: one demonstrating that passage to beyond is not to be feared if there is a meaning to it. Mystra's essence was the most difficult to rally to our cause. She was little interested in the fate of mortals, be they fiendish or of the five races - and our efforts to persuade her of the corrupting influence of the demons upon the Weave did not bear fruit. It was with shock we finally realized that this shard of the original Mystra, born of Mystryl's sacrifice, was wholly unaware of the events of the Time of Troubles. When confronted with the fact that she was, most likely, the last shard remaining of the essence of Mystryl, I thought all was lost. But lo, instead, she thought differently in that light, reflecting upon the might of the spell that would be wrought by Felgolos' plan, and how it would be a worthy spell, one embodying the glory of the Weave...and thus a fitting final deed for Mystra: the last dweomer, a lasting legacy, and thus a meaningful end.

One-who-is-Three then bade us undertake the last, most dangerous step in Felgolos' plan, adding several words of warning and counsel. Sindri placed the re-united Triple Gem afore her, and she disappeared into it. At Aloevan's suggestion, we returned to the baelnorn, who believed the most effective place to center the great spell would be from the courtyard of Stoneturn - just beyond its upper exit, from which we had turned back on an earlier expedition. Noreak valiantly volunteered to carry both Demonbane and the Triple Gem that contained Aloevan's spirit, to personally see to it that they remained together - though it was clear that whoever did so would be consumed by the massive release of magical energy. In the end, we all stayed with both, carrying them to the appointed location and setting them down in close proximity even as the demons began pouring in from the forest. The first to enter did not attack us, but moved to block the way from which we had come. The gem began to pulse, slowly and regularly, the pace increasing and the mace beginning to glow in unison as demons began to attack us from both directions. We held our ground, the three priests rallying to the aid of those in need, and Longstrider knocking the vast majority of the demons right to the ground as they advanced. As the melee continued, we heard the three voices of Aloevan, shouting in turn. Her mortal self shouted "For my beloved land!". The essence of Sehanine beseeched "Let this be a legacy that lasts in the memories of those who follow..." Finally, as the demons howled and redoubled their assault, clearly aware of their imminent demise, we staggered back into a tighter circle around Noreak and Kailyn, standing as the last perimeter around the Triple Gem containing Aloevan, and Demonbane. Their pulsation now a near-blinding blur, the last essence of Mystryl shouted "Behold my... behold Mystra's Last Spell!", and we redoubled our efforts, Forgehammer Tanduil calling down Moradin's holy fire on the many demons pressing in upon us. As they fell, Embrae Aloevan's voice, serene and calm, spoke to us one final time, saying "Now is the time... thank you for bringing me... for bringing us here." Another torrent of demons poured in through both entrances, and we prepared to face them with our dying breaths when...I still am uncertain I saw it correctly, that it was not a vision, or a dream, or somehow induced by the pain that wracked me at the time...but the others relate that they saw it as well: Yondalla herself, the Halfling Protector and Provider, appeared afore us. Reminding us that she had oft played a role in Ardeep, she summoned from the sole tree in the courtyard a powerful, if temporary, shield around us, and created a gate to the Copse named after her on Ardeep's perimeter. Telling us "Quick... come with me. Your deaths here will not avail you," she led us through the gate, to safety...and so did it come full circle, Yondalla joining Moradin, Garl, Sehanine, and Mystra in aiding in the return of Ardeep to their five races, in cooperation, each doing their part.

Bloodied and spent, we collapsed to the ground, our dazed ears nearly deafened by the screams and guttural cries of the demons in the forest, rising to a climatic howl. The shield around Ardeep to the south shimmered into view as the half-sphere it encompassed was suddenly filled with a blinding white light...and we were overwhelmed for a time, taking in only slowly that the fiendish howl hadst been replaced...with a serene silence. Ardeep had finally thrown off the demon taint, with the many sacrifices of five races, and the ultimate sacrifice, we must presume, of Embrae Aloevan, and the essences of Sehanine and Mystryl she bore within her. Let none forget this tale, and let it be a lesson to us all of the worth and import of cooperation between our races. Backed with hope, it is our single most powerful weapon against the forces of evil ever arrayed against us and all that we hold dear.

In Solemn Memory of Embrae Aloevan,

Raona Corbin of Tyr, on behalf of the allies of Ardeep