The following recounts the fall of the greater dracolich Thalthentoth:
This is the account of the destruction of the Abbey of the Tombstone Bell,
and those hundreds of lives lost within, as told by Sethrin Kell'are, Prelate
Weaponmster of the Church of the Lord Master of Eternal Repose. I was not
direct witness as to how the Earthsea Artifice came to the possession of Sir
Alitar Mierchi. but if my dearest and most respected friend's voice has ever
carried a lie, then I shall happily accept punishment for bearing false
witness in this account, for part of what shall be written here shall be
hearsay taken from the mouth of the Knight Shepherd, and as such, to me if
none other, it is the truth of gospel. This is what I have heard from Sir
Alitar. The dracolich having once had it's mortal body sundered by the
Earthsea Artifice during it's use in the Spires of Misfortune, was not
destroyed completely. The beast rose again some tenday after it's initial
destruction and began to tear asunder the Spires in the Cloud Peaks. The part
that I do not know is if Sir Alitar made response to the Dracolich itself, or
to a call for help from the followers of Misfortune, however he is not a man
to shirk duty, and went forthwith to the site of the battle. He took the
Artifice, the item which had wounded the beast so deeply before, and drew the
undead monstrosity away from the Spires, to the one place we had hoped would
provide some sanctuary. We gathered our forces in the Abbey as the Great Dead
Drake circled overhead, preparing it's assault and studying the mythal that
protected the Abbey in hopes that it could find a weakness...when Sir Alitar
brought the Hammer waves down upon the Anvil of the Earth, naming the great
beast.
"Thalthentoth!" his voice echoed through the Great Halls of the Abbey,
resounding as the power of the Earthsea Artifice lashed out, striking a
telling blow against the beast and rending it's wings. I myself watched it
come careening from the sky through the southward window of the Aspe, and the
earth trembled as it's massive, skeletal bulk drove into the ground upon the
Fields of the Dead. We thought the monstrosity slain for a moment, but it
raised it's head, and though the door of the Nave we could see the pale,
baleful glow of it's breath, building. We, the assembled, Sir Alitar at the
fore, Miss Areia, Benorf, Master Jarris Tarill, Master Terageld Mestipen, and
what Brother Protectors could be assembled in such hasty notice, all rushed
from the Abbey to face it upon the fields, hoping to draw it's vile breath
away from those within. We engaged the beast upon that hallowed ground, our
wounds soaking the blood, even as the beast's bony structure cracked and
popped from the strain of the injury the Artifice has inflicted. It drew it's
head back, preparing to unleash it's breath, and Sir Alitar brandished the
Hammer once more, striking the beast itself and setting it back in recoil as
it swallowed it's own breath, the cough thereafter releasing something
entirely different, a storm of ice, acid, and lightning. The battle
continued, many of our Brother Protectors laying dead around us, but still we
held the line as the pitched fight strained, back and forth, as often the
pulse of the battle goes, until once again, the beast drew it's head back,
and began to build that baleful, dark glow.
We did our best to buy Sir Alitar the time needed as he retrieved the anvil
from the sling on his side, but even as he brought the hammer down, and let
his voice echo across the Fields of the Dead with the mighty word
"Thalthentoth!" the ball of energy within the beast's mouth had reached a
critical point. It's dying spasm released it's held breath, and the breath
washed over and around us, tearing and shredding across the aura of the
Earthsea Artifice itself. The Gods be Praised that the Artifice protected us
so, keeping us from the blast of the beast's breath, and let the songs be
sung doubly that the Artifice itself were reduced to a smoldering pile of
dust by the blast, but from my viewpoint, as I had turned and raised my
shield to shelter myself from the debris of the beast's dying blast, I could
see what the vile beast's breath was truly aimed upon. Within a few seconds,
the wave of the beast's breath had washed over the Abbey and now what remains
is aught but a crater, and a constructed memorial. The Song of Lament has
been sung, and our brothers and Sisters rest, let us not forget their
sacrifice. Let their memories not be lost, for it is the dead who have
brought Faerun to what it is today, and it is upon THESE shoulders that our
lives all stand.
Recounted by Sethrin.