Waterdeep: Avatar Series, Book III by Troy Denning

Author:Troy Denning [Denning, Troy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic, Teen & Young Adult
ISBN: 0880387599
Amazon: B005UFN50C
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2011-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

Midnight accepted this answer, though it was obvious that Rhaymon's statement was founded on hope, not knowledge. For if the gods were concerned about their worshipers, the Fugue Plain would have been far less crowded.

They continued their conversations and their trek for another two days. The mage learned little more of significant interest. Eventually, the crowds began to thin, and a dark line appeared on the horizon. Midnight had no doubt that they were getting close to Myrkul's city.

Finally, the dead cleric and the mage reached a point beyond which there were no more milling souls. The dark line on the horizon had changed to a dark ribbon stretching from one side of the endless plain to another.

Rhaymon stopped walking. "I've brought you as far as I can," he said. "Beyond here, I'm no use to you."

Midnight sighed and tried to smile, though she felt lonely and abandoned.

"You've done more than enough already," she replied softly.

Rhaymon pointed toward the left end of the ribbon. "I understand the entrance to the city is down there," he said. "I brought you here so you could approach the wall without meeting the denizens as they go to and from the gate."

Midnight took Rhaymon's hand. "Words cannot express my gratitude," she said.

"I'll miss your company."

"And I'll miss yours," he replied. After a small pause, he added some last-minute advice. "Midnight, this is not the world of the living. What seems cruel and evil to you is the normal course here. No matter what you find in Myrkul's city, remember where you are. If you interfere with the denizens, you'll never leave."

"I'll remember your advice," she said. "I promise."

"Good. May the gods favor your path," Rhaymon said.

"And may you keep your faith," Midnight responded.

"I will," he answered. "I promise." With that, he turned and walked back toward the souls upon the Fugue Plain.

Midnight turned toward Myrkul's city and started walking. Two hours later, an eerie moan reached her ears and musty whiffs of rot plagued her nose. The magic-user continued at her best pace. The moan gradually became a suppressed wail, and the stench of decay grew stronger and hung more steadily in the air.

The wall constantly grew higher and larger, and as Midnight got close to it, she saw that its surface swayed and writhed—as if it were alive.

The mage wondered if the wall was made of serpents. That would explain the absence of sentries. If the wall itself was menacing enough, Myrkul would not need guards.

Midnight continued forward, approaching within fifty feet of the wall. The suppressed wail changed into a cacophony of muffled sobs, the foul smell of decay grew so strong it nauseated her, and the magic-user saw that she had been mistaken about the writhing forms in the wall. What she had taken to be serpents were thousands of squirming legs.

The wall was constructed entirely of human bodies. Men and women were stacked fifty feet high, their bodies turned inward to face the interior of the city.

The largest people gave the wall bulk and height, while the smaller ones chinked gaps and filled holes.

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