Ruins of Myth Drannor by Bebris Carrie

Author:Bebris, Carrie [Bebris, Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786913879
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2000-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

At first light, the party set out for the southwest ruins. They entered the ghost shrine to hear Anorrweyn’s spirit still repeating her lonely, sorrowful call.

“Where are the followers of Mystra?” The cry seemed to echo off the intangible walls.

Faeril stepped forward, holding out the medallion she wore around her neck. “Here, priestess! Mystra’s faithful still walk this earth. I am Faeril, but one of Our Lady’s many servants.”

Goosebumps prickled Kestrel’s arms as she waited to see whether the elven spirit would respond. The room fell unnaturally silent. No sounds from outside seemed to penetrate the spectral building, and those who stood within scarcely dared to breathe.

A faint scent stole into the air. Kestrel inhaled the musky perfume, searching her mind to identify the familiar fragrance. Gardenias.

Moments later, the slender figure of a woman appeared—at first dim and wavering, then brighter and steadier. A small nose, high cheekbones and a soft mouth set off the large turquoise eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face. Long, dark tresses cascaded over her shoulders, disappearing behind the silky fabric of her close-fitting green gown. Though an emerald ferronniere crowned her forehead, in truth Anorrweyn Evensong needed no adornment.

Kestrel absently ran her fingers through her short, boyish locks. The priestess’s understated elegance made the rogue suddenly self-conscious of her own rough-and-tumble appearance. Kestrel knew that while she might have the dexterity of a cat, she’d never possess one-tenth Anorrweyn’s grace. In the past, women like this gentle elf made her feel defensive, but somehow this spirit struck a chord in her.

“Faeril.” The elven spirit smiled and extended her hand toward the cleric. Her fingertips came within inches of Faeril’s face but did not touch it. “You are truly a daughter of Mystra?”

“Yes, priestess. Your sect has suffered hardship but yet survives.”

“I had feared the spinning centuries had put an end to Our Lady’s worship.” Anorrweyn’s gaze swept the group. “These are your companions?”

“Yes, priestess.”

The spirit then studied the party one member at a time, briefly assessing each person as Faeril made introductions. When Anorrweyn’s eyes met Kestrel’s, the thief felt warmth and peace pass through her. “You are the heroes who freed the remains of my temple from the evil creatures who laid claim to it.” Anorrweyn’s voice had lost its melancholy timbre, and its tones now fell soft as spring rain. “How may I aid you in return? Speak quickly—my foothold in your time is light.”

Corran removed his helm and genuflected before her. “The Mythal is in jeopardy, priestess. Evildoers have corrupted its magic and harnessed its power for their own diabolical ends.”

“Yes, I feel them, even through the years. They have raised an abomination under the very seat of the coronal, an abomination that cracks stone and earth in its hunger.” She extended her hand toward the paladin. “Rise, holy knight.”

Corran obeyed. Though his large form physically dwarfed the priestess, it was she who exuded more presence. “They plan to overtake first Myth Drannor and then all Faerűn,” Corran continued, “raising a dracolich to ultimate dominion over all.

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