stonecrandall Page 102
Page 102
The explosion resulting from the fall of the saint was a phenomenon that evolved as chaotic magic was annihilated by divinity. Magic is an inherent attribute of all things in the realm, and its distribution is nearly even across the scale of the continent of Faerûn—though there are exceptions, such as the "sun" above the Temple of Tom, but the sea where the battle took place was not an exception—meaning that the distribution of magic on the battlefield was uniform and widespread. Without being enriched into high-energy clusters, it was equivalent to pre-detonating the first stage of a thermobaric bomb, resulting in a huge destructive range, but the peak damage was not very high, which Casalos could easily withstand.
Not to mention it, Midnight and Isis used magical shields to withstand Mystra's explosion, even though they were a little far away at the time.
The waves after the shockwave were unremarkable, not even as big as the miniature tsunami caused by Casalos and Bane's clash of waves. They washed onto the Tanris breakwater and splashed up, signaling the complete failure of Bane's invasion.
The golden lion-headed giant slowly rose, but Tom's form was becoming increasingly unstable, with blue mist constantly gushing from his body, enveloping the entire battlefield. He was gradually losing all his energy.
“Thank you, voters of Nur,” Tom said, his voice weary. “Without your help, Tanris might have already fallen.”
Casalos bowed slightly in a polite gesture: "You're welcome. This is simply a victory we all share."
“You’re right,” Tom nodded, the golden lion’s head gleaming weakly in the sunlight. “Melkor’s shadow has always loomed over this battle. I can sense that He is probing something through Bane; perhaps He has found the path back to Asgard.”
Casalos was slightly surprised. As expected of a "god" who had the protagonist's script, he was able to sense Melkor's strangeness.
However, Tom did not continue the conversation, and the image of the golden lion-headed giant became increasingly blurred. He knew he could not maintain this saintly form for much longer.
“Before I must leave, I want to make a promise to you, Nur’s chosen people,” Tom said solemnly, “when the turmoil ends, if I can return to the divine realm safely, I will do everything in my power to help the Death Dragon God Nur awaken from his slumber. The contributions of His chosen people to Faerun should be remembered forever.”
Casalos coughed lightly—its decision to meddle under the guise of the calm observer Kuronips was very wise. Tom, currently still a demigod, was clearly unaware that Kuronips had completely left the realm, and that Nur was merely an empty shell coveted by several gods with overlapping divine duties.
“Thank you for your generosity, God of Duty,” Casalos responded softly, his movements deliberately imbued with a hint of piety.
The golden lion-headed giant slowly nodded, then its form began to shrink rapidly. Tom's soul needed to find a new vessel to reside in, but after the fierce battle with Bane, it no longer had enough power to create a suitable saint.
“I must find a new vessel as soon as possible,” Tom said, looking around. “All my followers have sacrificed themselves, giving me the power to fight Bane, but now… I need a temporary place to stay.”
Tom's gaze fell on Tanris, which was shrouded in a golden barrier in the distance. There was his former temple and the young priest Eton.
Casalos saw through Tom's intention: "You want to live with that young priest?"
“Ethan has potential,” Tom explained. “Although he has now lost his faith in the goddess of beauty, he still has a yearning for justice and duty. He would be a suitable vessel.”
Casalos didn't elaborate: Even in the eyes of the most upright and benevolent god of justice, mortals are nothing more than vessels or tools... and that was Tom. In reality, for the vast majority of gods, believers are merely dispensable playthings—this is the fundamental motivation behind AO's desire to reshape the rules of the gods in the realm.
The Slate of Fate is ultimately just an excuse to "step into the office with your left foot first."
The golden lion-headed giant finally disintegrated completely, turning into a cloud of blue energy mist that drifted towards Tanris in the wind.
As the sea calmed and the light of the explosion faded, a vast area of dead magic, created by the explosion of Bane's death divinity and the resulting chaotic magic, was revealed. Residual fragments of Bane's divinity permeated the area.
Chapter 319
Upon reaching the seawater, the air, and the coastlines not protected by the Holy Bell's barrier, eerie black-gold cracks formed, making it appear as if space itself had cracked open.
Looking out over Tanris City, the golden hemispherical barrier still firmly enveloped the city.
“It’s time to meet those brave young people,” Casalos spread his wings, raised the edges of his wings to their optimal position, and flew straight toward Tanris.
65. The journey is not over yet; adventurers must continue their efforts.
At the top of the Holy Bell Tower, Isis and Midnight stood side by side, their hands still tightly clasped. Between their palms, the divinity of the goddess of magic swirled, shimmering with silver starlight. It was this power that maintained the Holy Bell's protective barrier.
"Can we hold out?" Midnight couldn't help but ask. "The barrier looks stable, but I don't know how long it can last."
Isis smiled and squeezed Midnight's hand: "Don't worry, since the mentor has decided to kill Bane, it means that the Holy Bell's barrier can definitely withstand it."
“You really believe in it, your mentor… Casalos, that dragon, it’s right at the center of the explosion…” Midnight looked worriedly toward the sea.
“We have even less to worry about it,” Isis said confidently. “It’s much more powerful than you think.”
Elminster stood to one side, his white hair and disheveled robes billowing in the wind, his face showing weariness and numbness. He had seen the explosion on the sea, then the storm receded, and Casalos flew in unharmed.
“Everything is going according to your plan, isn’t it? A dragon that came out of nowhere,” Elminster whispered, though Casalos was still far away in the sky and couldn’t hear him.
Casalos landed on a mountain peak south of Tanris, folded its wings, and its head was level with the top of the bell tower. It watched Isis and Midnight beside the holy bell at the top of the tower. Ilminster stood behind them, his beard torn apart by the storm stirred up by the dragon's wings.
“Looks like everyone’s still alive.” Casalos clicked his iron beak, making a crisp metallic clanging sound and sending sparks flying. “That’s wonderful.”
Isis, panting, glanced at Midnight before turning to her mentor: "You knew Bane would attack Tanris?"
“Of course,” Casalos replied casually, lightly brushing the pebbles on the ground with his dragon tail, tilting his head to stare at the city and the barrier below the mountain. “I also know that you can ring the holy bell to support the barrier for the city. In fact, without you and Midnight, my delaying Bane would have been meaningless.”
"Then why didn't you tell us sooner?" Isis frowned, looking like a student complaining to a close enough mentor.
“Fate has already been messed up enough; I don’t want to create any more variables.” Tie Long blinked his second, semi-transparent eyelids. “If I told you, would your actions still be so natural?”
“Mentor, you weren’t originally a believer in fatalism.”
“Oh, really?” Casalos shook his head. “Not now either. I just personally erased one of the biggest fateful turning points that I had deduced, just to see if fate could be changed.”
Isis snorted coldly, a complex expression flashing in her eyes.
Casalos chuckled, then turned to Midnight beside Isis, looking directly at the young mage with a hint of mockery in his eyes: "Long time no see, little girl. Oh, no, I should say 'Midnight'? That 'cooperation' in Westgate last time is still fresh in my memory... Time really flies."
Midnight blushed slightly, and she coughed awkwardly, "Long time no see, you still remember me?"
Casalos let out a low, rumbling laugh: "There aren't many mages who can wield daggers better than most assassins. But what I didn't expect was that when the leader of the Dark Mask appeared, I reverted to my dragon form and unleashed my Dragon Might… um…" Seeing Midnight's increasingly flushed face and increasingly awkward stance, Casalos changed the subject, "By the way, are you still fighting with daggers? That's nothing like a mage's style. The wrist movements with daggers are too distracting. Listen to me, you should learn from Isis and use a heavy staff. If anyone annoys you, just smash them with it; that's much faster than spells. You know, heavy weapons are very helpful for building courage, so you won't be easily…"
"Enough!" Midnight practically spat out the words through clenched teeth, her fingers clenched into fists, as if she were considering whether to launch a magic missile at the dragon.
Isis looked at Midnight curiously: "What is it saying? You two knew each other before?"
"It was nothing, just a chance encounter." Midnight quickly changed the subject. "What were you doing in Ximen City at the time?"
Casalos casually flicked his scales: "Just wandering around and doing some sting operations... Hmm, I discovered that the 'Dark Mask' in Westgate is actually an organization led by vampires, so I pretended to be prey to lure them out and then wiped them out in one fell swoop."
Elminster suddenly interjected, "You dragons are so idle, you even have to meddle in the city's security?"
“Oh, isn’t this our great white-haired old sage?” Casalos turned to Elminster, his indigo eyes gleaming with mockery. “I have a bronze dragon friend, and this is a bad habit I picked up from him… I’m not like some old rogue who spends his days in the tavern touching this girl’s hand, patting that waitress’s butt, taking advantage of her while she sings a little tune, and then he even has a ‘deep conversation’ with that tavern girl.”
"What?!" Ilminster's white beard almost stood on end. "You damned dragon cub! I was doing serious business, serious business! Just gathering intelligence."
“Intelligence?” Casalos scoffed. “Were you using magic to communicate when you put your arm around her waist? Or were there clues to the Tablet of Fate hidden in those two glasses of ale? Come on, I’ve been watching you two from the sky for days. Isis, Midnight, you two had better stay away from this old rogue, especially avoid any personal interactions, just talk business—like finding the Tablet of Fate and handing it over to AO or something.”
"You, you!" Ilminster was so angry that he glared and slammed his staff on the ground a few times. "Me, a sage, to be humiliated by a reptile like you?! I..." He was interrupted before he could finish speaking.
“It seems our old sage really needs to reflect on his image.” Midnight chuckled to himself, while Isis looked at the old mage with a puzzled expression: “Elminster, last time at ‘The Happy Bull,’ that red-haired waitress was indeed particularly enthusiastic towards you…”
“That’s only because I’m a renowned sage!” Elminster explained in exasperation. “Instead of listening to this dragon’s nonsense, let’s discuss our next steps.”
Casalos slowly preened his wings, his eyes full of victorious smiles: "Of course, the plan is important, old sage. Just don't sneak off to see any 'red-haired' waitresses while discussing official business. I think Simb would be happy to hear that."
Elminster let out a sigh of impotent rage, raised his hand to smooth his disheveled beard, and seemed to have decided to ignore the annoying dragon.
“Alright,” Isis said, her serious expression masking a smile, “we have more important matters to attend to. The final battle between Bane and Tom is just the beginning; the matter of the Tablets of Fate is far from over, mentor.”
Casalos abandoned his mocking attitude, his expression turning serious as he said solemnly, "Indeed, so you're planning to go to Waterdeep next?"
"How do you know?" the old sage couldn't help but interject again.
"I know so much more..."
————————————————————
Outside the Valley of Scars, the Bone King's gaze pierced the sea, fixed on the Dead Magic Zone that stretched between the Valley of Scars and Tanris. Within that zone, shimmering with black and gold cracks, a soul enveloped in amber-green light wailed.
Chapter 320
A faint flame flickered on the amber-green shell, yet it could never penetrate it to extinguish the lingering soul.
Melkor tilted his head slightly, two eerie blue flames burning in the empty eye sockets beneath his skeletal face. His voice was low and cold, as if slowly rising from the abyss: "Who are you? Such a small and ordinary soul... I seem to have seen your shadow beside Bane before, a speck of dust that doesn't even deserve to be remembered, why would..." He paused, a hint of mocking amusement in his tone, "that dragon would be enraged by you? I saw it clearly; its gaze was fixed on you before it ruthlessly tore apart the entire fleet."
The voice of the God of Death was calm yet carried an undeniable majesty, as if everything had already been calculated by him. Whether it was the dragon's rage or the struggle of this remnant soul, they were merely insignificant pieces on a chessboard. He did not expect an answer, but simply scrutinized the soul, a cold and arrogant smile playing on his lips.
"Save me! Save me! Cyric is willing to give everything for the Bone King!" The soul suddenly let out a heart-wrenching scream, its voice filled with despair and greed, like an insect trapped in a spider's web, writhing its broken body with all its might. The amber light trembled slightly, illuminating Cyric's distorted face—a face contorted with fear, driven mad by the will to survive, its eyes gleaming with an almost morbid light. "I swear! My soul, my loyalty, my everything! Just reach out your hand, and I will wipe out all your enemies!"
“I’ve been wanting to see what’s so special about you,” Melkor said, extending a pale finger to lightly touch the fading soul. “The power of Nur that it infused into your soul is quite troublesome…”
————————————————————
In the deserted Temple of Tom, in the center of the Crystal Labyrinth Treasury, an unremarkable sword rested quietly in a corner. The blade was somewhat rusty, the wooden hilt was still intact, and the rounded tip of the blade was cracked in several places.
The ancient sword, which Thavis had plundered from some unknown temple, suddenly flickered twice, then twisted and deformed, transforming into the image of a woman. She was a barefoot woman with pale skin, eyes that shone like stars, and long, flowing black hair. Her figure appeared and disappeared in the shadows, as if she might vanish into the darkness at any moment.
The woman looked around as if searching for something, and finally her gaze fell on another corner of the treasure vault, where there was a small golden statue—the image of a lion, about the size of a house cat.
“Ah, Tom,” her voice was as soft as silk, yet carried an undeniable strength, as she casually picked up the statue, “it seems you have found a new home.”
The little lion statue suddenly came to life, struggling to escape the woman's control, but to no avail.
"Let me go!" Tom's voice came from the statue, weak but full of anger. "Musk, weren't you supposed to be missing a long time ago? What are you doing here? Get out of my temple!"
"Your temple?" The woman laughed, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You're really pathetic, Tom. Now you're all at my mercy..."
She grabbed the lion cub by the neck and, before it could make any more noise, swallowed the entire statue whole.
Tom's roar came to an abrupt halt.
66. A guy who's used to scheming and plotting.
Even the glorious city has its dark corners. A putrid stench lingers in a sunless underground temple somewhere in Waterdeep, where ninety fallen priests stand in neat rows, their knees pressed against the damp, moldy ground, prostrate before the altar like slaves.
This so-called "temple" was less a sacred place of faith and more a cellar reeking of slime and mold. The dim light of the oil lamp cast the figure on the stone altar onto the wall, distorting it into a huge and terrifying silhouette.
The believers huddled together, heads bowed, their dirty, rough brown robes taking on a sickly hue in the lamplight. They barely dared to breathe, afraid to disturb the figure standing before the blood-soaked altar.
“Bring them up,” the man in front of the stone altar said, his voice as soft as cracked, dry bark rubbing together.
Five believers were dragged to the altar, their eyes filled with both fear and fervent anticipation.
Melkor, the god of decay, stretched out his hands, presenting a horrific sight: his grey-green skin was covered with festering wounds, his nails were yellowed and falling off, and chunks of rotting flesh hung loosely from his bones, emitting an indescribable stench. He did not conceal his morbid state, but rather flaunted these scars as if displaying precious treasures—the very glory of a holy god of death.
Melkor chanted obscure incantations in a low voice, and streaks of amber-green light were drawn from the bodies of the five believers. Their lives, like candles in the wind, were extinguished in violent spasms. As the five souls were devoured, Melkor's eyes gleamed with a ghostly blue light. His consciousness traversed the High Forest and the Enok Desert, reaching the Thun Swamp to examine the "seed" he had planted.
Boom, boom.
A deathly aura danced among the decaying dragon bones, as the magic infused by the god of death revived the corpse of an ancient dragon. This skeletal dragon zombie was far more powerful than any ordinary undead—the decay was merely a facade; it had only recently died, and its original power remained within its skeleton.
"Go, my puppet," Melkor commanded, his voice echoing inside the bone dragon's hollow skull. "There is a dragon, two men, and two women in the Hermit's Forest. Lure the dragon away!"
The bone dragon swayed as it rose, its massive skeleton flaring with the same eerie blue flames from its empty eye sockets, a putrid aura emanating from its body. The god of death nodded in satisfaction at its actions—the bone dragon was merely a pawn on the chessboard; the true king had already quietly fallen to the enemy's tail.
"Hidden Forest... The Tablet of Fate..."
Melkor muttered to himself. Bane had foolishly mobilized an army to seize the stone tablets, and what was the result? He was defeated by a damned iron dragon and Tom, his very soul annihilated. Melkor wouldn't make that mistake. He only sent out a skeletal dragon as bait; the real killer was lurking in the shadows—a traitor he had pulled back from the brink of death.
“Sirik…” Melkor’s lips twisted into an ugly smile, “Has Nur’s power faded from your soul?”
The traitor had sworn an oath to seize the stone tablet from the adventurers by any means necessary. Melkor didn't trust any oaths, but he had other ways to ensure loyalty; the soul enveloped in amber light belonged to him forever.
A golden portal appeared before the tower, and Elminster, the white-haired old sage, stepped out from it.
“Kelburn?” Ilminster looked up at the windowless tower, his voice tinged with impatience.
"Who is disturbing the master's research?" came an arrogant voice from the top of the tower.
“If Kelburn doesn’t recognize his teacher, then it seems I’ve come to the wrong place.” Elminster took out his pipe and tapped the tower wall.
The tower walls rippled like water, and a dark-haired man's head and shoulders emerged from within: "Elminster! Come in quickly, do you remember where the entrance is?"
“Of course I remember.” The old sage walked straight into the stone wall, as if there were an invisible door there all along.
The drawing room inside the mage tower was filled with all sorts of rare and exotic items—dragon horns, iron crowns, and other spoils of the mage's adventures. Elminster lit his meerschaum pipe and settled comfortably in the softest armchair. Kelburn hurried down the spiral staircase, hastily donning a purple cloak to conceal his plain robes; his nostrils twitched slightly, clearly disliking the old sage's cloyingly sweet smell emanating from his pipe. He sat down in the guest seat, offering a polite smile, and said, "Welcome back to Waterdeep, my friend. What brings you back…?"
“I need your help, Black Staff.” Elminster said bluntly, pointing his pipe at the “young” wizard.
My Demon
Chapter 321
"The law is gone..." Black Staff frowned.
“You think I don’t know?” the old sage interrupted impatiently. “It’s the same everywhere. Less than a month ago, my poor pipe was blown to pieces in my face by a simple firework spell. The last time I tried the magic rope spell, that lousy rope ended up binding me tightly and hanging me from the rafters like a wild deer being hoisted by a hunter.”
Black Staff nodded sympathetically, "I have already contacted Pilgalen, the son of the Holy Warrior, through telepathy and spread this chaos throughout Waterdeep."
Elminster clenched his pipe, took a deep drag, and exhaled several trembling smoke rings: "This isn't the worst of it. Chaos is raging across the land. The birds of Shadow Valley have abandoned the sky and begun burrowing underground, and the Alken River is boiling with an unidentified substance that looks like blood."
“Waterdeep isn’t much better,” Black Staff chimed in. “The fishermen are stuck in the harbor, and swarms of mackerel have gone mad and sunk several fishing boats.”
The old sage drew the smoke into a long, thin wisp of blue smoke in the air and asked listlessly, "Do you know the root of all this trouble?"
The black staff seemed slightly uneasy: "All I know is that it all started when the Tablet of Fate was stolen and AO banished the gods from Asgard..."
“Fortunately,” Elminster tapped his pipe, “I know a little more. At the beginning of my journey, a five-person adventure party found me—the mage Midnight and Isis, the priest Aidon, the warrior Kalanvor, and a thief named Cyric. They claimed to have rescued Mystra from Bane, and that the goddess had died after being refused entry by Heim when she tried to return to Asgard, sending them to warn me that Bane would attack Shadowvale.”
He took a drag of his cigarette and continued, “At first I scoffed, until midnight when the pendant bestowed by the goddess was revealed, and Isis summoned the Silverfire. And, just as they had predicted, Bane did indeed attack Shadow Valley. In that battle…” The old sage’s facial muscles twitched unnaturally twice, “Isis summoned a dragon to aid her in the battle.”
"In any case, I soon learned that a stone tablet was hidden in Tanris."
"Where is that thief, Cyric?" Black Staff asked sharply.