The Temptation of Elminster - Ed Greenwood [127]
Brandagaeris had been a mighty hero, tall and bronzed and strong, she had fed on him for three seasons, and he had come to love her and offer himself willingly… but in the end she had drained him and gone hungry again. That was her doom, once her own body had fallen to dust, what remained was a magic that needed to feed on the living…or dwell within, and necessarily burn out the innards of a young, strong, vital body. Brandagaeris had been one such, the sorcerer Sardon another… but somehow mages, clever as they were, lacked something she craved. Perhaps they had too little vitality.
She hoped this Elminster wouldn't be another such disappointment. Perhaps she could win his love, or at least his submission, and not have to fight him long to taste what power a Chosen held.
"Come to me," she whispered hungrily, her words no more than the faintest of sighings above the deep-graven rune. "Come to me, man-meal."
Seventeen: A Fine Day For Travel
Travel broadens the mind and flattens the purse, they say. I've found it does rather more than that. It shatters the minds of the inflexible, and depletes the ranks of the surplus population. Perhaps rulers should decree that we all become nomads.
Then, of course, we could choose to stay only within the reach of those rulers we favor…and I can't conceive of the chaos and overburdened troops and officials that would be found in any realm in which folk could choose their rulers. Thankfully, I can't believe that any people would ever be crazed enough to do that. Not in this world, anyway.
Yarynous Whaelidon
from Dissensions of a Chessentan
published in The Year of the Spur
"You're doing just fine, brave Uldus," Dreadspell Elryn said soothingly, prodding their trembling guide with the man's own sword. Brave Uldus arched away from the blade, but the noose around his neck…held tight and short-leashed in the fist of Dreadspell Femter…kept him from entirely missing its sharp reminder. Dreadspell Hrelgrath was walking along close by, too, his dagger held ready near the ribs of their unwilling guide.
"Shar is very pleased with you," Elryn told the man, as they went on along the almost invisible game trail, deeper into the Dead Place. "Now just show us this ruin… oh, and Uldus, reassure me again: it is the only ruin or building or cave or construct you know about, anywhere in these woods, is it not?"
Choking around his noose, Uldus assured him that it was, oh, yes, Dread Lord, indeed it was, may the Nightbringer strike me down now if I lie, and all the watching gods bear witness…
Femter didn't wait for Elryn's sign this time before jerking the noose tight enough to cut Uldus off in mid-babble. The guide silently clawed at his throat, stumbling, until Femter relented enough to let him breathe again.
"Iyrindyl?" Elryn asked, without turning his head.
"I'm watching, Dread Lord," the youngest Dreadspell replied eagerly. "The first sign of walls or the like, I’ll cry hold."
"It's not walls I'm seeing," the deep drawl of Dreadspell Daluth put in, a few strides later, "but an elf-alone, and walking with a drawn sword in his hand, yonder."
The Sharran priests stopped, unnecessarily clapping their hands over the mouth of their guide, and glared through the trees. A lone elf looked back at them, disgust written plain on his face.
A moment later, Elryn snarled, "Attack!" and the Sharrans surged forward, Elryn and Daluth standing still to hurl spells. They saw the elf sigh, take off his cloak and hurl it high over a tree branch, then turn to face them, crouching slightly. "Damned human adventurers!" he cried. "Haven't I killed enough of you yet?
Ilbryn Starym watched the wizards run toward him…charging wizards? Truly, Faerun was plunging deeper into madness with every passing day…took up the blade that was battle-booty from the last band of fools, and said a word over it. When he threw it like a dart at the onrushing men, it glowed, split into three, and leaped away like three falcons diving at separate targets.
At the same moment, a tree just behind