|
I am Elminster of Shadowdale, called by some the Old Sage, and called far worse things by others. I've walked these realms for over a thousand years. Yet, I am far from the oldest, wisest, or mightiest being to walk the ground of Faerūn with my well-worn boots - and that is truth. But if ye learn the long history of my deeds, ye'll know precisely what I stand for and what I am. And that's a rare and precious thing, knowing yourself. Do ye know exactly what ye stand for?
Think on that while I let my tongue loose for a bit and roll the splendid sights of these lands over ye like the great green waves that crash on the rocks below where Mount Waterdeep rises up out of the cold and mighty Sea of Swords. Let me speak of the wonders bards sing of under the starry night sky all over these fair lands. Let me tell ye of soft blue moonlight and spell stars in the hair of elven women, their bare shoulders all silver, dancing under the trees of the High Forest - just as the ghosts of their fair vanished kin still dance under the moon in ruined, fiend-roamed Myth Drannor.
Let me speak of brawling, bustling Waterdeep, the beautiful towers of Silverymoon, and of a hundred other proud cities with their lanterns and rumbling carts and shadowed alleys and dripping sewers, their intrigues and strivings and riches. Let me whisper of the realms below, the Underdark, a world of sunless caverns where cruel elves with obsidian skin, purple-hued mindflayers, and things far worse battle in the depths beneath your feet, and gems are born in the hottest deeps where rock flows like water. Heed my tales of old magic in forgotten tombs or marked by standing stones and portals that with a single stride span half of Faerūn. Beware cold claws that reach from the shadows and proudly sneering courtiers in gleaming finery whose honeyed tongues and sly plots are colder and more perilous still than steely talons. Hear tell of wild places where dragons battle each other in the sky and ruins only adventurers - like ye - have seen that are haunted by fearsome beholders, shape-changing horrors, and oozing things made of eyes and tentacles that lurk... and hunger.
Hold, and listen well! If ye heed not a word of mine in all your days, remember this: Faerūn needs its heroes.
I'm one such to some, though I am old and battered and have left a heap of bloody, bitter mistakes behind me high enough to bury empires. Your sword must flash beside my faltering spells, for Faerūn faces new, rising dooms that I cannot face alone. Our homelands stand in worse peril now than ever before. Old evils stir, or return unlooked-for, looming like storm clouds over the darkened hills. Strife and change tear asunder nations and cities. Who can see who shall rise over all? Even the monks of far Candlekeep, who guard well the words of the prophet Alaundo who is never wrong, cannot know. It might just be ye, if your swords and spells are ready and your heart bold. Faerūn needs ye, lest we fall unguarded to the dangers all around. Adventurer, I am Elminster, and I say to ye that these forgotten realms are yours to discover, reforge, and defend, yours to make anew in winning your own crown. Go forth and take up arms against the perils that beset us!
|
