Bury Elminster Deep: The Sage of Shadowdale, Book II
Ed Greenwood
Language: English
Pages: 400
ISBN: 0786960248
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Elminster's archenemy, the vampiric Lord Manshoon, thinks he has destroyed Elminster at last. But Elminster survives in the form of magical ash, and with the help of his scion, a fop who is growing into a true nobleman, and his longtime companion Storm, he still has a chance to counter Manshoon's insidious plots.
From the Hardcover edition.
Unclean (Forgotten Realms: The Haunted Lands, Book 1)
Cold Steel and Secrets: A Neverwinter Novella, Part I (Forgotten Realms)
The Ruby Guardian (Forgotten Realm: The Scions of Arrabar, Book 2)
Return of the Damned (D&D Retrospective, Book 9)
Adventurer's Vault 2 (Dungeons & Dragons 4th Ed: Supplement)
Heroes of the Elemental Chaos (Dungeons & Dragons 4th Ed: Player's Option)
To—” “Indeed, and what a problem that’s created! Now, will you listen?” Glathra folded her arms across her chest and tossed her head. “I don’t even know you are the infamous royal magician! You look like a construct an ambitious but not accomplished mage might cobble together! The words we’re hearing from you right now could be those of any traitor noble, Sembian, or other foe of the Dragon Throne!” “Or they could be my own. Foril, call to mind the line of verse Queen Filfaeril left to you,.
Face, previous slaps had been administered with powerful enthusiasm, yet had failed to rouse him. “I hope ye’re a pretty lass,” he growled, “because those are the sort of folk I like to be slapped by.” He tried to turn his head, which was when he discovered he was bound—by quite a lot of rope, knotted very tightly—to a chair in a cavernous warehouse. Standing in front of him was Lord Traevyn Illance, wearing an unpleasant smile as he stared at Mirt. The old lord was flanked by five bullyblades.
Barred door. Enthusiastically wielded axes started to bite through it, but it was stout and thick; he should have ample time to find another way out of Glarvreth’s mansion. In the other direction, the passage ended at a door that opened into a back pantry. Cooks and maids scurried and screamed; his arrival sent them dashing headlong into rooms beyond. Manshoon took his borrowed body after them, confident they’d take a back way out—kitchen slops must go somewhere, and almost always through a.
Have I done?” he quavered, staring around at their frowning faces. “What have we all done?” Many young nobles of Cormyr might be languid donothings, but there was nothing at all wrong with Arclath Delcastle’s legs or lungs. He was racing like a harbor-gale wind, dwindling into the dark and echoing distances of the haunted wing with impressive speed. With a sigh that would have done any exasperated mother proud, the ghost of Alusair Obarskyr sped after him. “What’s she going to do to him?”.
Long time, as the brazier crackled. “And what,” Rune whispered, tears running down her face, “will you be able to do, to make me ever trust you again, Lord Delcastle? Answer me that!” The shop doorbell tinkled merrily as the heavily scented merchant’s wife sailed out, pleased with her purchase. The alchemist sat back with a sigh, glad to see the back of her. Sixteen vials sampled, none chosen, and an ointment that had been buried on a high back shelf beneath three seasons’ dust preferred.