Darkwalker on Moonshae (Forgotten Realms: The Moonshae Trilogy, Book 1)
Douglas Niles
Language: English
Pages: 278
ISBN: 0880384514
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The first Forgotten Realms title ever published, now brought back into print!
Darkwalker on Moonshae was the very first novel ever published in the Forgotten Realms setting. Appearing in 1987, this title launched what has now become a robust and ever-expanding land of adventure for millions of readers. Unavailable for the past several years, this title is now back in print in a newly recovered mass market edition. The other two titles in this trilogy will also be re-released in the same season so that readers may easily collect the entire trilogy.
Unholy (Forgotten Realms: The Haunted Lands, Book 3)
Shadows of Doom (Forgotten Realms: The Shadow of the Avatar, Book 1)
The Stowaway (Forgotten Realms: Stone of Tymora, Book 1)
Pathfinder Chronicles: Classic Treasures Revisited
Pavillions of the fair. Several times they lingered in a meadhall, or wine tent, and the flush of many drinks made the evening whirl more madly than ever. In one such tent, Tristan saw the brawny form of Erian, but the big guard had already collapsed in the corner. In another, they ordered a massive limb of mutton, which Daryth tore into as if half starved. Other tents offered wares for sale, products of the hardworking craftsmen of the Ffolk. Smooth pottery, colorful wool cloaks and capes, and.
Pleasure, Laric saw that the prince did not yet notice him coming. His attention seemed focused across the courtyard toward the advancing ranks of northmen … Toward Thelgaar Ironhand. Kazgoroth paused among the corpses of the Ffolk left by the charge of the Bloodriders. The human lungs of Thelgaar Ironhand gasped for air, but no matter, the Beast felt no energy drain from the long climb. The Beast watched the Sisters of Synnoria charge from the stables, and it watched the Bloodriders pursue.
Mysteriously. That mighty weapon, forged for the hero by dwarven metalsmiths, from steel forged by the goddess herself, was in itself worthy of heroic tales. Keren’s song devoted several verses to the story of the weapon’s creation. Tristan idly dreamed about the sword, wondering what it looked like, what it felt like to wield. Arlen had told him of it many times, and listening to the song was like listening to a tale of an old friend. Keren continued to play, lifting his audience with tales of.
Another cause of unease, the Bloodriders. They seemed to suffer from the fatigue of the march as much as any of the other men, but they showed no inclination, at the end of the march, to eat, drink, rest, or any of the other activities that insured recuperation. Instead they stood or squatted in their own area of the camp, waiting with barely concealed impatience to strike out on the trail again. “Perhaps,” thought the Red King grimly, “they now survive on blood!” He avoided entering the.
The darkness, brought the group to its feet. Canthus, with a growl, leaped from the fireside to face an approaching figure. “Finellen!” cried Robyn, as the others gaped at the approaching dwarf. “What are you doing here?” “Those dolts did you a big favor when they invaded Myrloch Vale,” Finellen replied, pointing in the general direction of the northmen’s army. “How did they do that?” asked the prince, confused. “They made the dwarves mad!” answered another gruff voice, this time male, from.