30 Uktar, 1374 DR, The Year of the Lightning Storms

(( This is a short story, which will be told in a few posts, about what happened to Therogeon on this Feast of the Moon (30 Uktar) It is unfortunitely, a closed thread, meaning that while Therogeon would love to have any and all of you there, there is no way you would be allowed to attend. More will become apparent as I post the story. Currently this will be a place holder until I get a time when I do not have a three year old pulling on my chair. ))

It was a normal day. It had started out like any other, he woke up around dawn, descended the stairs of the Tower of Probation, and started preparing breakfast. Marres, his eldest apprentice, a human of good character was already in the kitchen.

"Morning Master."
Therogeon nodded to his student, "Morn Marres, slept well I trust?" When the young human nodded his assent Therogeon continued, "Today I think we will work on countering the effects of something you can't see or detect." The wizard spread some jam on a large peice of bread, using a small cantrip to heat it. Marres frowned, "Master is that possible?" Therogeon nodded, his mouth full of a bite of the toasted bread.

The kitchen door opened and Therogeon's second apprentice walked in. Almara was a young half-elf, attractive but not absolutely beautiful, her looks would more often than not get her called 'cute'. She had long strawberry blond hair and green eyes that held an amazing intelligence. Her nose however appeared more like a hawk's beak. Therogeon smiled and nodded his greeting to her then turned back to Marres, completely missing yet again the blush that formed on Almara's face whenever Therogeon smiled at her.

Marres was a short human, and not strong or thick by any standards but he had a natural gift with manipulating the Weave. His scraggily brown hair nearly always appeared as if he had just gotten out of bed, but he was always clean shaven. His brown robes were also always immaculate and Therogeon often smiled wondering how the always clean young man would fare while adventuring in some cave. Almara had of late adopted Therogeon's style of dress, wearing a loose shirt and breeches though hers were not as fancy as Therogeon's were.

The half-elf wizard turned to his students, "Eat well, then go prepare the students lab for today's work. I know I don't have to tell you two, but I do expect that room to spotless. Many mages seem to thrive on clutter but I will not have my students being unorginized." So saying Therogeon turned to the wall, placed his hand on a small rune and spoke a word that neither of his students could hear, and vanished from the kitchen.

He reappeared in his private library, which unlike what his comments to his students would indicate, was a complete disaster area. Therogeon sighed and whistled sharply. A large Cormyrian shepard came around one stack of books. "Calim, did you make this mess?" Therogeon looked sternly at his wayward dog who simply lowered his head and whimpered. The half-elf sighed and smiled, reaching down to scratch the dog's ears. Chuckeling the wizard wondered, "Why is it every morning is the same thing? hmm? You can get outside when ever you want, you have more than enough toys. Why do you have to destroy my library every night?" Calim barked once, as if that would explain everything. Laughing, Therogeon rubbed the dog's side and survayed the room. Whispering another word several of the books rose from their spots on the floor and floated to their spots on the shelves. A couple more whispered words and soon all of the books were in place where they belonged.

He was reading a treatise on dwarven phisiology, working on a theory of his, when Marres' voice spoke in a whisper around him. "Master, Almara and I have finished and await you in the student's lab." Therogeon stood, scratched Calim's ears and watched as the dog touched his nose to a certain rune on the wall. The puppy vanished and he knew it was now safely outside in the tower's yard. He himself reached out and touched a different rune, whispering a command word, and quietly teleported to the student's lab.

He knew something was wrong because he had time to think. Teleportation is normally instant travel, yet he vanished as normal from his library only to appear here. Here in this grey void. There was no light and no dark, only a whispy greyness, as if he had ended up in a very thick fog bank. Yet he knew he was not on Faerun. He could feel the Weave, his connection to magic and it was changed. It was, for lack of a better term, pure. It was almost as if he had ended up in the Weave itself. Somehow, he doubted that.

As he contemplated this development, small motes of light started to appear infront of him. Seven in all they flew into a small circle and two of the most amazing eyes he had ever seen opened in between them. A voice as pure and mystical as anything he had ever heard spoke, "My Son" He knew then, beyond all doubt, that he stood or rather floated, in the presence of Mystra, goddess of magic and mysteries. If he wasn't floating in a grey void, he would have fallen to his knees. His voice failed him and his senses all focused on the divine presence as she spoke. Though it was more similar to understanding blosseming in his consciousness than words. "You are needed. Your skill with the Weave, your knowledge of the mysteries are required by one whom you know and one time called master. Will you go to him, will you aid him even knowing that this working, this spell to be cast will change you irrovicably and forever?" Though his lips formed no words, his voice rang out clear and strong, "My Lady, I will."

As suddenly as it appeared the grey void vanished and Therogeon found himself walking out of a series of impromptu archways. Five stone pillars rose up from the barren and dusty ground. The pillars were connected by what appeared to be five black staves. No, those were blackstaves of the kind used by Khelben Arunson. In fact there was his one time teacher, talking with Elminster, a very ancient gold elf, and....a demon? The young half elf blinked and again looked around him. High above them stood a pyramid wreathed with powerfull lightning and contained in the largest sphere of force he had ever seen. Below the pyramid was a smaller sphere which contained what appeared to be a lich in green robes with gold trim. He cast his gaze around and finally realized where he was. The five stone pillars were Malavar's Grasp. A story told to aspiring mages to caution them about seeking too much power too quickly. He had always suspected there was more to the story than what he was told, but he never had a chance to study it. Well it seemed that today he would learn more about it than he ever thought he would.

His gaze took him to the surrounding area. A barren and dry place that seemed to be perputually covered in a putrid curse. Something about all of this was seeming very familiar but he could not figure out what was going on. As he took in his surroundings he noticed that he was not the only one present. People of all kinds were mingeling in what appeared to be the largest gathering of mages the world had ever seen. Over by Khelben, his wife Laeral and two other wizards now stood. Maari, a wizard of Waterdeep whose power was said to come from dragons was on a ledge over looking the Grasp. Semmemmon and his elf lover, formally of the Zhents stood together watching everyone watch them. Malchor Harpell, of the legendary Harpells, was there as was the Silver Lady Alustrial, just now teleporting in. It wasn't until he had almost completed a circuit of the area that he noticed a face he recognized. There, on a ledge and standing with a couple other mages he didn't know was Talembor Ringweaver, his primary teacher in the mysteries and in metamagic. Slowly, he started to walk his way over to his friend.

As he was moving through the crowd he noticed it was not only mages. Human, elven, and half elven wizards and mystics were everywhere but so too were dwarves and centaurs. Obvious fighters in resplendent armor and priests of no more than five faiths stood intermixed with each other. Small cliches were forming as friends sought out friends and gazed suspiciously on rivals. All in all there were around seventy personages of what he could only assume importance gathered here. Instead of boosting his ego, as it once would have done, it actually humbled him to think that he was considered important and powerfull enough to participate, hey wasn't that the Lord Wands of Waterdeep. Therogeon had thought that he and Khelben were competing rivals, but apparently not.

Therogeon had just made it to his friend and former master when the apparent host turned to the crowd and called for attention. Using a simple but powerfull cantrip that made his voice heard all across the region, Khelben spoke.

Khelben's rich deep voice echoed across the plains. A small gem that Therogeon had never noticed before seemed to sparkle with an inner light as the powerful Chosen of Mystra spoke.

"Welcome, one and all. Our time is short, but all will be revealed soon. Many of you know only fragments of why you are here, while others understand our true purpose. Some are here by power of the Art. Others are here by secrets within their blood---powers hidden in your ancestry. Still more attend by their gods' faith in them. Know this --- regardless of races or pasts or beliefs, we all do divine Art today. This work spans twelve millennia of plans and sacrifice. Today, we all work together to cleanse this place and these peoples and ready it for the Art they will unveil."

Understandably a slight clammor rose among those gathered. A distinctly female voice spoke out from near Therogeon. Suprisingly, especially to the one who held it, the voice came from a small black cat. A cat which quickly shifted into a slim black haired woman. "What peoples, Blackstaff? Which of us?"

Khelben smiled at the wizardess and motioned just outside the gathering. "Elsura Dauniir and all ye gentles of the Art, meet our hosts, allies, and soon to be restored friends. We stand among quessir'Miyertaari." An elven term Therogeon translated into the people of Miyertaari, an ancient elven city as old as Cormanthor.

There, outside the various weilders of magic and others gathered together, were dark figures in the shapes of dwarves, gnomes, centaurs, and elves. Intermingled with these where tear drop shaped figures which were known to most as Sharn.

The darkness of the figures and that of the plinths flowed downward and together forming a moat around the Grasp, effectively cutting off the Chosen, the ancient gold elf, and the demon. Curiously, at least to Therogeon, the flowinig blackness also covered chests sitting behind Khelben that was unnoticed until then. As the young half elf watched this, the chests suddenly vanished in a small shower of purple sparks. Floating in the air where the chests were was dozens of golden rings, bracers, and circlets. These items floated there for a minute before gently gliding down to the black moat and sinking beneath the surface. Soon there was no trace of the items left.

"Each of you will take up one of those items. Those items link you to the working and take you to your appointed task. This working has three central circles and nine smaller circles comprising the fourth perimeter. Some circles span so large a space that you may seem to be alone, but know you are not. Each role is crucial, no matter where you make your contribution. Many have sacrificed much to reach this point. The Gathering will be complete once all are in their places, and our hosts will attend to that."

As soon as Khelben was finished speaking the remaining sharn dissolved into dark pools all over the plains. All except one, a large three headed sharn remained floating above the Chosen and the dark moat, though it did float closer to it. The creature reached into itself and pulled out what appeared to be a dagger carved from a single large ruby. Without preamble, the creature cut one of it's fingers and let the blood drop into the moat of darkness before it.

"Very well. Our task is before us. If you would approach and do as it does, blood chooses our roles."

For a second, no one moved. Then, with suprising formallity, the demon stepped forward and cracked open it's own shell. A split second after a drop of it's blood hit the pool of darkness a shimering golden bracer rose to the surface then floated up in front of the mezzoloth. He picked it up and clamped it into place on his tail, since his forarms were too large, and as soon as it was in place, he vanished, blinking away to his designated position.

With equal formality some sixty wizards, priests, and others stepped forward and did the same, each taking a different item. Sometimes the items were bracers, sometimes rings, and sometimes circlets. Still more were golden buckles as would connect a belt. The only ones not moving were a small group of regal looking elves, some of whome held what appeared to be dormant Moonblades.

When it was Therogeon's turn, he drew his tiger's claw dagger, always on his hip, and pricked his right pointer finger. Almost slowly the drop hit the darkness of the moat and vanished. Out of this darkness a golden circlet of obviously elven make floated up to him. Reverently the half-elf picked up the circlet and placed it on his head. He promptly vanished from the gathering.

He did not know how long he waited after appearing here, alone. He could see no one else around him and through the magic of the circlet he wore, he knew he was in the third circle. It was not entirely the outermost circle, but it was an outer edge. Again, through the circlet he could sense the others in his circle and he could sense the progress of the other two inner most circles. The first circle awakened the ancient magic of a Killing Storm. A dangerous and power magic that had destroyed everything in it's wake.

As he learned of this a massive silver lightening bolt crashed into the sky, igniting what appeared to be the storm. Suddenly thousands of lightening bolts arced out around the area where the first circle was. The storm was here, and it was growing fast.

Shortly after that silver lightening he could sense the second circle begining. This circle would attempt to control the storm and use it's power to heal the land. As this thought took form a wall of golden flame erupted from the center and started to spread outward as well as twelve massive bolts of lightening reaching out and striking the sky. Therogeon knew it would not take long for the flames to reach him, but that in itself didn't bother him.

All around him, lightning bolts struck the ground ignighting silver fires where ever they touched. He was not sure about the gold flames, but the silver fires resembled those which had already weilded, the Silver Flames of Mystra, and although he no longer had those flames, he remembered well their power and beauty. A sending, several sendings through the circlet actually, confirmed his belief. The gold flames released and channeled the toxins trapped in the ground and the silver fires protected them from those toxins.

Interestingly enough a priest Therogeon recognized from Ohgma's temple in Waterdeep figured out that the toxins and other poisens released were being channeled and trapped withen the lich he had first seen when he arrived on the High Moor.

Shortly after these thoughts, the wall of gold flames reached him. Using every ounce of concentration to resist the natural urge to flee the flames, he stood still as the wall enveloped him and knowledge awakened inside him.

"The Central Caster sparks the flame. The First Circle lights the pyre. The Second Circles uses that flame to restore warmth and light. The Third Circle use the flame to awaken understanding."

The connection he had to the others of the third circle was suddenly much more complete, and not suprisingly, Therogeon found himself connected to the other two circles as well. As the full comprehension of the task infront of him arose in his mind, he and the others, heard well the words that rang in his head.

"Your knowledge educates the restored. What you know shall help all within the risen land discover a world they long left behind. Share with us your wisdom and learn ye will so much more in the process. Children we all are before the Weave, but share with the Weave and we shall be siblings all."

For hours unknown Therogeon and the others of the third circle stood, the circlets on their brow's glowing white with the magic released. This casting was more powerfull, more intimate than any the metamage had ever uncovered before. They were cleansing the land and restoring the moor to it's original state. They were pumping life across the once dead plain and destroying the venoms once dormant in it's soil.

As he poured his life essence, his knowledge of the Weave, the world, and suprisingly, the shadow weave into the casting, Therogeon failed to notice a change coming over him. He knew that Mystra had said he would be changed, intrinsicly and forever, by this casting and as the spell continued for hours he assumed that it would drain more of his life force. He assumed he would be weaker physically but stronger mentally and he was willingly prepared to make the sacrifice for this most important of castings.

What he did not expect, what he did not notice, was that his form indeed became smaller. Thinner but not weaker, more lean, as his features sharpened into higher cheekbones and a narrower face. His ears, long pointed but still slightly rounded like a humans changed into the full points he had noticed on elves. And though he did not notice it at the time, he became more attuned to the world around him, more in touch with both the natural settings and with the Weave itself.

Hours after he had started his part in all of this, Therogeon felt the connection to the others grow as the various members of the nine Fourth Circles joined in. He knew, as they did, that they were forming nine towers to guard and watch over the new city. Nine bastions of defense guarded by those same regal elves Therogeon had noticed before he accepted his circlet. What he had not noticed was that nine of those elves held what were dormant moonblades. Moonblades that were now becoming something else, Hopeblades. Powerfull crystaline blades weilded by the guardians and commanders of these nine tower defenses.

As he knew these towers were completed, a powerfull sending reached out across the land and everyone who bore a golden artifact heard the same nineteen voices speaking loudly and clearly. In his memory, Therogeon could only recognize one of the voices, that of his former teacher Khelben.

The Highfire Crown is worn once more, and we bless the Weave and the People as one! Hearken ye, and hear the People's thanks. Nine tors rise without, our guards and our sentinels. Our home rises within, our symbol and our hope. All your actions and sacrifices shall be rewarded. Remain united yet retain your differences. Be brethren in intent, in not in blood. These are the hallmarks of Oacenth's Vow, of the Promise of Cormanthor, of every hope for unity from Silveerymoon to this place.

The Central Caster sparked the flame. The Second Circle restored warmth and light. The Third Circle awakened understanding. The Fourth circles raised awarness and vigilance. Your work is done. The land is risen and restored.

All Circles now join in fire and friendship. All Circles shall see Miyeritaar restored in Rhymanthiin, the Hidden city. The city and it's denizens, its secrets-keepers, its loyalists, and ye, it's saviours all--ye shall be restored to health and happiness, if that be your wish. Now begins the Rejuvenation.

Therogeon now keenly felt the changes coming over him. His life force was not decreasing as he had thought but extending. No longer was he Therogeon the half-elf. Now he was Therogeon, the full elf. His wish, not for youth or power was simply to live longer, to study the Weave he so loved and his goddess had answered. He now had centuries of study left to him, and silently he cried tears of pure joy. He was not the only one who was such changed, he could sense the others being given their gifts as well. Most got their youth and health back, but one stood out sharply to his mind. The demon he had noticed earlier, the one who had been the first to accept a golden gift, was changing the most dramaticly and with his change, understanding came to the others. Chitinous armor fell away revealing a joyous gnome. A gnome that had willingly, and he thought permanently, taken on the form of a demon to infiltrate the hordes invading Myth Drannor so many centuries ago. Silently, the restored gnome danced as he once again felt the wind play across his own skin.

Hundreds of Sharn shed their dark skin becoming humans, elves, dwarves and others once more. The inky blackness of their former skin slid silently towards the central casting or too a closer sentinal tor. Not all sharn shed their skins however and a new sending reached those in the casting, "Know there are yet sharn in the Realms. There are those of Miyeritar who would become dhaerow with the Corellon's Descent, should they become n'fhaorn'quessir. They choose to remain as Rhymanthiin's defenders as well as defenders against corrupt magic across the Realms." At these words fresh tears came to Therogeon's eyes as he wept for their sacrifice, to willingly stay as a monster to protect this new realm that they loved.

The golden circlet upon his brow started to tremble and glow brightly. In fact, Therogeon could tell that all the artifacts that were given to those involved in the casting were glowing. A strange voice which seemed to be a combination of voices rang out once again.

The trinkets your wear are now sacrifices to bind the powers at work here, to restore a world's faith in brotherhood. The akhelben and many others made these sacrifices so that ye might aid a high magic without the cost of all your lives. Now, with these ablations, surrender yourselves into the high magic and help us build hope anew. The restored fhaorn'quessir ask our aid with their city. Lend them and us your thoughts and hopes and magic to help build a city that shall not fall to treachery again.

One reward for every soul is the knowledge that this city exists at all. For now, you shall be the only souls on this plane who can find your way here to the City of Hope. This city shall be a dream of unity to draw people together. those who truly embrace the brotherhood on Oacenth's Vow may be brought here or may find their own ways. The city shall accept only those worthy of ehr, and those with malice in their hears shall not find their way here. for your courage and your aid, homes are being built here for every participant throughout the city, where you may better get to know oru brethren in years to come. Now attend us with your hopes and dreams and magic."

The sending ended and the golden circlet on Therogeon's head shattered, forming golden fireflies. These fireflies flitted around him and magic embraced the world. Every breath, every step, was filled with the high magic and Therogeon knew, without the guidance of the elves doing the casting and the protection of the item's sacrifices, he would be destroyed by the power and majesty of the High Magic being weilded here today.

He somehow knew as well as sensed what was being done. The former sharn were rebuilding the city using the power of the magic at work. All of the creatures, the elves, humans, dwarves, and others were creating this increadible work and though most of the supplies for this building came from the moor itself, Therogeon could sense that the former skin of these once sharn was being magically woven into the buildings to add protecting and strength to them. He could also sense that because of this the buildings were darker than they would normally be, but were no less beautiful because of them.

The first part of the city to be constructed was the outer walls and the streets. All very rigid and with heavy block construction it reminded Therogeon of a dwarven city. The city was going to be circular in shape, almost like a wheel, with the main roads leading to the center. The central court plaza surrounded the Councilitor atop which the pyre would forever burn. Nine major roads stretched out from the center and lined directly up with the nine sentinal tors guarding the city. Just inside the walls, five main roads connected these other lanes to each other. The outer walls and streets shone with darkness of the former sharn and Therogeon could sense an intricate and complex defense in those walls.

The moon rose high over the city as those involved in it's salvation watched as hundreds more build and shapped the city. As he looked around the newly forming bastion of hope he noticed a perfect duplicate of the Blackstaff tower, the Eighttower, and the Dragontower, landmarks in Waterdeep and home to powerfull mages all, rise up in various places throughout the city. Therogeon was suprised however when he instinctively located his new home. It was not a duplicate of his tower as he had expected, but it was a duplicate of the Champion's house in Impresk. The new elf smiled, it was appropriate he thought. Much as he loved his tower that house was and always would be home.

As the city neared completion, a powerfull silver light erupted from the central pyre and thirteen gems spiraled around the city. These gems trailed sparkes, lighting everything as the sky above seemed to wink in understanding for the city. As the stars winked, understanding once more blossemed in Therogeon. The silver light was the last remnants of Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunson, who had given his life and his silver flames of Mystra to aid in the casting, to help control the Killing Storm so that it's energy could heal and not destroy.

Therogeon wept again, silent tears shining with silver light, for his former master and mentor. He wept for a powerfull Chosen of his goddess and the sacrifice he knew the old mage had willingly maken. And he wept for those the former master of Blackstaff tower left behind, his wife and friends, his family and his loves. But these tears were not only of sadness, but also of joy. This city would be a powerfull and fitting legacy to the man who, in his own gruff way, had brought so much hope to the Realms. Fare thee well Khelben.

(( There is more that happened before Therogeon left the city for the first time. Khelben's funeral procession and the meeting of others who were now living in the City of Hope.

Therogeon would have gotten word to both of his students as well as to all of the Champions he could find. After being unreachable for nearly and entire day (and vanishing suddenly at that) he knew they would be worried. His message however would not tell them that he was an elf now, only that he was safe and he would be seeing them soon. The revelation of his new heritage would wait until he saw them in person.

That is a true account of what happened to Therogeon on this 30th of Uktar in the year 1374. I hope you enjoyed it as much as Therogeon enjoyed living through it.))