A/N: I don't own Forgotten Realms or anything that can be associated with it.
This is a story based mostly on an adventure known as A Tear in the Weave. I've run this adventure several times and enjoy it immensely. A few of the characters like Despayr and Tunaster have been borrowed and I have tried to keep them as near to there origins as possible. Feel free to review with praise, gripes, questions, cease and deceases, etc, etc, etc...
"The worst problem with most mages is that they want to change the world. The worst mistake the gods make is allowing a few of them to get away with it."
Tunaster Dranik winced as the green robed cleric wrapped his wounded arm.
"Mighty bad break there, must've been fighting Umberlee her herself," the green robed man joked.
"If I had to choose between her and ending up in the middle of trader's war in the middle of the Dragonmere I might have chosen her… at least she'd havea killed me instead lay my faith and everything on board in the hands of a novice shaman and pray to every god physically possible that we'd live to see the next sunrise," Tunaster cough which made his side hurt. Broken ribs too probably, he thought to himself solemnly.
"I wouldn't tempt her… neither would either of our Goddesses. Since our's know how to work together when necessary. Not in many of those big cities would you see a Mystran go to a temple of the Earthmother, huh," the cleric smiled as he soaked a few more strips of linens.
"Well, no offense to you or Chauntea but if there was a temple of Mystra nearby I would have gone there first," Tunaster said placing his left hand, practically the only part of him not aching on the infirmary cot he laid on and sat up.
"You didn't hit your head to did you, Tunaster," the cleric asked.
"No," Tunaster's black brows furrowed, "Why?"
"I would have thought the whole clergy of Mystra would have heard about the Temple of Mystra in Wheloon…"
Tunaster interrupted, "There's no Temple of Mystra in Wheloon."
The green robed cleric lifted a finger in mock protest, "There wasn't one in Wheloon until the Midwinter a few tendays ago."
"What," the Mystran exclaimed confused.
"A Lady of Mysteries Arthas, I think is her name, came to Lord Redbeard and pretty much made an offer he couldn't refuse then a few worker here a few spell there on an old citadel foundation to the north on the bank of the Wyvernflow and all of a sudden Wheloon is a three temple town."
Tunaster's face contorted more. He was a dedicated cleric of Mystra, one that had traveled and adventured throughout the heartland for the last few years mostly for information gathering but that had led to him being a person that was one of the first to here even the rumor of something as big as a new temple. Something didn't add up in his mind. "I've never met or heard of a Lady Arthas do you know where she is from?"
"The Mystrans pretty keep to themselves," the cleric shrugged, "And with them so far from the town proper, few of their clerics even come to the city, they even get supplies shipped in," The cleric whistled, "Must be a back by some pretty major coin."
If Tunaster's mind wasn't trying to work this puzzle together he would have taken offense to the undertone of the last comment but his thoughts were on how he would approach this situation and what he would report to his higher ups in the Tower of Mysteries in Saerloon. And probably more importantly when would he give them the information of what was happening. He was in no condition to try any kind of magic and his coin was confiscated by the 'traders'.
"You really didn't know about them," the cleric in green said mystified.
"No," Tunaster said ruefully, "But I will."
: : : : : :
The towering olive skinned male and a raven black braid shook his head as the circle of bandanna wearing, tattooed scoundrels lowered their faces from the huge gaping hole on the hull of caravel ship docked in near a warehouse close to a sign that reveal the road was known as Impil Street.
"Twas that big," a melodic voice rang from behind the troupe.
"Cap'n Veera," the taller man spoke as he practically bowed his head toward her, "I am sorry for not being able to stave off the attackers before any harm came to…"
"Ojas," she quietly spoke the large young man's name.
"Yes, Cap'n," he said running his hand absently along the hull.
"Shut up," she looked around at the shipmates and demanded, "What in the Nine Hells are y'all standin' round fer. We gotta find somewhere to bed down fer couple o' nights, we need some grub… good grub nonna that crap Horace been givin' us, and some damn good wine and we gotta find someplace to take," she fought back the emotion trying to rise in her throat, "The departed."
"Aye, aye," the all said in unison and started darting in multiple directions. Ojas turned and started walking toward ferry but was stopped by a small, cold hand from Veera.
"You did all you could… if it weren't for you we might all be with," Ojas could see the stars swelling in her eyes, "Arlas."
Ojas said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Arlas Stormsinger was more than a first class navigator and the man that taught him all he knew about the spirit realm but to Ojas he was like a father, though he had little idea what that meant since he never truly had a family until he found his way on the Blue Maiden half a dozen years ago. Veera even put up with his lack of skill as a green youth on the boat, she would even occasionally She was like a mother, albeit a boisterous and easily enraged mother but one all the same. Ojaswas just happy to be freed from his doomed life as a slave in Hlondeth to the snake-kin that ruled that land.
Nodding in agreement, Ojas said wrapping his arms around the woman that was at least a head smaller than him, "His spirit is still with us."
Running a hand in her dark hair, Veera agreed, "You'd know that fer any the rest of us, Ojie."
Ojas starred out to the Wyvernflow, "I'm going to find the bastards responsible and…"
"Ojie," Veer shook her head and lowered her voice, "We're smugglers… vengeance is meaningless. 'Fore the next new moon someone else'll wrong us… or we'll wrong someone else. Tis the nature of the high seas an' Arlas knew he would die in leviathan's belly… just as I know I'll. Tis the fate of all sea dogs."
Ojas wouldn't admit it out loud but he knew what she was saying was true. Still, deep in his aching heart he long for blood, for revenge.
"I'm goin' to stop by the new temple I've been hearin' bout," Veera faked a grin as she pulled out the seven star pendant on her gold necklace hiding under her off peach camisole, "Ain't often I get to visit a Mystran temple without locals trailing me."
Ojas smiled in agreement knowing she was doing it more for her departed love who should have been a priest of Mystra from how much he spoke of her. Ojas wonder for a moment how Veera worshipping a Goddess other than her once beloved Umberlee would fair her and her crew but Ojas shugged and told himself the faith was just self assurance… that was all it could ever truly be to him.
: : : : : :
The tall, skeletal woman paced in the hallway of the crumbling keep muttering under her breath to her dark mistress and just as her patience grew thin the dark outline of the creature she needed to speak with appeared from the shadows. She was finally pleased.
"I saw a young mage cast a cantrip this morning, Despayr," she said as her gray eyes peered up at the deep purple glow of a few of his scales outshining the dull gray ones on the beast standing nearly four times her height.
"I am sure you will learn the spell someday," the dark creature spoke as a whiff of ebon and purple smoke rose from his nostrils.
The woman glared as she clenched her fist, "There will be no need for me to when you have done what our Mistress has commanded you to. She has handpicked everything for you, even found this forgotten keep which happened to have a portal to the Shadow Plane. I doubt it was a coincidence… the ritual should have already been completed…"
"I need sacrifices, dark one," Despayr said slowly, "Ones that your brethren and sisters should have supplied me long ago."
"You have an entire tribe of lizardfolk," she began to argue.
"Most of which have been… converted… and are unsuitable. And most are not what I need either," Despayr said and stopped knowing it would aggravate the woman.
"And what is it you need… damn virgins. All the Hells know those are damn near impossible to come across these days…"
Despayr chuckled shaking the unstable land and causing a few of his illuminated scales to fade and then brighten stronger, "No, I need no virgins… yet," he smiled, "What I need, you should have known all along… it is why the first attempt failed." Stupid humans, the black dragon thought to himself and stand still keeping the dark haired woman in suspense.
"What?!" She screamed, "What did we miss, I personally deciphered the ritual myself are you saying I over looked something?"
The dragon shrugged enjoying having a brief amount of power over the woman that had single handedly bested him three months prior. Despayr thought then that his life was forfeited but the woman cease her magical rebukes and lashing strikes with her black whip that seemed to eat light and told him his glorious future... gave meaning to his dreary existence, his ambitions and his dreams, both literal and figurative. He was going to destroy the nature of magic of all of Toril and in the midst he was going to destroy the weave's Goddess as well. He would no longer be Despayr the Desperate, Despayr the Dim but he would forever be Despayr the Destroyer… he'd be a God.
"So, lizard," the woman taunted, "What is it? A date, a time, an ingredient… a missing incantation…"
"None of them," he said and flapped his large wings a few times for dramatic emphasis, "What you miss is exactly what you seek to destroy."
The woman blinked several times, "We need the weave?"
"We need weave casters… a lot of them… or a few powerful ones… I am unsure as to exactly how many are necessary…"
"How many do you want," the woman became very business-like.
Despayr smiled, "How many can we get?"
The woman grinned mischievously, "My followers will take care of this… I will instruct them to feed you flies until the seam of your belly scales burst."
Despayr shook his head, "It is not my belly which shall burst but very Weave of Toril which shall," the deep violet crystal tied around his neck dance as he chuckled and disappeared in the darkness.