Part 2

The true lord of magic…what could this possibly mean, thought Ezmereth.

He thought back to his history lessons back in his earlier days. A hundred years ago, the most recent deity of magic was Mystra, Lady of Mysteries. She was the third incarnation of said deity, being a mortal formerly known as Midnight, who was murdered on her home plane of Dweomerheart by the deity Cyric, Prince of Lies and god of murder. This had caused the Spellplague, in which magic throughout the realms went crazy and ceased to function through the Weave, forcing spellcasters everywhere to re-learn how to use it.

A few decades before this event was the ascension of Midnight, replacing the second Mystra, who was killed by Helm, god of duty, during the Time of Troubles. This was an event in which all gods walked the lands as mortals. The Time of Troubles was caused by the theft of the Tablets of Fate. When these tablets were returned to the overgod, Ao, said overgod bestowed upon Midnight the divinity and portfolio of magic. In Mystra’s honor did she assume her old identity?

Thinking back on these two catastrophic events that both changed the face of Faerun, Ezmereth deduced that the ghastly sound could not be speaking of any of these deities. He had to think back to Netheril’s ancient history to try and figure this one out. So he thought back to how the second version of the deity of magic came to be.

Millenia before the Time of Troubles, the second version of Mystra was born. Her birth came as a contingent result of the destruction of the first, who was then known as Mystryl. Mystryl was the pre-eminent deity in the original kingdom of Netheril. Many more floating cities existed back then, Shade Enclave among them, but the most powerful of all the nation was Karsus enclave. Karsus was the most powerful of all the arcanists who ruled Netheril, and his folly was his undoing. He had concocted a power mad scheme, developing the most powerful spell in history. Upon its casting, he had stolen the divinity from Mystryl. This killed her outright, and the divine power entered Karsus all at once. But the strands of the Weave, that which controlled magic, were far too complex for him to understand immediately, resulting in a loss of control and magic everywhere stopping. All but a few of the floating netherese enclaves plummeted to the ground, resulting in the terrible fall of the great kingdom.

But Mystryl again was feminine, so that ruled her out as being the lord of magic referenced by the voice. Realization hit Ezmereth then, and he could see in his master’s eyes that he had come to the same conclusion.

This was temple dedicated to the worship of Karsus. How or why anyone would erect such a place was a question worth pondering in itself. Karsus was reputed to have been extremely hated by the survivors of Netheril because of his folly. His selfish quest for power caused the destruction of their homes. How could anyone worship a fool?

“The true lord of magic demands that you disbelievers vacate his holy temple,” said the ghastly voice. “It has no place for those who are steered wrongly by the shadows.”

The voice spoke of Shar, whom was the only deity allowed to be worshipped within Netheril. She who had saved Shade Enclave during the kingdom’s fall by bringing it into the Shadowfell, leading to its return to the Material Plane over a thousand years later.

“You are the one who is steered wrongly,” responded Ylormik, “for this true lord you speak of was naught but a fool who could not handle true power.”

The retort of the voice was again echoing through the chamber. “Is that what you were led to believe? I am afraid you are gravelly mistaken. Lord Karsus exists still in death in the Astral Sea. The divine spark has not left his essence and in time, he shall return.”

“You speak as foolishly as he thought,” yelled Ezmereth. “This temple shall be converted to the worship of a more appropriate deity and taken back to Shade Enclave.”

“It might not be wise to anger the spirit,” Ylormik scolded his pupil.

The scolding may have been for naught. A semi-transparent apparition appeared before them by the altar. The graying creature was humanoid in shape, but lacked any distinct features to be able to tell what sort of humanoid it was. It lacked both arms and legs, and no visage could be seen on its head. It looked like someone who had put a tattered blanket over himself to stay warm.

A voice came from it despite no mouth apparent for it to come from. “Your life essences shall then have to be used as fuel for the resurrection that is to come.”

The undead creature floated up into the air. Arms suddenly appeared at its sides. It brought them up, making bizarre gestures. With that, eight rotting corpses emerged from the ground, seemingly growing like plants out of the stone floor.

“I hope you are happy with yourself, Ezmereth,” said the master. “You will have yet another opportunity to hone your skill with that blade.”

Ezmereth merely winked at Ylormik, ready to unsheathe his sword and leap into battle.