you, there's nothing you can do about it, and they can really make a mess of your life. Not that Finder hasn't been a decent guy,' she added hastily.
'But you're still afraid to face Tymora,' Joel said.
'Wouldn't you be?' Jas asked with an exasperated tone.
'Well, the fact that you're trying to get rid of the dark stalker in you shows that you aren't flying away from your problems,' Joel said. 'At least, that's what it looks like to me.'
Jas tilted her head thoughtfully.
'What's the worst that could happen?' Joel asked. 'After all, Iyachtu Xvim put a dark stalker in you and made you look like an owl.'
Tymora could make me look like something else,' Jas said darkly.
'Something worse than an overgrown pixie? That would be bad,' Joel joked.
Jas glared at the bard. 'She might say it serves me right and turn me down.'
'She might. If she does, we'll leave. I don't think she will, though,' Joel said. 'She's been a good friend to Finder.'
'So you think I should go to Brightwater to see Tymora?'
'Jas, it doesn't matter what I think. It's your decision '
'Fine,' Jas said shortly. 'Then I'll go.'
'Good,' Joel answered.
BEHIND THE SCENES
The little figures babbled with excitement as the dark servant entered the tent carrying a wooden box inscribed with ancient text.
A tall figure stepped forward and loomed over the servant. 'Open the box,' the figure ordered in a deep voice.
The servant flipped up the lid of the box. Within, embedded in white velvet, was a small crystal sphere of the deepest blue.
'Take up the sphere,' the figure commanded, 'and hold it between the rose and the coin.'
The servant drew out the sphere with a trembling hand and held it over the center of the altar of stone. On one side of the sphere, suspended magically in midair, was a white rose, still sparkling with crystals of ice from the Desertsmouth Mountains of Toril. On the other side, also held in the air by magic, was an old platinum coin stamped with the profile of an elven woman on one side and the sigil of the ancient and long since ruined kingdom of Myth Drannor on the other. The servant released the blue crystal sphere, and it hovered between the rose and the coin.
'Now it is time to begin the spell,' the looming figure said, pulling the servant away from the altar. And time, the figure thought privately, to drink of Tymora's power.
OFFSTAGE
Somewhere in the Prime Material Plane on the world known as Toril in Realmspace, the renowned mage Volothamp Geddarm, known simply as Volo to his friends, was sweating profusely. It was alarming how quickly the friendly game of table dice with the barbarian mercenary leader had turned ugly. Not that Volo was losing. If he were losing, he could extricate himself with a smile and an excuse. No. Volo was winning, winning against an ogre-sized man with a hairy back and a deer-skinning knife that could serve a halfling as a short sword.
On his first roll of doubles, Volo allowed himself a chuckle. When his next roll also turned up doubles, the mage merely smiled. By his fifth consecutive roll of doubles, Volo felt the first trickle of sweat dripping down the side of his face. His opponent's scowl had grown so deep that his heavy brow shadowed half his nose and turned his eyes into deep black pits. On Volo's sixth roll of doubles, the barbarian pulled out a whetstone and tugged at the clasps of his knife sheath. On Volo's seventh roll, snake eyes, the barbarian pulled out his knife and began running it across the stone.
Volo was sweating so hard he felt as if he was steaming away and wished that he could. It would be a clever escape, to turn to vapor and drift away, too insubstantial to pursue. The barbarian reached for the dice cup. He, too, looked hot, but not from terror. He rolled a five. Enraged, he flung the ale in his mug to the floor and slammed the dice into the emptied ale mug, obviously convinced Volo was using an enchanted dice cup.
'Perhaps we should leave this for-' Volo began.
'Roll,' the barbarian growled. He tested his sharpened knife blade by whittling off a layer of the maple dicing table.
Volo rolled… double sixes. There were tears in his eyes.
The barbarian cursed Volo and Volo's gods as he snatched up the dice and rattled them around in the ale mug. He slammed the mug down and lifted it. A one and a three. Making an ugly declaration about the ancestry of Volo's father, the barbarian pushed the mug back toward Volo.
'I don't understand how-' Volo squeaked.
'Roll, damn your bones!' shouted the barbarian. Volo could swear he saw a fire glowing in the pits of his opponent's eyes.
Volo slid the dice into the mug, gripping the handle as if it might escape. He hesitated for a moment, then flung the mug full force at his opponent as he dodged sideways.
The barbarian raised a hand to fend off the missile and threw the deer knife across the table. The knife buried itself several inches into the door, but Volo had made his exit through the second-story window.
The barbarian stood up and retrieved his knife. That's when he spotted the dice on the floor beside the ale mug. Double sixes.
With a roar, the barbarian ran from the room, determined to chase down and destroy the fiend before it wreaked worse havoc.
Limping on a twisted ankle and shivering in the warm Elturel night, Volo whimpered a chiding prayer to the goddess Tymora. 'Lady, what were you thinking, to waste so much good luck on me?'
ACT TWO SCENE 2
Once Joel, Jas, and Emilo had bathed and changed into clean clothes, they joined Finder out in the garden for a light supper. Over the meal, Emilo asked to journey with them to meet Tymora, and Finder acquiesced. When they finished off the wine, they made a chain with their hands, and Finder teleported to Brightwater with them.
They arrived in the middle of a broad avenue and were nearly run over by a pair of horses, each ridden by a young woman in a nightgown. Finder pulled the adventurers off to the side in the nick of time. One of the horses, startled by the sudden appearance of the adventurers, fell a length behind the other.
Joel gave a low whistle of relief. He looked around in astonishment as he followed Finder up the street.
All about them, the town of Brightwater glittered in the setting sun. Joel couldn't remember having seen so much gilt in a city before. Great mansions sported golden domes like the Gilded Hall. Each of the stores and taverns featured some architectural aspect to attract the eye- gaudy statues, magnificent fountains and archways, charming stained-glass windows, structures with unusual, even impossible shapes. Even the meanest of shacks displayed some touch of trim that gleamed with the look of a precious metal or stone.
His eyes wide with wonder, Emilo whispered, 'Even the streets are paved with gold!'
Finder chuckled. 'It's only an illusion. Gold streets wouldn't last long. Gold is too soft a metal. Here we are. The Hall of Chance.' The god stepped through a marble archway and seemed to disappear. Hastily the others
