have no desire to stand in the spot where lightning once struck me.
The excerpt from the lorebook Of Blades and Blooded Honor you requested follows.
Regards, Athol the Beardless It was the time of man.
To many elves, it seemed that the humans flourished in all things even as they, the children of Corellon, faded.
As the number of People dwindled like sands slipping through an hourglass, the humans swelled their ranks at an indecent rate. The elven communities retreated into the forests as humans spread out into every land and every clime. As High Magic became a rare and secret thing, human mages discovered ancient scrolls that enabled them to reach in their few short years of life incredible levels of power. Mighty human kingdoms had risen-and fallen. Fabled Netheril was a memory, but from its ashes magelords were rising to command the settlements and cities of the northlands. The humans pressed even into the deep forest, seeking to settle amid the ancient trees and pleasant dales that were the elves' last stronghold on Faerun.
Everywhere, contact between elves and humans was increasing. Half-elves, once rare and pitiable beings who were almost invariably the result of war crimes, were becoming almost common. As a people, the elves were not at all certain what to make of these developments, nor were they of a single mind concerning how best to deal with the ubiquitous humans. On one thing all agreed, however: Evermeet must remain sacred to the People.
Few humans knew of Evermeet. Most who heard the tales thought of the island as an elven fancy, a legendary place of wonder and beauty and harmony. But there were a few, mostly sea-going folk, who had reason to know that something existed in the distant western seas. Those who ventured too far into the sunset were met by terrible storms, bands of warlike Sea elves, and magical barriers of all kinds. These hearty men-those few who survived these encounters-began to speak more often of the rich island kingdom in the sea.
The image of Evermeet that emerged was colored by the humans' experience with the elves of Faerun. The humans thought that the island, if it existed at all, was a place of serene beauty and utter harmony, where elves joined as one in their pursuit of the arts of magic and warfare, and to contemplate the wonders of sky and forest.
The truth was something rather different.
For millennia, the noble Gold elf families of Evermeet had vied for control of the ruling Council of Elders. Most often, the Durothil clan held sway, but this right was strongly contested by the Nierde, the Nimesin, and the Starym families. Nor were the Moon elven clans content to leave the positions of power and influence uncontested.
The disputes between the races and the clans never actually devolved into warfare, but the island became a warren of intrigue. Elven culture, which had once been focused upon the creation of beauty and the assurance of a strong defense, focused instead upon the art of political maneuverings. Clans vied with each other in their wealth, their forces at arms, and in the stockpiling of magical weaponry.
Predictably enough, at this time the most powerful seat of elven culture was not Evermeet at all, but the forest of Cormanthyr. As ambitious Gold elves came to realize this, many of them began to leave the island and settle in the burgeoning cities of Cormanthyr.
But even there, differences arose among these clans. The Nierde elves were generally willing to compromise with the Moon elves and the forest elves who had proceeded them. They even tolerated the insurgence of humans, halflings, and dwarves into the forest community. But the more xenophobic of the Gold clans-among others the Starym, Nimesin and Ni'Tessine-loudly proclaimed the need for isolation.
After much debate, the Elven Council of Cormanthyr opened the forest lands to human settlement. The Standing Stone was raised as a monument to peace and cooperation among the many races. That much of the story is well-known. But long before this year, a year of events so great that it became a measure by which time was reckoned, other, more secret events had occurred that were to shape the very course of the elven race.
When the long destruction of the Crown Wars had finally come to an end (about -9000 by Dale Reckoning) some elves became concerned that such a period of strife might come yet again in the long history of the elves. They were determined to do everything in their power to prevent such a disaster.
There was in Cormanthyr at this time an ancient elven seer known as Ethlando, a survivor from the ancient kingdom of Aryvandaar. He believed that this increasing division among the elves could lead to the destruction of all. Ethlando had lived long past the normal years for an elf, and was well into his second millennia of life. He was widely believed to have a special connection with the Seldarine, for the visions that were granted him proved infallible. Even in small matters, his word was greatly respected in the land. Oftentimes his opinion was sought-and followed-when arbitration between the more contentious clans was necessary.
During the years when Cormanthyr's fate was still hotly debated, Ethlando declared that Evermeet must be ruled by a single royal family-this, he claimed, was the will of the gods. The plan that he gave for the selection of this clan was so complex, so dependent upon a magic beyond the reach of mortal mages, that the Council decided that the Seldarine did indeed speak through the seer.
On one matter, though, they held firm: Ethlando insisted that only Moon elf clans could apply for this honor. But the Gold elves held sway in Cormanthyr, and the ruling class decreed that all noble clans-excepting of course the drow elves-who wished to make a claim for Evermeet's throne could do so.
Three hundred master weaponsmiths were chosen, and each was charged with creating a single sword. Though each artisan was given license in the crafting, certain things were to be constant. All were to be double- edged broadswords, and the hilt of each was to be set with a large moonstone. Of all the gems known to elves, the moonstone was the purest, most fluid conductor of magic. Yet the swordcrafters were not to imbue the weapons with any magical powers whatsoever. That, Ethlando insisted, would come when the time was right.
By the year of the Standing Stone, the swords were completed. In due time, the question of elven royalty would be settled beyond question or dispute.
Prelude
1371DR
The silver dragon swooped down on Sumbrar, flying with dangerous speed directly toward the high, rounded Tower. She was a Guardian, and her task was to warn the elves of the approaching danger. She had reason to fear that her warning might already be too late.
Her glittering wings beat against the air to halt her desperate flight, and her taloned feet caught and clung to the whimsical carvings that ringed the rounded dome roof of Sumbrar's tower. The dragon draped her wings down over the smooth stone walls to steady her perch, then craned her neck down to look into the high, arched window of the upper tower. There the magi gathered to cast their Circle magic. She only hoped that they did not die of fright at the sudden appearance of her enormous, scaly silver visage in their window!
But to her surprise, the chamber was empty. Silent. No magi gathered to meet the coming threat. The dragon's first thought was that they did not know. Then her keen ears caught the sound of a rumbling deep within the caves of Sumbrar, and her senses quickened with the surge of magic that emanated from the depths of the outpost island.
As the Guardian watched, six ancient dragons burst from their age-long slumber and took to the sky. She watched in awe as the legendary heroes of her people leaped into flight as if from the pages of the lorebooks. Even so, her wonder was overwhelmed by a deep and profound feeling of dread. It was written that only in times of deepest peril would the Sleeping Ones be called forth.
The Guardian spread her silver wings and rose into the sky, setting a course for the Eagle Hills. There she would seek out the dragonriders, and learn what fate had befallen her elven partner. Shonassir Durothil had not responded to her silent call. Though she feared the answer, she must know what she-indeed, what all of Evermeet- faced.
Far from the shores of Evermeet, in a very different tower that stood in the shadow of Waterdeep's single mountain, another of Evermeet's guardians threw back her silvery head and let out a wail of mixed anguish and frustration.
Khelben Arunsun, the human mage who ruled this tower, came forward and gently pried the guardian's
