Silverymoon Epilogue

The eruption of Hellgate Keep was caused by Wulgreth as a weapon against the treants of Turlan, and it was quite effective in this task, burning and petrifying many of them, to be later perverted into dark treants in Wulgreth's service.

The blanketing of the surrounding area, including Tol Barad and Obouldar, in cloying, zombifying ash was just a convenient side effect for Wulgreth.

It wasn't so convenient for the men, dwarves, and orcs, who, even after they managed to overcome the tide of zombies, found themselves with their fields destroyed, even as autumn began, ending all hope of growing new crops before the winter.

As one can imagine, things got pretty tense. Tol Barad had stores of food, meant to withstand a long siege, but Obouldar did not. They quickly ran out of foodstuffs, and out of options. It was the perfect excuse for the enemies of Thrax to put their plans into motion. They called for an invasion of Tol Barad, to take their food (and perhaps make a meal of their juicy little babies) for themselves. Thrax, of course, didn't like this idea. When Thrax balked, his son Lur'gan, truly a puppet of Grilka and Jamsha, claimed leadership of the clan, and led the willing to an assault on the dwarven fortress.

The party intervened, warning Bael, newly-restored Thane of Tol Barad, and meeting the fractured orc armies in the field. Thrax and his loyal orcs, with the party's help, deflected the assault, sending the armies of Lur'gan to their hideaway in the Far Forest. Thrax, determined to end this threat to his sovereignty once and for all, rallied his troops to pursue the pretender chieftain and his scheming surrogate mothers to their last refuge.

Unfortunately, nature wasn't in a convenient mood, and Aravae Miritar, mother of Thrax's unborn son, was going into labor. Cassilda had to be with her, and bid Ecrulantis wing her to Evereska. She promised to return as soon as she could.

Due to an unfortunate error in judgment, the bodies of the fallen orcs, numbering in the hundreds, from the battle outside Tol Barad, had not been properly treated. In the necrotic ash that yet rained from the Hellgate, they rose as zombies, terrifyingly powerful zombies, with all the strength of battle-hardened orcs, and all the necromantic endurance of Wulgreth's terrible magic.

Walter claimed responsibility for the error, and stayed behind to help Tol Barad defend themselves, as, without his divine magic, they were in very serious danger. Wesley bade Maxwell to aid him, as his magic had proven essential in previous bouts with the ash zombies.

Wesley alone remained to accompany Thrax into the forest. Together, they hunted down the wayward orcs, forcing them to serve Thrax or die. The deeper they got into the haunted wood, the worse things got, as the maddening spirits of the forest incensed the worst instincts of orcs.

Still, the loyal forces of Thrax prevailed, unto the final confrontation. Lur'gan's mothers had secured a deep cavern, steeped in evil magic, where they were strongest against Thrax's warriors.

Though he was loathe to do so, Wesley opened himself to the power of the Old Blood, reopening the grevious wound upon his soul since the loss of Nightfall. He bonded with the dark spirits of the cave, ancient, unseelie creatures hostile to all forms of mortal life. He roused anger in them, taunting them, and stirred them into action. The result was devastating for the orcs who had hunkered inside.

Thrax and his warriors never knew what drove the orcs out of the cave, screaming mad prayers to dead gods to save them from unknown horrors. Those who had the presence of mind to capitulate were spared--most were slaughtered. After the first wave...came those who embraced the darkness.

Wesley knew all too well what had become of the disgusting, warped creatures who emerged from the cavern. They had been taken by the Black Blood, and become demon-beasts in the form of orcs. They fought with savagery unknown to even orc kind, and the ensuing battle was accordingly fierce. Wesley could do little to help, as his mind was harried by the demon spirits, who fought for control of his body as they wielded over the fel orcs.

Things took a turn for the worse when Lur'gan emerged, grossly empowered beyond his young frame by foul magic. With the strength of ten orcs, he was still no match for his father, no match for Azuredge, but, sadly, he was not alone.

Lur'gan was merely a distraction, a way to keep attention away from Jamsha and Grilka, who wove foul spells to weaken Thrax and his warriors. Ultimately, it was only under the effect of dozens of debilitating spells that Thrax fell to Lur'gan's blade.

But Thrax was not finished. He rose, as much from the force of Azuredge than from the strength of his legs, and cleaved his wayward son in twain. He pushed against the vile magic of the sisters, the azure axe absorbing the worst of their blows. With strength beyond his last, Thrax struck them down, cleaving their treacherous hands from their arms, and spilling their tainted blood into the cavern where it belonged.

Victorious, but doomed, Thrax went to Wesley, who was falling under the assault of fel orc and demon spirits. He dispatched the feeble creatures, and offered the handle of Azuredge to the besieged human. When Wesley took the axe, its ancient and immense power banished the foul spirits from his mind, sending them reeling into the cavern to be forgotten by time.

As they stood, both clutching the axe, Thrax made Wesley swear to defend his son, to defend his throne until he could reign, and to teach him what Thrax could not. "There must be peace between men and orcs," he breathed with his last breaths, "and my son must bring that peace. When he can wield it, give him the axe."

Wesley swore, on his life, to honor Thrax's request. When Thrax let go of the axe, his life quickly faded. As he collapsed on the ground, his vision fading, he saw the faces of old friends, and he smiled--a smile of utter, profound contentment, and ultimate peace.

It was some time before Wesley heard from the others. Once reestablished in Obouldar, with winter's food gathered from the forest, he settled in for a long winter. Walter sent him a magical whisper, saying only that Tol Barad still stood, that Cassilda was well, that the boy was alive and strong, and that they would all meet again after the long winter.

As Wesley and Thrax had battled in the forest, Cassilda had tended her sister through a difficult childbirth. More than merely serving as moral support, she had been there to keep her sister alive as long as possible, with every bit of the healing magic she could muster.

Aravae had no illusion that she would survive childbirth. She saw in her unborn son the potential for a greater destiny than she could ever fulfill otherwise. Her parents had disowned her, and had never been able to understand her decision, but they were there with her, in the end.

Cassilda and the others did all they could, and it was enough to see the child born alive. Perhaps Aravae might have survived, with the aid of powerful magic, but at the very moment her son was born, she felt the death of her husband, and willed herself to go with him.

The child was born early, and yet was still enormous--understandable, given the trouble he'd caused his mother. He was very weak, and needed to be kept alive with magic for several weeks until he could survive as a normal infant. It would be several months before Cassilda could dare travel with him, and she would not leave him behind; thus, she resigned herself to a long winter away from the others.

The settlers had gathered in Tol Barad, as Settleshore had been rendered unlivable by the ash, and had no food or sustenance to offer them anyway. In the many long, cold nights of winter, cooped up in the stone halls of the castle, it was the inexhaustible tales of Walter and the simple but enchanting wizard's tricks of Maxwell which kept the people's spirits warm despite the bitter winter. They could no more leave the people than bring down the walls that kept them sheltered against the cold.

It was late in spring, well over two seasons later, when all was well enough for the townsfolk to emerge. There came several weeks of rebuilding before the town would serve, and then the planting began in earnest. When order was restored, Walter and Maxwell set forth, into the newly ash-free sky, to reunite with Wesley.

At Obouldar, they found the orcs had been hard at work all winter long. They'd gathered the ash and seeded it across the mountains, on terraces, in ditches, and wherever it would stay. With the spring rain, it became fertile soil for new growth. The damage to the city from last year's battles had been repaired, and new construction had long since begun in earnest to build a stronger city, complete with sizeable granaries for weathering future winters.

Walter sent word to Cassilda, who was making preparations to return. It took several days, but return she did, astride a great silver dragon, bearing the future King of the Orcs. A regal procession of dragons and elves arrived with the new King, Cassilda foremost among them.

Wesley showed them the boy, a massive infant by even orcish standards, and his future subject cheered mightily. He sat with the boy on the throne of Thrax, overlooking all of Obouldar, and showed him Azuredge. It gleamed brightly, catching the barely-open eyes of the baby, and all were certain of the meaning.

Cassilda announced that she, as as a duly appointed representative of the new elven alliance, under Coronal Miritar of Myth Drannor, offered peace to the orcs of Obouldar, and a pact of mutual defense, to prevent any possibility of future war between men and orcs of the Silver Marches.

To the assembled masses, she proclaimed, "the child is of Man, Orc, and Elf. He is stronger than all of us. Let this forever be the day of peace between our kind. Let there be a hundred Obouldars, and the race of Orc be remembered for the dream of Obould, for the sacrifice of Thrax, and for the wisdom of King Moszalexander, first King of the Orcs, first Chieftain of the tribe of the Azure Axe!"

A great feast was held, and revelry erupted, of the like only orcs can easily appreciate. Wesley and Cassilda, and all the others, were finally reunited.

Chief Koth, Wesley's right hand since the death of Thrax, vowed to honor Thrax's will, and to tend to the child in Wesley's stead. There was much yet to do for the unsung heroes of the Silver Marches.

Everyone knew there was only way to defeat Wulgreth for good. The ancient elven high magic would have to be restored, and only the ultimate sacrifice from Cassilda could do that.

Still, nobody was happy with the reality, and they were willing to go to great lengths to avoid it. Wesley journeyed across the Uthgardt lands to rally support from his fellow tribesmen, those of the Old Blood; they had learned that Wulgreth was the source of the spread of the Black Blood, and all the death and chaos it had caused among the Uthgardt tribes. The only way to stop it would be to destroy him, and it would take all the power of the tribes, and more, to do so.

Meanwhile, Kalen was convinced the lich could be undermined as all are. He and Walter journeyed to Candlekeep, and stranger places, to research the lich's history, his power, and, most importantly, learn of his phylactery. They met with mixed results.

Cassilda trained under reluctant high mages, trying somehow to absorb knowledge rightly only the eldest and most magically-inclined elves could master, and then only after centuries of study. She would have to stabilize a mythal--no easy task for a seasoned high mage--and do it while under assault by legions of the damned, and an angry lich.

In Silverymoon, things were not going well, as debates over the future of the league, and the political aftermath of the defeat of war hero Colonel Graff by an orcish army, had paralyzed the council of the marches. Alustriel alone offered aid, and then only what she could spare without it being apparent to the kings and lords of the council.

She entrusted to Maxwell a gift rarely given, something so unique and powerful that the lich could not hope to best it. She bade him not to cast a single spell, nor even have a spell cast upon him, before it was time to face the lich, for once tapped, the power must be wholly consumed, one way or the other.

And so the party journeyed forth, on foot, along the same path they'd taken a lifetime ago, from Silverymoon to Hellgate Keep.

As before, they felt its power far in advance, but they faced the well of corruption, the torrent of evil magic, and plunged into the dark halo surrounding the gate, swirling with vile magic as it only had done before Ascal's Fall, in the many cataclysms it had caused before.

They faced terrible monsters and elder evils, everything Wulgreth could throw at them. They were joined by those of the Uthgardt who heeded the call, and the bravest warriors of Obouldar who were willing to join them in their glorious sacrifice.

At Hellgate Keep, they confronted darkness beyond their worst nightmare, evil beyond imagination. The terror that ensued was beyond the ability of bards to describe, only the heroism with which they faced battles too dark to truly survive.

With their arrival, Wulgreth was pushed to fully open the Hellgate before he had planned. Perhaps it was premature, but it was no less horrific--a gaping maw of anguish and damnation, spewing forth horrors that were never meant to plague the nightmares of man.

Between the world and the abyss stood an army of the brave, an army of hope, and of utter conviction. Wesley led his people and the orcs on the front lines, stemming the tide of demons as much as possible, as a warding ring of dragons protected Cassilda during her crucial incantations. As for Wulgreth himself--a terrible battle raged in the sky, as Walter, Kalen, and Maxwell battled the archmage with magics they could scarcely comprehend. It was all Walter and Kalen could do to stay alive; as for Maxwell, with every spell he cast, he grew stronger. His eyes burned with silver fire, and his spells impacted with divine might. He passed well beyond mortality as he channeled the divine power of Mystra herself into the foul lich.

As Wesley's army crumbled under the weight of the demon onslaught, and dragons older than kingdoms of men died to defend Cassilda, even as the lich Wulgreth fell to the power of the Goddess, the maw of the Hellgate grew ever wider, greedily devouring the world even as it spewed forth its vile corruption.

Walter and Maxwell joined Wesley on the front lines, but it was hopeless; where hundreds of demons had been defeated, thousands more were on their way, and millions lurked still beyond the maw. Wulgreth himself, in his demonic power, was already reforming from the masses of demonflesh.

Kalen was not about to allow the lich to cheat death one more time. He had found his phylactery, disguised as what seemed to be a mighty artifact of arcane power, tempting, perhaps, to the man he once was. He flew into the maw, defying the tides of demons, and ruptured the phylactery. His last words were of love for Cassilda, and his last expression was one of absolution, of true peace despite the awfulness of his surroundings.

The sundered phylactery burst, spewing forth hellish energy, the product of millennia of hatred, of demonic rage, of the vilest kind of magic. It burned even the demons who scrabbled forth from the maw. It annihilated the ghost of Wulgreth even as it tried to form anew. It burned away, forever, what remained of Kalen.

As the end drew near, Wesley called to his tribesmen, and they focused all their power, all their knowledge of the Old Blood, to call to all the elder spirits of the High Forest, to all their ancestors since the beginning of time, to aid them now, to lend themselves to Cassilda.

She was lifted aloft, as if by divine power, her incantations magnified a thousandfold. The forest itself bent to her will. Holy light, brighter than the sun, but soothing to the eye, burst forth from her. All evil creatures burst to ash before it, and the tide of demons turned around, fleeing back into the maw rather than face it.

The sullied ground of Hellgate Keep burned; the ash turned to soil, and the soil teemed with life. The earth itself moved to close the maw, rolling ever inward, sending all that remained of the keep deep into itself. The crest that formed over the maw became the base of a magnificent tree, a tree the size of a mountain, visible from miles away.

The scourge of Hellgate Keep was utterly erased; the ancient elven magic was restored a hundred times stronger than it ever was, and a force of life infinitely stronger than the darkness that once reigned annihilated every trace of the evil that once was.

Of the brave warriors who stood on the line, few survived, and none truly remember all that they had seen, as it was too great for the minds of men or orcs. Of Cassilda and Wesley, there were no remains. Ecrulantis' clan had been devastated, but their memories lived on in him, as way the way of dragons. At the base of the great Tree of Life, he vowed to tell the tale, to sing of their deeds, until there was none left in the Realms who did not know of the heroism of Cassilda and Wesley, of the great sacrifice of Thrax, Mosz, and Alexander, and of the final destruction of Hellgate Keep, the ending of the cycle.

Into the palace he strode, more confident than the mighty Kyrin Lothandrien, more regal than the proud dwarven kings, more commanding than even the Lady Hope herself.

With his mere presence, Ecrulantis silenced the quarreling nobles of the council. The lords of the Silver Marches found themselves breathless in his sight, cowed by him as well they should of a mighty dragon, of the bearer of such great tales.

Without an introduction, he began the song. He told of the long history of the Hellgate, and how Wulgreth had caused the fall of so many great civilizations in ages past. He told of the lives of Cassilda, Wesley, and the others, and how they came to their destiny.

It was long, and profoundly beautiful. There was not a one, man, elf, or dwarf, who was not moved to tears, not shaken to his very core. Their temporal concerns had been rendered meaningless.

Alustriel did not speak. She only embraced Walter and Maxwell, all who remained of the brave adventurers she'd set forth so long ago. King Helm, too, stepped forward. He removed his crown, and knelt before Walter and Maxwell; no other King or Lord dared not to do the same.

When at last someone spoke, it was Kyrin Lothandrien. He declared that a monument would be erected, as great as the palace itself. That their deeds would be written in stone, upon the very foundation of Silverymoon. That their song would be sung to every student, to every child, and every visitor to the marches.

He was joined in his enthusiasm by the dwarven kings, who promised magnificent testaments to their tale, great works of gold and silver, and all that glitters.

Alustriel simply and quietly announced that her time was done. The matter of succession that had so long been a subject of debate was quickly resolved. King Helm would lead them, in the first of many terms of Lords and Ladies Hope. The council, for once, was in total consensus. They even agreed to recognize the orcish King, and offer his people a seat in the council as members of the alliance.

Alustriel set down her crown and simply walked out of the chamber. Ecrulantis and the others walked with her. They stepped through the palace courtyard, then through the astral sea to the Tree of Life itself.

There they saw a small gathering; Coronal Miritar of Myth Drannor, Storm Silverhand of the Harpers, a druid none but Walter and Maxwell recognized as Wesley's mother...and a gray wolf.

All paid their respects, a wordless praise, an inexpressible thanks for their profound sacrifice. Alustriel poured forth a stream of sorrow long stemmed by centuries of stern rulership. She let go of all her troubles, and her sister took her home.

Coronal Miritar had hardly known her cousin, hardly knew of the trials she faced. At the base of the tree, she vowed the elven race would never forget her.

Wesley's mother said nothing, nor lingered long at the tree; instead, she tended to the wolf, who seemed happy for the attention. She bade Walter to take the wolf to the orcish King, and he simply did as asked.

In the end, as the first sunset shone upon the tree, only Walter, Maxwell, and Ecrulantis remained. They would have to bear the memories until the end of their days.