Lord of Spells from Faerûn

The main material plane, Faerun, Tomb Castle.

"Wake up! Cyric, open your eyes and look, I am Kelemvor!" Kelemvor lay weakly on the ground, using all his strength to block Cyric's dagger, and his stomach was stabbed by Cyric. Rick opened a large hole, and blood mixed with intestines flowed out.

Midnight beside her had already lost consciousness. There was an obvious bulge on her head, and blood was flowing from her forehead. It was obvious that someone had hit her head with a blunt instrument.

Cyric looked at Kelemvor with dull eyes, gritted his teeth and tried to stab Kelemvor with the dagger, completely unaware that a silver mirror behind him was emitting light, and a vortex appeared in the center of the mirror, spinning rapidly. stand up.

Imric's figure stepped out of the silver mirror. After Mystra fell asleep, he immediately returned to Faerûn and went to the Tomb Castle. After learning about Kelemvor and Cyric from Mystra, After the importance of the Midnight Three in the future, he decided to make good friends with each other. Although the final destiny of the Destined Ones was to be assimilated into the world consciousness, before that, they would become powerful gods under the arrangement of Lord Io.

What better way to build a relationship than to help a rich man when he is down and out?

As for the so-called Tablet of Destiny, Imric had no idea. After knowing the truth behind it and the tragic ending that these three people might face in the future, Imric decided to stay honest with the help of Mystra. It is safer to become a god in another world.

Imric looked at Cyric and frowned, realizing that the other person seemed to be in some kind of hallucination. He tried to use a spell to lift it, but it had no effect.

"He must be allowed to regain his will." Imrik had a glimmer of understanding.

——

An hour ago, Cyric and others arrived at the Tomb Castle under the leadership of Caitlin Moonsong.

But what they didn't know was that the Lord of Darkness had already known of their arrival and gave them the most painful trial.

Kelanvor was the first to escape from that trial. As a determined lycanthrope, Bane's trial only took a little effort for him.

The second one is midnight.

In the fantasy, she foresaw that she would become the goddess's new favorite, a living preaching mage, and as long as she agreed, she could master the secrets of thousands of arcana.

A strange kingdom constructed of blue and white light showed itself before her eyes, and its ever-changing forms seemed to be talking to her. In a blinding flash, Midnight found herself floating in the air. She and Mystra passed through the temple walls, then flew higher and higher, through the clouds, until Faerûn was reduced to a tiny speck of dust in the distance.

Midnight stared at the planet, and suddenly felt something behind him. She turned around and found herself face to face with a wonderful network of energy, a beautiful fabric that spread across the universe, pulsing with fire like midnight had never seen before.

"You can be a part of it," Mystra said.

Midnight reached out to the ley line, but stopped when she saw her own hand. Her flesh became transparent, and through the boundaries of her form, strange colors reflecting the original magic before her birth could be seen pulsing through her body.

Just when she was about to accept the endless power, Kelanvor's voice woke her up.

"Midnight. Midnight!!" The voice became louder and louder.

"I need your help to rescue Cyric!"

Perhaps it was because Midnight herself was afraid and resistant to this power. She knew that the end result of accepting the power would be to lose her life.

Kelemvor's voice was just a boost, and Midnight woke up to the call.

In the blink of an eye, only scattered fragments of the illusion remained.

Midnight found herself standing with Kelemvor in a room that had been an auditorium, with a large overturned chair in the corner that looked very similar to the throne she had sat on. The musty room had a vaulted dome, just as she had seen in the vision.

Midnight looked down and saw that the pendant was still in its original position, still connected to her skin.

"What the hell happened? One minute I just wanted to open a door, the next I was floating in the universe, and now I'm standing in a destroyed throne room?"

Midnight then noticed that Kelemvor seemed to be injured. He fell to the ground, and she quickly ran to his side, only to find that there were no injuries on his face or body. But the soldier was still sweating and seemed very frightened.

"Give me something!" he roared, his voice low and dangerous.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Kelemvor winced slightly, his ribs seeming to move on their own. Midnight stared at him warily.

"Payment!" he said, his skin starting to darken. "A reward for helping you get rid of the hallucination and continue the mission! We gave up the mission, Cyric and I."

Midnight was in a hurry. She didn't know what happened to the warrior in front of her, but soon she understood that this was a curse.

Black hair began to grow on Kelemvor's body, and fangs emerged from his mouth. Midnight gently put a ring on Kelanvor's hand.

"This is your reward."

Kelemvor gasped, and he began to transform back into his original form.

"What's going on?" Midnight asked.

Kelemvor shook his head, "We have to find the others."

The two walked into the darkness until they came to a wide hall.

"Bang!" There was a muffled sound, and a stone fell from the ceiling of the hall, hitting Midnight's head hard. She fainted. Kelanwo squatted down to check, but soon felt a force coming from behind. wind.

"Puch!!"

Kelanvor turned around. He first saw Cyric's familiar face, but soon, a sharp pain came from his abdomen. Cyric's sharp dagger inserted into his stomach, making a severe cut. He fell to the ground.

Kelemvor called out Cyric's name weakly, but it was of no use, he was in too deep.

In the illusion, when Cyric woke up, he found that he was back in Zhentil Keep, his hometown when he was a child.

"Go away," said one of the Dark Guards, "unless you want to be filled with steel today."

Cyric avoided the other party and stood up.

"Stinky bum." The guard licked his saliva on the ground at Cyric's feet.

Just as the thief was about to step forward to attack, a hand stretched out from the shadow behind him covered his mouth, and another person held his arm tightly. He struggled against the force, but in vain. He was dragged into the alley while the guard stood there, laughing.

"Calm down, kid," said a very familiar voice. As Cyric watched, the guard walked out of the back alley, turned toward the street, and disappeared from sight.

The thief let his body relax and loosened his grip on his wrist. Cyric turned to look at the shadows. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, but he already recognized the identities of the people in front of him.

One of them is called Quexa, an evil little thief who takes pleasure in killing people. Just as Cyric remembered, Quexa's beautiful blond hair was dirty, and traces of various dyes could be found in it.

The other person was Marek. Cyric looked at the teacher's appearance. He didn't seem that old. He was still young and I was still young. Cyric suddenly had an idea.

Yes, Marek is Cyric's teacher, the teacher who led him into the endless abyss.

"Follow us." Marek said, and Cyric followed their lead obediently through the passage and into the kitchen of a tavern he didn't recognize.

As they entered the brightly lit corridor, Cyric noticed his reflection in the nearby mirror. His face was at least ten years younger, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes were gone. The passage of time and the hardships he had experienced The hardness it caused disappeared and his skin became soft again.

"You might wonder why we're here," Marek said to the eccentric fat cook standing near the curtain at the other end of the kitchen.

"No, not at all." The fat man pointed to the door curtain with a smile on his face, "She's inside."

Marek grabbed Cyric's hand and led him to the door curtain. "Look," Marek said, gently opening the curtain.

"That is our next victim, and the key to your freedom, Cyric."

Cyric looked outside and could only see a few tables in the tavern from his position, only one of which was occupied. It was a beautiful middle-aged woman, wearing an exquisite silk dress and sitting at the table with a bulging purse, drinking the soup that the beautiful maid had just brought to her. Then she stopped the girl.

"This bowl of soup is not hot enough!" The woman's sharp voice made Cyric's teeth hurt. "I told you that my soup must be boiling hot. Warm is not enough!"

"But, ma'am—"

The woman grabbed the maid's hand, "See for yourself!" the woman shouted, inserting the girl's hand into the steaming soup bowl. The girl held back her scream and struggled to free her hand, her tender palms already burned red.

"If you can't meet my requirements, I will have to go elsewhere!" The woman rolled her eyes, "I really want to know what delayed my nephew. He was originally going to meet me here."

Marek walked out of the tavern in a womanly manner, and with a look, Marek asked them to follow him.

"Madam, I know where your nephew is." Marek stopped her and took her to an alley.

"I don't understand," said the old woman. "You said my nephew was stuck in the alley and couldn't move, and—"

It dawned on her as Quaixa emerged from the shadows.

"You're not my aunt," Quexa said, "but we'll take your money all the same."

The woman began to scream, but Quexa pushed her against the wall and put his hand over her mouth. He pulled out the knife and put it against her throat, "Quiet, aunt, I don't want to kill you so quickly. Don't forget that this is Zhentil Castle. If your scream attracts other people, they will only think It’s just an extra share of money.”

Marek snatched the woman's purse, ransacked it, and nodded with a heartbroken expression.

"Oops, this isn't enough." Marek said, gesturing for Cyric to move forward. Quexa backed away from the woman, but kept the blade pointed in her direction.

"This is all my property!" she cried. "Please!"

"I will respect your request," Marek lowered his head sadly, "but I cannot deprive these young people of their fun."

Cyric pulled out his weapon, and Quaixar put his hand on his chest and chuckled: "You will never kill her, Cyric. Just pester Marek and be your apprentice for the rest of your life." The blond thief He walked towards the woman again, "Why don't you let me kill her, Marek."

"Get away!" Cyric growled, and Quexa turned to face him.

The woman had tears in her eyes. "Help me," she shouted, her hands shaking.

"Oh, what a conundrum," Marek said. "Whose hands will be stained with this innocent man's blood?"

Cyric turned around suddenly, "No one in this world is innocent!"

Marek raised his eyebrows, "What crime did she commit?"

"She hurt the girl."

Marek shrugged, "So what? I've hurt her many times myself, and she didn't seem to complain." Marek smiled, "I think this lady should be killed by Quexa. After all, Xi Rick, you haven’t shown me that you are ready to be independent, and I doubt the Thieves Guild will agree.”

"You lied to me!" Cyric shouted. As Quaixa closed in on the woman, Cyric realized that his chance of independence was slipping away.

"Wait a moment," Marek said, raising his hand to indicate to Queksa, then turning to Cyric. "Did she deserve to die? Just so you could be free?"

Cyric's mind has been completely trapped in the illusion, and he is fighting hard for the opportunity, because he knows that only by killing people with his own hands can he be released by the Thieves Guild.

"I know her, she." Cyric shook his head, "She is an arrogant, vicious woman! She has her own privileges, and she tramples on those poor people at will. She thought about letting us die before she raised her hand for help. . She is cold and cruel, and will only cry out for mercy and forgiveness when her head is clearly marked with a price. I have met people like her before, and she is the embodiment of everything I despise!"

"Doesn't she have any redeeming qualities? Doesn't she have the ability to give love and kindness? Does she still have a chance to change the way she lives?"

"Nothing at all," Cyric said.

"That's good," Marek said, "but it doesn't convince me. Quexa, kill her."

The woman gasped and tried to run away, but Quexa was faster than she was. She hadn't run a few steps before the blond thief caught up with her and slit her throat. The woman fell in the alley, and Quexa smiled. "Maybe next time, Cyric."

Cyric stared into Quaixa's eyes, feeling as if he had fallen into the abyss of madness. "I deserve to be free!" Cyric roared, drawing his dagger.

"Then prove it to me," Marek said, "show me your worth, and I will reward you with your freedom. If you want, I will give you a safe way out of this city, Thieves Guild You will also be recognized as a formal member. Your life belongs to you, and you can do whatever you want."

Cyric trembled. "Everything I've ever dreamed of," he muttered. "But you are the only one who can make this dream come true," Marek said. "Now be a good boy and kill Quaixa out there."

Cyric looked back at Quixar and found that the blond thief was facing away from him, squatting on the ground and not knowing what he was doing. In the distance, there was a looming silver mirror that was emitting light.

"Yes, kill him, kill him and I will be free!" Cyric's eyes flashed with yearning and distortion for freedom. He wanted to kill that evil kid!

"Puch!!"

The dagger stabbed hard into Kuixa's stomach, and with a strong thrust, a big hole was made in Kuixa's stomach.

"Prepare to die!" Cyric shouted. Behind him, the silver mirror became brighter and brighter, and Marek's face became increasingly blurry.

Marek's refusal was because he wanted Cyric to kill just because he wanted to kill, to kill for his own freedom, not because of the ugly nature of women. Cyric has more words because, compared to Kelemvor and Midnight, he will have more roles in the future, so let everyone know more about how he became Cyric