LRAB Page 117
Page 117
"How's the situation?" Piergalen asked. He and a small squad of Watchers had just rescued a dozen survivors from another ruin and were organizing their evacuation to higher ground. The dried bloodstains on the armor left behind dark brown stains, clearly visible. The heavy steel armor did not completely shield the battered bodies of the wearers beneath. Sweat mixed with blood seeped from the paladins' bodies, soaking through their undergarments.
“It’s terrible,” Shaving shook his head, his eyes reflecting the ravaged city, his expression more grave than ever before. “The water level is still rising, and the second wave is coming. We need more dragons to evacuate the people, but all the dragons are here.”
Piergellen was silent for a moment, then looked up at the churning sea in the distance.
The son of the paladin sighed: "We must persevere and rescue as many survivors as possible."
The second tsunami arrived as expected. Although not as high as the first, its impact was still extraordinary. It swept through the already flooded areas, collapsing more buildings and further raising the water level. Shattered wooden coffered ceilings, exterior walls, and fences; furniture, stoves, and other items lifted off the ground; and overturned boats, vehicles, and shelves, mixed with various construction materials, were swept into the floodwaters, forming a meat grinder-like current that caused a new wave of casualties among the survivors.
Isis and Midnight, having exhausted their magic, barely managed to retreat to a tall tower, where they huddled atop with the other survivors. It had once been a clock tower, but the bronze bell, battered by the sea and the earth's tremors, had fallen from its supports, leaving only the empty shell of the tower to shelter the people. The two young sorceresses were forced to sit against a stone slab, their hands hanging limply, their eyelids drooping, barely able to move. Their magic had saved many lives, helped the city guard find more buried people, and bought precious time for the rescue, but even ninth-circle magic—and not just ninth-circle, but even those ancient, unforbidden super-ninth-circle spells—was insignificant in the face of the power of nature.
Of the only two eleventh-level spells cast during the Netheril Empire era, Marvin's Worldweaving, renowned for its exaggerated effects and range, could only theoretically influence a radius of 72 kilometers. This is negligible compared to the tsunami that swept across the entire Sword Coast. Its effect was merely to shift the climate within its range towards a nearby climate zone, rather than directly causing a disaster. Throughout Faerûn's recorded history, the only other phenomena comparable to the immense power of a tsunami, besides the High Elf magic effects that Krellon granted the elves, might be the battle between two mysterious and ancient dragons that set the entire sky of Faerûn ablaze.
“We’ve done enough,” one of the watchmen comforted them. “Without your help, the death toll would be much higher.”
Isis nodded weakly. She felt she should have done more, saved more people, but the reality was that her magic was exhausted, and even standing was difficult. Midnight held Isis's hand, offering silent comfort. She knew what Isis was thinking, because she felt the same way. In the face of such a catastrophe, individual power seemed so limited; no matter how powerful a mage was, they could only save a limited number of lives.
The third tsunami was much smaller than the first two, but it brought more lasting destruction. Seawater breached the underground sewer system, flooding the underground city and causing widespread ground subsidence. The stone pavements, weakened by the erosion, which might have previously supported the city's pedestrians and carts, collapsed under the weight of the water after multiple waves of scouring and soaking. The joints were washed away, the adhesives dissolved, and the pavements crumbled, creating whirlpools. The once uniform pavement became a chaotic maze of broken and sharp-edged pits, leading to passages into the underground city. Many floating debris and unfortunate lives were swept into these whirlpools, like a giant funnel pulling everything in, sinking into the underground city's currents and never seeing the light of day again. Meanwhile, the various monsters that lived eternally in the underground city poured out through the collapsed gaps, creating new chaos.
Fortunately, the Dragon Singers and the Hidden Dragons, who were seething with anger at the destruction of their "homeland," immediately tore these troublemakers to pieces, preventing the damage from escalating further.
“The water level is dropping,” one watchman observed, holding up his telescope and looking along the projection of the collapsed stone wall toward the distant coast, “but new dangers are forming.”
Indeed, after the tsunami receded, the seawater began to flow back into the ocean, creating a powerful traction that pulled all the floating debris into the deep sea. Those who relied on the debris for survival found themselves being dragged to more dangerous places, forced to desperately cling to any fixed object. The floating debris in the backflow was like clothes in a washing machine, swirling and crashing against everything in its path. Many buildings and bridges that had retained some structural integrity during the direct impact of the tsunami were severed by the backflow, with the large amount of water carrying the debris severing the backbone of the structures and smashing the joints of the bridges. In an instant, a series of loud explosions rang out, and the dust and water vapor spewed from the building debris mingled into clouds of mist, enveloping the entire Deepwater City.
The dragons led by Fang and the Keeper of the Secrets, along with the exhausted griffon riders, continued their aerial rescue efforts, focusing on those trapped in dangerous areas. They had to risk great danger by swooping down to near the water's surface, grabbing survivors, and then quickly rising to avoid the powerful pull of the backflow.
This work was extremely dangerous. Two young dragons had already been swept into the whirlpool because they had descended too low. Fortunately, they were large enough and strong enough to break free, but they were still seriously injured. More than ten griffins that had fallen never resurfaced.
Barnet, the captain of the Griffin Guard, scribbled something on the stone slab with a grim expression, finally crossing out the names of seventeen people from the register in his hand. He didn't speak, nor did he shed a tear. He simply placed the quill pen back in his backpack, took off his sword and set it aside, silently quickened his pace, gently patted his companion whose feathers were already wet, and flew to the next survivor.
The floodwaters blocked the road, forcing Pilgalen and the city guard to focus on calming and organizing the rescued survivors, placing them in relatively safe high ground. His armor still bore the marks of his battle with Baal, but he couldn't rest, for every minute more lives might await rescue. The strong were sent to haul and chop driftwood to provide temporary shelter, while the elderly and children tended to their own, digging out edible plants and fish left behind by the sea, diligently distinguishing between the edible and the inedible. The humble humans...
Chapter 365
Faced with a powerful disaster, one must set aside one's greed and desire for profit in order to retain the last glimmer of hope for survival under the cruel forces of nature.
As the sun set and the light dimmed, the rescue efforts became even more difficult. Fortunately, the city guards had brought specially made lighting equipment provided by the Dragon Merchant, allowing the rescue teams to continue their work. These lights mostly lacked arcane aura; instead, they used strange boxes filled with liquid to generate energy, emitting a dazzling white light that brought a glimmer of light into the darkness.
The dragons' innate dark vision also played a crucial role, allowing them to pinpoint the location of the trapped individuals in the darkness.
The tide continued to recede, revealing the destroyed city. Ruins, scattered debris, and streets ravaged by the flood—all traces of the once-prosperous Waterdeep. Under the moonlight, the shattered city, like a ghost, alongside the bizarrely deceased marine carcasses littering the ruined streets and the torn monsters of the underground city, spoke of the catastrophe. Traces of past human habitation could be found among the ruins: a cracked mirror still hung from a collapsed wall, reflecting the light of Suren; a porcelain doll lay in the entryway, a sinister smile on its face, watching the disaster unfold; a swollen, pale corpse, soaked in seawater, hung from the wall, its hands still clutching decorations nailed to the wall, its wrinkled face bearing the despair of impending death, its eyes wide open in death.
Everywhere there are the dead, everywhere there are ruins, everywhere there is disaster.
"How many people did we rescue tonight?" Piergelen asked, leaning against a rock, too exhausted to stand. His voice was hoarse, and his body swayed.
“Approximately 30,000 people entered shelters before the tsunami struck,” a watchman replied, his expression unusually grave, devoid of any warmth. “Later, it’s estimated that another 10,000 or so were rescued and dispersed to various refuge points, but the exact number…”
Pilgalen fell silent. Forty thousand people—less than half the population of Waterdeep, a mere hundred thousand. Even including those who fled the city after the demon attack, tens of thousands of residents might have perished. Such immense casualties were beyond the capacity of a paladin's conviction, nor could they be averted by a single individual. Even a dark-skinned, valiant warrior like Pilgalen paled at the sight.
Isis and Midnight were placed in a relatively quiet corner, with several healers tending to them. The two girls were in a semi-conscious state due to exhaustion of their magic, their faces as pale as paper, their breathing weak but steady.
Shaving Tooth landed beside Pilgalen, and it wasn't in good condition either; the gray spots on its scales hadn't completely faded, clearly indicating that the damage caused by Baal's death power wasn't so easy to recover from.
"Where did Casalos go?" Razor asked, looking around for the Iron Dragon. The dragon's vision was exceptionally sharp in the darkness, scanning the survivors and rescue team like night vision goggles, trying to find the familiar Iron Dragon.
“He hasn’t returned since he left with Baal,” Piergelen replied, his expression somber. “Perhaps he went after other threats.”
101. The world's self-correcting power?
Casalos doesn't know if there are any other threats.
The three tablets of fate are in the hands of Isis and Midnight, respectively, while the last one is with Baal—even if there are other threats, Casalos doesn't need to pursue them; they will come to him on their own.
Therefore, Casalos is actually in Waterdeep now, but not in the magnificent city submerged by the tsunami on the surface, but in Skullport, waiting for the arrival of the new threat.
The underground world of Waterdeep is like a three-dimensional labyrinth that stretches ever deeper, intricate and interconnected. These underground areas can be roughly divided into three main parts: the city's increasingly sophisticated sewer system, the leyline city that the madman expanded on the ancient ruins, and Skullport.
Skull Harbor, nestled deep within Deepwater Mountain, is a crucial boundary between the surface world and the underground of Waterdeep. It represents the shadowy side of Waterdeep, remaining an integral part of the city yet rarely visited by ordinary citizens. The existence of Skull Harbor is little secret to most Waterdeep residents; it's a treacherous and brutal outpost of civilization. Adventurers can replenish their supplies and rest here. Although few in the surface world understand how to reach this dark side of Waterdeep, all talk of Shadow Harbor borders on rumors or warnings—exactly what its inhabitants want.
Under the threat of the tsunami, except for some "Burning Skulls" whose brains had been burned out, the residents of Skullport had almost all evacuated to the Leyline Maze, leaving only this empty town surrounded by water in the hollow cavity of Deepwater Mountain.
Casalos placed the frozen Baal into Darragon Fortress, burying it under the rubble from the dome that had fallen during the earthquake, as if to hide it away, before turning and leaving. It then secretly transformed into a shadow dragon, using techniques learned from Charson to return to Skullport in the shadows, hiding atop the dome and monitoring all activity within Skullport.
From the moment it received the first Tablet of Fate from Bane, Casalos has never touched these items belonging to Ao, and it won't now. Just as it told Melkor, it has no intention of becoming a god, and therefore has no need for the Tablet of Fate.
From God's perspective, the essence of the turbulent year is Ao's reshuffling of the rules of the Pan-Faelion pantheon. This upheaval, caused by the gods being banished to the mortal realm in saintly form, originated from the Death Tribe's theft of the Tablets of Fate, and will naturally end with the Death Tribe's demise.
When the three deadly gods—Bane, Melkor, and Kirik—have all received their due punishment, and Ao reclaims the Tablets of Fate, the turmoil will finally come to an end.
To some extent, these three gods of death were merely pawns used by Ao as a pretext. But regardless of their life form or identity, those who "returned" the stone tablets would receive corresponding rewards from Ao.
This reward is to replace the gods who perished in the turmoil and become a new member of the gods.
However, Casalos saw this as a reward that, while seemingly wonderful, was actually a terrible trap. Because after the upheaval, the gods would transform from free gods who held the authority and power of their divine offices and looked down upon the mortal world's unbridled actions, into structured gods bound and restricted by their divine duties, serving only those actions and beliefs that conformed to their own divine authority.
There are rumors that Ao's method was actually learned from the Eastern Heavenly Court pantheon of the Karatu continent as a "method of managing the gods," but this claim is currently unverifiable and has nothing to do with Casaloz.
In any case, it absolutely does not want to become such a god. It has so many things to do, and if it is bound by the shackles of its divine office, those things may never be able to be accomplished.
Casalos's thoughts did not affect its actions; it carefully moved its position in the shadows of the dark dome, its gaze fixed on the entrance to Darragon Fortress.
Baal's body and the Tablet of Fate were the bait it had carefully laid. Before taking Baal from Merchant Castle, it deliberately ignored certain suspicious gazes and "quietly" and "unintentionally" revealed to several Watchers its intention to take Baal to Skullport to "hide" him. Now it was up to them to see who would take the bait.
It waited silently, like a lurking predator. As time passed, Casalos couldn't help but recall its conversation with Isis after the Battle of Shadow Valley. In fact, it had already made clear to Isis the truth of the turbulent years and the significance of the Tablet of Fate from that moment on.
"If given the opportunity," Isis said resolutely, her demonic eyes gleaming with an unusual light, "I am willing to, as the Goddess of Magic, spread magic throughout the continent of Faerûn, so that it, like the inherent magic of all things, permeates the very existence and life of every mortal being in Faerûn."
Chapter 366
In production, entertainment, and all other aspects of life, and no longer as a tool for killing others… Rest assured, mentor, I will not reveal these secrets to anyone.”
These words convinced Casalos that Isis was the perfect candidate to hold the Tablet of Fate. Not only did she possess unique magical talent, but more importantly, her understanding of magic was entirely different from those spellcasters who viewed it as power and weapons. In Isis's eyes, magic was a part of life, a force for creation rather than destruction, a bridge for connection rather than isolation.
Perhaps this is the very essence of magic that Mystra, the shepherdess, never understood and could never understand. The goddess of magic always regarded magic as a privilege, making it the boundary between the ordinary and the extraordinary. Isis, on the other hand, wanted to break down this boundary and make magic accessible—more importantly, with her own people on the side, many things would be much easier, wouldn't they?
That is why Casalos entrusted a Tablet of Destiny to Isis for safekeeping.
As for Midnight's piece, in Ao's original script, it belonged to her. Casalos is a lawful iron dragon, not a chaotic red dragon; all its actions have clear motives and intentions. It wouldn't make sense for it to inexplicably disrupt the development of a worldline that isn't directly related to itself when there's no benefit to be gained. Therefore, Midnight was able to always hold onto her own piece of destiny.
Even so, the deviation of the timeline has already changed many things. The Tablets of Fate have increased from two to three, and Cyric, who should have received the other tablet, has been killed. So, to whom will the final tablet ultimately belong? And will it be someone Casarosz can accept?
Baal is now frozen, the stone tablet still on his body, awaiting his fate.
Casalos looked around; the almost deserted Skull Harbor appeared exceptionally silent in the shadows. Only twelve "Burning Skulls" stubbornly guarded the town's altar, their pale skulls burning with inexplicable orange-red flames, seemingly more excited than usual. The earthquake and tsunami had not frightened them; instead, they had ignited their frenzied inspiration, causing them to perform a bizarre dance before the altar… Burning skulls floating in the air were eerie enough.
Time ticked by, and Casalos waited patiently, his thoughts drifting back to the three Tablets of Fate. There was another key character in the timeline who had yet to appear—Musk, the God of Thieves. Perhaps this third Tablet of Fate would bring forth this God of Thieves. After all, stealing was His divine duty, and the Tablets of Fate were currently Faerûn's most precious "treasures." If anything could lure Musk out, it would undoubtedly be the Tablets of Fate…
A faint commotion came from the direction of Darragon Fortress. Casalos instantly tensed its slender body in Shadow Dragon form. Having lost its scaly hide and explosive power after the form change, it felt extremely insecure, and its movements became cautious. It held its breath, blending deeper into the shadows, its gaze piercing through the shadows and locking onto the entrance to the fortress.
A figure silently appeared at the fortress gate, carefully observed the surroundings, and then gently pushed open the door. It was a human male, of medium build, whose movements were agile and light, like a passing night breeze.
Casalos's eyes widened, his dragon pupils suddenly shrinking to a thin line—that face was all too familiar to him.
It's Shirek.
How could Shirek still be alive? It clearly ended Shirek's life twice with its own words!
The first time in Dragon Bay, Casalos sank the Zantir warship carrying Cyrek, then a human wanderer, with his dragon breath. Under the blazing flames, not only his body but also his soul should have been utterly destroyed. But Cyrek returned shortly afterward as the Lost Dragon Death Hunter, and Casalos killed him again in the skies above the Misty Forest—this time, nothing else died under the flames; the increasing layers of fire clearly indicated the Lost Dragon's death… No, wait, what happened after it escaped back to the Underworld? Is it possible that another soul took its place and was burned and killed by the flames?
Casalos's deduction of the pseudo-Laplace's demon made Casalos realize that he had overlooked a possibility at the time.
Can the burning sensation of a blazing flame be transferred?
Now, the fact that Shirek had appeared before it once again almost confirmed its guess.
Cyric returned this time as a humanoid form formed from a mass of shadow, retaining its original human appearance. Even more intriguing was the rusty, broken sword in the hand of this shadowy figure, as if it had just been dug out of the ground—Cassaros immediately recognized what it was from that aura and that form.
The Godslayer Sword, the embodiment of Musk, the god of thieves, during a turbulent year. In the original timeline, Cyric wielded this very sword to ambush and kill Baal from behind.
These two have actually colluded again, like snakes and rats in a den! It seems there's now an answer to how the scorching flames were diverted.
Casalos held his breath, suppressing his shock, and cautiously observed Cyric, refraining from making any rash moves—if Cyric was still the Death Hunter, he would be completely powerless against him in the confined space of Skullport.
The world lines have already shifted so drastically due to its interference, so will Baal still die at the hands of Cyrek and under the weapons of the Thief God Musk? Is this the corrective power of the world lines themselves? An indescribable feeling spread through Casalos's heart.
102. Another god appears.
Cyric cautiously looked around, and after confirming that no one was there, he headed straight for the place in Darragon Fortress where Casalos had buried Baal. He quickly cleared away the rock fragments that buried Baal and soon found the frozen god of tyranny.
“Look who this is,” Cyric said contemptuously, a mocking smile on his face. “The once high and mighty Black King, Baal, the god of fear and tyranny, is now frozen into an ice sculpture.”
Cyric strolled slowly around the frozen Baal, as if admiring a work of art. The humanoid silhouette formed by his shadow looked particularly eerie in the dim underground light.
“Iron Dragon brat,” Cyric suddenly raised his voice to the empty hall, “you schemed and plotted, but in the end you only served to benefit me. How ironic, isn’t it?”
Casalos ignored this childish little trick.
The rusty, broken sword in Cyric's hand suddenly trembled, emitting a languid female voice: "Stop with the tricks, Cyric. There's no ambush here. That iron dragon should be busy rescuing people on the surface of Waterdeep right now. Let's finish our mission."
“Am I right, my master, the hunter of death?” Broken Sword continued, his voice tinged with smugness. “We shouldn’t confront that iron dragon, which possesses the power of Nur and the primordial flames, head-on over some petty personal grudge. That would be pointless. You are a hunter who lurks in the shadows to hunt death, a silent reaper of life, never a warrior who fights on the battlefield… You just need to hide and wait quietly for your opportunity, and that reckless dragon will always deliver it to you.”
Cyril curled his lip: "Yeah, thanks to your brilliant plan." His tone was somewhat perfunctory.
Just then, a clear and rhythmic applause suddenly echoed through Darragon Fortress. Cyric and Broken Sword simultaneously turned alertly towards the source of the sound.
An old man, completely shrouded in a cloak, slowly emerged from the shadows. His face was covered by a wide hood, with only a chin resembling an insect's mouthparts visible.
"Yeg, what are you doing here?" Godslayer Sword screamed, its voice filled with terror and rage.
"It's you!?" Shirek exclaimed, instinctively taking a step back. He seemed to recognize the old man named Yeager as well.
The old man did not answer immediately, but slowly walked to Cyric and the Godslayer Sword, his tone calm.
Chapter 367
But with a hint of sarcasm: "What an interesting question, Musk. I never thought that the mighty God of Thieves would actually possess a broken sword and use the Death Hunter I created to seize the Tablet of Fate."
Casalos suddenly realized: So it was you who did this! It was Jaeger who created the Death Hunter, Cyrek. Since Musk could transfer the flames, it wasn't too surprising that Jaeger, this ancient grim reaper, could save Cyrek's soul from beneath the flames—Cassaros didn't know that it was Melkor who first saved Cyrek.
Upon hearing Jaeger's words, Cyric decisively discarded the Godslayer sword as swiftly as throwing away a piece of red-hot iron. The moment the broken sword hit the ground, it transformed into a barefoot, languid woman—presumably Musk's Saint.
“Ridiculous,” Musk regained his composure, revealing a contemptuous expression and a mocking tone in his voice. “What, you, a servant of God who was personally stripped of your divine office and divine status by the highest God, dare to dream of taking back this Tablet of Destiny?”
“No, no, you’re wrong, Musk,” Jaeger shook his head in denial, his tone calm yet firm. “I’m nothing like you guys who have never understood the true meaning of your divine office and divinity. I’ve always served only one mission: I’m merely an observer and recorder of the world’s slow march toward death. I don’t care about divine power, divine office, or divinity, nor do I care who will replace me as the new Grim Reaper. I only care whether the holder of the power of death represents eternity eroding the end of all life—clearly, Bane, Melkor, and Baal are all incompetent. Although they were once mortals, they have replaced…” "I, however, failed to understand the mission I represented, which ultimately led to this farce. And now, I believe Cyrek can do it perfectly well. So..." Jaeger turned to Cyrek, his voice suddenly becoming solemn and reverent: "Cyrek, Lord of the Black Sun and Death, go and kill Baal, take His Tablet of Fate, and then call upon the name of the supreme god AO to return it to Him. As long as you can represent the death I have recorded and observed, then I—Jaeger—will forever be your most loyal servant. I can be your steward and guide, leading you to familiarity with all things death, until you truly understand death..."
Casalos scoffed at Jaeger's words. This guy was also a fanatical compiler of pseudo-canonical texts and one of the biggest manipulators of the Forgotten Realms conspiracy. In a certain Ryan Games game, Jaeger gained a huge amount of goodwill by offering free resurrections and other perks, silently promoting his pseudo-canonical writings—just like what he was saying to the God of Thieves now, all pure lies.
Bane, Melkor, and Baal replaced Jaeger, dividing his divine power and authority, and became the new Death Triad. This was the reward from the supreme god AO for the three fools killing an ancient evil being, the Primal One. Jaeger was merely an unfortunate soul stripped of his authority for dereliction of duty, and he desperately wanted to reclaim his divine power, authority, and divinity!
But He dared not do so, for He had already personally experienced the power of AO and dared not disobey AO's decision in any way. Even now, with the Tablet of Fate before Him, He dared not use it to plead with AO to return everything that belonged to Him, but merely wanted to support a representative.
Instead of acting as Jaeger had hoped, Cyric stood there with a cold smile, watching the two "gods" standing before him.
Even Musk, the god of thieves, showed no intention of taking the Stone of Destiny from Baal.
“It seems neither of you wants the Tablet of Fate.” Cyric’s shadow-sculpted face was as vivid as flesh and blood: “Bane, Melkor, and Baal, who stole the Tablet of Fate, have always been called fools by you and that iron dragon.”
All the gods were banished to the mortal realm, but from Cormier to Shadowvale, then Tanris, and now Waterdeep, the location of the Tablets of Fate has long been known to everyone, yet no other god has ever come to seize it.
Even the iron dragon never bothered with the Tablet of Fate. It was only helping Isis and Midnight complete the commission from the Goddess of Magic, and didn't even glance at the Tablet of Fate!
Now you want me to steal this thing? Do you think I'm stupid?!
"Hehe... It seems you're not stupid at all." Another soft female voice rang out in the empty Skull Harbor. A woman wearing a black transparent veil and with long black hair flowing like water to the ground slowly walked out of the darkness. "Long time no see, Jaeger... And you, Musk, you even missed AO's summons."
“Shal, what are you doing here?” Musk asked in a low voice. Jaeger remained silent, and the shadows that formed Cyric twisted even more.
“You’ve got one thing wrong, Musk. It’s not that I’m here to do anything.” Shar stretched, revealing everything that should and shouldn’t be revealed. “I’ve been here ever since I was exiled. I should be asking you what you’re doing here—even though I already know why.”
Shar stood there quietly, exuding the unique aura of darkness and solitude of the goddess of the night. Her black veil floated gently with the faint underground air currents, moving around her as if alive, like tendrils soothing her skin.
Jaeger frowned, his insect-like mouthparts trembling slightly beneath his cloak, seemingly displeased by Shar's appearance. "You've been in the dungeon for so long, watching that iron dragon bring Baal here without showing yourself, and now you've come out to disturb us?"
Shar half-closed her eyes, as languid as Musk's saintly demeanor, yet possessing a unique allure in that half-asleep state: "Why should I bother with that iron dragon? It can kill Bane and Melkor, and it can catch Baal like a chicken. Why would I want to provoke it? Do you really want me dead, old friend?"
She walked slowly toward the frozen Baal, her slender fingers gently tracing the ice surface, lingering on the edges of the god's face struggling within the ice, and continued her conversation with Jaeger: "AO demoted us to mortals, not merely to punish the overstepping of the three gods of death."
Cyric's shadow twisted uneasily as he watched Shar's every move warily: "What other secrets do you have? Tell me!"
Musk transformed back into a broken sword, flying back into Cyric's hand, the blade trembling violently: "Don't listen to her nonsense! Shar is the goddess of deception; every word she utters could be a lie!"
“Is that so?” Shar chuckled, her eyes fixed on the broken sword. “Then why are you unwilling to pick up the Tablet of Fate yourself, Musk? Isn’t theft your divine duty? Or are you afraid too?”
Cyric looked down at the broken sword in his hand, a hint of suspicion flashing in his eyes.
“Afraid?” Musk’s voice suddenly rose. “I only know AO’s true intentions! The Tablet of Fate is useless to me; I don’t need it to restore my divine power.”
“Oh, Cyric,” Shar said, ignoring Musk and turning directly to Death Hunter, “Don’t you understand? The banishment of the Three Death Gods was AO’s plan, and the Tablet of Fate was bait He set, which those three fools recklessly bit into. But that only applies to us former gods; for you mortals, the Tablet of Fate is an opportunity to become a god!”
"Become a god?" Cyric's shadow form solidified slightly, clearly showing interest in the term.