“Thank the Seldarine,” Syn groaned as she crested the top of the narrow, steep and treacherous path behind Torryn to stand on a barren, windswept terrace of solid stone. Behind her the cliff fell nearly three hundred feet in a sheer drop and in front of her it rose another fifteen or twenty feet, just as sharply; as if some massive axe had copped a piece from the face of the mountain. On top of the final height a spire of semi-transparent crystal rose another fifty feet, being only about ten feet across at the base, but didn’t tapering much until near the top. The only other apparent feature was the mouth of a huge cave some ten feet high and twenty wide, which was blocked by massive boulders sealing it completely. “That was all for nothing,” Ytharra moaned as she ushered Garuu onto the terrace; the large grey wolf, who spent the entire climb softly whining, now looked to its mistress as if expecting some explanation as to why she’d put him through all that. “No! It can’t have been. Our sword can’t be lost forever!” Darcassan exclaimed, feigning near hysterics at the apparent failure of their quest, rushing to the sealed cave entrance, as if proximity would reveal some hidden opening; then began beating on the boulders blocking the cave with his fists. “If you’re looking for the dragon’s lair… you’ve waisted your time… it’s been sealed for five centuries,” a female voice drew their attention to the opposite side of the terrace where a tall human woman with platinum hair and piercing grey eyes stood as if she materialized from thin air. “Who are you,” Syn demanded in a stunned tone, “and where did you come from?” “I’m Silmythael Frostwind, a sorceress originally from Waterdeep, and I live here,” she replied in a mildly haughty tone. “Who are you… and what’s this about a sword?” “What do you mean you live here?” Torryn inquired, looking around the windswept terrace of barren rock and not seeing any sign of habitation. “Up there,” she responded, pointing to the crystal spire, then added with a note of impatience; “You haven’t identified yourselves… or explained what your being here has to do with a sword.” “I’m Darcassan Ealoeth, leader of this expedition. My family’s moonblade was given to the silver dragon long before she died for safe keeping… I’m here to return it Everlund,” he announced, intending to take control of the conversation. “Oh… so, you’re the leader are you?” she mocked, panning her eyes from him, to Syn, to Torryn; then she followed Torryn’s eye to Ytharra and Garuu, who’d backed himself into the furthest corner of the terrace, where he crouched down, with his head on his paws, and whimpered. Knowing that the wolf would only display such submissive behavior in the presence of what he perceived as a superior predator, Torryn made a confirming nod to Ytharra, then looked back to Silmythael and smirked; “So, the silver dragon died of her wounds after sealing herself in the lair as her final act… or did she?”