((Currently, all happenings within the Council Chambers of Tarkuul are unknown to all but the council members; for now, please hold off on posting until the plot progresses further unless you get my approval))


It all began with a simple golem, the Living City had asked the Council of Tarkuul to look into methods for their upgrade, since it had been hundreds of years since any attention was given to them. They traveled between the centers for arcane study on Amia, in search for a clue as to what they might be able to use to carry out the will of the Living City. By sheer happenstance, they learned of a book that might suit their needs, but, even the Loremasters guild did not know the whereabouts of the tome in question; it having been stolen nearly many years prior, only that the name of the person who stole the tome began with the letter "A" and that he was a student of Necromancy at Mystra's Tower at the time of the theft.

It was a quandary that needed an answer, and the only name the Tarkuulian Necromancers could think of was Ayreon. Ayreon, a Lich who's name began with an "A". A leap of faith found the Tarkuulians on their way to the Electric Castle, as all things fit the extremely limited information they had been given.

They arrived to find most of the castle empty, and strangely silent. Upon entering the foyer, in total darkness, a servant of Ayreon's came forward and mentioned something about the power being lost. The gateways of the three hallways had changed, and even after much testing, the Tarkuulians could not find the proper gateway.

They thus retreated to the foyer, and after several minutes of discussion, decided to attempt to charge the strange devices in an attempt to restore the lighting. Together they incanted a chain lightning spell into one of the three devices they chose; the lighting flashed on with vigor, restoring the proper colors to the gateways, finally allowing them to pass into Ayreon's throne room.

"YOU BLOODY FOOLS, WORK FASTER!" Ayreon bellowed as they approached, hundreds of candles and other sources of light scattered about his throne. "Oh, you again, what is it this time?"

"We come seeking a tome, the Mortis Incantus" they told him, a name he recognized instantly. Deep within him, a long forgotten feeling of twisted pleasure arose, finally he could get rid of the tome that so long toiled his mind.

"Ahh, yes, I gave it to Bones, I hope the fool hasn't sold it. Come, I will take you to him." Ayreon gestured to the mirror behind his throne, after a short walk, and a fine discussion about the plane of mirrors and the spells behind his little maze, they arrived at the castle shop. "BONES! How much gold have you taken in this quarter?!?"

"Ayreon, I... I ah... Only 300,000 gold pieces, sir." Bones replied sheepishly, clearly fearful of the Lich's wrath.

"WHAT!!! No bleaching for your bones this year! The Mortis Incantus, where is it? You better not have sold it, you damned fool." Bones gestured to the book, and Ayreon seemingly forgot the skeleton. The Tarkuulians surrounded the tome.

"Sadly many of the pages have faded. You will require an evoker of some power to restore them," He paused, "Oh, just one request. The price you pay if you take this book is to convince the Loremasters it never existed. Oh, and don't read from page two-hundred and thirty-one." With that and a large flash of electricity, the lich vanished, leaving the Tarkuulians standing in the small, dusty shop.



After nearly two weeks the Living City requested the council's presence once again. This time, it willed them to find an evoker and restore the lost pages. The council quickly surmised that no native of Amia was fit for the task, but acted quickly to intercept the man the Living City had informed them of. His ship had passed within range of the isle's perception, and it had known immediately he was the key to unlocking the book's blank pages.

The council once again set out, eventually finding the man sitting on a bench in Wharftown. A deal was struck over tea, and he agreed to return to Tarkuul and look at the tome. Deep within the sunken library he worked, the council members standing anxiously behind him, slowly the pages were turned, writings and drawings appearing upon their faces. The spell was completed with a massive discharge of energy, as page two-hundred and thirty-one became visible at last, a twisting mass of golden lines and circles, connected at seemingly random points upon the page. None present could even begin to identify what it was, let alone the purpose it served.



Another few weeks passed, and again, the Living City requested the council's presence. So, one by one they assembled in the council chambers, taking their seats, waiting for the voice to speak.

"The Living City feels that all studies must be made secondary to unlocking the secrets of the page. The Living City requests the council investigate a method for unlocking these secrets immediately." The council members obeyed, faithful to the Living City's request, and once again found themselves headed to the Loremasters guild.

"...Quite simply, if it is not in our archive, it does not exist... The tome you speak of was omitted from the record as it has likely been destroyed. Perhaps though if you have a sample of the writing you wish identified, I can be of help, yes?" the Loremaster said, they passed her a parchment with a drawn copy of the book's glyph, "Ahh... This is not a language, but a glyph. I've never seen something like this before, it clearly is not of Prime. I would suggest you go to a site of great magical potential and try divination."

Divination, the word echoed in their minds, as most necromancers who's focus is complete forsake the art of divination in their studies, perhaps a cleric... The Tarkuulians looked between each other and set back for Tarkuul.

After scrying and casting, the council found themselves in a strange setting, a mine shaft in the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus, filled with rejected golems of all sort, locked in an eternal battle for supremacy. They fought their way from the shaft into the ruins of the gear seen by their cleric. Stepping out onto the surface of the massive gear, they looked up to see the endless ocean of cogs, ever turning in the vastness of Mechanus.

After becoming accustomed to ever turning landscape, the proceeded into the only building in the ruins that still was stable enough to enter. Golems stood sentry, the markings recognizable as Netheres in origin, the delved deep into the ruin, passing shelves of tomes, what once must have been a collection to rival both that of Mystra's Tower and Tarkuul itself, until they entered the main chamber.

The thing they had sought sat directly in the middle of the room, but suddenly one of the golems came to life, activating the others. Sheer luck was on the side of the Tarkuulians though, as the golems began attacking no only them but each other. Once the last was destroyed, they moved in to claim their prize: The Eye of Nirvana.

"We must return to the Living City..."



The council members assembled in their chambers once again, the book lay on the floor in the middle of the circle of high backed thrones. As everyone has seated, the voice of Tarkuul filled the room.

"The Living City's will is once again completed," it echoed throughout the stone room, "The Living City feels further study requires the book be activated. Does the Council agree?"

The assembly put it to a vote, each saying their thoughts then casting a vote. Eventually the chairman spoke: "Let it be recorded with my vote, that it is unanimous, the Council does agree with the Living City. Let the page be read, and the pursuit of knowledge be furthered." Anticipation overtook the room as quickly as a canyon fills in a flash flood.

"The Living City asks you place the artifact upon the page, chairman." As the artifact came closer to the book, the glyph upon the page started to faintly glow, brighter and brighter until the instant it contacted the page. At that moment, the room filled with a shrill laughter, the book began to rise off the floor, the glyph itself unfolding out of the page into a three dimensional representation. As it grew in size, tremors gently began to be felt in the floor that quickly spread to the foundations of the Tower of the Damned, then outward to the isle, and even Amia itself.

The council members held onto their chairs for stability, as the room shook violently. The glyph reached full size and flashed suddenly. A beacon of intensely bright white light reached up into the heavens, centered directly over the Tower of the Damned. A strange, mechanical voice filled the council chambers.

"The board is set, the pieces are in motion, a fortnight comes destruction." The words echoed throughout the chamber, resounding into the rest of the tower and the castle, carried through the stone walls. As the last trace of the voice died out, the book lifted higher into the air, slammed shut and exploded as if it were made of crystal. Shards fell upon the floor of the room, littering the rug with what appeared to be mythal fragments. The glyph in the council chamber then slowly faded, appearing above the tower's battlements, as if in waiting.

The room was silent, none could comprehend what had happened, even the Living City did not speak. Minutes later, in a strange display, the voice of Tarkuul seemed almost to be laughing, "Only time will tell the future, chairman. The Living City has no explanation of what has gone on here, only that time will tell."

The Tower of the Damned was silent, not a living soul present, the mysterious glyph still hovered above, the beacon of light stretched up into the heavens and no one had an explanation. The Tarkuul council had said they were merely making a lighthouse, due to the amount of naval traffic around the city island.

As suddenly as the glyph had appeared just mere days ago, it began to move. The spirals and circles began slowly spinning, generating a faint blue light. The entire object began a journey that none on Tarkuul had ordered, indeed it was acting under its own power.

Hours later, it made landfall, just north of Wharftown, hovering nearly one hundred feet over the ground, humming softly as it made the journey eastward. The fisherman look up, some curious, some fearful; why was there a huge object hovering over their town, and where was it going? The entire isle of Amia was about to find out.

The glyph began to change colors as it approached its target: Mystra’s Tower, haven for the studies of the Weave on Amia. As slowly as the sands in an hour glass, it shifted from blue to red, giving no indication as to what was about to happen. It finally came to rest directly over the tower, almost a bloody crimson in color. With an intensely bright flash of light and a boom as loud as twenty lightning strikes, it flashed back blue, dropping twelve metal objects down from the center section. The spheres plummeted to the ground, sitting idly for a moment before they too started to hum.

The metal capsules soon expanded into fully formed, and very hostile golems. The blast had attracted the attention of many though, and adventurers from all over the northern half of the isle made their way to the Tower, unsure of what lay ahead of them, only with the knowledge that something had gone terribly wrong.

The mages of the Tower hastily herded everyone outside into the safety of the tower itself and barred the doors. Thoramind caught a glimpse of one of the metal monstrosities just as the doors were closed.

”Those…. Those are… Netherese markings!” he stammered, clearly shocked. ”Something is terribly wrong… Those golems should not exist!”

A short while later, the adventurers arrived, shocked at what they saw. They golems moved to attack, their enormous metal hulks moving with frightening speed, they engaged. The adventurers held their ground though, and fought well, but just as the first golem was about to fall, the glyph flashed red quickly and the entire group of golems collapsed into a heap of rubble. Perplexed, they ran to the tower just as the mages were unbarring the doors.

Thoramind did his best to explain what he knew, but that was little. He told them how the markings on the golems were Netherese and that the golems could not have been of Prime. There were many questions, and he had few answers. He recalled something of a book, and a group from Tarkuul that had been there some weeks before seeking it, but it had been stolen nearly six hundred years ago. The Tarkuulians had little chance of actually finding it, he though, even the Loremasters Guild didn’t know it’s whereabouts, how would the Tarkuulians even begin to know where to look?


All the while, the glyph had started to move south. The adventurers thanked Thoramind for his wisdoms and left, headed out in an attempt to predict the next place the glyph was going to strike. Some went to Bendir Dale, some to Cordor, some to the Grove and many other places that lay in the glyph’s path.

It approached Cordor, beginning to change color once again from blue to red, but just as it passed over the city wall, it changed course drastically, moving now directly for the Grove. The people in Cordor looked up in awe as the massive object nearly came over the city, drawing the more curious folk out to follow it on its new course.

It again came to rest, turning a vibrant bloody crimson just before the explosion happened. Twelve more metal capsules fell through the forest, directly into the Oakmist Vale. Again they opened into the Netherese Golems and began to attack, but the Grove was ready this time, word having come from Mystra’s to be prepared. They fought against the golems, but this time the glyph did not destroy them, it let them fight on until the last. Once the golems were reduced to rubble, the glyph, back to its dim blue color, began moving again, this time due west.

Many of the adventurers now made haste for other points upon the isle, trying to predict where it would move next. The glyph continued to the coast of the Trackless Sea, still headed west. It was clear now what the next target was: Tarkuul.


The Living City had received word though of the happenings on Amia, and it had no intention of allowing the same to happen once more. The entire isle of Tarkuul began to rumble gently, waves crashing against the cliffs, something was stirring beneath the surface of the island.

The Living City had taken control over its Bone Dragon, the animated remains of Arcanos. The huge form rose into the sky on boney wings, with an uncanny haste that only undeath can bring. The rest of the undead on Tarkuul seemed to stop, as if the Living City had to expend most of its concentration to control the dragon. None the less, Arcanos soared high and fast towards Amia, and the glyph. Tarkuul had timed its attack well, just as the glyph passed over out of the shoals, Arcanos attacked in full force, grabbing the object in immense, boney claws letting out a fearsome roar. The pair, now entwined, fell towards the calm sapphire waters, powered by the strong wings of the dragon. Just as they were about to hit, Arcanos released the glyph with a final push, but neither hit the water.

The glyph turned bright blue and ascended quickly back to altitude. Arcanos came around for another attack, as the pair moved quickly toward Tarkuul now, covering nearly five leagues in only a few minutes. Arcanos swooped in, but this time, the glyph seemed prepared for the attack, as the Bone Dragon flew directly though the core of the object and was launched towards Tarkuul. The bones began to come apart, turning to dust as they hit the water, the potent magics Tarkuul had instilled in them taking hold.

The glyph returned to its normal speed, still on course for the beacon of light that stood like a sentry over the Tower of the Damned. The adventures who had now protected Mystra’s Tower and the Grove quickly made their way to Wharftown, where a small brig had been hastily requisitioned. The colors of Kohlingen, where the ship had made way from were hoisted and they quickly made way on board.

The ship left Wharftown Harbor, under power of druid controlled winds. All too quickly there were spotted though, a scout from the naval forces that guarded Tarkuul had found them. The Skymage laughed to himself as he saw them waving, just before he turned his gryphon and made for his flagship to report.

The ships anchored just off of Tarkuul’s small coast made ready for combat. The Living City had told the fleet’s commander it willed them sail out and meet the glyph before it could reach the city itself. Cannons were loaded, colors hoisted, and sails unfurled. The sleek warships were underway to meet the foe. Perhaps where the dragon had failed, cannon fire would succeed.

The ships formed a battle line, turning so all could fire full broadside against their target, and with a single order, the cannonade began. The sounds of battle echoed across the waters, reaching the far shores of Amia and Tarkuul, as well as the small brig that still raced out from Wharftown. The cannons had little effect though, the massive construction was unthwarted, continuing its slow advance to Tarkuul. The ships had orders to retreat if that was the case, no need waste time or expense if it was not effective. The flagship signaled retreat, and the fleet obeyed, stowing their guns and sailing out of the glyph’s path.

The Commodore looked about the horizon through his looking glass, scanning for any other threats that might be coming with the glyph. The Skymage landed on the forecastle just as he spotted the brig.

”Sir, warship, bearing two-one-zero, probably four leagues from here and closing fast. Looks as if she is flying the colors of Kohlingen,” the Skymage reported.

”Kohlingen?!?” the Commodore exclaimed, ”Left full, run out the guns! Prepare for engagement.” The massive ship of the line came about, gunwells opening on either side of the massive but elegant ship-of-the-line. The warship was more than a match for anything normally on these waters, and her commander knew it.

”Heave to!” the Commodore yelled as his ship came along side. The brig had hoisted a white flag with his approach, knowing full well that it was no match for a warship of this size. Discussion ensued about the brig and her purpose. The adventurers explained they only meant to help defend the Tower on Tarkuul.

”You think you will have better luck in that pathetic ship? Be my guest. Approach Tarkuul, though, and I will be forced to sink you.” the Commodore said finally. He was not going to fail his commanders in his duties, they told him protect Tarkuul at all costs, and he was not going to risk allowing a ship full of what could very well be Defenders into the city’s waters.

All the while, the glyph drew closer to Tarkuul, and five leagues off of the cliffs it began to shift color again. Many had assembled on the eastern edge of the small island now, waiting. A shadow mage found one of the councilmen of the city amongst the crowd.

”Ahh… Councilmember-Chosen, the Living City wishes you to take command of the undead guard and marshal it in its defense. Much effort was expended upon the part of the Living City to control the dragon, and it feels the ingenuity of humans might aid in its defense.” the Shadow Mage said.

”I… er… Of course. The skeletons will assemble here, archers in the back,” the Councilman stated quickly. The Living City deployed its forces as such, waiting for the glyph to again strike. And strike it would. It took position over the Tower of the Damned, more vibrantly crimson now than ever before. Another explosion, and more golems rained down. The councilman quietly slipped from the battle to the council chambers.

“Councilman-Chosen,” the Voice of Tarkuul greeted him as he entered, clearly distracted coordinating the battle outside.

”Living City, I would like to make an emergency request: Lower the mythallar barrier and unleash the full force of Tarkuul.”

”The Living City agrees. The barrier will be lowered. The Living City must protect the knowledge it holds.” The entire isle of Tarkuul faintly glowed blue as the barrier that protected it vanished. The council chamber was filled with a strange groaning sound and the phantoms, normally passive, stepped forward.



”The Council will assemble!” one of the Phantoms said, in a deep, commanding voice.

”M’Lord” said another, this time sounding old and wizened. Each of them moved in turn to stand next to a throne.

”Boneweaver, give me a report. What is happening?”

”The enclave is under attack, m’lord. It appears to be Netherese forces,” replied a Phantom that must have been Boneweaver.

”Hmm… Lady Deathwhisper, go now, take your forces and engage the enemy where ever you find them..”

”Of course, Archmage. Talania must be protected! My wraiths shall tear the enemy asunder.” said a gentle female voice. Deathwhisper vanished shortly after.

”Keeper Mornas, marshal the bone golems from the crypts, meet the enemy here on the isle.”

”As my lord commands” an old woman’s voice replied. Mornas vanished from the chamber.

”Why would the Netherese attack again? “

”I do not know, Benwith”

”Perhaps the still think we have the Nether scrolls?”

”Pah! Surely they should know we don’t have them by now, Mherun,” replied the Phantom labeled as Benwith.

”Whatever the case, the enclave must be defended.”

”Archmage, there is a ship headed away from the isle.”

”Hmm… Castilion, inform Lady Deathwhisper to pursue that ship. They are either enemies or traitors, either case they are to be hunted down. And assemble your Death Knights!”

”As you command, m’lord.” replied a gruff voice. The Phantom vanished.

”Ahh, it seems the last of the Netherese forces on the isle have fallen,” the Phantom called Mherun stated after a short time.

”Excellent, recall our forces….” The voice trailed off as the groaning sound filled the chamber once more.



The adventurers’ brig sailed quickly away from Tarkuul, clearly seeing they were outmatched and outgunned. Blue light illuminated their sails for a moment, and the mythallar barrier could be heard collapsing behind the ship some distance. Not more than a few minutes later and their ship was being pursued by a flight of wraiths, innumerous, nearly blocking all view of Tarkuul itself, a Phantom at their head, leading the charge. Clearly something was wrong, the undead of Tarkuul were said not able to leave the city, but a massive host was closing fast upon them.

Just as suddenly as the Tarkuulian armies had appeared, though, they vanished, the blue light faded. The Netherese golems lay as rubble upon the isle’s sands and the glyph stopped moving over the tower…

"Archmagus, there is a massive accumulation of weave energy over the tower."

The council chamber was very quiet, the Chairman sat in his throne, silently watching the events unfold. The Living City had summoned him just before it gave control over to the Aspects.

"M'Lord, I recommend a full evacuation of the city's living population," the craven old wizard's voice, known as Mherun said slowly.

"I concur, the risk to the living is too great, they must be evacuated immediately," the phantom addressed as Benwith stated.

There was a long pause as one of the phantoms paced the middle of the room, "Very well..." it turned to the Chairman, before looking back to the phantom that had first spoken, "Summon your ships, have everyone evacuated to them with all due haste. Ensure no living soul is left behind."

The chairman looked between the phantoms, remaining quietly in his throne.

"And be sure the warships are given strict orders to allow nothing to approach the refugees!"

Outside, people franticly rushed towards the edge of the isle, the ships moving in slowly from the Trackless sea. The whole island was covered in a strange blue-white light. The long dormant glyph above the tower had begun moving again, and was the source of the light.

The phantom known only as the Archmage stopped and lowered its hooded head, "I never thought the day would come I would have to give this order..." It clenched a fist. "Keeper, seal the council and the chairman in the Crypts. Our battle is lost. Boneweaver, recall the Castilion, return his forces to the crypts. We must be ready... It trailed off.

The phantom identified as Mornas stepped forward and began uttering a strange incantation, the room began to fade as the shift occured. The chairman gripped the arms of the throne he sat upon, but even it slowly faded to nothingness. He found himself sitting on a cold, stone floor, in a room lit only by the pyres on the raised central dais. A book sat against a wall, infront of a raised sarcophagus, its pages slowly filling with an arcane script, then turning to a blank page and repeating the process. Another sarcophagus rested on the dais, encircled by six others. He helped himself up, using his staff for support. A phantom stepped infront of him.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but these sights are not for thine eyes... Not yet..." it waved a hand infront of his face and everything the chairman knew and sensed stopped.

Above, the glyph was moving faster than ever before, the blue-white light so intense now it was as bright as a star. The ships, flanked by their escort moved frantically away from the isle. The air was filled with a strange hum that vibrated the entire isle, waves crashed against its sides.

Suddenly it all stopped. The light grew more intense, and the explosion happened. A massive ball of light and positive energy coursed across the tiny isle, so powerful that the Tower of the Damned came crashing down into the sea. The stones of the castle melted under the heat, the sand turned to glass.

When the air cleared, the glyph was gone; so too gone was Tarkuul's surface.

"M'Lord Archmage, scouts report the surface has been utterly destroyed. The glyph detonated, as expected. There was no damaged to the Mythallar or the enclave itself."

The Archmage nodded over his shoulder then turned back to look at the chairman, "I believe you all have work to do. This enclave will never fall, so long as there are believers in its principals." The phantom rested a hand on the chairman's shoulder, still frozen where Mornas had left him. "Yes... My enclave will live on..." The phantom walked over to the tome, "And I am truly indebted to you," it rested its hand on the sarcophagus behind the tome, "Immastus..."

The chairman found himself later in his throne, in the council chambers. He looked about the room. Something was different. He thought long as he looked.

"The doors," he said quietly. There were two doors now where there had only been one before...