Streams of Silver - Chapter Sixteen
May. 23rd, 2020 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i_read_whatSo last time, our adversaries discovered that the heroes were NOT going to be springing their trap, and Alustriel decided to be uselessly cryptic. In this chapter, which starts the third "book" of the novel, we rejoin our heroes as they follow their new lead.
So we rejoin our "heroes" as they find a squat stone tower in a small dell. It's ivy covered and overgrown and stands against the facing of a steep hill, so it's easily over looked by any casual passer-by. "But the Companions of the Hall were not casual in their search."
I do admire Salvatore's commitment to needlessly dramatic declarations. Anyway, this of course, is Herald's Holdfast. Regis, not reading the paragraph above him, asks if they're certain it's the right place. Drizzt did read the paragraph, so he's sure. Fine, fine, he "feels the age of the tower". But I think my explanation is about as contrived.
The tower is old and hadn't been opened in years. Bruenor decides that Wulfgar makes a good can-opener, and has him give a shot of opening it. But when an elf queen promises info, she delivers, and as soon as he starts to put pressure on the door, it gives way easily. There's a cool breeze from the inside that feels otherworldly, and as soon as they get inside, the door shuts behind them. We're told they expected it to be dark and lifeless, but as the door closes, a blue glow fills the room.
I have to give credit to Mr. Salvatore, this is suitably atmospheric. Then this happens:
No words could they speak above the profound awe that enveloped them. They stood in view of the history of the race of Man within a bubble of timelessness that denied their own perspectives of age and belonging. In the blink of an eye they had been propelled into the position of removed observers, their own existence suspended in a different time and place, looking in on the passing of the human race as might a god. Intricate tapestries, their once-vivid colors faded and their distinct lines now blurred, swept the friends into a fantastic collage of images that displayed the tales of the race, each one retelling a story again and again; the same tale, it seemed, but subtly altered each time, to present different principles and varied outcomes.
Weapons and armor from every age lined the walls, beneath the standards and crests of a thousand longforgotten kingdoms. Bas-relief images of heroes and sages, some familiar but most unknown to any but the most studious of scholars, stared down at them from the rafters, their captured visages precise enough to emote the very character of the men they portrayed.
So, basically it's a really swanky museum. And here's the curator:
An ancient man stepped into the room, older than anyone they had ever seen before. His face had retained its fullness, not hollowed with age, but his skin appeared almost wooden in texture, with lines that seemed more like cracks and a rough edge that defied time as stubbornly as an ancient tree. His walk was more a flow of quiet movement, a floating passing that transcended the definition of steps. He came in close to the friends and waited, his arms, obviously thin even under the folds of his long, satiny robe, peacefully dropped to his sides.
For the record, this dude's voice also "sings with serenity".
Anyway, true to her word, Alustriel had sent a message about them. There's a kind of funny moment when Wulfgar catches the reference to Alustriel and gives Drizzt a knowing smile. I'm not sure that bit really fits Wulfgar's pre-established characterization, but the alternatives are hyperfocused Bruenor or Regis the Rapist, so I'll take it. Drizzt actually smiles back.
The curator gives us a bit of a tour, with a variation of the whole "no, humans aren't really boring" spiel that D&D likes to give us sometimes:
"This is the Chamber of Man," Old Night proclaimed. "The largest in the Holdfast, except for the library, of course." He noticed Bruenor's disgruntled scowl. "The tradition of your race runs deep, good dwarf, and deeper yet does the elves'," he explained. "But crises in history are more often measured in generations than in centuries. The short-lived humans might have toppled a thousand kingdoms and built a thousand more in the few centuries that a single dwarven king would rule his people in peace." "No patience!" Bruenor huffed, apparently appeased. "Agreed," laughed Old Night. "But come now, let us dine. We have much to do this night."
I actually like playing humans in D&D sometimes, but really, you do have to do a lot to sell them as being even remotely as interesting as dwarves, elves, or halflings on a whole.
They're led through hallways that show chambers for each of the goodly races. I find that kind of interesting, given that Drizzt is supposed to be a demonstration that not all drow are awful. Why don't our characters ever consider the possibility of a good troll or orc? It seems about as unlikely.
Though admittedly far less stylish.
To be fair, there are even some rooms for the orcs, goblins and giants. Still though, it's interesting to consider what exactly makes a race "goodly". I mean, if you think about it, drow are just a subset of elves. Elves are generally "goodly". Are there also "goodly" subsets of goblins? (It wouldn't surprise me if they turned up somewhere.)
So they stop at a big table, "its ancient wood as hard as mountain stone". There are also a shit ton of runes, many in tongues long lost to the world, that even Old Night could not remember. There's food too, which also gives the impression of the past: it's delicious but with a different flavor than they'd ever had before, and wine that surpasses even the elves. Swanky.
So the dude entertains them with stories of ancient heroes and events, and after the meal says that a time will come when he'll entertain again, a millennium from now, and one of the tales he tells will be about the Companions of the Hall.
Our heroes are moved by this honor, as Old Night takes them to the greatest library in all the North. Conveniently, Old Night has done the research for them. He probably didn't want them getting their muddy mitts on the books. He's already extracted the only book that has any reference to Mithril Hall.
The book is written in High Dwarven, but Bruenor can read it. The reference is cryptic, referencing an ally named Settlestone, which was a part of the trade route for mithril goods. Sadly, when the mithril flow ceased, Settlestone didn't survive.
Settlestone itself is a clue. There's no reference to it anywhere else, but they've realized from the text that, unlike most dwarf towns, Settlestone is above ground. And that means there are two possibilities that Old Night knows about. Bruenor is frustrated: this means they're very close.
Drizzt produces Alustriel's elixir. I thought they'd drag that out a bit longer, but nope. Bruenor downs it, and starts flashing back to the fall of the hall, calling out for his father. Aw. Old Night explains the potion, a bit late: it's something that long lived races, particularly elves, use to seek memories of their past. Usually pleasant memories, though, and Bruenor's are definitely not.
They bring Bruenor to the chamber of the Dwarves, so he can be surrounded by the images of his heroes and deities. He keeps raving and grieving, but unfortunately, there's no direction to it.
Drizzt has an idea though:
"I am a friend," he whispered to Bruenor. "Come at the news of the falling of the hall! My allies await! Vengeance will be ours, mighty dwarf of Clan Battlehammer! Show us the way so that we might restore the glories of the hall!"
"Secret," Bruenor gasped, on the edge of consciousness.
Drizzt pressed harder. "Time is short! The darkness is falling!" he shouted. "The way, dwarf, we must know the way!"
Bruenor mumbled some inaudible sounds and all the friends gasped in the knowledge that the drow had broken through the final mental barrier that hindered Bruenor from finding the hall.
"Louder!" Drizzt insisted.
"Fourthpeak!" Bruenor screamed back. "Up the high run and into Keeper's Dale!"
Wow. I mean, it worked. But Jesus, this seems like SUCH a dick move. But it provides enough information for Old Night to figure out where Settlestone would be: the southernmost peak on the southernmost spur of the Spine of the World, just north of Nesme and the Evermoors. There is a deserted stone city there called "the Ruins". At one point, it was commonly known as Dwarvendarrows, when the bearded race lived there.
That's conveniently close! Though I suppose the dwarves likely would have settled at the nearest point that was safe.
Anyway, they think Settlestone might have been basically code to keep knowledge of the mithril trove safe. Which makes sense, I suppose. Though really, would dwarves have named their OWN town "Dwarvendarrow."
Anyway, Old Night urges them to go to Settlestone quickly, before the potion wears off, because Bruenor might be able to retrace his steps. Dragging a man in the midst of a traumatic flashback into the fucking mountains seems kind of cruel to me, but there you go.
So we learn Alustriel is right, Settlestone is to the west, about two days march, and the chapter ends here.
So we rejoin our "heroes" as they find a squat stone tower in a small dell. It's ivy covered and overgrown and stands against the facing of a steep hill, so it's easily over looked by any casual passer-by. "But the Companions of the Hall were not casual in their search."
I do admire Salvatore's commitment to needlessly dramatic declarations. Anyway, this of course, is Herald's Holdfast. Regis, not reading the paragraph above him, asks if they're certain it's the right place. Drizzt did read the paragraph, so he's sure. Fine, fine, he "feels the age of the tower". But I think my explanation is about as contrived.
The tower is old and hadn't been opened in years. Bruenor decides that Wulfgar makes a good can-opener, and has him give a shot of opening it. But when an elf queen promises info, she delivers, and as soon as he starts to put pressure on the door, it gives way easily. There's a cool breeze from the inside that feels otherworldly, and as soon as they get inside, the door shuts behind them. We're told they expected it to be dark and lifeless, but as the door closes, a blue glow fills the room.
I have to give credit to Mr. Salvatore, this is suitably atmospheric. Then this happens:
No words could they speak above the profound awe that enveloped them. They stood in view of the history of the race of Man within a bubble of timelessness that denied their own perspectives of age and belonging. In the blink of an eye they had been propelled into the position of removed observers, their own existence suspended in a different time and place, looking in on the passing of the human race as might a god. Intricate tapestries, their once-vivid colors faded and their distinct lines now blurred, swept the friends into a fantastic collage of images that displayed the tales of the race, each one retelling a story again and again; the same tale, it seemed, but subtly altered each time, to present different principles and varied outcomes.
Weapons and armor from every age lined the walls, beneath the standards and crests of a thousand longforgotten kingdoms. Bas-relief images of heroes and sages, some familiar but most unknown to any but the most studious of scholars, stared down at them from the rafters, their captured visages precise enough to emote the very character of the men they portrayed.
So, basically it's a really swanky museum. And here's the curator:
An ancient man stepped into the room, older than anyone they had ever seen before. His face had retained its fullness, not hollowed with age, but his skin appeared almost wooden in texture, with lines that seemed more like cracks and a rough edge that defied time as stubbornly as an ancient tree. His walk was more a flow of quiet movement, a floating passing that transcended the definition of steps. He came in close to the friends and waited, his arms, obviously thin even under the folds of his long, satiny robe, peacefully dropped to his sides.
For the record, this dude's voice also "sings with serenity".
Anyway, true to her word, Alustriel had sent a message about them. There's a kind of funny moment when Wulfgar catches the reference to Alustriel and gives Drizzt a knowing smile. I'm not sure that bit really fits Wulfgar's pre-established characterization, but the alternatives are hyperfocused Bruenor or Regis the Rapist, so I'll take it. Drizzt actually smiles back.
The curator gives us a bit of a tour, with a variation of the whole "no, humans aren't really boring" spiel that D&D likes to give us sometimes:
"This is the Chamber of Man," Old Night proclaimed. "The largest in the Holdfast, except for the library, of course." He noticed Bruenor's disgruntled scowl. "The tradition of your race runs deep, good dwarf, and deeper yet does the elves'," he explained. "But crises in history are more often measured in generations than in centuries. The short-lived humans might have toppled a thousand kingdoms and built a thousand more in the few centuries that a single dwarven king would rule his people in peace." "No patience!" Bruenor huffed, apparently appeased. "Agreed," laughed Old Night. "But come now, let us dine. We have much to do this night."
I actually like playing humans in D&D sometimes, but really, you do have to do a lot to sell them as being even remotely as interesting as dwarves, elves, or halflings on a whole.
They're led through hallways that show chambers for each of the goodly races. I find that kind of interesting, given that Drizzt is supposed to be a demonstration that not all drow are awful. Why don't our characters ever consider the possibility of a good troll or orc? It seems about as unlikely.
Though admittedly far less stylish.
To be fair, there are even some rooms for the orcs, goblins and giants. Still though, it's interesting to consider what exactly makes a race "goodly". I mean, if you think about it, drow are just a subset of elves. Elves are generally "goodly". Are there also "goodly" subsets of goblins? (It wouldn't surprise me if they turned up somewhere.)
So they stop at a big table, "its ancient wood as hard as mountain stone". There are also a shit ton of runes, many in tongues long lost to the world, that even Old Night could not remember. There's food too, which also gives the impression of the past: it's delicious but with a different flavor than they'd ever had before, and wine that surpasses even the elves. Swanky.
So the dude entertains them with stories of ancient heroes and events, and after the meal says that a time will come when he'll entertain again, a millennium from now, and one of the tales he tells will be about the Companions of the Hall.
Our heroes are moved by this honor, as Old Night takes them to the greatest library in all the North. Conveniently, Old Night has done the research for them. He probably didn't want them getting their muddy mitts on the books. He's already extracted the only book that has any reference to Mithril Hall.
The book is written in High Dwarven, but Bruenor can read it. The reference is cryptic, referencing an ally named Settlestone, which was a part of the trade route for mithril goods. Sadly, when the mithril flow ceased, Settlestone didn't survive.
Settlestone itself is a clue. There's no reference to it anywhere else, but they've realized from the text that, unlike most dwarf towns, Settlestone is above ground. And that means there are two possibilities that Old Night knows about. Bruenor is frustrated: this means they're very close.
Drizzt produces Alustriel's elixir. I thought they'd drag that out a bit longer, but nope. Bruenor downs it, and starts flashing back to the fall of the hall, calling out for his father. Aw. Old Night explains the potion, a bit late: it's something that long lived races, particularly elves, use to seek memories of their past. Usually pleasant memories, though, and Bruenor's are definitely not.
They bring Bruenor to the chamber of the Dwarves, so he can be surrounded by the images of his heroes and deities. He keeps raving and grieving, but unfortunately, there's no direction to it.
Drizzt has an idea though:
"I am a friend," he whispered to Bruenor. "Come at the news of the falling of the hall! My allies await! Vengeance will be ours, mighty dwarf of Clan Battlehammer! Show us the way so that we might restore the glories of the hall!"
"Secret," Bruenor gasped, on the edge of consciousness.
Drizzt pressed harder. "Time is short! The darkness is falling!" he shouted. "The way, dwarf, we must know the way!"
Bruenor mumbled some inaudible sounds and all the friends gasped in the knowledge that the drow had broken through the final mental barrier that hindered Bruenor from finding the hall.
"Louder!" Drizzt insisted.
"Fourthpeak!" Bruenor screamed back. "Up the high run and into Keeper's Dale!"
Wow. I mean, it worked. But Jesus, this seems like SUCH a dick move. But it provides enough information for Old Night to figure out where Settlestone would be: the southernmost peak on the southernmost spur of the Spine of the World, just north of Nesme and the Evermoors. There is a deserted stone city there called "the Ruins". At one point, it was commonly known as Dwarvendarrows, when the bearded race lived there.
That's conveniently close! Though I suppose the dwarves likely would have settled at the nearest point that was safe.
Anyway, they think Settlestone might have been basically code to keep knowledge of the mithril trove safe. Which makes sense, I suppose. Though really, would dwarves have named their OWN town "Dwarvendarrow."
Anyway, Old Night urges them to go to Settlestone quickly, before the potion wears off, because Bruenor might be able to retrace his steps. Dragging a man in the midst of a traumatic flashback into the fucking mountains seems kind of cruel to me, but there you go.
So we learn Alustriel is right, Settlestone is to the west, about two days march, and the chapter ends here.