"Well Met: The Realms I Have Seen"

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Spider Jones
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"Well Met: The Realms I Have Seen"

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An excellent overview of what makes the Realms The Realms, written by the esteemed Alaundo of Candlekeep. Originally published in the 1996 Forgotten Realms Conspectus.
Well met! Know, O Reader, that I am Alaundo of Candlekeep. It has been given to me to see glimpses of the future, moments of the measureless time that lie ahead for this world of Toril, called by some the Forgotten Realms. I sit here among halls upon halls and chambers upon chambers crammed with books -- books that capture something of our great past. All too often, folk want to know where the bones of great kings or legendary dragons lie...or more precisely where their treasure may be found, if the truth be told. There are a few questers, however, whose eyes hold the light of wonder, and who want to know more of this vast, glorious, historied world...

And to them I speak first of the shining past -- of the glory that was Netheril. These Realms were once home to folk whose mighty magic could change the very sky, trees, and land around us, humans who would seem as gods to us if they walked the world today: the sorcerer-kings of Netheril.

They were the first humans to rise to power from the Dawn Days when men were devoured like cattle by dragons who swooped down from the skies, ruling all the Realms -- and spending their days fighting with each other like great cats for dominion over the lands. The Netherese tamed these awesome dragons, crafted castles that flew high in the air, and created glowing gates that took the brave, the curious -- and the foolhardy -- with but a step into other, stranger worlds that sages call the planes of existence. Many mighty and terrible things the sorcerer-kings did, created, and became, and in time grew proud in their power, and decadent. In the end they were swept away by their folly and the spells of the evil creatures called the Phaerimm.

Only fragments of the splendor that was their lost sorceries remain to us now -- but despite the lack of that world-taming magic (or, some say, because of it) humankind has flourished down the years since the fall of Netheril. Bards tell rich tales of valor, love, and high achievements...and those tales are both many and never-ending. Come to Candlekeep if you would hear them, or seek out a true bard, and listen well. For by the time you read this, my chair will surely sit empty as my bones crumble in the crypts beneath us.

I set down these words out of love -- love of this my world, called "Faerûn" or 'home' by folk hereabouts -- for it shall endure when you in turn have passed away, as it has bustled and sparkled and roared out the fury of its storms and earthshakings and eruptions of fire from below, while its beauties have entranced elves and dwarves and men alike these thousand years.

If you are but newly come to the Realms, or are setting out for the first time from the place of your rearing to taste its beauties and perils, I envy you. So much glory awaits your eyes. Hearken to some few of the things I have observed in Toril...

I have seen deep green glens where the Dancing Folk gambol amongst the ferns, scudding mists, and ancient gnarled trees -- using magic to sink into the very stones beneath their hooves when danger comes too close. Some of them dwell in forests so vast that an elf straying not from a chosen straight route could walk for a summer and not cross through from one treesedge to the other.

I have seen dragons erupt out of the see and surge into the air to strike with breath, fang, and claw at rival wyrms, aloft -- while terrified sailors strain to sail their ships intact through the raging heart of such a battle.

I have seen knights -- lords and ladies both, their armor bright -- riding along forest paths with proud pennants fluttering from their lances, as they thunder down to jousting fields where crowds wait, kings' envoys among the press of excited bodies, alert to see which of these fair combatants will make good agents for the crowns they serve.

I have seen forgotten castles crumble to ruin amid choking brambles, sprouting trees, and the claws of chill winter. Towers crash to the ground, stones larger than men crackling and rolling...and when the dust settles, monsters slither in to lair in the shadowed inner chambers. Chests of gold and coffers of gems stand in some of these hidden rooms -- and in others, old magic lurks, flickering feebly over scrolls and wands and enchanted things as it awaits those brave enough to intrude.

I have seen ghosts and worse things rising from graves to menace the living. In dark cellars and desolate places skulls fly about at night, and in some crypts skeletal hands chill intruders with their bony clutchings. Not all of the fallen lie peacefully in the earth.

I have seen men in the crowded cities of Faerûn whose fingers have gained great skill over long, painful years of labor, so that they can set a gem scarce large enough to see into the eyeball of a carved statuette no taller than my hand...or fine-forge a lock so intricate that six keys must be turned to make it yield.

I have seen close-beamed and smoky taverns where women dance in the firelight and sing laments so sad and sweet among harping or piping that hardened dwarves howl in grief and proud elves weep silent tears that glisten back the leaping flames, as all folk under those roofs are briefly brethren, close-knit and moved by the same stirrings.

I have seen villages where heavy-laden haycarts groan along lanes that roam almost lazily across rolling hills farmed by halflings, gnomes, men, and half-elven alike, and folk come out at dusk to sit and smoke pipes or sing softly and toast the setting sun with vintage of their own making, while their barns and byres fill up with food to feed realms they've never seen...and gentle brooks chuckle endlessly past the hooves of lowing cattle as night comes softly down again.

I have seen proud men striving to seize such verdant lands by the sword, or defend them against such reavers or the grunting orcs of the mountains...and I have seen adventurers ride laughing to their dooms because to dare perils is to truly live.

I have seen gatherings of sorcerers known as MageFairs, where hundreds of spells flash and sparkle as beings of all races strive to impress each other with their powers, make pacts for employment or to strike down thrones and feuding families and foes half a world away, and sell their magics or teaching to those who would grow more mighty in the Art. And I have observed what such magic has wrought...

I have seen ships that sail the skies, bridges that float forever in the air, and gleaming spell-driven metal monsters that walk or dig or climb until their enchantments fail or they are rent by rival constructs or struck silent by the deaths of the artificers who dreamed of them.

In the end, all dreamers die, and it is the proud tasks of those scribes around me, here in Candlekeep, to see that the dreams don't die with them. For it is the doom of men that they rush about, consumed by the concerns of the moment, and forget the splendid and heroic deeds they witness along with the wisdom they have earned...and should have learned. Wherefore here in Candlekeep we keep many thick tomes -- halls upon halls of them, spell-guarded against rot and fire -- that preserve the proud sagas of the greatest world I know. A world that lies before thee, waiting.

I have seen the glories of the Realms in my day, and glimpsed something of what lies ahead. Perils that shake the very world, and dark days for Faerûn, lurk among the shining sights: bold and brave adventurers will be needed.

If you are stirred at the thought of wielding sword or spell in this most splendid of worlds, hearken. I am Alaundo of Candlekeep, called by some Alaundo the Seer, and I say to thee: the Realms wait for thee.
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