MANEJO DE VEHICULOS EN LA PLATAFORMA

This small, little-known village rests quietly where the Skuldask Road meets Thundar’s Ride in the heart of the Fields. Most folk think it’s just a huge, abandoned, ancient stone city, fields upon fields of once-proud towers fallen into rubble and ruin.

Its name comes from a standing stone set up at the intersection that bears the words:

Here was peace this day made.

Let Tempus cry bitter tears.

No more our dead we’ll parade And live cloaked in waiting fear.

This stone is believed to mark the spot of one of the parleys that ended a long war—and with it, any hope of creating a northern realm ruled by those Calishite satraps greedy for ever more land to bring under their rule. The date of the struggle, who exactly was fighting (beyond Cal-ishites on one side, and humans already here who wanted to remain free on the other), how long the peace lasted, and who wrote the words on the stone are all lost in the mists of the passing years.

Today, Tempus’s Tears is a village of dwarves and gnomes, who live under the ruins in burrow homes.

They craft coffers, latches, and satchels, and sell them to certain trusted merchants passing through.

Most others don’t even know they exist.

A few merchants take a wag-onload of stones from the ruins

from time to time. If they take too many, dwarves appear from below-ground and politely ask them to put some back. Those who refuse are warned that the ruin’s under the protection of Amaeraszantha. If they ignore this, the dwarves summon her.Amaeraszantha is an amethyst dragon of great size and age who lairs in the collapsed circle of an old temple. The circle is located on an island in a small, stagnant lake at the heart of the ruined city, generally northeast of the meeting of the over-land trails. She will respond to a dwarven summons and attack plun-derers of the ancient, nameless city.

Dwarves can summon her either directly or by use of a vast, buried horn, actually a carved, spiraling tunnel, blown into from below. It issues a low, droning call.

In truth, there’s little to find here.

One of the reasons a ruin so large is so little known are the failing wards that still affect it, shrouding much of it in mist at all times and causing a few of the shattered buildings to vanish for a time and then silently reappear. They disappear onto other planes or worlds, some sages say. A diligent searcher in the ruins will find it empty of all but rubble, dust, and a few nasty predators that have taken up residence or wandered into the city just as human adventur-ers do.

Somewhere in these vast ruins, the Great Seer Alaundo said, is the Stone that Speaks. This treasure is eagerly sought by Candlekeep. The

sages of that monastic community have sponsored many expeditions in search of the Stone. It is said to be a hand-sized, nondescript lump of gray rock that contains the impris-oned spirit of a wizard—an arch-mage who clings to sanity only by a thread, and is apt to be irritable and sarcastic. It yearns to possess a liv-ing body again and is shrewd

enough to bargain with any informa-tion it yields to move it toward its goal, step by tiny step.

The archmage, once of Netheril, knows more of magic than living wizards do. It has some way of hearing what befalls around it, and so has learned many things down through the years since its imprisonment.

It was briefly possessed by the long-ago ruler of Rashemen, Angorl Steelhorn. It was stolen, and later traveled about the Coast lands in the possession of a band of adventurers.

In the end they fell here, slaughtered by an argos, and the Stone, flung away in desperation by a dying thief, who vainly hoped it would somehow unleash magic to save the band—lay

for many years alone in the stony loneliness of the ruins. Word of it has come to us from three separate travelers, two of whom were too fearful of it to get close to it. A rival blasted the third by magic, trapping him in an endless, rapid, helpless shapeshifting from one form into another until his heart finally failed under the strain, and he perished.¹³

The spirit trapped in the Stone strives for freedom at all costs, car-ing nothcar-ing about what it promises or brings about in order to get into a living body again.¹⁴ It is treacherous and self-serving in the extreme

The dwarves and gnomes, who dare not approach it, told me the Stone calls out to those who come near, trying to get itself taken away from its current resting place. That transportation is something they don’t want. They’ll summon Amaeraszantha to prevent it. She also doesn’t want the Stone out in the wider world, nor does she desire the flood of treasure-seeking adven-turers news of its finding will undoubtedly bring to Tempus’

Tears.

13This now-forgotten 9th-level wizard spell (Elminster tells us) was an involuntary shapechange that could help or slay a foe: The target being had to fail a saving throw vs. spell for the spell to work at all. If the save failed, a cycle of 12 preselected forms began (typically slug, snail, toad, and the like). No form could be assumed that would perish in the surrounding atmosphere (no “fish out of water”), but damage could be suffered if a particu-lar form fell due to its nature (a slug being unable to stay on a branch, for instance) or was struck by another attack. The target had to make a system shock survival roll for each change; any failure brought instant death (and an involuntary return to one’s true form). If the saving throw succeeded, the target being gained immunity to that spell, plus an additional 12 permanently gained hit points, and was instantly healed of all injuries and afflictions. The magic shifted all garments and carried gear into the ethereal plane until the transformations were complete or death occurred; items and equipment were not present to crush or drag down tiny forms the target may have been forced into.

14Elminster says the steps toward freeing the wizard’s spirit that the Stone will try to cause by bargaining are as follows: Take the Stone to a large city; get it into the spell chamber of a male archmage; render that mage unconscious, placing the Stone upon his breast; cut his hand so that it bleeds, and place the hand on the Stone;

this will force a possession, freeing the ancient wizard from the Stone. The original mind in the body will war continually against the intruding wizard, causing the body to babble, act erratically, and change its mind from time to time—but mostly, the evil wizard will be in control!

Triel is ruled by Elvar the Grainlord, so-called because he’s obsessed with having enough food to safely survive the winters, when trade virtually ceases along the inland roads. The gates of Triel’s log-and-boulder village stockade are locked at night—and visitors are expected to be outside, camping in the fields around so they can do their part to keep thieving bugbears and worse away from Elvar’s precious grain. The stockade itself is crammed, stacked high, and dug deep¹⁵ with crates, barrels, bins and jugs of preserved vegetables and grain, all sealed, numbered, and meticulously labeled as to their contents. I happened upon a rarity: “1357—2136: Sword Coast Snails, pickled in Firewine/Gift of Baltovar of Neverwinter/Turn every three months/Seals renewed [and This small, stockaded way-village is located on the Trade Way north of Scornubel, where that road meets the Dusk Road that swings across country from Elturel to Hill’s Edge. To the northeast are the Trielta Hills, quiet, rolling grasslands rumored to contain gold, and home to many small, peace-ful gnome and halfling communities.

then a string of several dates].” Note that the first four numerals denote the year Elvar took possession of this container.

At least Elvar’s lucid enough to hunger after news of the wider world outside his well-stocked, fanatically defended pantry. Traders who bring

Triel

food, firewood, barrels, or sea salt for food preservation or the like will be honored with a feast at Elvar’s table—

and the villagers are good cooks (and well fed, to boot—but then, how could they not be?).

Be warned. Triel not only lacks anything much useful to the traveler, like an inn, tavern, or decent shop—

though the villagers seem to have no shortage of money with which to buy anything a merchant might want to sell—but Elvar’s also a little, er, unusual about religions. The Grain-lord changes faiths almost by the ten-day, complete with vestments, hired priests, if he can get them, and ritu-als. Messengers sent out to Scornubel or Boareskyr Bridge who take too long to return with a hired priest may find the clergy they bring back is already passe, professing a faith now fallen out of favor. Altar building and dismantling at the Cup of Plenty, the shrine Elvar maintains, keeps two carpenters busy day in and day out as the seasons pass.

This whole-hearted leaping from deity to deity makes things very diffi-cult for visitors. It also makes life none too easy on the local priestess of Chauntea—a stubborn little wisp of a thing by the name of Antriera, who quietly sees to the healing needs of the garrison, farmers, and forage patrols Triel sends out. She’ll also see to the needs of travelers for very reasonable fees.

More than one adroit visiting thief seeking disguises for later has

relieved Elvar of a dozen or more sets

15It’s so underdug that the doors covering cellar stairs are everywhere.

of priestly garb. (Antriera always gold to run their own farms. They are burns the whip-and-chain vestments always puzzled as to why he refuses, of Loviatar before the Grainlord real- but Elvar always does so, firmly.

izes he looks ridiculous in them and He does give advice and is well gets any funny ideas about creative paid for it—but he won’t travel, so secondhand uses for them.) Elvar the rest of Faerûn is free of his ability always seems puzzled as to where to smell where buried water lies and they go and how he could have mis- to dig a well just deep and large placed them when everything’s so enough to draw with little pumping.

neat. This, of course, goads him into Triel has two deep, clear wells that further acts of organization, cleaning, have never been known to get low on and rearranging—activities he never water due to his skill.

seems to tire of. His folk love him, for all his eccen-For all his faults, Elvar, a simple soul tricity. I learned all that I tell here by at heart, is a genius at finding water, talking to several of them. If you can creating proper irrigation and stomach all this, or are a dealer in drainage, and anticipating weather clerical regalia or a creator of new and crop problems. Folk from trou- cults, perhaps, Triel may be the bled Temyr have several times tried to place for you—or it may not. Most entice him away from Triel with much will pass it by.

In document Memoria de experiencia profesional en el aeropuerto internacional de la Ciudad de México (página 56-60)