As the Time of Troubles came down upon the Realms, dark things watched and waited their chance…

The Fall of the Gods had come to pass. The gods came to Toril amid flame and destruction, and the world was riven and changed forever. Amid all the flames and strife, the Chosen of Mystra were hurt more than most guardians of Faerun, for the servants of the goddess of magic discovered that spells were raging wild all over the world. Magic would obey them no more than it did anyone else.

Just when they needed it most.

Against them stood outlaws, orc hordes, and fearsome monsters that had long lurked on the fringes of the bright realms and grown hungry indeed. Even the gods themselves were wandering Faerun, slaying and plundering and despoiling all that fell within their reach, and battling with reckless savagery whoever-or whatever- stood against them.

It was a time for heroes to stand forth and fight to defend whatever could be saved of the splendor and strength of the civilized Realms. Folk looked to the Chosen, who stood helpless, with magic a treacherous thing in their hands.

All save one… one who dared not act at all. Elminster of Shadowdale, the Old Mage feared and revered across Faerun for nigh a thousand years, held so much of the divine power of the dying goddess Mystra within him that he dared not cast so much as the simplest spell, for fear of shattering the Realms around him and being torn apart in the world-destroying conflagration that might follow.

His foes, however, were on the move. Elminster's inability to hurl spells against them must be concealed from everyone. One of his fellow Chosen sent two of her Harper pupils to guard him, and a brave lady Knight of Myth Drannor took the same task upon herself. Together the three young people aided Elminster as he plunged into the depths of Zhentarim plots in the High Dale that lay in the Thunder Peaks between Cormyr and Sembia.