Yet even as Elminster and his companions defeated Zhentarim evil once more, older and more sinister foes had their own dark designs on the Realms. The Malaugrym, masters of shadow, watched the chaos and ruin in Faerun from their dark castle and grew hungry to conquer as much of Faerun as might fall within their grasp. Shapeshifters and sorcerers of ancient power, they had long feared to challenge Elminster, who hunted and slew them whenever they ventured into the lands he held dear.

If Elminster was powerless, and the Chosen were busy trying to hold the Realms, the Malaugryms' chance had come at last. If they took the shapes of rightful rulers, the Chosen would actually defend their new-won realms for them! All that was needed, to make victory a sure thing, was shadow magic that would hide the Malaugryms' true essence, inside their stolen shapes, from any Chosen who survived the Time of Troubles.

All that was needed to conquer Faerun was a Cloak of Shadows…

1

A Long Day Indeed

Faerun, Raurin, Mirtul 29, The Year of Shadows

A dark shadow that had eyes drifted down unseen over a mist-shrouded battlefield where weary, snarling creatures hacked at each other with blood-drenched blades at the end of a day that had been long indeed. The Dark One looked around at hill after hill of destruction, and sighed. Waste, all this blood and dying. Waste on this plane and that, puny beings struggling to seize fleeting power, when might enough to shatter all their realms at once throbbed and strove all around them.

Magic. The power eternal, the energy behind all. He must have it. For centuries-eons, now-he had come back, again and again, to that gnawing need… and that stone wall blocking his hunger. Up against the shield that left him helpless once more. The Dark One snarled. Down the long years he had learned to be old, but not to be patient. Patience was for the powerless.