In a moment he was there, surrounded by the drifting, sparkling shreds of forgotten spells. He peered around, feeling with his mind for living, watching things, but none were near. He looked around at the dim depths of the hall. Strange, how the shattered splendor of this place held his interest, awakening old memories and long-quiet lusts…

The Castle of Shadows, Mirtul 29

In a place of shifting shadows, someone else grinned like a blood-dripping wolf as he ended a spell and slid away from the dark thoughts of the god Bane, unnoticed and now traceless. It was done. At last.

Milhvar of the Malaugrym watched the gray and purple sparks chase each other endlessly over the spell-weave and nodded in satisfaction. He'd taken what he needed from the unwitting mind of Bane while it was blinded by arrogance and driven by dark passion. He allowed himself to relax, letting out his breath in a long sigh. The most dangerous part was done; all that was left was the fun.

He did not have to look to take down the razor-sharp waiting runeblade from the wall beside him. The naked priest of Mystra bound to the stone altar before him whimpered once, then stiffened in silent resolve-until the blade swept down.

Blood and screams rose together, and the gray and purple sparks leapt from the weave and raced down Milhvar's trembling arms, their power surging into the fading life he held, sweeping it away, absorbing it.

Slowly the power of the crowning enchantment gathered and swirled within him. Milhvar smiled coldly as the last of the staring clergyman's life-force flowed into the web, then turned to look at his creation.

As if in answer, the cloak hanging in the spell web stirred for the first time. Success.