The Stage is Set

"Da big guy isn't happy. Trus me on dis one."

"But whas we gonna do"

"Nuttin, da champions will face the stranger ta decide."

"Is dat really what he wants?"

"Das what da boss says, and when Moradin speaks, ye listen good."

The high priest couldn't help but cringe, as he thought of the repurcussions of the fight. If the champions, whom he had never met personally, lost, then his way of life was ended. Sad that a personal grudge between gods and a battle between their champions would decide the fate of an entire race. And worst of all, the champions of Moradin weren't even dwarven! Best to keep this under wraps, as it will only cause a falling out if the truth were known.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

"HAVE YOU LOCATED THEM YET?"

"Yes my lord, the spinner would not speak at first, but I had other means at my disposal."

"THEN FINISH THIS, AND LET THE BLOW TO HIS CHILDREN BE DEALT."

"Of course my Lord, by the years end, there will be no Earth children on Toril."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Bruenor woke from the dream screaming. The searing pain in his jaw leftover from yesterdays fight still spinning through his head. The fight with Obould had not proven anything, except the end was in fact coming, and he could do little to help. But with a resigned sigh, King Bruenor Battlehammer pulled himself to his feet, and began the walk to the forges. He had little time and much work to do, the weapons must be forged or the champions would surely lose. Dwarven work for non-dwarves, what a loss. But if Moradin chose them, then he backed the decision, and would pour his soul into the weapons, and make them an unmatched force on the face of Toril.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Elminster, after his lengthy recovery, had finally finished his long discussion with the goddess. Mystra had chosen him to represent her, and her word was what he had to follow. There would be no interfering in the battle, by him or any of the other archmages, the pact was finished. He had to watch and wait, and for once, the fate of Toril was not in his hands, but the hands of broadly unknown heroes. Let the gods and goddesses guide their hands and their minds, for I cannot aid them.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

"One dwarf, selected to represent his race, will assist the champions. That is my decree. For this is not a fight between me and my brother, but a grudge between Moradin and my brother, which must be decided fairly."

"Of course Lord. We will respect your decision, and the champion will be selected by the gods.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =