Evander descended the steps of the house of Khaira’s house in Waterdeep, his gait swift and unbroken. He was dressed in an unadorned, full-length tunic of pure emerald green, and silver trousers. A light-blue cloak flowed eloquently behind him, held in place by a silver clasp, fashioned in the form of a rearing dragon.
For once, the war-like elf was deprived of his weapons; for the trek he was about to embark on, he would need no such corporeal effects. Indeed, they would likely interefere with the nature of the process.
He pauses at what appeared to be a dead-end; Evander glanced to the right, where the steps continued downward, and to the left, where a blank, unyielding wall faced him. He glanced up the stairs, once, reassuring himself that he was indeed alone. The house was empty, with the exception of Gildaes, one of Khaira’s comrade-in-arms; Immestria was at Khaira’s house on Evermeet, with Khaira and, likely, Branth. There should be no physical disturbances. A mental disturbance, on the other hand, was an issue that he should address before he went further.
In that instant, he became painfully aware of a rising thrumming in his mind. The energy coalesced, and took form, giving rise to a mental voice in his mind.

Daddy, come play now?
Not now, Tarien. Daddy’s got to do some work. But after lunch, Daddy will come and visit, okay?
A mental cheer resounded in Evander’s mind, and that brought a guilty smile to his face. With all of the trouble that had erupted lately, he had been forced to largely ignore both his daughter and Khaira. Hopefully, soon, that would be a problem that would be remedied.
But before Daddy can come, he needs to do work. Can you tell Kh…Mommy that Daddy has to do some hard work, and shouldn’t be disturbed?
Okay! See you soon, Daddy!

As abruptly as the voice had entered his mind, it was gone, leaving Evander to his own designs. With a regretful sigh, he placed his hand on the wall, and incanted a phrase, in the draconic language. With a bright flash of his dragon cloak clasp and a sudden pull of magic, Evander was suddenly through the wall, and into the extradimensional demiplane.

*******************************************************

The room he found himself in was an egg-shaped one; the light was dim, to provide the least amount of physical distractions to individuals who came here. The walls were constructed of a peculiar, polished crystal that reflected not only the direct, physical reflection of the viewer, but also the underlying possibilities. The latter reason made this demiplane a prime location for scrying and for focused meditation; today, however, Evander was here for a particularly different reason.
A few months ago, Evander had been rescued from the endless layers of the Abyss, where he had been the captive of a minor pit fiend by the name of Atrazk. The demon was an ancient enemy of Khaira, and had targeted her during the birth of Immestria, their child, several months ago. Evander had sacrificed himself during the banishment, in something of a desperate – or a suicide, as some would say – attack to delay Atrazk’s efforts. In doing so, too, he had allowed Immestria the opportunity to come, safely, into this world.
Alas, for the days, weeks, and months Evander had spent in the Abyss, he had been tortured beyond mortal ken. The demons of the Abyss had spent centuries perfecting the art of sadist torture … there was not much else to consume one’s activities in such a perfect hive of chaos and evil. In the months of his temporary residence in the Abyss, they had broken Evander’s mind and soul. He was so broken and fragmented that, by the time Branth had traded his captivity for Evander’s in the Abyss, Evander was nothing more than a shell, devoid of any connection to memories or psyche.
It had taken the efforts of a veritable swarm of allies, and two months, to heal his body; it had taken nearly twice that time to assimilate his stored memories into his fragile mind again. Even now, so long after his horrendous time in the Abyss, many of his memories were simply fragments. They were scenes, some of which were still foreign to him, that were indicative of another life. He had not yet reformed the connections to all of the memories, which was his purpose for coming here. This room, while a twirling mass of confusion, would link the emotions with the appropriate memories, allowing him to relive them, in a sense. It would take more than a year to recapture all of his memories and what they meant. Yet, as one of his mentors had advised him, long ago, “What are we without our memories? And so, here he was, in the Dream Place, to view the memories, from the beginning, for perhaps the seventh time. There was no better place than the beginning to begin.
He stepped up to a section of the wall, and recalled, with acute, visual clarity, the first memory. The scene played out on the wall: a mountainous vista, overlooking plains and fields, with air as yet untainted by human conquerors …

We call you to existence, from the cosmic universe, from the platinum sheen of Lord Bahamut himself, Glankonig Uuranor-Pelekkt. Enter, breathe, and bask in the knowledge that this is the welcome to your life.

Two dragons, one male and one female, sat on their haunches, and watched the silver marbled egg break, shatter, and slowly be broken, from the inside out. Some distance from them, an elderly dragon, colored the most brilliant silver, watched and spoke into a dull, colorless orb, easily the size of a large boulder.

“In this, 672 DR, I, Vilecolmenendo the Silver, Voice of the Platinum Father, do bear withness to the birth of Glankonig Uuranor-Pelekkt, Hatchling of King and Queen Uuranor-Pellekt.”

…

The images flow and coalesce in the Dream Place, morphing, changing, and taking a new shape. The image was muddled, and Evander focuses, until the image clarifies and he is …

Flying in the midnight sky, Glankonig the Silver Dragon Prince of Kassim soars over a tranquil forest. His acute senses pick up on a discrepancy … steel on steel, and the shouting voices. A battle was taking place. Turning slowly, he moves his wings faster, and angles his sinewy wings, blinking silver, gold-splotched eyes. Ahead, he sees the issue … a caravan of light, silver-skinned elves, otherwise known as Moon Elves, was besieged by their most hated, racial enemy: the ebon-skinned drow elves. Flying down, Glankonig gathers the energy in his belly, and emits a reverberating, tree-shaking roar. Groups of dark-skinned elves look up, in time to see razor-sharp claws, the size of swords, cleave them in two. His barbed tail worked double time, constricting around the dark-skinned elves, and throwing them with quaking force into their comrades. He sees several of the caravans reform, and make haste to escape the carnage.
A few minutes was all that was necessary to handle the drow elves, but he knows a band has evaded his grasp; he should have frozen them all where they stood, and been done with it. With mighty beating of wings, Glankonig is soon soaring over the trees, following the route the caravans had taken. He sees, now, the clash between horse-riding humans, clad in purple, and the drow elves. The situation has been taken care of, and, knowing the crusading knights below, he would need to make himself scarce; humans were quick to strike at what they did not know nor understand.

...

Time flows like a swift-running river, carrying it with it memories, images, and adventures of people and places long gone. Evander sees a half-elf, a robust man, with a splotched stubble of a beard, talking with a young, female elf, on the streets of a city …

“Lord Laincaste,” the girl-elf, clad in a pristine, green gown, said to him, smiling, “You are far from Father’s workshop.”
Oblin Laincaste chuckled, and wheezed. He really had to stop frequenting the bars so often.
“Aye, that is true, Jhelana,” Oblin finally managed to utter, “I was merely perusing the wonder of the city.”
“You never finished telling me where you’ve come from,” Jhelana queried, looking into Oblin’s eyes, “And it seems to me like you’re a far-traveled man, with wisdom far beyond your years.”
Oblin smiled, and bowed, even though his heart must have skipped a beat. This fair lass could not discover his draconic identity. Not yet. The gods had dictated it.
“Mountains, dearest Starflower; we all must climb mountains to get to where we must get to.”
“But, my lord,” Jhelana protested, “You’ve been working with and for my mother for the past decade...since 1010 DR. Surely you can put the mountains behind you?”
“I must go, my lady, for your father will surely be waiting impatiently for my return.”

… he sees the images swirl again, changing shape, changing form, advancing further than he had wanted them to. The memories possessed their own wings …

Glankonig breathed pure magical energy into the shrine that he had constructed. It was a testament of dragon skill, and dragon magic. It was a shrine dedicated to Sehanine Moonbow, the elven goddess of dreams and transcendence. For reasons he had not yet been able to understand – and would not, he presumed, for many years – he had been petitioned by Bahamut, Lord of good dragons, and Sehanine Moonbow, the elven goddess, to construct this shrine, miles from Suzail, the capital of knightly Cormyr.
The moon shone on the altar, upon which stood an offering bowl; he heard the voice of the luminescent goddess enter his mind again, surrounding him, energizing him.

Glankonig, you will assume the guise of Evander Sunstrike, an elven warrior, and enter Suzail. Watch Jhelana, and mind the changing winds. Pay attention to the shadow, and let them not creep up needlessly.

At that moment, Glankonig felt the brilliant storm of moonlight encapsulate him, enrapturing mind, soul, and body, and even as he changed form, he was soaring towards the human city …

… soaring, like the images before him, moving faster than his eyes could possibly follow. The divine energy was not allowing much deviation, or much slowness, this time around. He, Evander – and no longer Glankonig – stood on a thick, soft, crimson red carpet, and he spoke to a finely dressed nobleperson, who glittered like the sun…

“…she has committed murder, and will stand trial for it,” the man said, his face an impassible expression.
“There were no witnesses, my liege!” Evander exclaimed, “How can there be a murder without a witness?”
His senses screamed at him … there was powerful magic at work here, but he could not identify what.
“You feel her power, don’t you? You know Jhelana’s power, don’t you? Her mind reaches out, like endless tentacles, searching, infatuating, enrapturing, possessing … but the she-elf will get what is coming to her. Ah, yes, like the shadows of the city that move, wait, and plot …”
Evander stared at the magistrate that spoke now, with a voice that bled with greed and … something else. Something hidden. Something hidden like shadows. Something hidden like…

…like tentacles. Evander realized. Tentacles … shadows. Why was this so strange? Had the magistrate spoken in merely a metaphor? No, no simple metaphor was this, but something stranger. Like the shadowed voices that oft-times possessed his daughter, like tentacles. What was the connection here? Would the beginning be the end? He saw the walls changing again, and he saw fire and …

… Glankonig roared, and connected his tail with the already weakened mortar; human construction, regardless of how potent, could not resist the pure fury of dragonfire. He saw a blonde-haired beauty stumble from the ruins, coughing and sputtering.

Jhelana, you will flee south, until you find a shrine. A Transformation awaits. Go, now!.

The Silver Dragon Prince of Kassim ignored her warnings and her protests, weaving a magical wind that bore her up, up, and away. He noticed the shadows, and the eyes within the shadows that moved, and crept towards him … but also towards the flying Jhelana. Shadows like …

… like tentacles! This was the source, then: Suzail, Cormyr. The beginning of the crisis, the source of the fighting, and of the dangerous games played. He had to return to Cormyr. He had to find the answers, to see where the connection began. It must be severed.
Pulling his mind together, he touched the wall and phased through it, becoming lighter than air. First, he had to fulfill some promises to his daughter, and then he had to make arrangements. Cormyr waited, and century-long machinations did not wait before leaping to the fruition of a debacle.