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Contents : STREAMS SILVER OF LEGEND DRIZZT THE OF R.A. AL V BOOK S VATORE O n a dark throne in a dark place perched the dragon of shadow. Not a very large wyrm but foulest of the foul its mere presence blackness its talons swords worn from a thousand thousand kills its maw ever warm with the blood of victims its black breath despair. A raven s coat was its tested scales so rich in their blackness that they shimmered in colors a scintillating facade of beauty for a soulless monster. Its minions named it Shimmergloom and paid it all honor. Gathering its strength over the course of centuries as dragons do Shimmergloom kept its wings folded back and moved not at all except to swallow a sacri ce or to punish an insolent underling. It had done its part to secure this place routing the bulk of the dwarven army that stood to face its allies. How well the dragon had eaten that day! The hides of dwarves were tough and muscled but a razortoothed maw was well suited to such a meal. And now the dragon s many slaves did all the work bringing it food and heeding to its every desire. The day would come when they would need the power of the dragon again and Shimmergloom would be ready. The huge mound of plundered treasures beneath it fueled the dragon s strength and in this respect Shimmergloom was surpassed by none of its kind possessing a hoard beyond the imagination of the richest kings. And a host of loyal minions willing slaves to the dragon of darkness. PRELUDE The chill wind that gave Icewind Dale its name whistled across their ears its incessant groan eliminating the casual conversation the four friends usually enjoyed. They moved west across the barren tundra and the wind as always came from the east behind them quickening their already strong pace. Their posture and the determined drive of their strides re ected the eagerness of a newly begun quest but the set of each adventurer s face revealed a different perspective of the journey. The dwarf Bruenor Battlehammer leaned forward from his waist his stocky legs pumping mightily beneath him and his pointed nose poking out above the shag of his wagging red beard led the way. He seemed set in stone apart from his legs and beard with his many-notched axe held rmly before him in his gnarled hands his shield emblazoned with the standard of the foaming mug strapped tightly on the back of his overstuffed pack and his head adorned in a many-dented horned helm never turning to either side. Neither did his eyes deviate from the path and rarely did they blink. Bruenor had initiated this journey to nd the ancient homeland of Clan Battlehammer and though he fully realized that the silvery halls of his childhood were hundreds of miles away he stomped along with the fervor of one whose longawaited goal is clearly in sight. Beside Bruenor the huge barbarian too was anxious. Wulfgar loped along smoothly the great strides of his long legs easily matching the dwarf s rolling pace. There was a sense of urgency about him like a spirited horse on a short rein. Fires hungry for adventure burned in his pale eyes as clearly as in Bruenor s but unlike the dwarf Wulfgar s gaze was not xed upon the straight road before them. He was a young man out to view the wide world for the rst time and he continually looked about soaking up every sight and sensation that the landscape had to offer. He had come along to aid his friends on their adventure but he had come as well to expand the horizons of his own world. The entirety of his young life had been spent within the isolating natural boundaries of Icewind Dale limiting his experiences to the ancient ways of his fellow barbarian tribesmen and the frontier people of Ten-Towns. There was more out there Wulfgar knew and he was determined to grasp as much of it as he possibly could. Less interested was Drizzt Do Urden the cloaked gure trotting easily beside Wulfgar. His oating gait showed him to be of elf heritage but the shadows of his low-pulled cowl suggested something else. Drizzt was a drow a black elf denizen of the lightless underworld. He had spent several years on the surface denying his heritage yet had found that he could not escape the aversion to the sun inherent in his people. And so he sunk low within the shadow of his cowl his stride nonchalant even resigned this trip being merely a continuation of his existence another adventure in a life-long string of adventures. Forsaking his people in the dark city of Menzoberranzan Drizzt Do Urden had willingly embarked upon the road of the nomad. He knew that he would never be truly accepted anywhere on the surface perceptions of his people were too vile (and rightly so) for even the most tolerant of communities to take him in. The road was his home now he was always traveling to avoid the inevitable heartache of being forced from a place that he might have come to love. Ten-Towns had

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