Hello all!
I have not been here for quite a while so it is nice to see you all still here and as creative as ever! I started writing the 'Story' again, though it is painfully slow. Here is an excerpt.
As usual critique is humbly requested. 
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We traversed the corridors behind the tomb, fending off the shadows of wolves and humanoids alike. It was dark, dusty, and desolate. We located another stone altar with the glowing stone, albeit a smaller one then the one above the ground. The shadows would not come into that place. The stone was easily removable and I decided to take it with us, which later proved to be a smart idea.
The place was depressing. The late god had been a power to recon with, in his days of glory. The unknown artisans, who decorated his temple, invested a lot of time and talent into the ornate floor mosaics and wall carvings. All these work now was ruined. The shadows left their mark everywhere.
I felt a strange pity for the deceased deity and its worshippers mixed with a great deal of irritation, for the never ending maze of dark corridors filled with crumbling statuary did not provide any clue to the location of the supposed evil culprit – the Shadow Lord.
Being the student of the Craft, I have heard of the shadow magic and the shadow weave, which was supposedly intermixed invisibly with the regular magical field. It was only available to the few outcasts - dedicated shadow mages.
Unlike normal magic, which was the domain of Mystra the shadow weave was rumored to be controlled by Shar, the deity of darkness and deceit. ( I truly would never will understand Viconia's affection to her!) To think of the creature of the Shadow Plane escaping into our Realm was, to say the least, discomforting. I knew, I would not be able to detect it magically, but I hoped that once revealed it would be vulnerable to our normal magic.
One of the corridors suddenly opened into a chamber which contained a huge human head, carved from the finest quality golden alabaster. The sculpture depicted a male cleric in the ceremonial headdress of rather old-fashioned design, and was not what you would call a piece of exceptional beauty. The statue's eyes were closed, with heavy eyelids bulging on the cold and arrogant face, and narrow lips puckered tightly in a kind of a scowl.
“Definitely not my type,” I chuckled nervously.
Anomen grimaced and his rather plump mouth tightened in a hard line, not unlike the statue's.
“This guy was certainly not a top-runner in the popularity contest,” Jaheira nodded in agreement.
“This reminds me of my late third-cousin Cheery,” Jan started happily.
Anomen moaned, Minsc smirked and Yoshimo's eyes sparkled with anticipated delight.
“You see, Cheery Jansen had inherited a funeral business from his grandfather on the mother's side, but with the name like his and the face pink like newborn baby's his clients could not believe he would do the job properly.” Jan shook his head sadly. It always surprised me how thoroughly he was pulled into fabrication each one of his stories. Suddenly, his eyes flashed with a surge of creative energy.
“First he changed his name to Gloomy and then started working on developing a permanent frown. Had spent hours before the mirror, poor chap! Did not work. So, he started adding vinegar to his turnip tea. Ended up with an ulcer and his wife running away with a neighbor - all to promote the family business. Tis' a wonder, what some people do to get the right contortion!” Jan shot a side-glance at our cleric, but Anomen remained stone-faced.
I giggled. “This time you surely made it up, Jan. Everybody knows that most women are attracted to the dark and moody, romantic characters. So his wife surely would have liked his new looks!”
“But your worship, he did not turn out dark. Just yellow and sour like a lemon!” Jan winked and nodded in our square's direction.
“I am not going to be the butt of your jokes forever, gnome!” His victim finally exploded. “You are playing with fire and …” His last words trailed off as he noticed everybody's smirks.
“Ah, why should I waste my breath on talking to the likes of you! You have no concept of honor or decency.”
“Oh, this young generation. Always full of themselves, they are. Why would he think my cousin Gloomy had anything to do with him is beyond me,” the gnome shook his head sadly.
“Enough of this nonsense,” Jaheira interrupted suddenly. “Leave him be, Jan. You are getting annoying now. Let's apply ourselves to the task at hand and solve this riddle once and forever!”
I nodded in agreement and walked to the statue to examine it closely. As my fingers traversed the smooth surface of the beautiful yellow-pink stone a sudden shock run through my hand. The floor trembled and a bright rosé glow lit the statue from inside. Then the ear-splitting, monstrous sound of the stone grating on stone filled the chamber and the statue spoke.
“…!”
For Oghma's sake, talking to the gods is not my favorite recreational activity. In fact, I refuse to socialize with extra-planar beings and deities as a matter of a principle. THEY like to talk to me, not the other way around. It runs in the family. The talking statue of Amaunator was an unpleasant surprise.
At that time the Sun god was not entirely dead and was able to channel some of his remaining powers into the stupid stone head. What pissed me most in that first exchange though, was the fact that even on his deathbed ( literally speaking - that is how I visualized an immortal soul hanging on the drifts of ether somewhere in the outer Planes, it gives you simpler mortal perspective) Amaunator insisted on testing my knowledge of the tenets of his faith!
The statue sprouted a jet of pure fire every time I tried to reason with it. I did not like this. I was tired of being spat at, especially with fire. I did not care about the order in which his morning ritual have had to be performed. I had to use protection spells and some concoction that granted fire resistance to solve his annoying riddles and the whole experience was not very pleasant. Thanks Oghma, Jaheira was always carrying potions in her backpack (like the pack rat she is). She knows a lot about herbal remedies and tonics, I'll grant her that.
I can start speculating on the effect the immortality has on one's sense of humor and overall personality, but I do not wish to do it. The old records in the Candlekeep library state that Amaunator was the god of Bureaucracy on top of being the Sun god. By what means he had acquired that portfolio is a mystery, but it probably had suited him right at the first place.
As the later events proved, that was also his undoing, may whoever takes care of the immortals have mercy on his soul. I do not wish to jump ahead of myself here, so I would say no more. I made my peace with Amaunator's faith at the end, for he had helped me in the moment of my greatest need, when my soul was in such a state of despair and grief that everything seemed to be lost. But I do not wish to speak of this.
What we have got from the conversation with the statue after the initial ordeal with the ceremonies was over was a fragment of the holy seal of Amaunator. It was used to protect the main altar from any physical attack. The seal was broken and the fragments hidden by the last faithful priests somewhere inside the temple. Being an ethereal being, as he was, the seal did not stop the Shadow Lord from getting access to the altar. But it efficiently prevented us from entering the area and dealing with him.
The statue was not able to pinpoint the direct locations of the seal pieces, but gave us enough vague directions to be able to figure it out. It also insisted that I carry the crystal shard from the smaller altar with me. The gem allowed us to pass through the shifting shadow barriers which the Shadow fiend placed around his headquarters.
Somewhat satisfied with this information we prepared to storm the heart of the temple when an unexpected, but pleasant development threw us off track once again. We found the missing damsel in distress!
