The rest of the Keepers had long since gone their own ways. Families to reunite with, homesteads to tend to, their own lives to live, away from the blood and toil of exploring the realms. Bosch himself had decided to rest his weary body as well, settling down to the comfort of a soft bed and warm fire, reading and studying the volumes of books and manuscripts that had accumulated over the years.
On his visits to the bustling cities he had heard many stories of new places and people that had been discovered in the Great Realms. There were the lost ruins of Dlabraddath deep within the Drannor forest, found by a group of treasure seekers, many of which did not make it out alive; seafarers reporting the emergence of mysterious islands in the far reaches of the Sea of Swords; nomadic merchants who came in contact with a group of isolated sylvans high in the treetops of Nordahaeril; and hushed whispers of an island believed to inhabited by lycanthropes. Where in the past such things may have stirred the inner adventurer within, this time they had done little to motivate the weary wizard to leave the comforts of home.
But then one day in the din of a crowded pub in Waterdeep, he overheard a conversation, several actually, about a portal that had appeared in the skies, one which transported people away to crumbling ruins. Ruins where a voice was heard by all who entered, where those familiar with the legacy of magic in the realms knew what the ruins represented. The markings on the walls, the symbols etched in the masonwork, the writing on the crumbled archways. These were the remains of the Netheril Empire. And if the legends held true this these ruins would contain the secrets of the greatest mage in the spoken and written history of Faerun: Karsus.
